Grand Blanc Nord

  • by Drew

Oh, to clarify that last post, this upcoming trip is not only to Canada, but to the magical land of Quebec. Yup, pseudo-Frenchies, cheese and gravy fries, high-alcohol beer and maple sugar candy… Yes, the great white north, indeed. I’m hoping for a decent exchange rate and less humidity. No big outlet sales, no coupons, no buy one get one free. Really, all I want is to spentd some time checking out where my Grandma came from, grabbing some tasty treats and not totally sweating my butt off. Sounds like a rockin’ good time. I’ll let you know how it all goes.

Great White North

  • by Drew

Tomorrow I embark on a voyage to the land of my people. And here’s the snapper. I’m bringing the boys. Yup, I’ll be riding in Mom’s backseat with my seven and four year old. Tell me that’s not brave. I’ve got some books. I’ve got my iPhone. We’ve got a stack of DVDs. Maybe I should have read some headphone reviews. Sometimes there’s nothing better in a crowded backseat than some kickin’ earbuds. I love’s me some rockin’ tunes, especially when we switch from live action Inspector Gadget to the cartoon version. Of course, if we switch on the Super Hero Squad I’m going to be all over that…and if anybody wants phones on I’ll be reaching for a phones splitter.

Disturbed

  • by Drew

You know I love to post about license plates I see, vanity license plates that is. Personally I think they are usually a narcissistic waste of money, though I do occasionally discover true joy on the back bumper of an automobile. I’m still waiting for some variation on click hereto make it onto a plate – or more realistically, to make it onto a plate that Ia ctually see because I’m sure there are a couple.

Earlier today I saw something that really got to me. I mean, I don’t know how to feel about it, but above all else, I’m kind of shocked that it was even allowed on a plate. The plate (on a white SUV driven by a middle aged woman with teenagers in the car) read VIOLATE.

Yeah, VIOLATE. I mean, seriously, how does that happen. Maybe it’s supposed to be a big F$#K YOU to the police or something – as in traffic violation – but really? That’s the word you choose to represent your quirky personality.

Maybe it’s just me, but that’s a woman I want to stay real real real far away from.

Bug Play

  • by Drew

I saw a funny license plate outside Friendly’s the other day. It was a Volkswagen Beetle with this tag: MyBg4ply. After a while I realized this was probably My Bug For Play, but that was not my initial read. At first I thought it was My Big Foreplay. I can’t say what that might mean, but it sure seemed…well, odd at the time. Big foreplay, after all, sounds somewhat racy, if nothing else.

And considering it was a VW Beetle, something like 80% of which have to be driven by women (that’s not an official bit o’ data, just an estimate based on personal observation) it seems to be an extra-amusing concept. After all, isn’t foreplay supposed to be the big weakness in the male repertoire of love?

OK, maybe I’m making assumptions here. Maybe I need a heavy duty document management system to analyze and understand the real percentages. Who knows? Maybe it’s not a chick ride after all, and maybe it’s some dude who has figured out how to make romantic use of the backseat. But seriously, if that’s the case, this dude has to be one kickin’ little person.

Got Reservations?

  • by Drew

The title of the last post probably didn’t make sense, but as usual, I went off on a bit of a tangent. My original topic, in fact, was about getting a hotel reservation for my hotel. Now, I realize that a lot of corporations have to centralize certain aspects of their client-facing operation. Hotel chains are no exception. People from all over the planet are calling for reservations, so one shouldn’t necessarily expect personal contact with the particular hotel they are going to be staying at. Right?

That’s just a touch of sarcasm.

Here’s the thing. When I was trying to book my reservation with direct bill to my employer, the person on the phone had major problems. First of all, anyone working at the hotel would instantly recognize my company’s name. Not just because at least a half dozen people from my company stay there each week, but our office is approximately 100 feet down the road. even if you weren’t sure, it would have to sound familiar. There is a giant company logo right on the road, after all.

The real annoying part, however, was that the phone operator (who couldn’t figure out how to direct bill the room to my company) kept thanking me for staying at the Chesapeake location. The problem, though, was that she mispronounced the word every single time she said it. And each mispronunciation was unique.

Chekasepe. Chesakeep. Chepakepe. Chekapeace.

