I got an email recently with the subject "Not sure what to make of this" from my friend Crispin. He went on to say that he came across an MP3 from a band called "3.1416 Magnum" and that....well, why don't I let youse read it?
Hey Mark,
How goes it all?
Weird... I came across an mp3 by a band called 3.1416 Magnum. I think they're from western MA. Never heard of them. Anyway, I found an edit of one of their songs. It kinda seems like they're ripping off your song - hard to say...
This is not a bluff
You will be the focus of my violence
You'll agree that retreat makes sense
This is your final warning
This is the calm before the storming
This is the calm before the storming
This is the calm before the storming
Thought you might be interested.
Hope all's well with you and yours,
-Crispin
Why would someone steal those lyrics? Are they that desperate? Perhaps they are from a developing country and don't have access to actual real rock music ...and uh, stuff. I will FIND these people and then contact the appropriate authorities (as soon as I determine who those authorities are. Is there a Shitty Lyric division at the police department?). I immediately did my own google search for these thieving fuckers. I got a bunch of hits that made no sense and one that talked about condom sizes. "Hmm," I thinks to meselfs. "I didn't see anything with music or any ...waitaminnit." And then it dawned on me. I'm a little slow on the uptake y'see.
I went back to Crispin's email and there buried at the bottom was an MP3 file. I grinned and opened it. It was a frickin' brilliant (if I may say so, and I may goddammit) rendition of my teen-age-angst-laden song. I played and replayed it, no kidding, 20 times. This is Crispin Fucking Wood from The BAGS singing lyrics I WROTE and shredding on the song. I was absolutely giddy and I still am. Yes, I had hoped that a number of people would have sent in their own versions of the song but weeks went by and I hadn't seen jack poop. I just assumed that the "challenge" was dead and I had moved on. Then out of the blue I get this and I know it's silly but goddamn I love it. You must check it:
Right? I think it totally catches what I was hoping to ... of fuck it. It ROCKS! Yes, it may be ironic rocking but it still rocks. Either way, Crispin Rules. Believe that.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Inducing of Vibrations
I was a good kid growing up. I didn't cause (much) trouble and I did well in school. I did briefly fall in with the "wrong crowd" in the third grade but as you may have guessed, my career as a juvenile delinquent was short lived. During my spree the crimes included throwing wads of soaked toilet paper at the boys bathroom ceiling (it made an awesome sound and the clumps stayed up there like tiny mashed potato stalactites), writing "Boobs" on the wall in the playground behind the school, and in one case stealing 80 cents when I was in charge of collecting dimes for milk in the lunchroom. I skimmed a little off the top and we split it amongst each others. My share was 30 cents because I had taken the most risk. I didn't want to tell them that I felt awful stealing the money because they were all excited that we could go buy Swedish fish after school. It was then that I decided that I'm not cut out for the criminal life. But how to break my bond with these other shitty little no-good-nicks?
Our school cafeteria was a quite the multi-purpose room. It served as the cafeteria, a gym when it was raining, and it was also where the school plays were held (including the dreaded Christmas Play). During lunchtime, the caf was patrolled by two older women known to me only as The Lunch Ladies. These women were gruff, hardened old battle-axes who had been through epic foodfights and chocolate milk fueled riots. They didn't take shit from anybody. One of them, the shorter, dark haired lady used to have a bunch of spoons (like 3 of them all stacked and tied together) that she would use to bang on the end of a table to get everyone's attention and/or regain order in the cafeteria. God help you if you were sitting anywhere near the end of the table where she chose to bang those spoons. Your head would be ringing the rest of the day.
On this particular day The Lunch Ladies were having a hell of a time controlling the room for whatever reason and that's when my semi-evil little cohorts decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to start a spitball fight. I knew damn well that this was a horrible idea and that further we would surely be caught immediately. The taller Lunch Lady did NOT like spitballs and I seem to remember her screaming at the top of her lungs at a kid who looked like he might possibly think about perhaps making a spitball. The poor fucker didn't know what hit him and that was just a fucking warning shot as far as she was concerned. She had a zero tolerance approach. But I didn't express my concerns or suggest another less risky activity because I'm a follower, people. Oh, and a pussy.
