Jeff

We’re considering going to West Virginia for Thanksgiving, after all.  Toney’s supposed to be finished with her training class, or whatever, around 3:30 on Wednesday, and we might just go for it and leave as soon as she gets home.

It’s a long trek, however, and would mean we probably wouldn’t get to my parents’ house until 1 am, or later.  Not really a problem, but driving that time of night, during this time of year, isn’t exactly ideal.  Ya know?

There’s a stretch, on Interstate 68 I think, that seems to be covered in snow year-round.  And it’s completely secluded, with nothing but open fields as far as the eye can see.  If we had some kind of problem out in that potbelly-stove country, they probably wouldn’t find our skeletons until spring.

Plus, there’s a big honkin’ hunk of I-79 in West Virginia where cell phones become nothing but a prop.  And, have you ever seen Wrong Turn, about a group of people who have car trouble in that general part of the country?  Well, I have.

Then there’s the possibility of fog.  Rain and snow don’t scare me, but fog sure does.  When I pass through a patch of that stuff while driving, my sphincter cinches-off so tight a single strand of optical fiber couldn’t be fed through there.

Yeah, but it’s funny.  If it were just me, I’d make the trip without even thinking about it.  In fact, when my mother was having medical issues a few years ago, I went back and forth during January and February, on a regular basis.  But it makes me nervous when the family is involved.  Having additional responsibilities changes the equation…

But we’ll see how it goes.  If the weather is clear, we’ll probably do it.

And speaking of fog…  Years ago Mark Maynard and I were driving from San Francisco to Los Angeles, on Highway 1.  That’s the winding two-lane road along the coast of California, with spectacular mile-high rock cliffs overlooking the ocean.  And, in many places, no guard rails….  Gulp.

We were in a rented van (a long and ridiculous story), and went through a miles-long stretch of thick fog.  And the fact that I managed not to shit my pants that day is one of my proudest achievements.

We almost literally couldn’t see beyond the hood of our vehicle, and weren’t 100% sure we were in the correct lane, or even on the road.  And that’s no good, even in the best of situations.  But when you’re riding on a highway that features a 200-foot drop onto jagged rocks, as an excuse for a shoulder, it’s no good, supersized.

But we made it, needless to say.  And when we were finally in clear sunlight (whew!) Mark pulled over and… picked up some hitchhikers.  To counteract the sudden decrease in white-knuckle terror, I guess.

There is no way in hell I’d ever do such a thing.  Pick up a hitchhiker along a highway?  No freaking way.  But on that day my input was not requested, and Mark allowed three people, two guys and girl, all approximately 17 years old, into our van.

At least one of them could’ve used a good pit-scrubbin’, there was a distinct tang in the air, and I was convinced one of those guys would eventually reach over the seat and wrap a wire around my neck.  That’s what I thought about the whole time:  a wire around the neck.

But we dropped them off at a convenience store somewhere, without incident.  Yes, what a memorable day…   If one of those young soapless strangers had just had a snake draped across his shoulders, like Alice Cooper, it would’ve been the full phobia combo platter.

Have you ever picked-up a hitchhiker?  Or, conversely, have you ever hitchhiked yourself?  Do you have a story to tell on that subject?  Use the comments link below.

Needless to say, I have nothing else to add…

I placed a rather large order with the T-Shirt Lady yesterday, and should be able to start mailing shirts in about two weeks.

Thanks to everyone who pre-ordered, I really appreciate it.  And if you didn’t, not a problem. I’ll have plenty of extras.  But if you want them by Christmas, you should probably order soon.  As they say on Dr. Dre Behind the Music, “Know what I’m sayin’?”

Here’s the link, once again.  Are you getting the feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of that link?  Yeah, me too.

And I need to call it a day, my friends.  I have to go to work, and my car has roughly an eyedropper of gasoline in the tank.  I guess I should fill it up?

Yeah, and since I’ll be at the gas station anyway, perhaps I’ll buy one of those hyper-extended bonus cans of Pringles, and eat the entire column while in transit?  You know, since I’ll be at the gas station anyway.

See you guys tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker.

Let’s start this one with a little experiment…  I’d like to test the power of persuasion, and will need your field reports to gauge the success of it.  Ready?  OK…

You have to pee.  Think about it for a second, really stop and think.  You need to pee.

