I do that more often than not. Especially when things move in chaotic speed in my jam packed life. Some people write lists to stay on track; I write lists and then misplace them soon after. It becomes a daily miracle to me that I get as much as I do accomplished. It's just accomplished with crazy fervor.
I've been super sick all week with some hacking cough/cold thing. I won it last Friday night at the RawHide (it was Goth night). I have all sorts of friends, what can I say? They come in all shapes, colors, sizes, and interests. I love that. So Viking Sause, my D&D vampire motorcycle club goth friend invited me to come out "dancing" last friday night. I don't know who actually does a lot of "dancing" at an industrial goth night, but let's just say the music isn't exactly motivational in that department. It might motivate one to sulk in a corner, cowering, and brooding, but dancing it does not.
I had a pretty good time with Viking Sause's friends. This group if comprised of his newly joined motorcycle crew (can anyone say D&D?). All of them were not necessarily into the "goth" scene, which became apparent even through all the black leather they were wearing (protective gear doesn't typically come in fuscia). Most of us spent time on the 3rd floor outdoor covered patio smoking or being engulfed in smoke. This is why I got sick. Too many cloves, too much depressing goth inspired industrial spinning and too many germs in the air.
I'm not sure why I got sick. I wasn't the one making out with strange men. Vicking Sause did-though I think he knew the guy. Which was strange but not that strange. It's funny, when a friend of yours (and a good one) behaves in a way that you've not seen to date. Interesting that he makes out with boys-even if it's on a dare. But the point is, Vicking Sause did not get sick- I did. Dammit.
So I've been nursing this hacking for a week and I haven't been inspired to write and when I get the chance to, I realize that I'm rusty and my brains need a tune up and my fingers need some exercise.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Thursday, March 10, 2005
mr. jackson and the monkey factory
It's sad to read the news. Sad, horrifying and generally depressing. The way it's delivered does nothing to uplift the human condition. It's sole purpose, I suspect, is to bring fear, shame and a sense of an imminent apocolyptic demise of the human race to all that digest it. I hate feeding that engine. I don't read the news or watch the news. I don't even give into the temptation of reading the message taped to the leg of the carrier pigeon that landed next to me. In tiny lettering, I saw the letters C.N.N. That was enough; I backed away slowly.
But this morning, due to the overtly large "VENTE" coffee I was consuming (sorry Peet's, I'd rather support you, but the damn line at your Battery/Market location was sooooo long this morning, it would have made me that much more late to work-God knows, I already have enough trouble getting there anywhere near to "on time"), and the extra sugar from the huge piece of sugar cookie I was shoving into my mouth, I somehow stayed too long on MSN's homepage. Didn't proceed right to hotmail, as I usually do.
On no, I stayed long enough to see a pathetic picture of Mr. Jackson, with his crazy cartoon nose and permanently painted on "surprised" eyebrows, on the front page. I had to stay and see what the utterly disturbing image of what once was a man was up to today. You'd think the guy doesn't have it "bad" enough. No. He has to make it worse. He has to get himself issued a warrant for his arrest for his spindley stick ass of a potential weirdo child molestor! Nice going Michael. They are going to send the White Bronco on out for you, repleat with cameras so they can televise the chase.
Citing "back problems" so intense he was at the hospital while missing his court appearance, he has an arrest warrent issued by viper killer judge. Of course, as the bell tolls the one hour Mr. Jackson has left to appear in court, he is seen shuffling in with slippers and pajama bottoms. If only Elizabeth Taylor can see you now! She would faint darling. You have to keep up appearances in the public eye! Oh, so horrifying this display.
Personally, I have no leanings to either side regarding his guilt or innocence. I don't know what he might have done or not. All I know is that he's a recluse (don't blame him), plays with monkeys and small children (whatever, that's open to loads of interpretation, but so is everything) and happens to live on his own private Idaho, Disneyland I mean. I see he loves stuffed animals too. And eye of knewt. I don't know and neither does anyone for that matter. We are silly ass audience members on some stupid gameshow of life. We are fed a load of shit and we get to win prizes to placate the one part of our rational minds that questions the situation. It's such crap.
