Tuesday, November 28, 2006
More Cowbell
I'm sure everyone is familiar with how disorganized and pretentious any local music scene can be. I spent a couple of years in Athens, second only to Austin in prestige on the college rock scene, and it's not much better than other places. Some talent, but it all fades away when graduation rolls around, you know?
For some reason, the Augusta scene attracts a lot of goth-y bands. Maybe it's that the only all-ages venue, Sector 7G, is a post-punk oasis of underage piercings. Maybe that is the scene here. But the more goth a band gets, the more obnoxious their names are.
"What is it with these bands around here?" I snap at our copy editor. "Why don't they just name themselves Black Black Blaaaaack?"
She laughs at me.
"Or, like, Wellbutrin Nation, since Prozac's already taken," I continue, irritatedly.
"Also, I don't know why they have to be a mile long. I can hardly fit them in the listings," she says.
Seriously, what happened to simple "The" - somethings? The Shins, The Killers, The Replacements, The Queen, The Vatican, The Gettys, The Rothschilds... oh, nevermind. Instead, we get shit names like By the Sins Fell Angels. There's probably a parenthetical phrase after that continues on for another couple of sentences. Good luck fitting it all on a CD cover.
"Whatever," I snark. "They should just name themselves 'Zoloft.'"
She laughs in agreement.
"Oh! Or 'Zoloft the Conquerer!' That would be awesome!"
HUGE IN BELGIUM! The copy editor alerted me to yet another dumbass band name: Through the Eyes of the Dead. That doesn't make sense, first of all. Second of all, their acronym would be "TED," which is a way more humorous and "emo" band name than the one they're currently sporting. Third, all the eyes of the dead see are the inside of their coffins - and eventually worms and maggots.
AND IN KYRGYZSTAN! Another stupid local band name is Challenge Theory. What theory challenges them? Could it be the theory of evolution? It sounds like a bunch of knuckle-dragging frat boys got together, inspired by the god-forsaken legacy of Hootie & the Blowfish (now with more tasty Blowfish goodness!), and between bong hits said, "Duuuuuuude! We could totally rock if we were in a band!" And now they are. Hooray for us.
For some reason, the Augusta scene attracts a lot of goth-y bands. Maybe it's that the only all-ages venue, Sector 7G, is a post-punk oasis of underage piercings. Maybe that is the scene here. But the more goth a band gets, the more obnoxious their names are.
"What is it with these bands around here?" I snap at our copy editor. "Why don't they just name themselves Black Black Blaaaaack?"
She laughs at me.
"Or, like, Wellbutrin Nation, since Prozac's already taken," I continue, irritatedly.
"Also, I don't know why they have to be a mile long. I can hardly fit them in the listings," she says.
Seriously, what happened to simple "The" - somethings? The Shins, The Killers, The Replacements, The Queen, The Vatican, The Gettys, The Rothschilds... oh, nevermind. Instead, we get shit names like By the Sins Fell Angels. There's probably a parenthetical phrase after that continues on for another couple of sentences. Good luck fitting it all on a CD cover.
"Whatever," I snark. "They should just name themselves 'Zoloft.'"
She laughs in agreement.
"Oh! Or 'Zoloft the Conquerer!' That would be awesome!"
HUGE IN BELGIUM! The copy editor alerted me to yet another dumbass band name: Through the Eyes of the Dead. That doesn't make sense, first of all. Second of all, their acronym would be "TED," which is a way more humorous and "emo" band name than the one they're currently sporting. Third, all the eyes of the dead see are the inside of their coffins - and eventually worms and maggots.
AND IN KYRGYZSTAN! Another stupid local band name is Challenge Theory. What theory challenges them? Could it be the theory of evolution? It sounds like a bunch of knuckle-dragging frat boys got together, inspired by the god-forsaken legacy of Hootie & the Blowfish (now with more tasty Blowfish goodness!), and between bong hits said, "Duuuuuuude! We could totally rock if we were in a band!" And now they are. Hooray for us.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
As Seen Through a Transparent Eyeball
I work at a newspaper, and I love it. But any public forum invites crazy people to step up and open their yaps: County commission meetings, radio call-in shows, newspaper complaint columns, and the never-ending Internet... nothing is safe.
So I get a lot of crazies on the phone where I work. Today, I spoke to "Selene." She calls a couple of times a week to ramble about the classes that she organizes. I can almost hear the granola rattling around in her brain. After one particularly grueling 15-minute conversation, during which I almost fell asleep during her nonsensical patter that is utterly free of organization, I finally cut her off.
"Okay, so I have all the information except the location," I said.