Did it work?  Let me know in the comments, and thanks for your dedication to scientific research.

Remember how I recently went ’round and ’round with a “well-known electronics chain?”  If not, you can read about it here.  In a nutshell the store-level employees were dumbasses (my interpretation of events), and I ended up buying a computer through the company’s website, to avoid further dealings with said shitpouches.

The only problem was the financing.  They were offering eighteen months same-as-cash at the store, but not online.  So I spoke with someone in their customer service department, explained the situation, and they gave me the same deal.

I knew it would be a problem, though.  In fact, here’s how I ended the original rant:

But how much you want to bet I have many, many hassles with the financing? Anyone care to take that bet? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Indeed, when we received the first bill for my new NASA computer, they had it listed as free financing through the end of 2008 only.  Not exactly eighteen months, right?  It was all so predictable, my hand didn’t even whip through my hair.

A few days ago I called them up again, equipped with detailed notes and the “case number” identifying the conversation in which the original promises had been made.

And they didn’t seem surprised, either.  In fact, I suspect they did it on purpose.  The free financing was immediately adjusted to eighteen months, then the woman tried to sell me a bunch of additional crap I don’t want or need.  Grrr…

Am I wrong to be irritated by this?  Their store people suck a bent one, they make me promises on the phone, the promises aren’t kept, and then they try to up-sell me when I call to get it straightened out?

Stay down, hand.  Just stay down…

That store’s main competitor, who is even terribler still, is having all manner of financial troubles.  I’m sure you’ve read about it in all the virtual papers, no need for me to specifically name them…  I think they closed a bunch of locations recently, and filed for bankruptcy.

And the reasons aren’t too hard to figure out. They never had sale items, and I mean NEVER.  You could be there when the place opened on Sunday, the day the weekly flier was distributed, and they wouldn’t have what you came for.  Or you could wait until the end of the week, it didn’t matter.

That made me crazy.  Plus, the employees were an infuriating mix of aggressive sales weasels (when you weren’t planning to buy anything), and uninterested big-pants idiots wearing pearl necklaces and ludicrous facial hair (when you actually needed help).

However…  Last Sunday they advertised the GPS unit Toney and I want, for a ridiculously low price.  It was listed as Black Friday Prices Now!  And it was a damn good deal.  The thing usually sells for $299, but is sometimes on sale for $249.  They had it for $189.

So, being a glutton for punishment, I went over there (again).  And it was an amazing thing to behold.  Everything had changed.

There was a greeter by the front door, who was friendly without being pushy.  And as we made our way into the belly of the store everyone wanted to assist us, bending over backwards to be helpful.  Plus, they all looked like regular folks.  What did they do with the sullen assholes with Rolling Rock bottle caps embedded in their earlobes?  I don’t know, and don’t care.

And the most amazing part?  They actually had the GPS units we’d come for, seven or eight of them.  I couldn’t believe it; I almost dropped a rectal plate.

When we went to the front to pay there were lines at every register.  So a manager (I think) came rushing over, and offered to ring us up in customer service.  It was a completely new experience.

Who knows?  If they’d started treating people with respect ten years ago, they might not be fighting for survival now.  It’s amazing what desperation can do, it really is.

And I need to cut this one a little short; the boys are home half-day from school, and it sounds like a rock concert in the middle of a Chuck E. Cheese in here.

I’ll leave you now with a question about “comfort TV.”  Recently we spoke about comfort food, something you turn to that somehow has the power to make everything seem OK in the world.  Even when it isn’t.

I think there are certain TV shows with the same power, and for me it would be The Andy Griffith Show, Green Acres, and stuff like Gilligan’s Island.  All very familiar, innocent, and goofy…  What about you?  Are there any television programs which scratch that particular itch for you?

In addition to TV, I also turn to old time radio, and specifically Jean Shepherd.  When I’m stressed at work (which is happening more and more), I turn to Jean and he somehow takes the edge off.  I cling to my iPod like a life preserver…

So, there ya go.  If you have anything on this subject, or any subject for that matter, tell us about it in the comments.

And I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Pre-order your Surf Report shirts!

