I am not catfood. Jeremy does not get the laptop. Back the hell off.
Yeah, yeah, it's been a while. I apologize. I feel bad -- not bad enough to actually ensure I update regularly, but bad. Oh well. Mom and dad, there are four-letter words and a discussion about porn, so, um, sorry. Welcome back from Mexico, though!
Random bits I kept meaning to blog over the last couple of weeks:
More evidence that I am old
Dawn and a friend of hers and I went to see our quasi-boss Ryan's band Interociter (sorry, can't find the link) at the Double Door as part of contest. Ryan's band went on last, so we had to sit though the preceding six or seven. This was the semifinals, so theoretically their music should have been good. Alas.
Interociter actually rocked. They had discernable melodies, and I got a distinct early Bowie vibe on a couple of songs. Plus, they weren't screaming. Ryan played sax and, oddly, washboard. The bassist had an upright bass. They OWNED the stage. It was great.
Almost every band before Ryan?s was like this:
The first band we saw let us know they were angsty and hardcore because ONE SCREAMED LOW and ONE SCREAMED HIGH. The second one had a bassist who had evidently just come from his job in tech support somewhere, as he was wearing a polo shirt while bang his head. After that, it all started to blur together. One of the more entertaining bits was a hardcore band with a flute -- yes, a flute -- which tried to be deeper than the other bands. This one actually didn't suck, like the first three. However, the lead guitarist/singer had long, flowing, curly hair that he deployed to what I'm sure he thought was great effect. Tragically, when one of the two chicks on stage was singing, hair dude tended to hunch over and wave his head back and forth, looking like nothing so much as Snuffleupagus. I don't think that's what he was actually going for.
We only managed t stay for Ryan's bit because we got drunk and played increasingly risqu? hangman -- using sign language half the time, since we couldn't hear each other talk. That kept us entertained.
At the end of the night, one of the screamer bands won. Kids today. I just don't get their music....
Oh god, I'm old.
Curses!
One of the bands was introduced with something like "I can tell you two things: This band will rock, and you'll hear the word 'fuck' a lot." To which I responded. "Please, honey, I curse more than that at the office." Which Dawn confirmed. Apparently office work brings out the potty mouth in me. I blame having my first real work experience being in a newspaper office and then among British people. Dawn claims she's heard me swear more at the office than she did in Vegas. Well, there was nothing to swear at there -- I was having a good time. In the office, however....
The Scourge of Tech Support
We work in an open-plan office with cubicles. Normally, when that is the case, you try to keep you voice down so you don't disturb the rest of the office. Here, it is not the case.
We all sit across the partition from the tech support guys. They are very much guys, and they are very much annoying. One has this voice that just carries like crazy. He also apparently has a morbid fear of putting his ear to the telephone receiver, and therefore conducts as many conversations as possible via speakerphone. Many of them are with his wife or with someone from whom he is buying a new car. We now know how much money his wife makes, what kind of car he drives, how good he is with a post-holer, his preferred venue for taking his wife to dinner, and much, much more.
He's only the loudest of the crew. The rest are just as bad. I think that I started swearing so much because they mockswear -- they say "frickin'" all the time, as though to sooth our tender sensibilities. However, the loud one has no compunction against saying "She could suck-start a Harley" often and with great vigor. Personally, my tender sensibilities are much more damaged by that image (wouldn't the tailpipe burn your lips? Ba-dum-bum) than the use of the word "fuck" as an expletive.
On Friday, loud boy was gone, so another one decided the office was too quiet. He spent the entire day playing with scissors -- snicksnack, snicksnack, snicksnack, snicksnack, nails on the chalkboard hair rising on the back of my neck for god's sake don't you ever watch horror movies -- until I finally walked over there and sweetly asked him to please stop, so I didn't have to kill him -- in the nicest of all possible ways. He complied, but I don't think I'm very popular on that side of the partition. So be it. My cube-mates applauded me when I got back to my side of the line.
I don't know why this is, but tech guys seem to think they're just dripping with testosterone, and, furthermore, no one with ovaries can handle a computer. We're being plagued with viruses at the moment. Personally, that would indicate we have a lousy tech-support staff -- if they were any good, we'd have better protection. They don't think I should worry my pretty little head about it. They have yet to fix the problem. Grrrr.
Obscenity trial
Listening to On the Media last weekend, I heard a story about the federal government stepping up obscenity trials. Apparently they're prosecuting a porn movie producer not where the movies are produced, in Southern California, but in Pittsburgh. The idea behind prosecuting there is that the producers should be help liable to community standards wherever the movies are available. And, since they can be downloaded or purchased over the internet, they're available anywhere.