We each had our straws and our lines of spitballs prepared (the spitballs were hidden under the lip of our lunch trays. Clever huh? I'm sure they'll never think to look there) and although I can't remember who shot the first one, I can tell you who shot the one that brought this whole affair to a grinding halt and got us caught. That would be me. I had a nice wad stuffed into the business end of my straw and as I turned to shoot it at the kid sitting next to me, I misfired and shot it too early (wassup ladies? oh crap...I'm never gonna get that right). It was one of those slow-motion moments as the ball went right between two other kids and hit this girl in the back of the head...right in front of the dark-haired lunch lady. Totally busted. In a flash they were both at our table the spoon lady on one end beating the hell out of the spoons and the other one yelling at all of us at the other end. It sucked.
They marched us all down to the principal's office and made us sit there for what seemed like hours. Finally the vice-principal came out and she stood in front of us with her arms folded and her face all scrunched up like she had just free-based a grapefruit. The taller lunch lady was there too and she looked so pleased as if she had just brought in the ring leaders of the MS13. I guess in her little world she had. The vice-principal walked over to us and asked us to tell the truth about what happened. She said that we were going to be punished but if we were honest she'd be more understanding. And so one by one she asked us if we had shot spitballs in the cafeteria. And one by one my stupid friends said "No. I didn't shoot spitballs." Yes, you did jackass. They SAW us do it. They have all the evidence. Lincoln Elementary's version of CSI had gathered up all our spitty wads of straw wrapper and napkin bits and were sending them to the lab for DNA testing as we sit here! Just fess up already so we can go home!
When she came to me it was pretty clear that she was really pissed off now. She had absolutely zero patience left and all she wanted to do is get these kids out of her office so that she could go home and have a glass of wine (or am I projecting a little here?). I looked at her and then over at my friends and when she asked the question "Did you shoot spitballs in the cafeteria?", not only did I confess, but I ratted out everyone else too. I said "Yes, I did. We all did." Oh man, that is not going to go well for me is it? I mean, it's not like we had sworn an oath of omertà or anything but it's still not a best practice to squeal. Especially right in front of the people you're squealing on. I remember looking at those guys and thinking, "Whoops". The vice principal smiled at me and then at them and said, "Mark did a good thing here. He told the truth. And for that I have decided that he will not have to be punished further." Oh, great. Thanks lady. Why not just hand them all baseball bats and little knives? She then called all our parents. My popularity rating plunged and my friendship stock was downgraded to junk status. A week later Ricky Crotty beat me up in front of the school and I was officially "jumped out" of our lil' gang.
As I said, my academic career was decent from elementary through I'd say junior year of high school. Ah, that's not really true. I just remembered that I totally bombed out of physics in my junior year and I think that's when my whole attitude towards school went...uh, south. The failing of my physics class was a classic fuck-up on my part. I figured out fairly early into the class that:
The next year I signed up for physics again and it was going to be a clean slate for me. New year, new class, new teacher, and a new attitude. I got my schedule and there it was: Physics, period 6, room blah-blah-blah, Mr. Carlson. Oh fuck you. This has to be a mistake right? That crusty old shitbird retired during the summer didn't he? He's like 80 years old for fuck's sake! But it wasn't wrong. He hadn't retired. And hoo-boy did he remember me. That class was pure torture for me that year. He made damn sure that I was paying attention and would routinely call on me. Fuck dude, I don't know the goddamn answer and you know that. I am a science dumb-dumb ok? My oldest sister got all the math and science smarts for our family, I got zippo on that front. But I hung in there people, I battled with that grey-skinned old fart and I squeaked out at the end of the year with a C+ grade. Ha! Take THAT Carlson. In your FACE! He probably still hasn't retired.
Our school cafeteria was a quite the multi-purpose room. It served as the cafeteria, a gym when it was raining, and it was also where the school plays were held (including the dreaded Christmas Play). During lunchtime, the caf was patrolled by two older women known to me only as The Lunch Ladies. These women were gruff, hardened old battle-axes who had been through epic foodfights and chocolate milk fueled riots. They didn't take shit from anybody. One of them, the shorter, dark haired lady used to have a bunch of spoons (like 3 of them all stacked and tied together) that she would use to bang on the end of a table to get everyone's attention and/or regain order in the cafeteria. God help you if you were sitting anywhere near the end of the table where she chose to bang those spoons. Your head would be ringing the rest of the day.