"Well, I don't want to tell you."
(There is a moment of silence in which I consider stapling my ears shut so I don't have to hear her anymore.)
"You don't want to tell me?"
"Well, I'll tell you, but I don't want it in the paper."
"You want people to just guess where the classes are going to be?"
"Well, they can call, and I might tell them the location, but sometimes I get some people who are really mentally ill. You know?"
Yes. I do know.
"I mean, I want everyone to be able to come. It's a great stress reliever, and, as we know, stress is the cause of all wars."
"Oh!" I say, with a laugh. "I thought it was a shortage of chocolate."
There is a moment of shocked silence on the other end of the phone. I hope she isn't lighting some Wiccan revenge candle - oh, I know. That's not fair. Really, I don't have a problem with Wicca. I have a problem with Wiccans.
"You know," she said, quietly and seriously, "that stuff is really bad for you."
"I know," I say. "Sugar and caffeine and fat."
"Yes, but as you get older you can't digest it and it really clogs up your system," she says. "It's just really awful stuff."
I am unwilling to deal with her anymore.
"Yeah, but you know what else it is?" I ask.
"What?"
"It's yummy!"
She sputters and stutters, laughing stiffly. I intervene before she begins to spew marijuana smoke out of her ears.
"I'm just joking," I said.
"Yes, well, I have to go."
Click.
So I get a lot of crazies on the phone where I work. Today, I spoke to "Selene." She calls a couple of times a week to ramble about the classes that she organizes. I can almost hear the granola rattling around in her brain. After one particularly grueling 15-minute conversation, during which I almost fell asleep during her nonsensical patter that is utterly free of organization, I finally cut her off.
"Okay, so I have all the information except the location," I said.
"Well, I don't want to tell you."
(There is a moment of silence in which I consider stapling my ears shut so I don't have to hear her anymore.)
"You don't want to tell me?"
"Well, I'll tell you, but I don't want it in the paper."
"You want people to just guess where the classes are going to be?"
"Well, they can call, and I might tell them the location, but sometimes I get some people who are really mentally ill. You know?"
Yes. I do know.
"I mean, I want everyone to be able to come. It's a great stress reliever, and, as we know, stress is the cause of all wars."
"Oh!" I say, with a laugh. "I thought it was a shortage of chocolate."
There is a moment of shocked silence on the other end of the phone. I hope she isn't lighting some Wiccan revenge candle - oh, I know. That's not fair. Really, I don't have a problem with Wicca. I have a problem with Wiccans.
"You know," she said, quietly and seriously, "that stuff is really bad for you."
"I know," I say. "Sugar and caffeine and fat."
"Yes, but as you get older you can't digest it and it really clogs up your system," she says. "It's just really awful stuff."
I am unwilling to deal with her anymore.
"Yeah, but you know what else it is?" I ask.
"What?"
"It's yummy!"
She sputters and stutters, laughing stiffly. I intervene before she begins to spew marijuana smoke out of her ears.
"I'm just joking," I said.
"Yes, well, I have to go."
Click.
Friday, November 24, 2006
One of the Many Reasons I Married Scott
I ran into my lame-o ex-boyfriend at CVS today. I was picking up a prescription and, of course, I was waiting because even though my doctor called it in two days ago, they had not yet filled it. Sure. Great. Thanks.
So I'm trolling the aisles for stupid pappy crap that I don't need - candy, soda, whatever - when my ex-boyfriend came slinking down the aisle, stupid ponytail still intact. Stupid never-been conditioned ponytail. I mean, I bought him conditioner and he still wouldn't use it.
Anyhoodle... Although taken by surprise, I smiled and said "Hi, [name redacted]!" He didn't even glance in my direction. But he came down the aisle from behind me, so it's not as though he didn't see me. And it's not as though I whispered. He intentionally ignored me. We crossed paths again. I was fuming a bit, but I tried again, thinking that no one could possibly be so... whatever... as to be so ridiculously rude twice. In the same place. In the same day. But guess what? Same response.
(sigh)
I left the store without getting my prescription because it hurt my feelings, and because I was angry. That kind of behavior reeks of the blame game, and we broke up amicably - THREE YEARS AGO. Afterwards, he acted like the jealous little man he is (not a crack on his height; on his personality), and it put some very effective distance between us. But it's been a while, and I only hold grudges for serious offenses, not snarkly e-mails detailing how I'm allowed to behave post-break-up. Not allowed to date for three months? You must be joking. I had a date before I even received that e-mail, fool.