I think this is bogus. It's not like the producer is showing the movies on the sides of building in Pittsburgh. If you want them, you have to seek them out. They sound pretty foul to me -- I'm not particularly into simulated rape, thank you very much -- but that just means I won't watch them, or seek them out. What made me laugh, however, was the prosecutor talking about the standard the jury had to use to decide if the material was obscene. The first part was something like "The material is prurient and aimed at baser instincts" or something to that effect. Folks -- it's porn. That's pretty much the definition or porn. It doesn't claim to be anything other than something to which one whacks off. Duh. You can argue that porn shouldn't be allowed, but again, I'd say it's a mater of personal taste (or lack thereof) -- If you don't like it, don't watch it. Me, I tend not to watch it. It's not my thing. If it?s yours, knock yourself out. Please don't do so in front of me, but whatever you do in private to get your jollies, more power to you. Please don't assume all women, or all men, or all farm animals, or all plumbers who've come to fix the sink, or whatever, are willing to re-enact your favorite scenes. But as long as you can distinguish the difference between what's on the screen and what's real, I'm not too bothered.
American Idol
I don't watch American Idol. It kind of freaks me out -- I can't watch without feeling an empathic twinge whenever someone is making a fool out of themselves in front of people. Yeah. yah, I know, they're fame whores who are voluntarily going up there, they deserve what they get, blah blah blah. Like porn, it's not my thing.
Unlike porn, people feel the urge to discuss American Idol at great length and at even greater volume, wherever they are. They expect you to join in the discussion. Well, I will not be drawn into you sick fantasy world, so back off, will you? Bleh.
Anyway, when Jennifer was booted off a couple of weeks ago, there was much consternation and moaning and wailing in this fine city. (Apparently she's from Chicago.) Amy, one of my co-workers who is an otherwise intelligent person and Idol fan, reported that the chick at the bagel store said something to the effect of "It's all fixed. I can't trust anything anymore. I'm not even going to vote for president." Amy swears she was serious.
Oh for.... Look. While I won't deny there are problems with our current electoral system -- witness the guy in the oval Office -- even beginning to compare what happens on a sad-ass TV show with the national elections is enough to make me tear my hair out. American Idol votes are swayed by twitchy, tone-deaf 13-year-olds who can redial and redial and redial until their fingers bleed. In an actual election, you just get to vote once, and you damn well better or you don't get to complain. Gah.
More evidence of the Decline and Fall of Civilization As We Know It: TV edition
The Swan has been picked up for another season. Ew. The WB is an anti-AI show where they take the worst singers in a competition and let America point and laugh as they perform, all the while telling them "No really, you could be a star!" Charmed was picked up for another season, while Angel was canceled. I fucking hate Hollywood.
I'll try to update more tomorrow -- still need to talk about Torch Songs, if nothing else. Short version, no one peeled me a grape. Dammit! But I did see an old friend from college, which rocks. Hi, Raj!
Yeah, yeah, it's been a while. I apologize. I feel bad -- not bad enough to actually ensure I update regularly, but bad. Oh well. Mom and dad, there are four-letter words and a discussion about porn, so, um, sorry. Welcome back from Mexico, though!
Random bits I kept meaning to blog over the last couple of weeks:
More evidence that I am old
Dawn and a friend of hers and I went to see our quasi-boss Ryan's band Interociter (sorry, can't find the link) at the Double Door as part of contest. Ryan's band went on last, so we had to sit though the preceding six or seven. This was the semifinals, so theoretically their music should have been good. Alas.
Interociter actually rocked. They had discernable melodies, and I got a distinct early Bowie vibe on a couple of songs. Plus, they weren't screaming. Ryan played sax and, oddly, washboard. The bassist had an upright bass. They OWNED the stage. It was great.
Almost every band before Ryan?s was like this:
Dude, we're fucking HARDCORE!Oy.
Which you can tell because we say FUCK A LOT!
And at the end of every line we SCREAM!
Because we're ANGSTY
And HARDCORE!
And we know three CHORDS!
AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!
The first band we saw let us know they were angsty and hardcore because ONE SCREAMED LOW and ONE SCREAMED HIGH. The second one had a bassist who had evidently just come from his job in tech support somewhere, as he was wearing a polo shirt while bang his head. After that, it all started to blur together. One of the more entertaining bits was a hardcore band with a flute -- yes, a flute -- which tried to be deeper than the other bands. This one actually didn't suck, like the first three. However, the lead guitarist/singer had long, flowing, curly hair that he deployed to what I'm sure he thought was great effect. Tragically, when one of the two chicks on stage was singing, hair dude tended to hunch over and wave his head back and forth, looking like nothing so much as Snuffleupagus. I don't think that's what he was actually going for.
We only managed t stay for Ryan's bit because we got drunk and played increasingly risqu? hangman -- using sign language half the time, since we couldn't hear each other talk. That kept us entertained.
At the end of the night, one of the screamer bands won. Kids today. I just don't get their music....
Oh god, I'm old.
Curses!
One of the bands was introduced with something like "I can tell you two things: This band will rock, and you'll hear the word 'fuck' a lot." To which I responded. "Please, honey, I curse more than that at the office." Which Dawn confirmed. Apparently office work brings out the potty mouth in me. I blame having my first real work experience being in a newspaper office and then among British people. Dawn claims she's heard me swear more at the office than she did in Vegas. Well, there was nothing to swear at there -- I was having a good time. In the office, however....
The Scourge of Tech Support
We work in an open-plan office with cubicles. Normally, when that is the case, you try to keep you voice down so you don't disturb the rest of the office. Here, it is not the case.