On this particular day The Lunch Ladies were having a hell of a time controlling the room for whatever reason and that's when my semi-evil little cohorts decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to start a spitball fight. I knew damn well that this was a horrible idea and that further we would surely be caught immediately. The taller Lunch Lady did NOT like spitballs and I seem to remember her screaming at the top of her lungs at a kid who looked like he might possibly think about perhaps making a spitball. The poor fucker didn't know what hit him and that was just a fucking warning shot as far as she was concerned. She had a zero tolerance approach. But I didn't express my concerns or suggest another less risky activity because I'm a follower, people. Oh, and a pussy.
We each had our straws and our lines of spitballs prepared (the spitballs were hidden under the lip of our lunch trays. Clever huh? I'm sure they'll never think to look there) and although I can't remember who shot the first one, I can tell you who shot the one that brought this whole affair to a grinding halt and got us caught. That would be me. I had a nice wad stuffed into the business end of my straw and as I turned to shoot it at the kid sitting next to me, I misfired and shot it too early (wassup ladies? oh crap...I'm never gonna get that right). It was one of those slow-motion moments as the ball went right between two other kids and hit this girl in the back of the head...right in front of the dark-haired lunch lady. Totally busted. In a flash they were both at our table the spoon lady on one end beating the hell out of the spoons and the other one yelling at all of us at the other end. It sucked.
They marched us all down to the principal's office and made us sit there for what seemed like hours. Finally the vice-principal came out and she stood in front of us with her arms folded and her face all scrunched up like she had just free-based a grapefruit. The taller lunch lady was there too and she looked so pleased as if she had just brought in the ring leaders of the MS13. I guess in her little world she had. The vice-principal walked over to us and asked us to tell the truth about what happened. She said that we were going to be punished but if we were honest she'd be more understanding. And so one by one she asked us if we had shot spitballs in the cafeteria. And one by one my stupid friends said "No. I didn't shoot spitballs." Yes, you did jackass. They SAW us do it. They have all the evidence. Lincoln Elementary's version of CSI had gathered up all our spitty wads of straw wrapper and napkin bits and were sending them to the lab for DNA testing as we sit here! Just fess up already so we can go home!
When she came to me it was pretty clear that she was really pissed off now. She had absolutely zero patience left and all she wanted to do is get these kids out of her office so that she could go home and have a glass of wine (or am I projecting a little here?). I looked at her and then over at my friends and when she asked the question "Did you shoot spitballs in the cafeteria?", not only did I confess, but I ratted out everyone else too. I said "Yes, I did. We all did." Oh man, that is not going to go well for me is it? I mean, it's not like we had sworn an oath of omertà or anything but it's still not a best practice to squeal. Especially right in front of the people you're squealing on. I remember looking at those guys and thinking, "Whoops". The vice principal smiled at me and then at them and said, "Mark did a good thing here. He told the truth. And for that I have decided that he will not have to be punished further." Oh, great. Thanks lady. Why not just hand them all baseball bats and little knives? She then called all our parents. My popularity rating plunged and my friendship stock was downgraded to junk status. A week later Ricky Crotty beat me up in front of the school and I was officially "jumped out" of our lil' gang.
