When Best Intentions Stop to Smell the Roses

“…We’ve reduced…[problems] by 92 percent from Day 1.”

Who said this?

a)    Detroit’s new Emergency Manager.

b)   Kwami Kilpatrick’s “I’m sorry” PR manager.

c)    Lucy Bradshaw

The answer is C: The other two people don’t exist.

Lucy Bradshaw is the general manager for Maxis, a division of Electronic Arts video games. If you’ve played video games for more than ten years, you’ll recognize Maxis as the maker of Sim City, the most popular open-ended video game ever made.

Until last weekend.

Last week, reviewers who praised their tester copy began backpedaling. Polygon.com, who loved the game enough to rate it 9.5/10, now posts Sim City with a flop 4/10.

What happened?

Let me repeat Lucy Bradshaw’s quote, “We’ve reduced game crashes by 92 percent from Day 1.” Any time you have that much room for improvement, there are going to be a few haters along the way.

“The doctor says I’m 92 percent herpes free!”

Not quite the same thing, but you get the idea. It’s a PR nightmare.  Those of us who live anywhere near Detroit know exactly what Maxis is going through.  We tried to build a city too, and we too failed miserably.

We didn’t even have to overcome Maxis sized Sim City adversities like roaming monsters and alien attacks. We just needed to overcome ourselves. We couldn’t do it. Even the governor said enough is enough. He’s now picking an emergency manager to clean things up.

What’s an emergency manager? You would be like an emergency manager if you reloaded your Sim Detroit to find that your little brother had hacked your game and run your city into the ground before saving over all your old games. Your job as the emergency manager would be to bring the city back to its former glory.

Sim City players found last week that they were more like Detroit emergency managers than they realized. They couldn’t access their games because Maxis’ servers were overloaded with players.  Some players couldn’t access their cities for days. They were the lucky ones. Other players found their cities were never saved at all. 

Detroit knows how they feel.  We’ve got a city council that’s blocking every connection from an emergency manager. The council would just as soon let your little brother continue to play for you, thanks for logging in anyway. 

“We’ve reduced city spending by 92 percent. We’ll just live without luxuries like police departments, fire departments, street lights, and street paving.”

That’s funny, that’s just what your little brother did. What’s next? Alien invasion?

“Maybe you haven’t been keeping up on current events, but we just got our asses kicked.”

Different aliens. Maxis doesn’t have trademark rights to those aliens. Neither does Detroit. Our aliens were played by Kwame Kilpatrick. He’s all ours.  Or is it the other way around?  If you haven’t been keeping up with current events, Kwame Kilpatrick is the ex-mayor of Detroit.  Have you seen the new Sim City ads with the Sim mayor sitting on the desk in his underwear talking about what he’s done with his city, because it’s his? That’s Kwame, except Kwame wore pants.

Today a federal jury convicted Kwame of 24 out of 30 counts, which included racketeering, corruption, fraud, and extortion.  The federal government only got 80 percent. Not as good as Maxis. I’m just saying…

It’s still enough to put away Kwame for a bit, and put any city in a little brother-sized hole. Detroit’s current council is intent on throwing a rug over that hole and pretends nothing ever happened.

“What hole, mom?”

And here we are: Maxis, Kwame, Detroit, all looking to put in some serious time to correct mistakes made in the past. Only Maxis admits that there ever were mistakes made in the first place.

Me, I just wish there were a way to reboot the city and start from scratch.

Meme of the Day

In honor of the new Oz movie.

At the Root

Cash incentives work. News at 11.

Yup, it was news to me too, but a study done by the Mayo Clinic proves it to be true.  Cash is king when it comes to motivational incentives.

That does explain why slavery never worked.

“Would you rather have: a, a whip, or b, one hundred dollars, for some grueling housework?”

Sure, on a scale of made up statistics, 1 in 40 would rather have the whip, but there’s always one of those in every crowd.

“Yes, mistress.”

“Do you have a hall pass?”

Yup, same guy. But that’s just what motivates him. The rest of us? We like cash. The Mayo Clinic tried out this theory on weight loss programs and discovered it worked there too.

“I’ll starve for cash.”

They offered $20 a month in a yearlong study and found that, in a group of 100 obese people, the group lost an average of 9 pounds.  The same study without cash turned out only a two-pound loss, and three jelly donuts. Ok, nobody found any donuts, but that’s just because one of the test subjects ate them.

So what does this prove? Nothing that we don’t already know. We watch TV. We know that people will do the stupidest things for money. I mentioned the network looking for new reality stars, right? They are. You don’t get much stupider than reality TV unless you’re a college kid with a bottle of Jack and a shopping cart out after midnight.

“You know what would be really cool…?”

Not that I’d know anything about that. It’s only what I’ve heard.

And now I’ve heard there’s a study for money. Maybe there’s hope for my blog yet. Sure, if people will give up food for $20 a month, imagine what blog-fodder they’d read for pennies on the dollar. Then imagine if I could prove that my blog makes you lose weight! Whoa! I’d have a gold mine.

RobBlog: Better than Botox!