So, I'm feeling pretty annoyed that ol' Jacko is on display in his jammies, that he totally fucked himself by not appearing in court when he could have just called and that I've dedicated more than just my morning cup of coffee to reflect on one more piece of media hype that has successfully penetrated through the cynicism I have carefully built up.
But this morning, due to the overtly large "VENTE" coffee I was consuming (sorry Peet's, I'd rather support you, but the damn line at your Battery/Market location was sooooo long this morning, it would have made me that much more late to work-God knows, I already have enough trouble getting there anywhere near to "on time"), and the extra sugar from the huge piece of sugar cookie I was shoving into my mouth, I somehow stayed too long on MSN's homepage. Didn't proceed right to hotmail, as I usually do.
On no, I stayed long enough to see a pathetic picture of Mr. Jackson, with his crazy cartoon nose and permanently painted on "surprised" eyebrows, on the front page. I had to stay and see what the utterly disturbing image of what once was a man was up to today. You'd think the guy doesn't have it "bad" enough. No. He has to make it worse. He has to get himself issued a warrant for his arrest for his spindley stick ass of a potential weirdo child molestor! Nice going Michael. They are going to send the White Bronco on out for you, repleat with cameras so they can televise the chase.
Citing "back problems" so intense he was at the hospital while missing his court appearance, he has an arrest warrent issued by viper killer judge. Of course, as the bell tolls the one hour Mr. Jackson has left to appear in court, he is seen shuffling in with slippers and pajama bottoms. If only Elizabeth Taylor can see you now! She would faint darling. You have to keep up appearances in the public eye! Oh, so horrifying this display.
Personally, I have no leanings to either side regarding his guilt or innocence. I don't know what he might have done or not. All I know is that he's a recluse (don't blame him), plays with monkeys and small children (whatever, that's open to loads of interpretation, but so is everything) and happens to live on his own private Idaho, Disneyland I mean. I see he loves stuffed animals too. And eye of knewt. I don't know and neither does anyone for that matter. We are silly ass audience members on some stupid gameshow of life. We are fed a load of shit and we get to win prizes to placate the one part of our rational minds that questions the situation. It's such crap.
So, I'm feeling pretty annoyed that ol' Jacko is on display in his jammies, that he totally fucked himself by not appearing in court when he could have just called and that I've dedicated more than just my morning cup of coffee to reflect on one more piece of media hype that has successfully penetrated through the cynicism I have carefully built up.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Euro-Troll goes to the East Coast
I work for this company that's HQed in Maynard, MA. Somewhere in the farmland of western Massachusetts. The company's office is in an old refurbished mill in small town East Coastmerica. It's not the midwest, but it might as well be. Town center, old milling town saved from extinction by the tech industry, everyone commuting in from some suburb closer to Boston or to NH. The commute is not so horrible I guess. You get to drive by pumpkin patches and marshes and a lot of lettuce fields. Could be worse on the eyes.
There's even a used CD store, a 2nd hand clothing store (very alternative!) and a decent coffee shop-for the East Coast. Decent is hard to come by when you're flanked on all sides by mediocrity. Dunkin' Donuts and Denny's. We have IHOP (what exactly is International about this pancake house?), highways, lots of fat ass, bad accents, aggressive drivers and a lot of spill over from NY. That doesn't bring any more harmony to this disharmonious place. Especially since the SOX kicked ass. No harmony. We know NY is cooler. It's not cool to say you're from Massachusetts. To say you're from Boston, well, people think Matt Damon, Ben Affleck. People think Boston Public schools and the Irish mafia.
I made this most recent trip w/ just Adam, my coworker. He's another disgruntled Client Account Mgr. Adam is from San Jose. He's a weird disharmonious mix of Jew, Italian and Austrian. A collosal 5' 5' and angry of course. Did I mention bald? He shaves his head not cause it's in or looks cool, but 'cause in order to look cool, he has to. He's also nervous and neurotic. Clinical medication variety. Someone should prescribe them. If he were a dog, he'd be a chihuahua-rabid and loud, frothing at the mouth and skiddish. He's deaf too. Not that I'm having any sort of negative opinion about that, he should just warn people. "Hey, the reason I can't hear you sometimes is 'cause I'm deaf." It would maybe solve a lot of issues and tension between us.
