In this, my second post on how HR has warped my thinking and made me a nerd, I talk about cable television shows. For my first installment, how HR affects how I watch football, click here. I’m going to start this post with the following statement: You can judge me if you want. I mean, I know I’m about to admit to what some would think are embarrassing television watching habits. But considering the detritus that is on prime time network television these days, I’m pretty sure I can point that condemning finger right back at ‘cha. So there. Anyway, so Madame HR spent a couple of weeks this winter intermittently ailing on the couch. I’m feeling much better now, thank you for asking. But you really shouldn’t ask, cause you know, HIPPA and all that. I mean, I could volunteer the information, and that would be ok, but it would also be TMI. And during this time I watched a lot of cable TV at various hours of the day and night and I had the opportunity to get hooked on shows that I cannot really justify being hooked on, but the hook is there, so I’m living with it. To help, I’m going to filter these shows through my HR colored glasses and see what happens. CSI Miami Reruns=Lessons on how to Build an Effective Team Horatio Caine may very well be the best manager who has ever lived. His voluntary turnover rate is 0%. People in his department don’t quit—they only leave in body bags or handcuffs. I’d kill for turnover like that (literally, death looks better on my turnover report than “hated my manager”). I’m not counting Eric Delco who left to go to Puerto Rico or Tampa Bay or...
HR Has Made Me a Nerd: Fiscal Cliffs, Taylor Swift, Horatio Caine and Pawn Stars—You Figure it Out [HorroR Stories]...
posted by Madame HR
From Antiques Roadshow to Auction Hunters: The Sad Evolution of Garage Sale Porn [California Seething]...
posted by Eric Sims
In more prosperous times, we watched Antiques Roadshow. We sighed an involuntary “awwww” as a dear, sweet old woman from Peoria with pink cheeks and hair like a fluffy white cloud of cotton candy, showed off the sturdy wooden chair that had been in her family for generations with pride and satisfaction like a well-fed grandchild freshly stuffed with warm blueberry pie and vanilla ice cream. Our hearts went pitter pat as we saw not one but BOTH Keno twins standing tall and erect in their matching black suits gleefully eyeballing the chair, barely able to contain their enthusiasm like a pair of gay cartoon crows at the gym in West Hollywood or inappropriately chipper undertakers with a super-fun celebrity corpse (like that contestant from RuPaul’s Drag Race who just dropped dead- what was his name- Savannah something? Come on, I can’t watch EVERY bad TV show. I DO have a life, you know). The suspense grew intolerable as the Kenos enthusiastically described every single aspect of the chair when all we wanted them to tell us was how much the damn thing was worth (“look at these terrific glue blocks on the underside of the seat. These are white ash which was not commonly used in Philadelphia between 1763-1790, but was more typical of Baltimore chair makers from 1750- 1780. We know it’s a Philadelphia chair, though, because of the mahogany scrollwork on the cabriole legs, which was typical of Philadelphia makers in the late 1780’s.”) I DON’T CARE. I DON’T CARE. I DON’T CARE. I DON’T CARE. JUST TELL ME HOW MUCH THE FUCKING CHAIR IS WORTH! Then, when they had said every single possible thing that a human being could conceivably say about a chair (“Notice that one of the threads...