As I said, my academic career was decent from elementary through I'd say junior year of high school. Ah, that's not really true. I just remembered that I totally bombed out of physics in my junior year and I think that's when my whole attitude towards school went...uh, south. The failing of my physics class was a classic fuck-up on my part. I figured out fairly early into the class that:
- The teacher, Mr. Carlson, was the dullest teacher I had ever come across
- None of this stuff was going to get through my thick skull
- Mr. Carlson was due to retire that year so I figured if I fail the course, I can just re-take it the next year and surely the teacher will be 10x better
The next year I signed up for physics again and it was going to be a clean slate for me. New year, new class, new teacher, and a new attitude. I got my schedule and there it was: Physics, period 6, room blah-blah-blah, Mr. Carlson. Oh fuck you. This has to be a mistake right? That crusty old shitbird retired during the summer didn't he? He's like 80 years old for fuck's sake! But it wasn't wrong. He hadn't retired. And hoo-boy did he remember me. That class was pure torture for me that year. He made damn sure that I was paying attention and would routinely call on me. Fuck dude, I don't know the goddamn answer and you know that. I am a science dumb-dumb ok? My oldest sister got all the math and science smarts for our family, I got zippo on that front. But I hung in there people, I battled with that grey-skinned old fart and I squeaked out at the end of the year with a C+ grade. Ha! Take THAT Carlson. In your FACE! He probably still hasn't retired.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Put the iPhone Down and Step Back
I've lamented before how I wish people could just walk without having to be connected to someone via their phones. I went for a walk recently and the sheer number of people walking around with a phone plastered to their ear was ridiculous. At one point this woman was walking behind me blathering on her phone and I had to stop and pretend to read a sign so that she could go past me. I just couldn't deal with her conversation interrupting my supposedly refreshing walk. It's bullshit. Put the phone down and walk to wherever you're going. When you get there, if you still feel like you absolutely need to tell Brenda about how awesome your yoga class was and how it was so super hot in there but it didn't matter cuz everyone was in harmony and god the instructor was a total hottie and now you want some lunch and SHUT THE FUCK UP! Oh my god, PLEASE shut up.
This need to be connected to everything at all times confuses me. Granted I'm an old fuddy-duddy but can't we just unplug ourselves for a certain amount of time during the day (and I'm not including sleep here .. The Wiff actually has a radio that she listens to all night long. I think it's to keep the voices in her head at bay)? I was in an elevator at my office this morning and this woman got on with me. Right there I'm annoyed because she was a swooper. She swooped in at the last minute. I believe she was planning on taking the stairs originally but saw the open elevator and jumped at the opportunity, thus ruining my chance for a solo ride. She hit the 3rd floor button (we got in on the 1st floor) and then immediately took out her Blackberry. Look lady, you're going to be at your desk in what? 5 minutes? Can't you wait that long to check your email? I'm standing there watching her scroll, scroll, scroll through emails when the door opens on her floor and she doesn't make a move. I chose not to say anything because I was interested in seeing if she'd even notice. The doors eventually started to close again and that must have snapped her out of her dreamscape. She lunged towards them and thrust her arm through the narrowing gap (but not the one holding her precious, precious Blackberry). I think the doors actually let out an exasperated sigh as they opened up again. Good work lady, you managed to annoy an inanimate object.
I spend the bulk of my work day in front of a computer so when I leave the office the last thing I want to do is look at another computer screen when I get home. I'm no technophobe, I love me some shiny shiny gadgets and I built my last desktop computer meself (pushes glasses up on nose and gets shoved into a locker...ha! the joke is on you Mr. Bully, I can't fit into a locker), but I can't let it creep into every aspect of my life. It's bad enough that my TV viewing habits seem to have escalated as of late (I blame hockey for this but only because I refuse to shoulder any responsibility for my own behavior) but ever since The Wiff bought a laptop I find myself sitting in front of the TV with the frickin' laptop on my, well, lap. Basically I'm a hypocrite ok? What I'm going to do is curb my own behavior. I admit to having a minor Facebook addiction as well as an obsession with checking to see if anyone posted any comments here at ye olde blog (usually it's a "Nope"). If I can ween myself off this stuff to the point where maybe I get outside a little more often (without my phone), I'd be happy with that.
This need to be connected to everything at all times confuses me. Granted I'm an old fuddy-duddy but can't we just unplug ourselves for a certain amount of time during the day (and I'm not including sleep here .. The Wiff actually has a radio that she listens to all night long. I think it's to keep the voices in her head at bay)? I was in an elevator at my office this morning and this woman got on with me. Right there I'm annoyed because she was a swooper. She swooped in at the last minute. I believe she was planning on taking the stairs originally but saw the open elevator and jumped at the opportunity, thus ruining my chance for a solo ride. She hit the 3rd floor button (we got in on the 1st floor) and then immediately took out her Blackberry. Look lady, you're going to be at your desk in what? 5 minutes? Can't you wait that long to check your email? I'm standing there watching her scroll, scroll, scroll through emails when the door opens on her floor and she doesn't make a move. I chose not to say anything because I was interested in seeing if she'd even notice. The doors eventually started to close again and that must have snapped her out of her dreamscape. She lunged towards them and thrust her arm through the narrowing gap (but not the one holding her precious, precious Blackberry). I think the doors actually let out an exasperated sigh as they opened up again. Good work lady, you managed to annoy an inanimate object.