Tomorrow I’m going to take a look at the pre-orders, and give the T-Shirt Lady a call.  I need to provide her with quantities, by size, so we can get the proverbial ball rolling on Surf Report Shirts v.4.0.  So, if you want one, and haven’t already done so, today or tomorrow morning would be a fantastic time to place yer order.

Here’s the link, with international prices added.

And if you’re having a difficult time deciding on whether or not we’re worthy of such a purchase, check this out.  I’ve been recommended for a position in the new Obama Administration!  So, there.  Place your orders today.

Last night at work I introduced myself to a new employee, and here’s how the conversation went:

Me:  Are you Jennifer?
Her:  Yes.
Me:  Hi, I’m Jeff.
Her:  Oh, Jeff Strawberry?
Me:  What?
Her:  Isn’t your name Jeff Strawberry?
Me:  No, it’s Jeff Kay.
Her:  Oh, I thought it was Strawberry.

WTF?  What in the hand-tooled hell?!  My paranoid brain started wondering if people might be calling me Jeff Strawberry behind my back, and she believed it was actually my name.

But why?  Why in God’s name would someone call me such a thing?  Is my head shaped like a strawberry?  I checked it out in the mirror, and just can’t see it.  Does my shampoo smell like strawberries?  Of course it doesn’t; I’m not a thirteen year old girl.

I’m completely baffled.  Any ideas?

This is an exciting anniversary, my friends.  Exactly one year ago today I installed three 5-year light bulbs above our counter tops in the kitchen.  I was convinced they wouldn’t last three months, and created an icon on the homepage to illustrate the fact.  Yes, I was being a smart-ass…

Previously I’d been switching-out those damn things every two weeks, it seemed.  And they’re not regular-sized bulbs, either.  They look like the one pictured, and cost upwards of five dollars each.  There was almost literally never a day when all three were working at the same time, and it made me crazy.

Toney suggested we buy some of those weird Nancified bulbs, that have to warm up like a 1968 television.  And, needless to say, I was skeptical.  They were even more expensive, and represented things I didn’t want to be associated with.  I was worried it might lead to clothes made of recycled windshield wipers and flip-flops, and a 40-gallon compost tumbler on the deck.

But I was wrong, I admit it.  I still don’t believe those bulbs will last five years, but they’ve already exceeded my expectations.  We even bought some for outside, and they’ve kept me off the ladder for months on end.

Yet, I’m still wearing good ol’ sweatshop clothes from the Pacific Rim.  And how cool is that?!

A few days ago we received the Sam’s Club holiday catalog in the mail.  Following are a few of the items being offered this year:

An “electric super car” from a company called Hybrid Technologies.  0 to 60 in 5 seconds, they say.  Buyers will get to travel to Los Angeles and test it out on a race track, then Sam’s will ship it to wherever you live.  Price: $100,000.

Or, if that’s a little rich for you blood, why not give someone a speaking role on As The World Turns for Christmas?  They’ll get to travel with another person of their choice to NYC, stay at a luxury hotel, ride around in limos, and appear on a soap opera.  For only $13,500.

Or, you can buy a Kenny Chesney concert “experience” for four, priced at $9900.  It includes airfare for four to Dallas, limo service, luxury hotel rooms, concert tickets, a “photo opportunity” with the star, and an autographed guitar.

Last year I think Sam’s offered a full-sized passenger jet for sale, but I don’t see anything that extravagant this time around.  Must be the weak economy?  I don’t know.

Last week we found out we won’t be able to go to West Virginia for Thanksgiving, after all.  It’s becoming a holiday tradition.  Every year, it seems, we tell my parents we’ll be there, and cancel.

But I swear we’re not doing it on purpose.  Shit just keeps coming up.  Last year, for instance, I started my new job (on November 20 — another anniversary on the horizon), and we had to pull the plug.

This year Toney has to attend a mandatory training session on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so dat’s dat.  Our only option would be to travel on Thursday, and it’s not something we want to do.

Kinda sucks.  I was looking forward to it.  But we’ll make the best of it here, as usual.  It shouldn’t be the worst Thanksgiving ever.  At least I hope not.

The worst I can remember, probably doesn’t seem all that bad when written down like this.  But it sucked big time when I was going through it.

When I moved out of my parents’ house for the first time, I also left the state.  I went to Greensboro, NC, in September of 1984 (I think).   I took a job as a stocker at a grocery store, and hated it all the way down to my skeleton.  But the pay was good, much more than I was able to make in WV.

