Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
In the sleepy west / of the woody east
--Sesame Street. My kid is obsessed with it (we got her these two DVDs for Xmas, 40 Years of Sunny Days, which is a sort of best-of from all the seasons), so since we’re about to be driven nutbag by the repetition, we thought we’d TiVo a few current eps. First of all, it’s only on for an unforgivable ONCE a day. Remember when it used to be on like four or five times and you just had to sort of find something else to do while you waited out the horrible, horrible Electric Company and the meh Mr. Rogers in between eps? Secondly, it’s so … earnest now. The skits go on too long, they’re very draggy, there’s none of that punchy quirky jump-in, jump-out stuff they used to just throw in there, there are Serious Lessons all the damn time, Cookie Monster is basically shelved (listen, MY generation wasn’t the one with the childhood obesity problem – I don’t think it’s fucking Cookie Monster’s fault, so why does he get the blame? Why is HE sent off to the Old Age Home for Disgraced and Discredited Puppets? Fuck that noise), and to top it off, all the new characters are these uninteresting babbly little toddler-aged puppets who, like, mispronounce stuff – what kind of thing is that to teach a kid? GOD! Kid Gleemonex lasted about twenty seconds into the ep before she started in with the “I don’t like this one. Mommy, skip it! Want to watch monstos.” (Which is what she calls Grover, et. al. – clearly these fools weren’t monsters, and this crap wasn’t Sesame Street, eh?)
--My gal uncouth heathen linked to this totally awesome sorority rush dress code from some silly bitches at Cornell – srsly, you should read it, it is hysterical, and it totally validates (for the billionth time) my lifelong aversion to this particular subset of female relationship crapola, and besides, for real, girls, you’re at Cornell -- if you really had the mettle for some serious motherfuckin sorority life, you shoulda gone to Vanderbilt or something so give it up. But more importantly to me personally, the tone of this dress code – the intensely personal voice of the writer – put me immediately in mind of this person, the unnamed person from an unnamed part of the Gleemonex past. It could absolutely have been written by this person, with his/her egomania, prescriptive view of everyone else’s life, and unshakeable faith in his/her eternal and thoroughgoing righteousness. It is uncanny. For all I know, that’s actually what he/she is up to right now – yet another completely invented life, this one in Ithaca, New York, raining capricious and terrible misery into the lives of innocent, impressionable teens once again …
Monday, January 25, 2010
Mike Holmes: Godlike man, or actual god in man suit?
Somebody done your house wrong? Some lazy good-for-nothin (probably a lush) piece-a-shit contractor drywall over a gigantic skein of live wire, 130 junction boxes (128 of which are totally unecessary) and a mold spore the size of a goddamn Great Dane? Some idiot with a total of four (4) days as a runner on a convenience-store construction site sign on to double your house's square footage (now that the triplets are on their way and also your widowed gramma is moving in), then absconded with the funds and also sued you for $90K more? Fired a crew that you caught replacing your main roof beam with a bunch of taped-together toilet-paper rolls, but they already cashed your checks and now they're so gone, it's like they never existed (sorta like Ian Ziering)?
Mike Holmes will kick ass, take names, put a goddamn vapor barrier on your basement for pete's sake, and bring his guys in (he knows about ... seventy-five guys) to prevent your family from dying in a fire, being crushed under rotted termite-infested timbers, or living forever in raccoon-piss-smelling squalor. And it will look fucking AWESOME. You will weep.
I'm telling you guys: We watched, I think, eight hour-long episodes this weekend. CANNOT GET ENOUGH. MUST HAVE MORE HOLMES. Holmes for President. Holmes for Emperor. Holmes for breakfast.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wiggity wiggity wack
The Disaffected Yute ponders a moment, then says, "Can I ask you a question?"
I say, "Ahhh ... sure," cause I'm thinking "Great, he's gonna try to sell me something, or proposition me or something weird that I'm not gonna like."
He goes, "Do you have a problem with authority?"
My mental response: "What the fuck?" (Meanwhile he's, like, holding my coffee hostage until I answer.)
My verbal response: "Not ... really, no. I'm not a fan of running into brick walls with my face."
Disaffected Yute: "Cause *I* do. I definitely do. I don't LIKE it, for one thing." And he's starting to get kind of agitated.
So I'm starting to get a hinky feeling -- maybe I've read too much of that "Gift of Fear" stuff, but still. Hinky.
I take my coffee and try to edge away, saying "Yeah, well -- there are usually ways around stuff that don't affect you that negatively," or something like that. My heart is really starting to beat jerkily, I'm getting seriously nervous.
He says with an air of resolve, "I'm gonna DO it."
I'm all, "Uh huh, ok ..." and I go to sit with my kid and my coffee. He's got his back to me now, fidgeting with stuff behind the counter, and my head fills with thoughts of various workplace shootings and whatnot and how this Disaffected Yute with the Problem With Authority might be about to start his killin' spree with the bourgeois bitch with the toddler and the iPhone (I had taken it out of my pocket with the half-formed idea of dialling 911 -- ridiculous? maybe ...). He starts striding back and forth into the storeroom and clanging stuff together, and I tell Kid Gleemonex, "We are going now. Come with mommy." She looks straight at me and -- instead of protesting and screaming NO and clinging to the chair like she normally would if I tried to cut her off after one bite of cookie -- she said "OK, mommy," and hopped down from the chair and we practically ran out of there.
He meets me at the door (good thing he didn't block my way or I woulda clotheslined him) and says, "Is anything wrong?" and I'm all, "Nope, just got a text, my husband's going to be home in just a second, gotta run!" And seriously, we did -- or I did, carrrying the groceries and the toddler, for the four or so blocks home in some ferocious wind, my heart just pounding and my pits all sweaty.