I spend the bulk of my work day in front of a computer so when I leave the office the last thing I want to do is look at another computer screen when I get home. I'm no technophobe, I love me some shiny shiny gadgets and I built my last desktop computer meself (pushes glasses up on nose and gets shoved into a locker...ha! the joke is on you Mr. Bully, I can't fit into a locker), but I can't let it creep into every aspect of my life. It's bad enough that my TV viewing habits seem to have escalated as of late (I blame hockey for this but only because I refuse to shoulder any responsibility for my own behavior) but ever since The Wiff bought a laptop I find myself sitting in front of the TV with the frickin' laptop on my, well, lap. Basically I'm a hypocrite ok? What I'm going to do is curb my own behavior. I admit to having a minor Facebook addiction as well as an obsession with checking to see if anyone posted any comments here at ye olde blog (usually it's a "Nope"). If I can ween myself off this stuff to the point where maybe I get outside a little more often (without my phone), I'd be happy with that.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Oh, Good Thing I Have a Clutch
Yes, it has been awhile since I have updated ye olde blog. This is not to say that I have nothing to say but to say that I can't think of what I want to say or how to say it. I have a form of writer's block I guess. Blogger's block? Can we do away with the word "blog" please? It's a shitty word. I don't know what would replace it that would be an improvement though. "Journal" is pretentious, "diary" sounds like it should be hidden in 12-year-old girls room. "Chronicle" maybe? Nah, that just makes me think of Mary Richardson and how HD is totally not her friend (which I suspect is the real reason behind her retiring next month). Let's come back to this at a later date shall we? No, let's drop it and forget that I even brought it up? Ok, I'm easy like Sunday morning.
Last night it took me a combined 2 and a half hours to get home from Cambridge. That includes a walk from the office to the garage (it's about 3 blocks up the street from the office) in a ridiculous downpour which, because I did not have my umbrella with me, soaked me like the proverbial drowned rat. My pants were ridiculously wet. I did have a semi-water resistant jacket on so my upper body and head were somewhat protected but my shoes, socks and pants were stupid wet. I made squish squish sounds when I walked across the garage floor. Then, after winding my way down the ramps I encountered a traffic jam in the garage. "Oh, what the fuck", I said to no one. "C'mon people, let's frickin' move it." I was just about to beep my horn to encourage the person 3 cars ahead of me to step on the goddamn gas when I realized that it wasn't that person's fault that we weren't moving (I had assumed it was their fault cuz their car was at this wonky angle halfway in the other "lane"). There was something wrong with the gates. They were stuck and refused to go up thus trapping all these cars.
The line behind me quickly grew and people started getting out of their cars, wandering slowly over to where they could get a look at what was going on and stand there staring blankly at the gates. Hi, um...are you people experts in fixing stupid gates that won't move? No? Ok, then could you get back in your fucking cars then? You aren't helping. And I don't want you to think that since we are both stuck in the same line of traffic that we are now best friends and you can talk to me. I assure you that this is not the case so don't bother trying to make eye contact. I will look straight through you and pretend that the Mazda parked behind you is amazingly interesting. 'Kay? 'Kay. Did I mention that I'm soaking wet and my feet are probably all pruney?
Finally after 18 minutes (yes, fucking 18 minutes) the garage dudes got the gates to open and we all spilled out into the street. The woman who was right in front of me decided that she wanted to see what it was like to drive in London and was way over on the left-hand side of the ramp. When another car coming into the garage beeped at her, she screamed at them out her window and flipped them off. Of course she did. This is why I hate people you see. I then started my dreaded drive home. The Wiff was going out with some friends so I didn't have to pick her up so in theory, since it was a little after 5pm, I should get home by quarter of 6...give or take 5 minutes. Sweet. Let's go people, move yer ass. Marky wants a nap. It was still raining at this point but it had lightened up significantly (meaning if I had just waited in my office for another 40 minutes or so I would have avoided getting wet AND stuck in the garage).
