Halloween.

And the big news about the Halloween post is....that I have absolutely nothing to say about Halloween. Fun holiday, but I don't go out of my way to celebrate it. When it falls on a Friday or Saturday night, and if a friend has a party, I'll go. But on a Monday? Meh.

We get lots of little trick-or-treating tykes, which is nice. I have shitloads of candy ready. Good, good, good. I'm saving the Heath bars for myself.

The rush will die down by 8, and then it's all quiet again.

Ho hum.

I'll take things that I just don't get, for 200, Alex.

I wonder if I just have an unusual outlook or strange tastes. There's just so much out there that millions of other people seem to love to absolute distraction, but I can't fathom why. I mean, I think it's great that there's something for everyone, and different outlooks and tastes are what make life interesting, in a sense. But for the life of me, I do not understand the appeal, of even the point, of the following:

1. NASCAR
2. "Professional" Wrestling
3. Daytime TV
4. Reality TV
5. Music video TV stations that never show any frigging music videos (see Reality TV, above)
6. Religion

...I just don't get it.


Anyway...I DO see the appeal of the weekend, and so, as usual, I'm very happy it's Friday.

Today's planned post-work liquid refreshment: Sierra Nevada. Just a craving. Maybe by 5 I'll want something else, but this is what's on ice at the moment, as I watch the clock.

Cheers!

Twang, baby!

Internet radio has a station called Twang: Insurgent Country. It showcases my new favorite record label, Bloodshot Records.

Neko Case, Wayne Hancock, Robbie Fulks, Old 97's...many others.

It is excellent. If you can't find the radio station, then HIE THEE to your local record store and ask for the entire Bloodshot catalogue. I'm not kidding.

For anyone out there who thinks the shit that passes itself off as country music right now - you know what I'm talking about, your Shanias and your Faiths and your....(gag break)...Garths - really IS country music, you're barking up the wrong fucking tree. That stuff is horrible, lame, middle of the road, puke-inducing garbage.

Seriously...check out Bloodshot Records. THE REAL FUCKING COUNTRY DEAL.

That's all I have for today.

The fast went great. I already look and feel better, and I've been popping up out of bed before the alarm even goes off. One day. That's all it took (well, that, and some good, healthy eating since, with only one small setback when faced with cheese). I'm going to try to do a rapid-clean once a month, if I can.

Been shopping.

Hilarious post over at "Have you done your teeth," that expresses pretty much my feelings about shopping. Fucking hate it.

In a bizarre reversal of cliches, my husband adores shopping. He strolls the aisles at the supermarket, pondering things, looking at product. I go in, like I invented guerilla warfare. Grab a cart, race to the specific spots where I know the stuff I want is kept, and then get the fuck out. Do not stop to chat with the deli guys, do not comparison shop orange juice. Tropicana, not from concentrate, that's IT. NO, NOT THAT FUCKING FROM CONCENTRATE SHIT. Let's GO! Move! Move! Move!

Had to spend some time and money on crap for the house tonight. Some cat food and a cat toy or two, Brita filters, soap, mattress pad. Just got back...well, got back a while ago, had to spend a half an hour - HALF A FUCKING HOUR - putting together this "Martha Stewart Essentials" fucking-piece-of-shit-no-instructions-included-defective-goddamn-desk-lamp. Why did this thing come in three pieces, when it stands a foot tall, and would have fit in the goddamn box fully assembled? And why, for the love of Pete, did I have to POUND, WITH A HAMMER, at the arm of the thing to make it fit into the base? Seriously...I had to take a hammer out, and pound at the end that's supposed to fit into the base, because it was too large for the wee hole it was supposed to fit into. A hammer. Jesus Christ. It's supposed to fit right in there. But it didn't. And I couldn't be arsed to put it all back into the box (with its fourteen tons of cardboard and plastic packaging, now scattered across my kitchen for the cats to play with and get suffocated by), because I just don't like returning things and I want it set up NOW, not wait another four days to get a goddamn cheap-ass desk lamp.