Took me an hour to come down from that, and goddamn did I feel ridiculous after, but -- that was a primal, unstoppable response to perceived (possible) threat on my part, and I could not have shut it down if you all collectively had sat on me, the entire Internets.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Are you EMPLOYED, sir?
Client: You know about final cut pro right?Clients From Hell
Client: I hear there is a button that makes the video go into focus.
Me: What do you mean into focus?
Client: Well I shot video but it’s all out of focus and I hear there is a button in final cut pro that will fix this for me.
Me: I don’t think that’s possible.
Client: I thought you said you knew final cut pro.
Business Guys on Business Trips
Guy A: "For this project, we have a text document with all the copy that will go on our 1,500 page site. We will need to build mockups of all 1,500 pages in Photoshop and update each of them every time there's the slightest text change in the word document."
Guy B: "That sounds like a great way to streamline the work flow and make sure there are no confusions."
- Boss: What's the name of that coffee place?
- Me: Uh, that we ordered from for the meeting?
- Boss: No, no... that coffee place. The one that I like.
- Me: Do you mean Starbucks?
- Boss (snapping fingers): Starbucks! That's it.
Things My Boss Has Said (another Sarah Brown joint)
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Not even a thin layer of gabardine!
Now, this rule, and indeed the very concept of BART pants, came up in conversation at work about five years ago, and this bunch of us who used to have lunch together laughed our fucking FACES off at the time and have continued to bring it up again and again over the years – but no one, and least of all me, could deny the truth and also the practical necessity of the BART pants rule.
Because, people: BART is fucking horrible. The seats are all cloth … unsterilizable, un-wipeable woven cloth that’s been in use for decades. Decades of SHATNER-KNOWS-WHAT getting rubbed into them – general Homeless Person Funk, specific human body emissions material (whether in gas, liquid, or solid form), various cooties and vermin, substances which cling to the bodies and clothing of persons from twelve-cat or ferret/snake households, etc. Cleaning is a joke – there’s not a seat or a seatback untouched by a Mystery Stain, a schmear of something it really doesn’t bear thinking about if you don’t want to turn into some sort of housebound manic phobic who bathes in hand sanitizer and shaves her head to make it easier to do a full decon every hour on the hour.
So this past weekend, you get a bunch of dumbasses think it’s funny to go pantless on BART, as part of a worldwide super-hilare stunt of riding transit sans pantalones.
Jesus H. W. SHATNER in a frilly metallic thong with the hairy bits hangin out, y’all!
First of all: Are you people STUPID or something? Do you know what you’re exposing yourselves to? Did you give this any fucking thought at all?
Secondly: Do you numbnuts idiots have any idea what you’re exposing US to? Innocent citizens – working, taxpaying motherfuckers – forced to share airspace with your junkular regions! I don’t live in a nudist colony or goddamn Brazil or wherever for a reason, you exhibitionist fucktards! Find another way to get your jollies. GOD!
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
I got cake like ...
Is anyone else having trouble letting go of the “Jammies!” video from SNL last week? I woke up at 4:12 a.m. Monday morning, unable to force the ol’ brain needle to skip this track – kept seeing Franco bending the glo necklace, looking around all confused … thinking of “Pills! Pills! Everyone must take at least one pill!” … then the bloody carnage at the end … it’s real weird, y’all.
COME, COME, NUCLEAR BOMB
Speaking of real weird: My friend the Mick sent me a Holiday Card from her law firm. I’ll address this to her directly: OK, so I got this one in January, which is a real improvement over getting the Holiday 2008 one in October 2009, so yay USPS! But the thing is, though I did (and still do) fear the Floating Wreath of Doom on 2008’s missive, I am much more cowed by the half-second-after-the-blast hydrogen-bomb glow of the aught-nine edition. This is the photo taken in the fraction of an instant before the trees all blow toward me and I’m vaporized. Well played, [Law Frim], well played.
IT’S LIKE A THING FROM THE FUTURE, LIKE THE LIQUID METAL TERMINATOR FROM T2 ONLY NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU
I hardly know how to say this, so I’m going to gank the words from the fabulous Blabbermouse:
So. I got an iPhone.
I GOT AN iPHONE!
TRA-LAH-la-LAH-LAH YEAH BITCHEZZZZ!
Hot damn, these things make you a bad wife.
She’s right, as always. I have no idea what went on in my house after I opened this giftie at like 9:30. No clue. But so why now, and not at xmas? Cause today my birfday, y’all! And with that, I’ll conclude this post with a little trip in the wayback machine:
SOMETHING I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO TELL MY 26-YEAR-OLD SELF, NOT THAT I WOULD’VE LISTENED TO ME:
Girl, you are about to go to the Front Room and celebrate today’s birthday by drinking a truly obscene amount of beer with Mr. Gleemonex, the Smeefers, Stinking Kevin, the Asian Sensation, and … um, some other people, maybe Lebowski, I forget who all. Point is: $2.00 pitchers, y’all. So here’s an idea: why don’t you plan ahead and take TOMORROW off? You’re not going to, are you? All concerned about the amount of PTO you have in the bank? Well listen, sister. You’re gonna walk in to work late, sickened (more than usual) by the festering chaos of U.N. Plaza, and your boss’s boss is gonna look at you with your unwashed hair, untucked shirt, fresh-off-the-floor jeans and seen-better-days sneakers and say very dryly, “Casual Wednesday, eh?” And laaaaaugh his ass off.
Monday, January 04, 2010
That's all! OK, so, happy Monday, and welcome 2010!