Tuesday, December 30, 2003

Ruddy Ruddy is on holiday

We don't know a lot about Ruddy Ruddy, but we do know one thing: Whether s/he's a Christian or a Jew, s/he goes on Christmas vacation when I do. I'm out of town at the moment (my vacation extending from Christmas Eve until New Year's Day), so I'm not around to check the mail. There are three possibilities as to what's going on in my absence:

1. A little mail is arriving for Ruddy Ruddy, which means a small update upon my return.

2. The mail is just piling up for Ruddy Ruddy, which means a big update upon my return.

3. Lots of mail is arriving for Ruddy Ruddy, but my retarded housemate is throwing it all into the recycling bin, which means a big update about her brutal murder upon my return.

Stay tuned!

Monday, December 22, 2003

Tear down the wall

The world is closing in
Did you ever think
That we could be so close, like brothers?
The future's in the air
I can feel it everywhere
Blowing with the wind of change


It's a momentous occasion, albeit a sorrowful one. The time has come to tear down the Wall of Ruddy Ruddy.

Due to three new people being added to our department at work, there's been a shuffling of the seating arrangements. For reasons that are as yet unexplained, it's meant that I'm being moved out of my current cubicle into a new location that I'm not crazy about.

First, there's no logical reason for me moving, and it even creates more work for those who have to move all the furniture around (which includes me). It is kind of suspicious, however, that the designer who drew up the new floor plan is movin' on up to my deluxe cubicle, while I'm getting turned out and sent to the slums.

Second, I'm giving up a lot of badly needed desk space. I'll have maybe half the space I have now. And although I've been remarked upon as having possibly the tidiest desk in the company, when things get really cooking -- as they have been for the last couple of months -- I use every inch of that space.

Third, I'm going to have my back in front of what may turn out to be a high-traffic area. It's going to be kind of like an alley, and while we can hang out in it with a cooler drinking beers, we're more likely to use it for actually getting in and out of our work area. This means that I'm probably going to be constantly distracted -- perhaps even brushed against -- by people walking by.

Fourth, it's not only not private enough for my needs, but it's in fact right in the middle of the three new arrivals (I'm more or less at the center of a triangle formed by their desks), whose business has little to do with me, so we're going to be driving each other nuts.

Fifth, it's closer to the boss, and situated in such a way that any sound from my area is likely to carry to him, meaning not only that I'll need to start wearing headphones (which I was going to do anyway, as a result of item number four), but that I'll have to keep the chatter to a a minimum, even if it's about work. Needless to say, I won't have a purpose for my guest chair anymore, even if I had the space. It's a pity too -- the guest chair set me apart as being someone.

Sixth, the wall behind me features a gloryhole. Let me explain that: There's a desk behind me, and we're separated by a hutch that has a little hole in it through which electrical cords are fed. However, the primary of this hole so far has been as an aperture through which one of my co-workers has been able to stick a metal ruler and gore me under the shoulder blade with a sharp corner, leaving a nasty, bloody scratch. (The office politics at my workplace aren't bad, but there's more backstabbing than I'd like.)

Last, I don't have nearly as many blank walls to fill up, and with a new tenant due to arrive, the Wall of Ruddy Ruddy obviously cannot remain where it is. So tomorrow, on my last day before my Christmas vacation, I'll have to take it all down so that the new guy can move in on the following day. I hope to bring it back in some form. Perhaps I can use the gloryhole wall, but I'm not crazy about all the traffic likely to be passing through that area. I could put it up on my hutch, but the heavier items have shown a propensity for falling down, and I'm not eager to catch any of them in the face. It doesn't much matter, anyway -- we're changing buildings within a couple of months, so I may end up with a suitable display space once again.

All is not lost in the land of Ruddy Ruddy, however. In fact, today's mail provided me with a rare double-shot of Ruddy Ruddy, and unlike the previous mail (which I've found a bit lacking in luster), these ones are pretty decent.

First, there's a notice from our old friends at the Reader Service Center, who'll you'll remember as the people behind mailing me the Harlequin novels. I've noticed something new about these guys: They're located in Fort Erie, Ontario, and yet they spell "Center" with the American "-er" spelling, rather than the Canadian "-re" spelling. So, patriots, they're not. Cracking it open, I see that they're getting anxious about the lack of payment from Ruddy Ruddy:

DEAR RUDDY RUDDY,

WE'RE FRANKLY SURPRISED -- SURPRISED TO SEE THAT OUR LAST SHIPMENT TO YOU STILL HASN'T BEEN PAID FOR. IS SOMETHING WRONG? IF SO, TELL US AND WE'LL FIX IT.

IF NOT , PLEASE PAY THE ENCLOSED BILL. AS YOU CAN SEE FROM THE STATEMENT, YOUR ACCOUNT IS NEARING A "SERIOUSLY OVERDUE" CONDITION, AND WE CAN'T START SERVICE AGAIN UNTIL YOU'VE PAID THIS BILL. PLEASE.