To top it all off, it's not anything to look at, is it?

WIIIILLLLLLMMMAAAAAAA!!!!!

All right, I've had it with this bitch. Enough fucking rain already. We're all set with the rain.

...we could do with a bit more fucking WIND though.

Co-workers will want to steer clear of me today. I'm on a 24 hour fast. Not starving myself, as some do, just drinking water, and those crazy Odwalla antioxidant fruit smoothie thingies. If I get absolutely ravenous for something solid (no dirty jokes, please), I'll have some pineapple. This is not really a weight loss kind of thing, it's a 'cleansing,' if you will. My skin looks shitty, my normally smooth, perfect, ivory complexion has taken on a pasty tone, and several unwelcome zitty visitors have appeared. The little bastards.

And my husband is out of town on a business trip, so I can actually do a healthy fast, without being accused of having an eating disorder. I don't know how I'll ever convince him that eating at dinner time, whether you're hungry or not, just because IT'S TIME TO EAT, is actually worse for you than skipping a meal from time to time because you are NOT HUNGRY... But that's another tale for another day.

Before anyone thinks I'm a health freak, I'd like to point out that last night, in preparation for my fast today, I ate a FAMILY SIZE Stouffer's macaroni & cheese dinner. I won't say how much of it I actually ate. Let's just say I can afford to skip a meal or two today.

Fucking scary.

People...for the past few weeks, I have been feeling a little run-down, tired...body tired, not just fatigue-tired. Haven't been able to get out of bed for my morning workouts, sleeping too much and feeling like I haven't slept enough. I've been putting the lack of energy down to the autumnal weather change. It's too dark to get up early (I skipped a lot of high school in the winter months because I can't get up in the dark, but can rise at the first birdie-peeping in the spring/summer because the spring and summer light is gorgeous and dewy-lovely.)

BUT: I took Ginseng today.

JESUS CHRIST IN AN AIR BALLOON.

I am fired up. Got up feeling like I'd once again had too much sleep and needed more, then took my morning mix - orange juice, cod liver oil gel-cap, vitamin E - and for the first time, added this crazy Ginseng I bought at some hippie vitamin market in Harvard Square, then did a few stretches and jumped on my elliptical machine for a good 45 minute sweat.

For the past 10 hours, I have been out of control. Laundry, cleaning, organizing, shopping, dusting, winter/summer clothing switching, air conditioner-removal and storage, put together some bags of good stuff for the AMVETS to take away....AND HAVING ABOUT 20 BEERS IN THE PROCESS, which, under normal circumstances would have stopped me at 2 chores and a snooze on the couch on such a cloudy, gloomy day. Plus, I've spouted off some social/political/artistic commentary of a higher intellectual level and syllable count than I normally feel like stretching the intellect for, on a good day.

People, if you are tired, feeling listless, want to get a few things done and feel spot-on-the-fucking-ball...Ginseng.

It's speed, and it's legal.

Dang.

Oh, happy, happy day!

REJOICE!!!!!!!!!!

Not only is it Friday, my darlings - and a beautiful, crisp, tinkling autumn day at that - it is also the day I pack up my desk for a move into MY VERY OWN CORNER OFFICE. Take that, bitches.

Yes, after two years of listening to the everyday minutiae of a co-worker's family life for 8 hours EVERY SINGLE DAY, because she speaks at top volume, in a voice that ALWAYS has that brink-of-tears quiver in it, on the phone...did I mention EVERY DAY? No longer will I be blown off my desk by the smell of her re-heated FRIED FISH lunches, wafting through her office door, swirling about the entire office space like a miasma from hell.

Don't get me wrong. She's a lovely person and I do not DISLIKE her. But you'd think with e-mail, some of her communications could be fucking silent, but for the click-clack of her keyboard. And you can like someone but still find them annoying. Oh, yes, you can. No more shall I be expected to know the whereabouts of all my office mates at all times, because my desk position in this location makes people mistake me for a receptionist, which I am not. (Again, do I sound like a fucking people person to any of you? Thought not.)