Getting out of Cambridge at this time of night is never an easy, pleasant thing to do but for whatever reason (Sox game in town, rain, stupid humans) traffic was just crawling everywhere I went. I abandoned the idea of going my usual way through the tunnel because as this is a school vacation week here in Mass, the traffic over by the Museum of Science is obscene. I made my way over to the Tobin and while trying desperately to remember my mantra of N.O.T.S.M. ("None Of This Shit Matters". I even had custom silicone wristbands made. I'm wearing one right now), I must admit I refused to let quite a few people squeeze in line in front of me. I believe I may have even muttered "Hey, go fuck yourself there Billy." a few times. I admit it isn't very enlightened of me but I wasn't feeling particularly charitable last night. By the time I made it over to Revere Beach I had been driving in stop and go traffic for over an hour and a half. My clutch leg was yelling at me and I was starting to wonder if I'd ever get to use any gears higher than 3rd (short answer: yes, briefly to 4th but only to immediately be forced back down the gearbox to 2nd).
By the time I pulled into the driveway it was a little after 7pm. I had left my desk at just past 4:30. Fuck me. I live a scant 15 miles from my office. That is just a stupid amount of time to go that short distance. I would also like to call out the shitty traffic updates on WBZ radio. All they did was briefly mention that Rt. 1 north was "hung up" back to Sargent St. (for those of you who aren't from this area just know that Rt. 1 is almost always hung up back to Sargent St. so that's not really helpful). What they failed to mention was that no, Rt. 1 was actually backed up all the way onto the Tobin bridge itself. I really think that they don't monitor this road properly and seem to focus more on west and south of Boston. Wow. I just bored myself with that paragraph. Look, the take-home message here is that there are too many people on the road and in my way. If everyone could pull the fuck over and let me get past them I would be eternally grateful and I might even not swear at them as I drive by. No promises though.
Last night it took me a combined 2 and a half hours to get home from Cambridge. That includes a walk from the office to the garage (it's about 3 blocks up the street from the office) in a ridiculous downpour which, because I did not have my umbrella with me, soaked me like the proverbial drowned rat. My pants were ridiculously wet. I did have a semi-water resistant jacket on so my upper body and head were somewhat protected but my shoes, socks and pants were stupid wet. I made squish squish sounds when I walked across the garage floor. Then, after winding my way down the ramps I encountered a traffic jam in the garage. "Oh, what the fuck", I said to no one. "C'mon people, let's frickin' move it." I was just about to beep my horn to encourage the person 3 cars ahead of me to step on the goddamn gas when I realized that it wasn't that person's fault that we weren't moving (I had assumed it was their fault cuz their car was at this wonky angle halfway in the other "lane"). There was something wrong with the gates. They were stuck and refused to go up thus trapping all these cars.
The line behind me quickly grew and people started getting out of their cars, wandering slowly over to where they could get a look at what was going on and stand there staring blankly at the gates. Hi, um...are you people experts in fixing stupid gates that won't move? No? Ok, then could you get back in your fucking cars then? You aren't helping. And I don't want you to think that since we are both stuck in the same line of traffic that we are now best friends and you can talk to me. I assure you that this is not the case so don't bother trying to make eye contact. I will look straight through you and pretend that the Mazda parked behind you is amazingly interesting. 'Kay? 'Kay. Did I mention that I'm soaking wet and my feet are probably all pruney?
Finally after 18 minutes (yes, fucking 18 minutes) the garage dudes got the gates to open and we all spilled out into the street. The woman who was right in front of me decided that she wanted to see what it was like to drive in London and was way over on the left-hand side of the ramp. When another car coming into the garage beeped at her, she screamed at them out her window and flipped them off. Of course she did. This is why I hate people you see. I then started my dreaded drive home. The Wiff was going out with some friends so I didn't have to pick her up so in theory, since it was a little after 5pm, I should get home by quarter of 6...give or take 5 minutes. Sweet. Let's go people, move yer ass. Marky wants a nap. It was still raining at this point but it had lightened up significantly (meaning if I had just waited in my office for another 40 minutes or so I would have avoided getting wet AND stuck in the garage).