Sigh.

I think  it’s time that the general list of iphone accessories include some sort of geographical indicator that let’s you know if you’re Virginia hotel reservationist is actually sitting somewhere across the ocean. Where’s that app?

Chekasepe

  • by Drew

I recently had to travel to Virginia for work, it’s been a few months since my last trip. This time, a whole bunch of coworkers who don’t usually make the trip were down there with me. We did a lot of talking, comparing hotel rooms and airline stories. Airport delays and missing towels were among the standard fare we discussed.

We talked about the glory days of air travel, when people dressed up and actually fit into their seats. There were free playing cards and peanuts aplenty. We talked about three course meals and hot stewardesses who would give you a lap dance with a smile if it made your flight a little more pleasurable.

Now they yell at you for breathing too loud, refuse to give you water, and glare if you don’t yank your earbuds fast enough when the light comes on. One of the few exceptions, according to a coworker, is Virgin. Seems Virgin can offer a slightly more old-school travel experience than most of the few remaining carriers. Semi-psycho billionaire Richard Branson is generally credited with kicking it up. One of my coworkers said he called it getting Branson tickets when he got to travel Virgin.

Body art?

  • by Drew

I have nothing against tattoos. I have  a number of friends who are inked, and many, if not most, have something going on. I mean, thoughtful, creative, colorful expressions of self. And that’s cool. I’m all about that.

I, personally, remain unmarked. I’m not a needle wuss, I actually don’t mind them at all. Partly it was something of a committment beyond what I was ready to consider back before mortgage, marriage and parenthood (in that order). Now it seems a little frivolous…I mean, at my age… But to be brutally honest, the main reason I’ve never seriously considered getting inked is that I’m hairy. Yup, chubby and hairy. There is really no reasonable spot of flesh on my body that is not so covered in hair that a tattoo would require regular shaving. And that, like back waxing, is a relationship I just can’t see myself entering into.

So, it’s not for me, but it works for some people. The thing is, lately, I’ve been seeing some seriously bad work. SERIOUSLY bad work. There has always been way too much flash on the chunky trailer girls and their 90 pound boyfriends (with those wispy starter mustaches and trucker caps) but I’m talking about something altogether worse. The names of children and boyfriends and girlfriends and spouses on necks and wrists and other overly visible spots is not really that endearing to me. It’s up there with memorial t-shirts for deceased children in my book. Just not very original.

But to each his or her own. I won’t judge. If you want to have the names of your children written in script down your boob, that’s your prerogative. Although I suggest you plan better than this one woman I saw who had three names on her left boob and one on her right. It appears she was cataloguing her offspring on lefty, and then she ran out of room. Maybe number four was a bit of an oopsie, so I guess we should give her a high five for getting him on there somewhere. What a mom.

The disturbing trend, in my mind, is the really wretched work I’ve been seeing. Did Walmart start selling home tattoo kits and no one told me? I was on line at the store the other day and I saw a young woman buying prenatal vitamins, folic acid, and assorted creams and powders. What was most noticeable to me, was the tattoo on her arm. She was sleeveless, so it was very clear. It said ANN. All caps, written in a thin line that looked like pencil. There were 8 or ten lines drawn away from the name. Kind of like how a little kid draws the rays of the sun. It looked, in fact, like a little kid had written it. Shaky handwriting, sun rays looking a little bit like Sunday comic stink lines.

Who puts this on their arm? It was hard to believe it was real ink, but it was. Don’t you need some sort of training or certification to be a tattoo artist? Don’t you at least need to show photographs of past work or something? Maybe she was some dude’s first try or something, because this was pathetic.

Oh, and the funny part. It wasn’t her kid’s name or her girlfriend’s name or her mom’s name or sister’s name. How do I know? Her companion, another young lady, used her name several times while they chatted online.

Yup, Ann had ANN tattooed on her arm, apparently by a second grader with poor penmanship. What is this world coming to? How much Cisco did she have to drink? My girl is lowering the bar for white trash ink the world over.

Sigh.

Suddenly Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes) peeing on a 24 seems a hell of a lot more clever than it did a year and a half ago.

Is there anybody here…

  • by Drew

who’d like to change his clothes into a uniform?