On Monday, I take up residence in my very own corner office, with a window overlooking a rose garden and bubbling fountain. With a DOOR THAT I CAN CLOSE when I want to get some work done or have a quiet lunch.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

Have a lovely weekend, everybody.

Get a real job, you cunt.

All of my e-mail accounts are filled with offers for cheap viagra. All of them. They've taken over where penis enlargement spam left off.

If I ever meet someone who says to me, "I sell pharmaceuticals over the internet," I will punch him right in the neck.

...I think that's it for the day.




EDIT: I lied. That is not all for the day. A friend just sent me this, and it's just brilliant. Thanks, Mrs. Pea!

Mesmerized

I think Poseidon, or maybe one of the lesser, fresh-water gods, is angry with us. First, the tsunami, then Katrina, then some California landslides (though why anyone would build a multi-million dollar home on the slope of a mud pile is beyond stupid, even for Californians)... Poseidon is the god of earthquakes, right? So it IS him, the cranky bastard.

I was sitting pretty smugly here in New England, where it's been safe and dry (despite a lot of rain, we've been drier than a lot of places, and while unpleasant, it's not DANGEROUS), thinking "Jeez...aren't we lucky we don't have to deal with these weather disasters here? I'll take all the snow nature can throw at us, as long as we don't have to deal with hurricanes, floods, tornadoes, earthquakes... Snow is easy. Get a shovel, some good boots, make sure the heating works, get a reliable snowplow guy, lay in lots of beer, comfort foods, videos and cocoa for the weekend...Bob's yer uncle."

But now, even certain parts of my beloved Massachusetts are in danger of being washed away by the rushing waters of Lake Sabbatia, above the 173-year-old Whittenton Pond Dam, which is about to splinter and burst. School has been cancelled in that area today, and homes below the dam have been evacuated. Maybe that's being overcautious, but it's better than watching another disaster take place this close to home.

One thing we don't need is to make the national news with this. Oh, and if the dam should break and we see a flood disaster here, send blankets.



On another note:

It's the same thing forever. But I can't take my eyes away. You can drag him if he gets stuck, and adjust the speed of gravity with your arrow keys. It's so simple, and yet I'm so entertained right now. It's the simple things in life, I guess.

Wooohooo!

Sick of the color theme

This is my last text color experiment. I'm pretty much going to stick with gray, with exceptions for shits & giggles, but I want to try another shade of blue.

To all who let their preferences be known: Thanks for playing.

Wasn't pink just AWFUL?

Okay. Now, this is another "ghost" video. And this time, it's not a prank. You have my solemn word that this time nothing jumps into the frame. This really is a video someone took in a cemetery, and there really does appear to be a little girl sitting on one of the graves. When the people taking the video call out to her, she looks towards them and scares the shite out of them. But to me, I think she looks a little too much like a real, living, little girl. But what the hell she's doing sitting in a cemetery by herself at night might be the more serious question.

Here it is...grain of salt and all.

Pink, even though I hate it.

A kindergarten teacher was watching her students file in one morning, keeping an eye out for a new student she knew would be starting that day. After all the other children had come in, a bashful little cherub was escorted in by the school secretary. The teacher thought this had to be the most beautiful child she'd ever seen. An ethereal, fairy-like, golden-haired girl, with big, teary eyes the color of cornflowers, and the most perfect peaches and cream complexion. The child was clearly very frightened and bashful, so the teacher decided to take her aside, show a little extra care and try to alleviate some of her fears about being in a new school.

She gave the other children a few minutes to settle in, then gave them some coloring to do, so she would have a moment to talk to the new little cherub. She asked the child's name, and in a voice like the tinkling of fairy bells, the child answered, "My name is Petal."

"What a beautiful name, Petal," exclaimed the teacher. "And however did you get such an unusual name?"