Regardless of the jealousy and childishness (again, not a crack; I have my faults, too, they just don't surface in those situations. But ask my husband about my hair trigger temper), again, I wasn't holding a grudge. But I have since found out that when it comes to confidences, his ability to keep them is conditional. He revealed enough on his usually very entertaining blog to let me know that. I guess his character is as imposing as his stature.
Okay, that last line was a crack.
Anyway, whatever. I don't really understand behavior like that, and when I can't understand something, I tend to obsess about it until I either get bored with it or figure it out.
But somehow I think the time I spend on this one will be short.
So I'm trolling the aisles for stupid pappy crap that I don't need - candy, soda, whatever - when my ex-boyfriend came slinking down the aisle, stupid ponytail still intact. Stupid never-been conditioned ponytail. I mean, I bought him conditioner and he still wouldn't use it.
Anyhoodle... Although taken by surprise, I smiled and said "Hi, [name redacted]!" He didn't even glance in my direction. But he came down the aisle from behind me, so it's not as though he didn't see me. And it's not as though I whispered. He intentionally ignored me. We crossed paths again. I was fuming a bit, but I tried again, thinking that no one could possibly be so... whatever... as to be so ridiculously rude twice. In the same place. In the same day. But guess what? Same response.
(sigh)
I left the store without getting my prescription because it hurt my feelings, and because I was angry. That kind of behavior reeks of the blame game, and we broke up amicably - THREE YEARS AGO. Afterwards, he acted like the jealous little man he is (not a crack on his height; on his personality), and it put some very effective distance between us. But it's been a while, and I only hold grudges for serious offenses, not snarkly e-mails detailing how I'm allowed to behave post-break-up. Not allowed to date for three months? You must be joking. I had a date before I even received that e-mail, fool.
Regardless of the jealousy and childishness (again, not a crack; I have my faults, too, they just don't surface in those situations. But ask my husband about my hair trigger temper), again, I wasn't holding a grudge. But I have since found out that when it comes to confidences, his ability to keep them is conditional. He revealed enough on his usually very entertaining blog to let me know that. I guess his character is as imposing as his stature.
Okay, that last line was a crack.
Anyway, whatever. I don't really understand behavior like that, and when I can't understand something, I tend to obsess about it until I either get bored with it or figure it out.
But somehow I think the time I spend on this one will be short.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
We're Serious Journalists
INTEROFFICE MEMO
Hey guys,
I'm going to be taking over the ordering of office supplies. I'm placing an order at the end of the day today. After today, I'll be placing an order on the first Friday of every month. We will not be ordering multiple times during the month because there is no reason to pay shipping prices multiple times. Let me know what you need for today's order. I've also organized the supply closet so we can better keep up with what we have. Please help keep it straight. You will have a crazy woman on your hands if it gets back in the shape it was in.
thanks, N.
RESPONSE
N. - Here's my list:
Furniture for the empty vault
Money for the empty vault
Chocolate
Coffee
Diet Coke
Tampons
Liquor
Weed
Glue (for sniffing)
Leather
Firearms
A monkey
RESPONSE TO RESPONSE
I'm sorry, but Office Depot is all out of these items at the present time. Please check back later.
Thanks, N.
Hey guys,
I'm going to be taking over the ordering of office supplies. I'm placing an order at the end of the day today. After today, I'll be placing an order on the first Friday of every month. We will not be ordering multiple times during the month because there is no reason to pay shipping prices multiple times. Let me know what you need for today's order. I've also organized the supply closet so we can better keep up with what we have. Please help keep it straight. You will have a crazy woman on your hands if it gets back in the shape it was in.
thanks, N.
RESPONSE
N. - Here's my list:
Furniture for the empty vault
Money for the empty vault
Chocolate
Coffee
Diet Coke
Tampons
Liquor
Weed
Glue (for sniffing)
Leather
Firearms
A monkey
RESPONSE TO RESPONSE
I'm sorry, but Office Depot is all out of these items at the present time. Please check back later.
Thanks, N.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Mmm... Chocolate
We had a great time watching one of my co-worker's daughter last night. She's super smart and just darn nice. As a thank-you, my co-worker gave us a box of truffles.
"They're from Target," she said.
"Dude, chocolate and Target? That's like my dream gift!"
"I know!"
The description on the tag said that they're hand-packed fresh after a warm chocolate bath and general sprinkle of pure chocolate flakes. Where can I get a warm chocolate bath?!
"They're from Target," she said.
"Dude, chocolate and Target? That's like my dream gift!"
"I know!"
