Tuesday, October 17, 2006

A couple of noteworthy passings...


Tampa talk radio legend Bob Lassiter passed away after a long illness. Impossible to agree with 100% of the time regardless of your political leanings...by design...Lassiter artfully employed bombast as one weapon in an arsenal that included humor, sarcasm, pathos and every once in a great while, when he felt like it, genuine warmth. Either brutally honest or just plain brutal (depending on which side of the day's argument you found yourself on), Lassiter was equal parts amused by and frustrated with the foibles that mankind inflicted upon itself. He was also one of the last practitioners of radio as "theatre of the mind". I could say he will be missed but anybody who owns a radio already does...whether they know it or not.


I'm not a Starbucks hater. far from it, in fact. I rather enjoy the occassional $5 coffee! Hey, it's good...get over it. But the fact of the matter is there are plenty of Starbucks around. But there was only one CBGB, and now it's closed. That's right, the breeding ground of The Ramones, Blondie, Television, Sonic Youth and Talking Heads among others is no more. We can figure out a way to have a Starbucks for every 2.5 adult human beings in the United States but we can't figure out a way to keep a single, solitary, sweat-and-vomit soaked birthplace of great American music in business? Unbelievable.

This is exactly the kind of cultural blasphemy that would have delighted/pissed off Bob Lassiter.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Socks to be me

No doubt you've been out somewhere and witnessed a stray item of clothing in a strange, public place. It might be a baseball cap on an empty seat in a movie theatre or a lone shoe on the side of a busy interstate. If you thought about it, you'd realize that you see this more often than, well, than you had previously realized.
Today, leaving work, we saw a black sock laying on the sidewalk. Of course, everyone in the group had to offer some sort of commentary on this. "Look, it's a sock", "Eww gross", "Where the hell did that come from?", "How does someone lose a single sock?", "Where's the shoe?" "Is there someone walking around with one bare foot?", etc. etc.
Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure it was one of my socks.
While it's a pretty plain, basic, black sock, I'm familiar enough with my own clothing to recognize it when I see it. I'll just say that if it isn't my personal sock, which I highly doubt, it is the exact same brand and make of some of the socks I do own. And since it was laying on the ground right outside of a place where I spend a great deal of time, well, you figure the odds. What I think probably happened is yesterday I wore black pants to work and through the magic of static cling, the sock was stuck to my pants, I just didn't see and it fell off on my way into work. At least, I hope it was on the way into work. I really don't want to believe I walked around for 14 hours with a stupid sock stuck to me.
Anyway, I didn't say anything about it being my sock. For starters, I doubt anyone would believe me. Secondly, I hadn't thought about it enough to explain why I believed it was mine. Third, it rained earlier and the sock was all wet, limp and dirty looking. So I just walked along with the group and left it there.
The problem is, I wanted to pick it up and take it home. I could have shrugged my shoulders and forgot about it. After all, it's just a sock. Not exactly a high-ticket item, it's not like I'm still paying it off. And socks wear out or get lost for other reasons all the time. I'll buy more socks at some point and not give much thought to the old ones that wind up discarded via natural causes. Still, for lots of reasons (including raging OCD and the stress of knowing I have an odd number of socks that accompanies that), I really wanted to rescue it. After all, it's mine, damn it. I paid for it, I own it, I maintain it with regular laundry cycles, I am responsible for it (until yesterday, apparently). It's my sock and I am entitled to full and complete rights of ownership, which include, but are not limited to, picking it up if/when I drop it on the sidewalk.
My first thought was to lag behind the group and then reach down and snag it when they weren't looking but I figured there was too much risk of getting caught if somebody turned around to see why I wasn't keeping up. Not keeping up with the group when you're heading to your respective cars at the end of the day is a good way to get branded a weirdo, especially if it's because you're picking up soggy, stray socks off the sidewalk. Then I thought I could drive around the block, pull over real quick, get out, grab it and jump back in the car and take off. This was also too risky because the street is pretty busy and doesn't have parking spaces or a breakdown lane to pull over into. Retrieval of one's sock is probably not the reason you want to give the police or your insurance company if you cause a major traffic accident.
So anyway, unless somebody else picked it up, my sock is still sitting there on the sidewalk. And I still want it. So if you go retrieve it and return it to me, I will give you $5. No joke!! That's a pretty good cash reward for a sock that isn't even yours. Of course, I'm no sucker and I'm not going to give five bucks to every jamoke who finds a sock laying around (gross!), so you will need to verify the true identity of the sock by describing it and where you found it. We will then need to arrange to meet in a dimly lit parking garage or an abandoned warehouse down by the docks or some other place suitable for the exchange of the sock for the loot (come alone, do not contact the authorities). Hurry, this is a limited time offer. Because if it's there when I get to work in the morning, I'm just going to pick the damn thing up.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Butt seriously...