Clearly beginning to warm up to the teacher's compliments and interest, the girl told her story. "On the day I was born," she said, "my mother was very ill. And my daddy didn't know if she was going to live. He waited for hours, holding some red roses, and he was so nervous that he kind of mushed them up without knowing it. But when he came in to visit her after the doctors said it was all right, he bent over her to kiss her, and she was holding me, so the petals from the roses fell onto my forehead and they decided right then and there to call me Petal."

The days flew by, and soon it was time for show & tell. On that day, Petal brought in her little dog, "Porky," a sweet, happy, fluffy little thing, that all the other children immediately fell in love with. For show & tell, Petal had the dog doing all kinds of cute little tricks, which had all the children laughing and cheering.

Eventually, curiosity getting the better of her, the teacher had to ask, "Petal, however did your dog come by such an unusual name?"

"He fucks pigs."

Thank you, Hungbunny!

Just found this via Hungbunny. Too good not to post. Made me spit my coffee out all over my monitor.

I should get away from this desk for a while. Can't be healthy.

THERE it is!

For the first time in almost two weeks, the sun is shining over the Boston area. It's one of those brisk, bright autumn days when the breeze makes the sunlight tinkle over the dancing leaves. And about bloody time, too.

In honor of the sun finally making its way through the gloom after so long an absence, today's text color is yellow.

Went to see Franz Ferdinand at the Orpheum last night. Excellent. And speaking of sparkling, what a moment for these guys, too. On the upside of celebrity, sounding great, looking great, young, thin, definitely enjoying their upward trajectory. Pity this time in their career can't be bottled for them, and saved for the inevitable downturn, like the one that always happens in the second half of Behind the Music, so that they can remember what they were in the business for in the first place. Or that they can't just be forever in this moment. If I had that power, I would give it to them.

Stay young and pretty, boys. Don't fuck this up.

Glare, anyone?

This is an experiment. Several readers have commented that white text on the black background is harsh and makes me hard to read. (Though according to NOSMO, the difficulty in reading is because I'm shit, but that's another story for another day.)

I'm not changing the background color, because I like black, but I suppose a small concession in the text department wouldn't kill me. Besides, I've got nothing else to write about today.

Anyhow, for the next few days, I'll be experimenting with different text colors, to see if the glare can be reduced, making it easier to read without eye strain. Regular readers can let me know which they like best. And maybe I'll run with it.

Today: Gray

Brace yourselves

Today's post is not about Friday post-work beer. The plan for tonight is for a nice dinner with friends, rather than raucous sports-watching, beer-guzzling, food-optional mayhem.

Good food rather than pub-grub, perhaps some nice wine, or at least moderate drinking of whatever alcohol is chosen, good conversation, some polysyllabic words, a few laughs. Nice.

...of course, with these particular friends we're seeing, the evening could go one of two ways, really. It could start with a little catching up, some discussion of literature, current events, philosophy, film, music...and stay that way. But it could also degenerate pretty quickly into a booze-fest of a proportion seldom seen since my college years and those immediately following.

I'll know which type of evening we're in for if at any point I hear these words: "Imbibe wid us, you fuck!"

Ahhhh...I see we're in for evening B. Good. Wouldn't want to break with tradition now, would we?

My memory is shit.

But I will never forget the worst working experience I've ever had.

I had this boss, right? He looked like David Hasselhoff (ewwww!), had all the brains of a bag of ferrets, all the human kindness and grace of Yersina Pestis, and the humility of Caligula.

This guy was in his 50's, but had had plastic surgery to make him look younger. His ego required that he stay in decent shape, so I will give him credit for working out and staying relatively healthy and avoid mid-life flab, but you could see the terror of aging pretty clearly through the filmy-thin layer of health-consciousness. He would refuse to wear his glasses, because that would have added a year or two onto his looks, and he just couldn't have that. So I would have to take all of his e-mails (which he refused to learn how to use), copy and paste them into a Word document, and blow up to 16 point BOLD, so that he could read them without corrective eyewear.

