Thursday, November 11, 2010

Google Asks, Chicken Answers...

Hi World,

I came across an interesting article about Google the other day. Google is looking for a few good people.  According to the author, Google generally hires Ivy League graduates with high GPAs.  In other words, don't bother, state school slackers. 

Chicken is not deterred.  Chicken kind of likes the questions that Google is asking.  They are a welcome change from "What are your qualifications?".  I'm more of a generalist.  I have no real qualifications.

I've linked to the article here, but I know most of you won't go there (fellow slackers), so I've also printed them down below.  There are 15 questions and I only answered half since I still have dinner to cook and laundry to fold, and neither Bobby Flay nor Joann Mannix are anywhere in sight to help, even though I promised wine if they would help me just this one time.  Joann was all, like, "No Chicken, I love you, but laundry hurts my feelings and I have a book to finish", and Bobby Flay said, "What? Who wants me to cook their Chicken?", which really turned me off.

Anyway, so I'm on my own. Whatever.

Are you listening Google? Consider this post my application.  I'm surprisingly inexpensive and I know I can bring value to this job because, I once heard it said, that if you want a job done efficiently hire a lazy person, and my laziness quotient is off the charts.  But don't get me wrong-I still want to change the World.  I just want to change it in the easiest manner available. 
Here we go:

How many golf balls can you fit into a school bus?

Answer:  0
Explanation:  My school bus is filled with American teenagers on their way home from a band competition with all their instruments in tow.  Every seat is taken and, don't tell, but a couple people are sitting in the aisle.  The bus driver just had gastric bypass surgery, but it hasn't quite kicked in yet, if you know what I mean.  They just stopped for dinner, where everybody got super-sized for an extra fifty-nine cents.  Now, chances are, you could fit some golf balls in between carbohydrate-laden bodies and band cases, but given the weight limits for a standard bus, this would not be advisable.  Not if you want to be legal.  And get over that bridge up ahead.  And whoa, is that a weigh station?  Yeah, no room on the bus for golf balls, dudes.

(The great thing about this answer is that it also applies to a very small school bus, such as the one that Chicken rode for many years.  No estimating cubic footage necessary, which would be tedious)

How much should you charge to wash all the windows in Seattle.

Answer:  Chicken doesn't do windows, but she has four kids and will rent them out for $4 p/ window. 
Explanation:  None required, but I just saved you about 15 million bucks.  Maybe I should be your CFO?  Of course, this job could take awhile.  My kids work kind of slow and one of them is really short.  Another one, I suspect, will not be a very effective window cleaner considering the state of her room and car most days.

How many piano tuners are there in the whole world?

Answer:  It depends on the number of pianos, but let's say there are 15 million pianos, there are 21, 277 piano tuners in the world

Explanation:  If every piano is tuned once per year, and if every piano tuner tunes an average of 3 pianos per day, five days a week, but takes 3 weeks vacation and six sick days, then he can tune 705 pianos per year.  It should be noted, however, that given the economy and the general slackness of most piano owners, who either do not follow the prescribed formula for piano tuning or have even forgotten they own a piano because, although they had high hopes at the time of purchase, it turns out their kid is actually NOT the second coming of Mozart, that at least 20 percent of these piano tuners are unemployed and another 30 percent supplement their income with an additional full-time job, possibly delivering Chinese take-out.  Are you hungry?  I could eat.  Anyway, so that would bring the actual number of full-time piano tuners down to roughly 10,638 world wide.

Design an Evacuation Plan for San Francisco:

Answer:  Have Steve Jobs quickly design and construct an iUniverse app that will allow people to use their macs and iphones to download themselves into a safe alternate internet community until the emergency status has been lifted.  Steve Jobs probably already has iUniverse in progress.  The question is, will we be able to afford it? And would Steve Jobs let us out?

Explain the definition of Dead Beef:

Answer:  Beef that is no longer alive.  It is sometimes used, also, in reference to the Wendy's commercial, "Where's the Beef", which is no longer in use by Wendy's.

Explanation:  I know it can't be that easy, but really, what else could it be if its dead? 

A man pushed his car to a hotel and lost his fortune.  What happened?

Answer:  The man (an elderly chicken farmer) was on his way to the lottery to turn in his multi-mega million dollar ticket.  The ticket was 363 days and 23 hours old because he never checks his lottery tickets, assuming that he will never win, which is just a defeatist attitude, if you ask me, but on that particular day, he was organizing his junk drawer and found the ticket and decided to check it.  When he discovered he was holding the winning ticket, he also discovered that the ticket would expire within an hour.  The lottery office was 50 minutes away.  He hopped into his 1982 ford fiesta and hit the road.  Forty minutes into the drive, his car broke down.  There was a hotel just ahead.  He didn't want to leave the car because he was very attached to it, so he pushed it to the hotel, which took 11 minutes.  The problem with the chicken farmer was that he was too nostalgic and not really very smart.  He was very sweet, however, and when he told his sad story to the valet guy at the hotel, the valet guy felt sorry for him, so he sent him to the bar and asked the bartender to make the poor guy a drink, so the bartender did.  The bartender, a former Vegas dancer, really took a shine to the farmer, and he to her.  That drink turned into dinner, dancing, and a marriage proposal.  They lived happily ever after.  That chicken farmer was the luckiest guy in the world.