A dream has to start somewhere. Nobody’s offering me cash to write; maybe I should turn that around.

I’ll let you know, just as soon as I get some cash. First I have to find somebody willing to motivate me with cash.

“Yes mistress.”

No, not you.

Meme of the Day

For those of us willing to admit we have a problem.

Alternate Realities

“Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn…”

“Say Wha?”

Guess who just made vacation plans?  That’s right, me!  Don’t tell the Pirate Queen though. It’s a surprise.  And boy will she be surprised: she’s not coming.

“Surprise!”

That’s right. Okay, that’s not right. It’s a lie.  She’s coming, but boy wouldn’t that be funny. Funny, just like some of the stuff in reality television these days. Contrived drama for viewer interest, that’s reality.

And why would I contrive reality about the woman I love when there are no viewers to interest? That’s easy: because my plan is generate them.

“Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“I think so Rob, but how do we get thirty fruity drink parasols to cling to the nose hairs?”

Say wha..?

Uhm…I’m gonna pitch the RobShow. Not much different really.

See, the company that brought us Honey Boo Boo, and Toddlers in Tiaras, is looking for the next big alternate reality. They don’t want famous reality, they want you and me reality. You know, normality.

Or at least normality worth televising, and that’s hard to find. What if they do find it? How do they gauge this normality as worthy television? Good question. I’m glad I asked. They want us to send in YouTube and Vemeo videos of our regular life. You know, dinner with the fam, booger battles with the kids, or cubical based tantrums at work. You know: 

Announcer: Coming this fall to TLC: These three men have everything they desire. Power, money, women. What they don’t have is loving parents.

Voice off screen: Get in here you little ginger, SOB!

Announcer: That’s right, and now it’s their turn to take care of these unworthy care givers.

Woman (in bed with a cigarette dangling from her mouth and a plate of donuts in her hand. One donut has a bite missing): Ignatius, you ingrate! I said jelly filled.

Ignatius: I-I-I-I’m sorry m-m-ma-m-m-a.

Woman: I told you, I am not your mama. I married your father because I needed citizenship. (throwing the plate). Now get me jelly filled!

Announcer: New this fall, TLC brings you Red Headed Stepchildren! They’re kings in every castle but their own home.

Yikes.  That’s scary!  

You could have me instead. Hairy and pale, mister up-tighty whitey blogging in his tighty-whiteys.

“Sir could you please put on some pants or leave our Starbucks?”

Now that’s a tough programming choice. I guarantee you there are at least a hundred more video pitches just like both of those options. All planned for your enjoyment as part of your $120 cable subscription.

Yah, Saved by the Bell reruns look pretty good now, huh?

Go ahead, see if you can find an episode on. Me I’m practicing for my big break.

“Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn…”

Looks like the surprise is on you, dear viewer.

Meme of the Day

The most average cat in the world.

Sick Day

Did I miss a Monday?  Of course I did.  Well, I didn’t really miss it. It happened. I was here. I still paid my dues, just not as a blogger. I paid them as a husband.

Yah, the difference is far more labor intensive.

It appears last year I agreed to love honor and cherish. Somewhere around page 37, paragraph 3 of that agreement, there’s a servitude clause. 

“READ IT!” Says MyQueen handing me a snotty Kleenex.  She’s a little delirious. The wedding document is in her other hand. If she’ll only blow her nose on that, I’m a free man. That’s written in the fine print on the next page.

 I shouldn’t complain. I love her, and by all bio-virulent calculations, this cold is my cold she’s carrying.

“Mom! Dad! The Pirate Queen is having my virus!”

“Thanks son. It’s 3am.”

I feel a little guilty. Not about the call. My folks are used to that. I mean about passing on the cold. I’m also a little understanding. I’ve had this thing. It only had her down for four days. It took me over a week to pass it along.  She’s just proving her superiority. I let her.  That’s on page one of our contract.

It’s bad if I ignore page one before our first anniversary.  That’s coming up soon. Did you know?  I sure did.  According to Hallmark, the first anniversary is paper. Yah, I think they have a vested interest in that.

Well this first anniversary I have a little surprise for their marketers. This year I’m bucking their tradition and going vinyl.

“It’s a Cat Woman suit. How thoughtful…”

Shhh. Don’t spoil the surprise. 

Actually, no. I’m not going that vinyl. It turns out that my anniversary is also National Record Store Day. Whoo freakin’ Hoo! Record stores participating in my anniversary will give away Jimi Hendrix posters, and bands like Garbage are putting together special recordings to celebrate my love. Jack White is the official RSD ambassador. That makes him my anniversary ambassador!

That makes this the best marriage ever!

How many other couples can say they spent their first anniversary with Jimi Hendrix and Garbage?  Okay, so Jimi will only be there in spirit. We’re not digging him up, but the Garbage is there and they’re real.

“I thought you were special. I thought you should know…”

This is a big event. Go to your favorite record store, or the Record Store Day website and celebrate both my loves!

I can’t wait.

Until then, I’m handling the less glamorous side of love: the dirty Kleenex.

“READ IT!”

“Yes, my love…”