He routinely dated women in their early 20's, in itself not a crime, nor something that would even offend me, had he not been cynical enough to do it just because he could, knowing that they were really in it for professional advancement and exposure in the field and not from any great feeling of actual attaction and warmth. Am I naive? I guess that's the way of the world, but it does leave a nasty taste in the mouth.

One time, he had a party at his house, at department expense, even after the money had run out and even though an aunt of mine had died and I was contemplating going to Maine that night for the funeral the next day, or at least just going home to make some calls to family and feel sad for a bit, I had to go to this party, because HIMSELF WASN'T GOING TO BE HOME FOR THE BOOZE DELIVERY, EVEN THOUGH I'D TOLD HIM EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK THAT THE BOOZE WOULD BE DELIVERED BETWEEN 5 AND 6PM. And then, when I got there, HE WAS FUCKING THERE, EVEN THOUGH HE SAID HE HAD A MEETING AT HIS OTHER OFFICE AT THAT TIME.

Oh, and then, I had to go out and buy toilet paper in the middle of the party. This grown-up man had run out of fucking toilet paper and I had to go buy it.**

But all this wouldn't cause me to hate the man so much as pity him.

No, it was the sense of entitlement that he oozed that made me hate him.

Oh, and the house full of "arty" photograhs of naked nubiles. That was pretty gross, too.



**My friends will tell you this is one of my biggest pet peeves. If you have people coming to your house to drink, make sure you have fucking bog paper, you asshole.

Weird car ad

My brother sent me this .wmv file.

Evidently, this is a car ad that never aired, because something very strange happened during filming. Towards the end of the spot, a strange mist appears to cross the front of the car. Apparently, the cameraman noticed it and commented, and the director and crew later found out that someone had died a year earlier, on the exact spot where the car was crossing.

If you watch, you'll see it just after the car clears the trees. You can also hear the cameraman commenting on it.

Is it just a mist, or a ghost? You decide.

Weird car ad.

Once you invite a vampire in...

...it can come and go as it pleases!


There is no other point to this post. I just wanted to have an excuse to put up this nice Munch piece, Vampire. (c.1894)

Day three of a holiday weekend. It has rained the entire time. Yet, I do not feel cheated in any way, despite the rain & cold. Every once in a while, a long, rainy, stay-at-home weekend is a good thing for the rejuvenation of one's mental acuity, a clearing of the cobwebs out of the old brain-case, as it were. I finished a big freelance transcription job this week, so didn't have any of that unpleasantness to do over the weekend, a small blessing. And I managed a few good, long, weekend workouts, too. It's nice to have the time to devote to a good sweat, rather than "sneaking one in" on a weekday morning, or between full-time work and freelance stuff.

Saturday was spent in a hungover, melancholy haze; Sunday was for cleaning, reading, laundry, reading, straightening up, reading, listening to some very loud stormy weather music (Mozart's Requiem, with the volume at at...uh...11), a nail-biter between the Angels and Yankees in the evening, fucking Angels COME ON; today I'm being dragged out of the house by the husband, apparently he's got some concerns about me being a hermit, that it's not good to stay in all the time, blah, blah, blah. Though I would be perfectly happy to eat up another book or two this afternoon, listen to the rain, bake something... Oh well, maybe he's right. Perhaps a movie, (is there anything worth seeing on the big screen? Something that isn't a remake of a tired old cartoon or old sitcom, maybe? Something maybe with an original script and a plot? Thought not.) maybe just a few errands and some lunch & drinks someplace, perhaps a shitty chain restaurant for laughs and a case of the runs.

Sorry, no anger today. See what a good night's sleep does for me? What a nice little change.

erm.....

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
uuuuuuuuuuuuck

Friday post

Oh dear, how unoriginal. Another Friday post about beer. Oh well.