That first Thanksgiving, just a few months after I’d left home, I had to work and wasn’t able to get back to Dunbar.  I spoke to my parents on the phone, and they were having a full-house, as usual.  My Mom was busy cooking and preparing everything, and my Dad was getting the place ready.

I was wracked with homesickness, hating that stupid job, and feeling like I’d made a gigantic mistake leaving home.

I had dinner at Shoney’s, who were serving the traditional Thanksgiving meal, and the waitress wasn’t even the motherly type.  She was some skinny skank who didn’t give a single-dingle about me.

In fact, I remember getting into some kind of low-grade argument with her.  Something to do with pumpkin pie.

It was horrible.  I knew nobody, was stuck in an unfamiliar town, sitting in a family restaurant with other peoples’ families, and being served my holiday meal by a junkie hag.  I’ve been depressed plenty of times, but that one stands out as a highlight.

What about you?  What’s your worst Thanksgiving ever?  Tell us about in the comments.

And I’ll be back with more of this crapola tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker.

The Big Notebook of Fun is picked clean, my friends.  All that’s left, at this point, is a collection of questionable random items.  So, that’s what I’ll be serving today:  leftovers for dinner.  Disappointing, I know.  But sometimes it turns out to be the best of meals.  I’m making no promises, of course, but that’s the way it goes sometimes.

When I’m at work my cell phone gets no reception whatsoever.  As soon as I pass through the front doors I might as well be holding a deck of cards to my head.  So I just leave it in my jacket pocket.

And it’s a funny thing…  When I leave, at 1:30 am, that thing is often shockingly hot, with the battery run down.  A few days ago it was completely dead, and I felt naked driving home without a functioning phone.

It’s not the battery; the thing holds a charge like a champion.  And it’s not the phone; my old one behaved the exact same way.

What the hell?  Any ideas why this might be happening?  Is it searching and searching and searching for a network?  Is that the problem?  Or does it have something to do with the Russians and the Red Chinese?  Any input would be appreciated, because I’m leaning toward international espionage and various conspiracy theories, at the moment.

I was in the hipster record store a few days ago, and bought the new Ryan Adams CD.  While paying, I noticed a counter display filled with the new AC/DC.  Since it’s supposed to be a Wal-Mart exclusive, I asked the guy how they managed to get their hands on it.

And it was another of those Sunshine moments.  The guy was a complete dick, and gave me a sarcastic, dismissive answer.  You know, like it’s 1979 and their business model still makes sense…

Pissed me off.  I was just making conversation, and was completely friendly about the whole thing.  Why the attitude?  If he didn’t want to tell me, he could’ve just said something like, “That’s top secret.  They’d kill me if I told.”

Yeah, I have a suspicion I’ll feel a little less guilty next time I shop at Best Buy, to save three bucks.

When did the entire population of Earth go asshole?

Speaking of music, I’ve been plugging holes in my CD collection.  Today I ordered Sweets From A Stranger by Squeeze, for $3.50.  And a couple days ago I picked up a used copy of Thin Lizzy’s Johnny the Fox, for four bucks.

Since I’m using The Big iPod as a giant jukebox, I can’t stand having incomplete representations of important artists.  Know what I mean?

But I’m often only interested in a certain era, instead of the full-blown history of a band.  Like with Squeeze, I only care about the early albums, before they broke up and started talking shit about each other.  The albums that came later, after the money ran out, will not have a spot on the (obscure iCarly reference alert!) PearPod.

So, you see, my mental illness isn’t quite as bad as it might originally seem.

The iPod…  Is it the greatest gadget of the recent past?  It’s gotta be way up there, right?  It, and the DVR.  Those two things have genuinely improved my life.  What else, besides computers and cell phones (they don’t count, because I say so), would you add to the list?  What gadget or invention of the recent past has made your life better?

How about the Roomba?  Have any of you ever used one?  I like the concept, but I’ve never actually seen one with my own eyes.  Are they any good?  And when are they going to release one that mows the lawn?

Also, the Kindle…  Anyone have any experience with one of those deals?  I’m intrigued, I must admit.  And once that happens, there can only be but one outcome.

The older Secret keeps roping me into watching extended clips of Dane Cook performing stand-up, on YouTube.  And here’s some video footage of me watching said video footage.  Wow!