Getting out of Cambridge at this time of night is never an easy, pleasant thing to do but for whatever reason (Sox game in town, rain, stupid humans) traffic was just crawling everywhere I went. I abandoned the idea of going my usual way through the tunnel because as this is a school vacation week here in Mass, the traffic over by the Museum of Science is obscene. I made my way over to the Tobin and while trying desperately to remember my mantra of N.O.T.S.M. ("None Of This Shit Matters". I even had custom silicone wristbands made. I'm wearing one right now), I must admit I refused to let quite a few people squeeze in line in front of me. I believe I may have even muttered "Hey, go fuck yourself there Billy." a few times. I admit it isn't very enlightened of me but I wasn't feeling particularly charitable last night. By the time I made it over to Revere Beach I had been driving in stop and go traffic for over an hour and a half. My clutch leg was yelling at me and I was starting to wonder if I'd ever get to use any gears higher than 3rd (short answer: yes, briefly to 4th but only to immediately be forced back down the gearbox to 2nd).
By the time I pulled into the driveway it was a little after 7pm. I had left my desk at just past 4:30. Fuck me. I live a scant 15 miles from my office. That is just a stupid amount of time to go that short distance. I would also like to call out the shitty traffic updates on WBZ radio. All they did was briefly mention that Rt. 1 north was "hung up" back to Sargent St. (for those of you who aren't from this area just know that Rt. 1 is almost always hung up back to Sargent St. so that's not really helpful). What they failed to mention was that no, Rt. 1 was actually backed up all the way onto the Tobin bridge itself. I really think that they don't monitor this road properly and seem to focus more on west and south of Boston. Wow. I just bored myself with that paragraph. Look, the take-home message here is that there are too many people on the road and in my way. If everyone could pull the fuck over and let me get past them I would be eternally grateful and I might even not swear at them as I drive by. No promises though.
Friday, April 2, 2010
N.O.T.S.M.
Hi there. I've been pretty busy at work lately so my goofing off time has been reduced drastically. I'll spare you the details since they are less than exciting. It's just work stuff anyway. The kitchen project is not actually starting until the end of April. I was a little premature (what's up ladies? oh wait...) in my last post about when this thing would get going. It still looks like it'll get done before the end of May though so that's just lovely. Oh, and we'll have an eat-in kitchen for the first time since moving into the house almost 12 years ago. That'll be schweet. I like having my breakfast in the kitchen.
I'm in a reading slump right now. I need a good book to kind of kick start my brain. I recently re-read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and it .. um .. wasn't as good as I remembered. I read it originally in high school and I thought it was brilliant and funny. This time around I thought it was kinda hacky and the comedy seemed forced. But please keep in mind that I write this fucking bullshit blog thing so you can totally ignore my opinion. Whatever, why are you so mean to me? Why can't I say what I think anymore without you saying things like, "Oh, you think you're so great huh? How many books have you had published? Has this stupid blog been turned into a movie? No? Then FUCK YOU Mark!" Jeez, lay off Billy. My opinion is just that dammit: Mine. I can call out Adams as a not-so-great author and that's perfectly valid. So there. Fuck you, you judgmental cunt.
Ok, then. Got a little side-tracked for a sec. Books. Yes. I need to find some books to read so that I don't get any dumber. Suggestions? I'm not logging into Good Reads or whatever that site is so don't suggest that (I'm looking at YOU Nancy). I'm just too lazy for that. So please do all the work for me. Thanks. Chop chop people...let's get moving.
I'm in a reading slump right now. I need a good book to kind of kick start my brain. I recently re-read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and it .. um .. wasn't as good as I remembered. I read it originally in high school and I thought it was brilliant and funny. This time around I thought it was kinda hacky and the comedy seemed forced. But please keep in mind that I write this fucking bullshit blog thing so you can totally ignore my opinion. Whatever, why are you so mean to me? Why can't I say what I think anymore without you saying things like, "Oh, you think you're so great huh? How many books have you had published? Has this stupid blog been turned into a movie? No? Then FUCK YOU Mark!" Jeez, lay off Billy. My opinion is just that dammit: Mine. I can call out Adams as a not-so-great author and that's perfectly valid. So there. Fuck you, you judgmental cunt.
Ok, then. Got a little side-tracked for a sec. Books. Yes. I need to find some books to read so that I don't get any dumber. Suggestions? I'm not logging into Good Reads or whatever that site is so don't suggest that (I'm looking at YOU Nancy). I'm just too lazy for that. So please do all the work for me. Thanks. Chop chop people...let's get moving.
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