PAULA MORGAN,
CUSTOMER SERVICE MANAGER
READER SERVICE

I'm not surprised at all that no payment has been made. But in fact, something is wrong: Ruddy Ruddy doesn't exist. What would frankly surprise me is if the Reader Service somehow made good on their promise to fix this problem. I also like the quotes around "seriously overdue." Are they being ironic, perhaps? Are they really not actually "seriously overdue"? That would be my guess, since as far as I'm concerned, no one ordered these things, so payment was never actually "due." Note also the lack of any real threat. They know they can't send a collection agent after Ruddy Ruddy since none of this stuff was ever requested. The best they can do is pout and say, "You're mean, Ruddy Ruddy!" and not send any more free stuff. They can threaten, "Pay us or we'll be sad."

On the actual invoice itself:

PAYMENT NOW 2 MONTHS LATE. IS SOMETHING WRONG? IF SO, PLEASE WRITE THE PROBLEM ON THE BACK AND RETURN. IF NOTHING'S WRONG, PLEASE PAY NOW. IT'S IMPORTANT AND CRITICAL TO BOTH OF US. - PAULA MORGAN.

I do appreciate Paula Morgan's concern. I really do. However, Paula's unfortunately way off base here. Making a payment to these rascals isn't important or critical to me at all. I note that the back of this notice has a different take on things:

"... we want you to know that your continuing satisfaction is very important to us. In fact, THERE IS NOTHING MORE IMPORTANT!"

While I doubt my continuing satisfaction ought to be more important than any number of weighty matters during these troubled times, I can certainly appreciate such a refreshing and agreeable perspective. They just want me to be satisfied, and that trumps all other concerns. You know what really satisfies me? Not giving money to the Reader Service Center. And while me paying them is important and critical to them, by their own admission, it's not as important as my continued satisfaction, which can only be ensured by my not paying them. So, by their own logic, I should not pay them.

Reader Service Center (clicking and whirring): Processing ... Processing ... processing ... sterilize! Sterilize! Sterilize! (self-destruct)

Spock: Logic ... flawless, impeccable logic.

Moving on to the next piece of mail, I notice right away that it's curiously constructed upside-down. The flap is on the bottom, but the printing and the window are in the right place. Also, it's addressed to "Mrs. Ruddy Ruddy", marking not only the first time Ruddy Ruddy has ever actually been referred to by a feminine courtesy title, but also the exciting news that she's a married woman! That would actually make sense, in a way. My last name is Lynn, and if I were to marry a woman named Lynn, she'd be named Lynn Lynn (but only if she were too traditional or too retarded to keep her maiden name).

Oh yeah, and it's from the Chicken Farmers of Ontario. This ought to be good. Let's go through this one line by line, shall we?

Hello!

Thank you for requesting our chicken recipes!


What? I did no such thing!

You are now an official Ontario Chicken Lover.

Finally, my amateur chicken-loving efforts have paid off with recognized, official standing! And hey, wouldn't "Official Ontario Chicken Lover" make a great T-shirt? It's nice and vaguely dirty-sounding. Of coure, one could pair the slogan with an image of that Spaniard who got crushed under a rock while sodomizing a chicken, and it would work that way too.

This means that as a club member, you will receive free of charge, our new Ontario Chicken Lover WING magazine, which will be published twice a year.

More mail is always nice. In fact, Issue #2 came enclosed in thie envelope, and it's good chicken-loving fun.

The magazine contains easy, nutritious family meals as well as entertaining fare and exclusive contests.

Along with thinly disguised ads for chicken, one suspects.

Your trust is extremely important to Chicken Farmers of Ontario and you should know that your name will not be sold or traded to any other company.

Of course not. Why would I suspect otherwise, liar?

In fact, the only way in which you may become an Ontario Chicken Lover and have our literature mailed to you is either by personal request or a friend or relative may send us your name!

Wow! You have to have a reference from a friend or relative? So it's kind of like joining the Freemasons! Except that you can just request to join yourself, which they say that I did, although I didn't.

I would love to hear any comments or suggestions that you may have for future issue, so please feel free to contact me at our office by fax, email or postal mail.

These folks are getting much more brazen, in that they invite me to wreak vengeance on them personally. Plus, they don't use serial commas, and they wave that fact right in my face.

Buon Appetito!
Chicken Farmers of Ontario

Linda J. Glendenning
Consumer Relations & Food Consultant


Okay, "Glendenning" sounds Scottish, and I imagine most chicken famers in Ontario probably speak English, and depending on location, French. So where's the Italian coming from? It doesn't matter. We'll be in touch and I look forward to a lengthy correspondence.

Friday, December 19, 2003

This is your Ruddy Ruddy on drugs

Over the past while, Ruddy Ruddy has been sent a number of drugstore items: shampoos, conditioners, skin cream, maxipads, anti-diarrhea caplets (check out this guy trying not to befoul the hot tub he's sharing with two lovely ladies), and topical creams to treat herpes simplex. However, last night marks the first time, I've received pharmaceuticals I can really abuse: painkillers.