We all sit across the partition from the tech support guys. They are very much guys, and they are very much annoying. One has this voice that just carries like crazy. He also apparently has a morbid fear of putting his ear to the telephone receiver, and therefore conducts as many conversations as possible via speakerphone. Many of them are with his wife or with someone from whom he is buying a new car. We now know how much money his wife makes, what kind of car he drives, how good he is with a post-holer, his preferred venue for taking his wife to dinner, and much, much more.
He's only the loudest of the crew. The rest are just as bad. I think that I started swearing so much because they mockswear -- they say "frickin'" all the time, as though to sooth our tender sensibilities. However, the loud one has no compunction against saying "She could suck-start a Harley" often and with great vigor. Personally, my tender sensibilities are much more damaged by that image (wouldn't the tailpipe burn your lips? Ba-dum-bum) than the use of the word "fuck" as an expletive.
On Friday, loud boy was gone, so another one decided the office was too quiet. He spent the entire day playing with scissors -- snicksnack, snicksnack, snicksnack, snicksnack, nails on the chalkboard hair rising on the back of my neck for god's sake don't you ever watch horror movies -- until I finally walked over there and sweetly asked him to please stop, so I didn't have to kill him -- in the nicest of all possible ways. He complied, but I don't think I'm very popular on that side of the partition. So be it. My cube-mates applauded me when I got back to my side of the line.
I don't know why this is, but tech guys seem to think they're just dripping with testosterone, and, furthermore, no one with ovaries can handle a computer. We're being plagued with viruses at the moment. Personally, that would indicate we have a lousy tech-support staff -- if they were any good, we'd have better protection. They don't think I should worry my pretty little head about it. They have yet to fix the problem. Grrrr.
Obscenity trial
Listening to On the Media last weekend, I heard a story about the federal government stepping up obscenity trials. Apparently they're prosecuting a porn movie producer not where the movies are produced, in Southern California, but in Pittsburgh. The idea behind prosecuting there is that the producers should be help liable to community standards wherever the movies are available. And, since they can be downloaded or purchased over the internet, they're available anywhere.
I think this is bogus. It's not like the producer is showing the movies on the sides of building in Pittsburgh. If you want them, you have to seek them out. They sound pretty foul to me -- I'm not particularly into simulated rape, thank you very much -- but that just means I won't watch them, or seek them out. What made me laugh, however, was the prosecutor talking about the standard the jury had to use to decide if the material was obscene. The first part was something like "The material is prurient and aimed at baser instincts" or something to that effect. Folks -- it's porn. That's pretty much the definition or porn. It doesn't claim to be anything other than something to which one whacks off. Duh. You can argue that porn shouldn't be allowed, but again, I'd say it's a mater of personal taste (or lack thereof) -- If you don't like it, don't watch it. Me, I tend not to watch it. It's not my thing. If it?s yours, knock yourself out. Please don't do so in front of me, but whatever you do in private to get your jollies, more power to you. Please don't assume all women, or all men, or all farm animals, or all plumbers who've come to fix the sink, or whatever, are willing to re-enact your favorite scenes. But as long as you can distinguish the difference between what's on the screen and what's real, I'm not too bothered.
American Idol
I don't watch American Idol. It kind of freaks me out -- I can't watch without feeling an empathic twinge whenever someone is making a fool out of themselves in front of people. Yeah. yah, I know, they're fame whores who are voluntarily going up there, they deserve what they get, blah blah blah. Like porn, it's not my thing.
Unlike porn, people feel the urge to discuss American Idol at great length and at even greater volume, wherever they are. They expect you to join in the discussion. Well, I will not be drawn into you sick fantasy world, so back off, will you? Bleh.
Anyway, when Jennifer was booted off a couple of weeks ago, there was much consternation and moaning and wailing in this fine city. (Apparently she's from Chicago.) Amy, one of my co-workers who is an otherwise intelligent person and Idol fan, reported that the chick at the bagel store said something to the effect of "It's all fixed. I can't trust anything anymore. I'm not even going to vote for president." Amy swears she was serious.
Oh for.... Look. While I won't deny there are problems with our current electoral system -- witness the guy in the oval Office -- even beginning to compare what happens on a sad-ass TV show with the national elections is enough to make me tear my hair out. American Idol votes are swayed by twitchy, tone-deaf 13-year-olds who can redial and redial and redial until their fingers bleed. In an actual election, you just get to vote once, and you damn well better or you don't get to complain. Gah.
More evidence of the Decline and Fall of Civilization As We Know It: TV edition
The Swan has been picked up for another season. Ew. The WB is an anti-AI show where they take the worst singers in a competition and let America point and laugh as they perform, all the while telling them "No really, you could be a star!" Charmed was picked up for another season, while Angel was canceled. I fucking hate Hollywood.
I'll try to update more tomorrow -- still need to talk about Torch Songs, if nothing else. Short version, no one peeled me a grape. Dammit! But I did see an old friend from college, which rocks. Hi, Raj!
posted by SAJ at
12:32 AM
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