No? Don’t know the old protest songs. Well, kid, keep wearing your wife beater tee and you sideways baseball cap. Keep doing 60 on our little country street, blasting Eminem and Slipknot. Keep coming home with new dents on that ridiculous import with the Battlestar Galactica spoiler. Keep shooting nasty looks at the neighbors who shake their heads at your pathetic, juvenile display.

Pretty soon getting an auto insurance quote or polishing your spinning rims will be the least of your worries. Pretty soon the cops are going to get tired of cutting you breaks. Pretty soon your teachers and counselors are going to write you off. Pretty soon your parents are going to throw your delinquent ass out.

Then what are you going to do? You going to try and run with the big boys or are you maybe going to turn your wife beater and baby banger kicks in for a pack and a bayonet. Gonna put some decent kids’ necks on the line while you try to figure it out in the big boy sand box?

Please.

I wanna see him. I wanna wish him luck. I wanna shake his hand, wanna call his name, put a medal on the man.

The Drive-in Hangover

  • by Drew

In spite of the lovely day we had attending the parade, followed with grilled turkey burgers and cold beverages, I was kind of beat today. The culprit you ask? The big screen.

The biggest screen in fact. Last night I took the boys to the drive-in. There are two within 20 minutes or so of us, actually, so I routinely check the weekly listings when they are updated on Friday mornings throughout the Summer. This week was an interesting double bill: the new Shrek movie followed by Iron Man 2. With the day off from work and school, how could we skip it?

I must admit, I love the simple pleasures. Sure, I can appreciate the niceties of a Redenvelope.com  gift like anybody else, but the drive-in is pretty high on my list of minor pleasures. It’s a cheap ticket for the double feature, and I don’t have to worry too much about my chatterbox boys getting us thrown out. Sure, I have to deal with a squirming 4 year old on my lap behind the steering wheel – and he really doesn’t stop moving the entire time – but there are a lot of worse things than a 90 minute hug. Even if it is a hug of necessity.

But the price must be paid the morning after. Early in the season it doesn’t even start getting dark until after 8:30. The second feature didn’t start until 10:30 at least, and summer blockbusters being what they are…Yeah, I got to bed just before 2.

I mean, I did sleep in way past the usual wake up with the kids. Yeah, it was almost 7 when I rolled out of bed. But it was all worth it. Movies with my boys, popcorn and sodas in the front seat with the windows rolled down and the soundtrack coming from the radio. I’ll get some sleep tonight, and on Friday morning I know I’ll be crossing my fingers for another kid-friendly first feature followed y a rock ’em sock ’em summer smash in second place…when they finally pass out from exhaustion.

We’re gonna have some fun this summer.

The Real Deal

  • by Drew

I’ve noticed that more and more people are painting stuff on their cars. Business stuff. I’m still seeing the magnetic sign slapped on the side of their Ford F-150 offering affordable landscaping., but now there are other sites. One I’ve seen a lot is Loan Modifications. I’ve seen a few different Loan Modification vehicles around, my favorite being a massive Hummer with dollar bills painted all over it. I don’t know why, but it somehow makes me feel…dirty.

One time I saw a lawyer’s Volvo with a list of services painted on the hood: Wills and Trusts, Real Estate Closings, Non-Contested Divorces. Personally that’s not an 800 number I’d write down, but we all have different standards.

I’ve also seen a lot of Realtors with fancy paint jobs. I feel like they’re the ones who have really moved from the magnetic door sign to the all over paint job in a big way. Driving to work a couple weeks ago I saw a painted Realtor car. It was a Land Rover with pretty sweet paint job – a house with a nice lawn spreading around the front fender and onto the hood. Almost photographic in quality, and way better than any unicorn van job from the 70s. It had to cost a mint.

But the problem was the car was seriously dinged up. The bumper was pushed in and the driver side fender had a big dent. The driver’s door was all crumpled, like it had been driven too close to a tree. Way too close. I was thinking this guy might do better to advertise cheap car insurance or something. It must be a nightmare getting a car like that fixed, have to redo the whole paint job. He might need one of those loan modifications deals. Maybe he’ll catch site of the dude with the dollar bill Hummer.

© 2026 Drew Bancroft. All rights reserved. Totally.