Have you ever known a person who has an interest in something, but is self-conscious about it?  So they feel the need to hit you with a lot of pre-scripted justifications, and trivia designed to impress?

In Atlanta I worked with a couple of brothers (actual brothers, not bruthas) who were NASCAR fanatics.  They’d get really passionate about it, which made people want to mess with them.  I remember one guy saying, “What’s so hard about riding in a car?  I do it every day.”  He was just trying to piss them off, and it always worked.

It led to all sorts of red-faced stats, like, “It’s not unusual for a driver to lose forty pounds during the course of a race!” and things along those lines.  It’s a little more than just riding in a car, they’d insist.  Riding, heh.

I also knew a guy who was obsessed with bowling.  And whenever someone made a snarky comment about it, or insisted it wasn’t a real sport, he’d bust out with, “Bowling three games with a fifteen-pound ball is the equivalent of lifting a Winnebago off a deaf baby,” or whatever.

Man, I love that kind of thing…  I might start keeping a list.

Last night at work I consumed a sack of these things.  Yeah, they were OK, I guess.

And check this out.  Some great stuff there, including this one.

This site, dedicated to G.C. Murphy memories, linked to my recent Murphy’s Mart post.  Pretty cool, and I appreciate them calling me a humorist instead of a blogger…

But how did they know our reign of terror took place at the Dunbar store??  I never mentioned the exact location in the update, and am a bit freaked-out right now.  Do you think this might be linked to my phone being hot every night when I get off work?!  Shit!

And speaking of paranoia, my friend Tim is fixated on Richard Nixon.  I think he’s read every book ever written about the man, and there have been a lot of them.

In today’s mail there was a package from Tim that contained a CD filled (filled!) with old Spiro Agnew speeches, in which he supposedly rips “the hippies” a new one.

Do I get the coolest mail, or what?

Also included was this message from Spiro himself.  Man, he seems fired-up.  Wonder who he’s talking about?

Thanks to everyone who pre-ordered the new Surf Report t-shirts already.  I really appreciate it.  And if you haven’t, what are you waiting for?  Here’s your link.

There have been a few questions, and I’ll try to answer them now…

The design will be on the FRONT of the shirt.

It will be professionally silk screened, not ironed-on like Jimmy Carter is president.

If you’re outside the U.S. or Canada, I’m gonna have to charge more.  Sorry about that, but the post office bends me over the proverbial couch when I say “Romania,” or whatever.  I’ll add a new INTERNATIONAL price point tonight.

And I asked for a quote from the T-Shirt lady for long sleeve shirts, and they’re expensive.  I have a feeling, and I could be wrong, more folks would be unhappy with such a scenario, than  would be happy.  I might do a limited run at a later date, if there’s real demand.  Let me know what you think.

Anything else?  Ask away in the comments, and I’ll do my best to provide a speedy answer.  Ahem.

And finally, I have a fresh question from the Stealing Clive Bull‘s Topics desk.  Clive and I would like to know what’s the longest stretch you’ve ever stayed awake, and why.

I don’t have much to offer on this one, I’m afraid.

I do remember my friend Mike spending the night when we were kids, and staying up all night playing poker and watching horror movies.  The following day I felt fine, until we went bowling in the early afternoon.  Suddenly I was having some sort of freaky out-of-body experience; I think I was on the verge of full-blown hallucinations.

What about you?  Have you ever been in a situation where you were forced to stay awake for days on end?  Tell us about it in the comments.

And I’ll see you guys on Monday.

Have a great weekend!

Now playing in the bunker.

Over the weekend we had a birthday party for the younger Secret.  We’d previously made a vow to not engage in such a thing, ever again.  But you know how the memory of pain fades over time…

A local skating rink sets up a dozen or so inflatable bounce houses, or moonwalks, or whatever you choose to call them.  And the things are huge.  One is probably two stories tall, and features a so-called slide that sends kids hurtling end-over-end in a terrifying free-fall.  Yeah, it’s a slide like jumping off a bridge is a slide…

So, that’s where we (Toney) opted to hold this extravaganza, and I must admit, it wasn’t bad.  I was braced for the worst, but got something a little better than that.