The other night, the subject of BUTT PLUGS came up in casual conversation. Don't ask me why, it really isn't important. Honestly. No big deal, actually. Other than the fact that it kept me up very late thinking about it. And after all that thinking, I've decided that I don't want any. I know the holidays are coming up and many of you have started your shopping lists, so I'm sorry if I'm throwing a kink (ha!) into your plans by saying "Please don't get me a BUTT PLUG; I probably will not use it". So just cross the words "BUTT PLUG" off your list when you come to my name, please.
Although, I do have to say, to some degree, I appreciate any object whose purpose and instructions for use are so clearly defined in it's name. I mean, if you say "bulldozer" or "oven mitt" to someone, it is possible that they may need some explanation of what you're talking about and how it works. That's not a concern with BUTT PLUGS. Simply say the words "BUTT PLUG" to someone and they should instantly have a pretty clear idea of what is going to happen and where it's going to take place ("Why?" may be a question that needs to be addressed at some point, though that's not important for what we're discussing here). I do appreciate that absence of ambiguity.
But (and by 'but' I mean 'however', not 'ass') with all that being said, I'm going to opt out on this one. So you may feel free to skip the following fine retail establishments from consideration when shopping for gifts for me:

  • Butt Plug and Beyond
  • Yankee Butt Plug Company
  • B. Uttplug's
  • ButtPlug Crafters (Custom Butt Plugs in about an hour)
  • Butt Plug Depot
  • Cinn-A-Butt Plug
  • Every Butt Plug's A Dollar!
  • Assy McSphincter's Ye Olde Buttpluggery
  • The Gap

Thank you.

You're killing me!

What? You need what?? When?!?
You're killing me.
You're kidding. I mean, this is a joke, right? You had to know there was a deadline, right? You did? You knew there was a deadline and you still come to me today? Needing this?
You are killing me. Seriously.
Oh no, it's not that I can't get it done. I will get it done. But that doesn't change the fact that you're killing me.
I'm not exaggerating. Your failure to get your orders placed in a timely manner has cast my final fate and death is near. Because you are quite literally killing me.
Gyaah! Sharp pains behind my eyeballs. I'm...I'm getting weak. It's...growing dark. I feel so cold, s-so cold.
Oh, what shall I miss most of all; smelling flowers, watching sunsets, taking a walk in the park, enjoying the sound of soft rain on a summer's evening? Alas, when all of the day's simple pleasures are weighed and measured at one's own sunset, none ranks below another.
Thanks a lot, you asshole.
I'm staring into the endless abyss, where music doesn't play and children don't laugh and sing. Staring back at me is a stack of orders that you could have easily submitted last week. Instead...
You. Are. Killing. Me.
I can't believe this is how it ends. I never imagined my life would be snuffed out just because you don't see the importance of meeting a perfectly reasonable deadline. It all seems so senseless, so meaningless. I'm too young to die. Not now. Not like this!
You're killing me.
What? Yeah, you'll have it by 3:30.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Things I don't want to do today, tomorrow or anytime soon for that matter

  1. Go to work
  2. Work; Go there
  3. Be operated on by a deaf, dumb and blind oral surgeon
  4. Vios con worko
  5. Harm zoo animals
  6. Go to the place that pays me money to work and do the work they pay me money for

Monday, October 02, 2006

I'm sick

Ok, I wasn't going to share this but I haven't posted in a week and this is basically all that has been going on, so this is what you're going to get.

I'm sick and have been since Saturday.

I don't know what it is, but I've got aches and pains, alternate spikes of chills and fevers, cramps, dehydration, lethargy (more than usual), all punctuated by trips to the bathroom and that dreadful "sklish!" sound you only hear when your digestive system informs you that you and solid foods of any kind are not currently on speaking terms. I don't know what my system is processing, since I basically haven't eaten since Friday, but it's coming up with something somewhere. Maybe my internal organs are liquifying. it kinda feels that way.
It might be the flu but it might also be bad clams (not literally, but close) that I ate at this charity fundraiser function I was at on Friday night. My job requires me to wear a tuxedo two times a year and this was one of them. Incidentally, twice a year is exactly the right amount of infrequency to remember that the little black-headed metal stud things serve some sort of imporant purpose without actually remembering exactly what that might be. The tux was the first step in the downward spiral that the weekend became. I don't mind wearing suits. in fact, I kind of enjoy that. Tuxes are different though. First, there's the whole assemby-required factor mentioned previously. Secondly, nobody outside of Her Majesty's Secret Service actually owns their own tux so they're always rented and there's something more than slightly skeevy about renting clothing, especially clothing that's designed to be worn as many times by as many different people as possible. Add to that a pair of shoes that fit like a prison sentence and I was on my way to not feeling well. That was followed by an evening of conversation with lots of people who normally wouldn't be speaking to me, including one gentleman whose breath bouquet was a charming melange of salami and booze. Then, by the time I actually had a chance to walk across the room in the horrible shoes to the buffet, all that was left was some Starfish Tartare, Squid Pancreas Florentine and a few other room temperature seafood delicacies that even rich people won't eat. However, I was hungry, it was late, I was in a tux with ill-fitting, shiney shoes, so I ate it and that's probably why I'm sick.
But it could be the flu.