Once again, looking forward to quitting time. I hope to get out early, and find a good spot at a local watering hole for the 4pm game. Win or lose, it's been a hell of a season for baseball fans. If they win, I'll be at the game tomorrow, getting rained on, probably, but happy to be at such an important game. And if they win tonight AND tomorrow, I will be the happiest I've been in a long time. Even if they lose, the Red Sox are still my team, my boys of summer. I will not desert, I will not jump ship, I'll be right back in it next year. I'll look forward to spring training, when I'm not watching hockey, football or basketball, or movies, or reading, working, writing, or doing any one of a number of things I do besides watch sports.*

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. There, I've said it. I really am a nice person. A fucking peach. My friends will tell you, or I'll glass 'em.




*Recently I've been criticized in my own comments section about my choice of pasttimes. Okay. Not everyone likes the same things I do. To which I answer, so fucking what? Isn't it a wonderful world? Millions of people in it, and WE ALL LIKE DIFFERENT THINGS? It's just great. Now go find your own hobby and bite my charming ass.

My last fucking nerve

Open letter to the cretinous fuckbags in my neighborhood.

Dear Assholes:

Would it be so fucking hard to put your trash out the night before trash day, thereby saving you the trouble of wheeling your big, noisy, plastic trashcans down the driveway to the curb at 6 o'clock in the morning, right under my bedroom window? Think about it. You could get home from work in the evening, get those noisy buggery things out before you even take your shoes off, so it's done, and you wouldn't have to worry about it at all. You could sleep in a bit! Just please, fucking think about it. You miserable, inconsiderate, oblivious jackass.

And speaking of trash day, you fuckers who go through recycle bins for redeemable cans and bottles. Good for you, but could you also try to do this the night before trash day? Your rattling, bottle-filled shopping carts are like nails on a chalkboard to me when you come jangling down the street at the crack of dawn. I appreciate your initiative, but you could also beat the competition by not waiting until morning. Thanks.

And the shrill, screeching, violent shrew on the other side of the fence? Yes, YOU, Max's mother, you fucking battle-ax. SHUT THE FUCK UP. I no longer care what time you start with your harangue. It is no longer entertaining at 5pm, I'm sick of hearing your fucking screaming at ANY time of the day. This morning, at 5am, were I capable of movement, I would have jumped that fence and really given you something to scream about. You cacophanous fucking fishwife.

I hate you all.

Andraste, the sleep-deprived. ********************************************************************

On another note: Here is what I'll need to watch Friday's Sox/Sox game: Booze. This is a .wav file, so if you're at work, and want your boss to send you home
early, TURN IT UP REALLY LOUD.

Greetings from Squidsville

Overheard from the office next door, in the space of (evidently) one (actual business-related) phone call:

1. "S'uuuupppp, duuuude?"
2. "THAT'S what I'm talkin' 'bout."
3. "Rock & roll."


There was more, but I was too busy sighing and saying, "squid," under my breath to listen.

Do people hear themselves?

I'd love to have a dog someday...

...but not this one.

S'okay.

As my husband and I approach our second wedding anniversary, though I'm not a romantic, nor sentimental, and nor even particularly deep, I'm taking some stock. Bear with me.

Over the past two years, I've been asked, ad nauseum, different variations of the same question: "How's married life treatin' ya?"

Yeah, like a one word answer is going to cover it.

What the in the name of fuck is a person supposed to say to this? Nothing's ever perfect. Anyone who answers "Just great, wonderful, I'm more in love now than I was two years ago" is fucking lying, or stupid.

"It's nice," doesn't cover it, neither does, "No difference from living together," "it's an adjustment," or "very happy indeed."

Here's how I describe marriage:

You know how sometimes you sleep all cuddled up, snoozing happily, comfortably, bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle and you feel warm, safe, secure and peaceful? And then other times, you get no fucking sleep whatsoever because you are both made entirely out of elbows?

It doesn't quite cover it, but it's all I'm going to say from now on.

I am luggage

Whew!



I need a night off from baseball. Thanks to my boys of summer, I'm getting one.

Let the stress begin again tomorrow. Tonight...sleep.