I've got me some Motrin. Specifically, I've got two caplets of Super Strength Motrin IB ready to limit the production of prostaglandin whereever I'm feeling pain. With 400 mg of ibuprofen, it's the strongest over-the-counter pain medication money can buy, and I'm sure it'll come in handy for Ruddy Ruddy's menstrual cramps.

But can I get anything stronger? This gives me a new goal: Get a prescription filled in the name of Ruddy Ruddy.

Tuesday, December 16, 2003

The gorgeous, flowing locks of Ruddy Ruddy

Evidence continues to mount that Ruddy Ruddy is either a girl or a raging metrosexual. Today, I've received some free samples of Dove Hair Care with Weightless Moisturizers. (If you want to take a truly interminable test, may I suggest giving the interactive hair healthometer a whirl?) If I were a girl, I might be digging this Ruddy Ruddy thing even more than I already do, since I'm getting some pretty useful feminine product samples. Alas, they're of limited use to a manly man such as I. Hey Makita Tools! How about sending Ruddy Ruddy a sample of this wicked demolition hammer? Imagine the havoc I could cause by driving home 1,450 blows per minute!

Speaking of construction/demolition work, I did a Google search on "Ruddy Inc." and found out that there was a Bart J. Ruddy, Inc., who was a contractor-builder in Utica, NY back in 1938. and there's a Ruddy's Inc. in Visalia, CA, who's a dealer in kitchen products. Finally, there's an architectural and design firm in New York City called Cetra/Ruddy Inc., which is headed up by one Nancy Ruddy. Note that this firm is important enough to be written up in Inc. magazine, who'll you'll remember as the potential trademark owner of "Inc."

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

The story so far...

In the future, Ruddy Ruddy updates will appear on this site. However, in the past, they appeared on my original blog. To bring you up to speed, here's a directory of all the posts to date, in chronological order:

Ruddy Ruddy
In which I discover a wormhole... (Ruddy Ruddy content extremely minimal)
Ruddy! Ruddy! Ruddy!
Ruddy Ruddy #4
Ruddy Ruddy Redux
Have I always been a bad person?
Six!
My love affair with forbidden books
Cojo
Ruddy Ruddy #8
Who will save Ruddy Ruddy's soul?
Ruddy Ruddy redux, again
Ruddy Ruddy, you'll be a woman soon
Who will save Ruddy Ruddy's soul? (Part 2)
Dude looks like a Ruddy or The US Postal Service comes a’grovelin'
16 Tons
Devil to Rod Roddy: Come on down!
Go west, young Ruddy Ruddy
The Curse of Ruddy Ruddy
Silence is golden ... at least, mine seems to be. (Not much Ruddy here either)
Ruddy Ruddy lives!
Ruddy Inc.
Ruddy Inc. Part II
Ruddy Ruddy doesn't live here anymore

Welcome to Ruddy Inc.

Welcome to Ruddy Inc., your one-stop shop for all the Ruddy Ruddy-related news fit to print.

"But hold on," you might be saying. "What's a Ruddy Ruddy?" Well, the question is not of what, but rather of who Ruddy Ruddy is. And the answer is either:

a) Me

or

b) I have no earthly idea

It all started back when I lived in one of my student houses in Kingston, Ontario. We used to occasionally receive mail from Columbia House addressed to "Ruddy Ruddy." I always thought this was great. Ruddy Ruddy? That's not even a name! It wasn't even "Rudy Ruddy," which could actually be a name. And why "Ruddy"? It seemed like an odd word to pick. It kind of conjured up a face to go with the name, like a red-faced Scotsman so incredibly ruddy, he actually had to be named "Ruddy" -- and not just once, but twice. And at the same time, the whole repeating-name thing seemed foreign and exotic, like "Zsa Zsa" or "Bora Bora." Some previous resident at our address had obviously bilked Columbia House out of free CDs by using a fake name, and really rubbed their faces in it by using the fakest name possible. For this reason, it's the greatest fake name I've ever heard.

Flash forward about half a decade. I moved to Toronto. I settled into a new house. Then one day, I got a package of free coupons addressed to Ruddy Ruddy! I was startled for a moment. Was he following me from house to house? Or rather -- since I was once again getting his old mail -- was I somehow unknowingly following him? Then I vaguely remembered signing up for free stuff at some online site using that name months before, in commemoration of the original fakester.

Since then, I've gotten a whole pile of junk mail addressed to the inscrutable Ruddy Ruddy. Direct mailers, who seemingly can't figure out what demographic he/she might belong to, just play it safe by sending it all my way. I've commemorated my windfall by putting it all on display at work, mounting it on the Wall of Ruddy Ruddy, an ever-growing testimony to the eagerness with which direct mailers will trade your name among themselves. The whole exercise has gained a few fans at work, where I've picked up "Ruddy" as something of a nickname.

And it's got some interested observers outside of work too. Thus, this website.