The boss hates him. That's what he thinks. I'm inclined to think he's right. He's the kind of guy a woman wants to either be friends w/ or never deal with. I am on the fence at any given moment. Maybe it's his stupid assumptions he makes about the East Coast. His family is from Philly, but he's lived his entire life in the fucking pit of a suburb south of SF. With his Vespa in storage in his mom's garage and a beater Porsche he's been trying to unload forever on Craigslist. He says stupid things like "before I came out here, I tried to read a little about Maynard to know what to expect. But, you never can really be prepared." What the fuck was he expecting. It's a goddamn New Englad milling town. People live in houses. It snows. They drive. San Jose has all those things, minus the snow. But he seems mystified.
He's so typically American, for all of his travels to Italy and Europe. On the ride here this morning, we had Vince in the back seat getting drilled by euro-troll about the comparisons of Holland vs. the US. The US is a big place. Doesn't even compare with itself very often. I'm glad I was wearing my sunglasses. My eyes were rolling. I sound like a bastard stuck up beotch. I didn't say anything-well, I tried not so sound too annoyed. "Wow, so do the Danish go to the bathroom as often as they do here in the states?" His species would have become extinct many times over if we were dinosaurs. Thanks to evolution and technology, euro-troll will live long and ask annoying questions into the next millenium.
There's even a used CD store, a 2nd hand clothing store (very alternative!) and a decent coffee shop-for the East Coast. Decent is hard to come by when you're flanked on all sides by mediocrity. Dunkin' Donuts and Denny's. We have IHOP (what exactly is International about this pancake house?), highways, lots of fat ass, bad accents, aggressive drivers and a lot of spill over from NY. That doesn't bring any more harmony to this disharmonious place. Especially since the SOX kicked ass. No harmony. We know NY is cooler. It's not cool to say you're from Massachusetts. To say you're from Boston, well, people think Matt Damon, Ben Affleck. People think Boston Public schools and the Irish mafia.
I made this most recent trip w/ just Adam, my coworker. He's another disgruntled Client Account Mgr. Adam is from San Jose. He's a weird disharmonious mix of Jew, Italian and Austrian. A collosal 5' 5' and angry of course. Did I mention bald? He shaves his head not cause it's in or looks cool, but 'cause in order to look cool, he has to. He's also nervous and neurotic. Clinical medication variety. Someone should prescribe them. If he were a dog, he'd be a chihuahua-rabid and loud, frothing at the mouth and skiddish. He's deaf too. Not that I'm having any sort of negative opinion about that, he should just warn people. "Hey, the reason I can't hear you sometimes is 'cause I'm deaf." It would maybe solve a lot of issues and tension between us.
The boss hates him. That's what he thinks. I'm inclined to think he's right. He's the kind of guy a woman wants to either be friends w/ or never deal with. I am on the fence at any given moment. Maybe it's his stupid assumptions he makes about the East Coast. His family is from Philly, but he's lived his entire life in the fucking pit of a suburb south of SF. With his Vespa in storage in his mom's garage and a beater Porsche he's been trying to unload forever on Craigslist. He says stupid things like "before I came out here, I tried to read a little about Maynard to know what to expect. But, you never can really be prepared." What the fuck was he expecting. It's a goddamn New Englad milling town. People live in houses. It snows. They drive. San Jose has all those things, minus the snow. But he seems mystified.
He's so typically American, for all of his travels to Italy and Europe. On the ride here this morning, we had Vince in the back seat getting drilled by euro-troll about the comparisons of Holland vs. the US. The US is a big place. Doesn't even compare with itself very often. I'm glad I was wearing my sunglasses. My eyes were rolling. I sound like a bastard stuck up beotch. I didn't say anything-well, I tried not so sound too annoyed. "Wow, so do the Danish go to the bathroom as often as they do here in the states?" His species would have become extinct many times over if we were dinosaurs. Thanks to evolution and technology, euro-troll will live long and ask annoying questions into the next millenium.
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