Explain a database to your eight-year-old nephew in three sentences:

Answer:  A database is a lot like your Dad's garage.  It has a lot of stuff in it.  But unlike your Dad's garage, when you need something that is in your database, you can actually find it and don't need to stomp around the house cursing and yelling that you've been robbed.

Note to Google:  It would probably make more sense to have my 8-year-old nephew explain databases to me.

Phew, that was intense!  Google, I'll watch the mail, okay? 

World, if you would like the answers to the questions that Google posed (besides mine, I mean), they are also included in the article. 

Chicken out

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Chicken's Secret Garden

Hi World,

On the porch of the house that I don't have, there are well-tended plants on wicker stands, a porch swing, and two overstuffed chairs.  The stone steps leading up to the porch of the house I don't have are wide and welcoming.  I never know who I'll find sitting on them when I step out with my morning coffee to take in the day and enjoy the tropical breeze.

This morning, it was Robin Williams.  Yes. 
And I said, "Gooooooooood mooooooorrrrrrning Robin Williams!"
He said, "Chicken.  It's been too long.  Want to go for a swim?  I brought my trunks.  Like them?"
I said, "Robin.  I adore them! Where did you find twin elephants?"
He said, "Sky Mall.  They're identical.  That's rare with elephants"
I wanted to ask if they were African elephants, but I thought that might sound racist, so I bit my tongue.  My tongue was pissed.  It hates when I do that.
Nobody likes a biter.

When I was a puppy, one of my favorite things to do was dig up the neighbor's lawn. It wasn't that I didn't like the neighbors. It was that I really loved their lawn. There was this one spot in the back left corner, by the garage, that was just the right consistency for my little puppy paws.  Also, I'm sure there was something there once; a bone, a dead mouse...I'm not sure, but the smell of that dirt was divine.  I loved to chase tennis balls, too.  I'd chase any ball a thousand miles.  Not frisbees, though.  Frisbees are awkward and they hurt my small mouth. 

Now that I'm an old dog, I don't dig dirt or chase balls.  I spend a lot of time trying to learn new tricks, but it is hard.  Sometimes I get so tired.  When that happens, I take a nap and dream about dirt and balls, but not frisbees.

Tomorrow, instead of going to work, like I would normally do on a Monday, I'm heading West.  I don't really know what direction West is, but what I'll do is, I'll get on I-95, and then I'll keep driving until I find a route sign with a W on it, and then I'll take that exit.  Then I'll just keep taking all the "W" exits I see.  Sooner or later, I'll get where I'm going, wherever that is.  Somewhere West of here.  Although, it probably wouldn't make a difference if I went South.  Or North, although it's cold there.  East would be difficult without a boat.  I'm not a very good swimmer.

Last night, when I woke up during Daylight Savings Time, I looked in the mirror that hangs on my closet door, and I saw an old farm.  It was red, with a roof that sloped further on one side than the other, although that could have been the mirror playing tricks on me, and it had three big barn doors, all painted white with big red Xs.  They reminded me of Mrs. Waits.  She was a little, old woman who lived down the hill from my parents in an old house beside a big yellow barn, with candy cane striped barn doors.  When I was in elementary school, she sometimes substitute taught.  One such day, she told us that her birthday was on Greyhound Day.  Wait.....No.  I mean, Groundhog Day.  I tucked that little tidbit somewhere in my brain, and many years later, when I didn't go to school anymore, I was driving by Old Mrs. Wait's house and I remembered that she was very nice to my older brother, once, and I remembered that Groundhog's Day was tomorrow, and so it would be her birthday, also.  I went to the store and found a birthday card with a cheery yellow envelope, and I signed it, "Love, the Groundhog".  I left it in her yellow mailbox in the middle of the night.  I was probably half baked.  I usually was back then. 

Now every Groundhog Day, I look for Old Mrs. Wait's shadow.

If I could travel back in time, I'd go back to right around the time those white dudes "discovered" America.  In an uncharacteristically unfriendly move,  I would burn their ship so they would have to stay forever and everyone in the homeland would think the ship was lost.  The king would have to write the whole endeavor off on his taxes and the commoners would be angry about this whole New World fiasco the king had signed them on for.  I would teach the stupid white children to fish and hunt and live with the earth, the sky, and the wind. I'd give them moccasins, send them on a vision quest, and hope for the best.  We'd harvest the corn, kill a wild turkey, and give thanks.   

ADDENDUM:  This extra hour, man, I'm so giddy I went for a 40% ripple today!  I wanted to show off the Little Ziggy Super Hero Chicken that my talented facebook friend, Ziggy, made for me.  For that story, you can go here: Little Ziggy's Blog. Thanks again, Ziggy. You rock. Look. He made me a Super Egg, too.  That's Chicken's sidekick, Robin. If he were an Egg, I mean.  Don't tell Pearl.  She'll just get upset.

Chicken out