The ten or twelve hooligans wore themselves down to a smoldering nub, atop and inside the inflatable compound fracture chambers.  So, by the time we had real interaction with them, they were sapped of most of their maniacal energy.  It worked out well for everyone.

For fifteen dollars a head the kids got to play for an hour, and we had a “party room” for an additional sixty minutes.  There, the younglings were served pizza, chips, and soda by the staff.  We brought a cake (the only outside food allowed), and gift bags for everyone.  It went remarkably well.

A few observations, however…

The party rooms are nondescript cinderblock affairs, and they tried to dress them up by splattering paint all over the walls, and hanging streamers from the ceilings.  And the splattered paint, which was mostly red, made it look like a family had been hatcheted-up in there; it was like the scene of a grisly murder.

Festive!

And the cheese on that “pizza” adhered to my teeth like Super Glue.  I’d never encountered such a thing.  I asked Toney if she was having the same problem, and she couldn’t answer because she was struggling like a cocker spaniel with a Kraft caramel.  I don’t know what kind of cheese that was, but have a feeling it was created in a laboratory somewhere.  Probably New Jersey.

One kid gave the Secret a card with a gift certificate inside, and had drawn a bunch of stuff on the envelope.  I pointed at a confusing rendering of an animal, and asked if it was a turkey or a chicken.  And he said, “It’s a turkey, dummy.  Can’t you see the gobble?”

Dummy?!  I didn’t much care for that.  And what the hell’s a gobble?

The whole place felt like one gigantic petri dish to me.  I worry that I’m slowly turning into one of those freaky germophobes, who open doors with handkerchiefs, and perform complicated jujitsu moves in order to flush urinals with their feet.  But I can’t help it.  It’s a new paranoia coming into bloom.

Plus, the older Secret jumped the gun and handed out gift bags before we’d intended.  Among other things there was a rubber ball inside each of them, and we didn’t want the kids playing with them until they were outside our jurisdiction.  But, because somebody couldn’t follow the rules, projectiles were sailing through the air for the last ten minutes, and one ended up inside a pitcher of Sprite.  Good times.

But overall, it turned out to be one of the better such parties we’ve experienced.  Oh, we’ve hosted a few full-on fiascos in the past…  I highly recommend the concept of wearing everyone out, before sitting down for cake.  I really do.

Afterwards, the four of us went to Ret Lopster for dinner.  The birthday boy was allowed to choose the restaurant, and he likes to deconstruct crab legs with tools.

As usual, I had the New York strip, since I don’t really care for crustaceans and creatures from the ocean floor…  But this time it had a ribbon of fat running through it.  It’s the first time I’ve had anything other than an excellent steak there; they’re usually shockingly good.

Also, I had a Sam Adams Winter Lager, and it wasn’t as kick-ass as I remember it from last year.  It was only OK, instead of outstanding.

I didn’t say it out loud, but it seemed like everything was mildly disappointing during that meal.  And I’m glad I kept it to myself, because everyone else seemed perfectly happy.

A few observations, however…

There was a party seated near us that featured a pair of breathtakingly ugly women.  One had a white streak running through the middle of her hair, like a skunk, and was apparently wearing some sort of radical lift-bra.  Her cleavage was riding high and exploding out the top of her shirt.  Toney said it looked like she had them sitting on a shelf, and that pretty much sums it up.

I guess she was trying to compensate for the fact she had a face like former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill?  I just don’t know.

Behind them was another large party, with an older gentleman at the head of the table.  And at one point the old guy slammed down his knife and fork, and yelled, “So what did I do now?!  What did I do wrong this time?!?”  He was screaming it, and caused the whole place to go silent.

Everybody else at the table shushed him, and he reared his head way back and shouted, “Jeeeesus Christ!”  But I think they got him under control after that; there were no more outbursts.

And while we were leaving we walked past the hostess stand in the front of the restaurant.  Several employees, all apparently teenagers, were standing there talking.  When we passed by, one of them said, “…and he was totally wearing tighty-whities.  I was so embarrassed!”

Yeah, I have no idea…  We just went home, opened up a cuppa two tree Magic Hat Hocus Pocus ales, and gave thanks for it being over.  The Secret had a good day, I think, and we walked away unscathed.  Somewhat poorer, but unharmed.

And that’s a triumph, my friends.

Pre-order your shirts here!