The description on the tag said that they're hand-packed fresh after a warm chocolate bath and general sprinkle of pure chocolate flakes. Where can I get a warm chocolate bath?!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Vanity Pretty Fair
Because we ladies simply never shut up at work, much to the chagrin of our male bretheren, the copy editor, editor and I are discussing the movie "Vanity Fair," with Reese Witherspoon.
"What did you think of it?" the copy editor asked me.
"I don't know. Usually, if there are corsets and accents, I like it.... and I like Mira Nair. I guess the story arc was too divergent in parts," I stumble. Alice nods.
"I can see that," she says. I turn back to my desk and see the editor glaring at me.
"What?" I am worried. I cannot anger my comedy partner. My days will be bleak, filled with endless words. Nothing but words.
"You and your big words," she says.
"What big words are those?" Alice asks.
"Apparently 'story' and 'arc' are just too huge for her," I reply, and we all laugh. "Wait! Wait! Here, I'll rephrase my review!"
I stand up at my desk and beat on my chest.
"Uh! Uh uh!" I imitate a gorilla, and run over to pick imaginary lice out of the editor's hair.
"Is that better?" I gasp, through laughter. We're both laughing so hard that we're crying.
"Okay," Editor Supreme says. "I think there's enough laughter over there. Do I need to find some work for you?"
"Just her!" I laugh.
"What did you think of it?" the copy editor asked me.
"I don't know. Usually, if there are corsets and accents, I like it.... and I like Mira Nair. I guess the story arc was too divergent in parts," I stumble. Alice nods.
"I can see that," she says. I turn back to my desk and see the editor glaring at me.
"What?" I am worried. I cannot anger my comedy partner. My days will be bleak, filled with endless words. Nothing but words.
"You and your big words," she says.
"What big words are those?" Alice asks.
"Apparently 'story' and 'arc' are just too huge for her," I reply, and we all laugh. "Wait! Wait! Here, I'll rephrase my review!"
I stand up at my desk and beat on my chest.
"Uh! Uh uh!" I imitate a gorilla, and run over to pick imaginary lice out of the editor's hair.
"Is that better?" I gasp, through laughter. We're both laughing so hard that we're crying.
"Okay," Editor Supreme says. "I think there's enough laughter over there. Do I need to find some work for you?"
"Just her!" I laugh.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Back atcha
The publisher is looking over the pages before they go to press as I am walking by.
"Um, hellooooooo, where are the House Party pictures?" he asks the editor.
"Um, hellooooooo, I don't know, ask Joe," she mimics.
"Um, hellooooooo... just saying hello," I sing as I pass.
"Um, hellooooooo, where are the House Party pictures?" he asks the editor.
"Um, hellooooooo, I don't know, ask Joe," she mimics.
"Um, hellooooooo... just saying hello," I sing as I pass.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Spiteful Sprite
Emerson has hit the terrible twos much faster than I imagined. This morning, she asked for Sprite. Then she asked for a cup. It seemed like such a simple thing...
Emerson (running to the fridge as fast as her little bowlegged self can go and patting the door): pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry?
Me (following with eyes still closed from sleepiness and hair all crazy): Oh, you want Sprite, sweetie?
Emerson: (nods frantically, as though the need for Sprite is so great that whiplash is but a small concern)
Me (yawning): Okay, beautiful.
(I pull out the 2-liter of Sprite)
Emerson: ( begins pointing to the cabinet): cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup?
Me: No, shit, honey. Alright, I'm getting the cup. cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup?
I pour the Sprite into a cup and hand it to her. She knocks it out of my hand with a wail and runs out of the room in despair. I have no idea what I did wrong. She runs back in, still wailing. I offer the cup again. She wails louder and runs out of the kitchen again. This continues until I give up, put the entire apparatus back in the fridge and just go pee.
This does not sit well with my little dictator. She screams outside the door until I finish my bidness and open it again. I look down at her tear-stained face, red with fury, as she gasps and sniffles. She looks back up at me with serious eyes full of hope and says: pry?
Grrrrr.
Emerson (running to the fridge as fast as her little bowlegged self can go and patting the door): pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry? pry?
Me (following with eyes still closed from sleepiness and hair all crazy): Oh, you want Sprite, sweetie?
Emerson: (nods frantically, as though the need for Sprite is so great that whiplash is but a small concern)
Me (yawning): Okay, beautiful.
(I pull out the 2-liter of Sprite)
Emerson: ( begins pointing to the cabinet): cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup?
Me: No, shit, honey. Alright, I'm getting the cup. cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup? cup?
I pour the Sprite into a cup and hand it to her. She knocks it out of my hand with a wail and runs out of the room in despair. I have no idea what I did wrong. She runs back in, still wailing. I offer the cup again. She wails louder and runs out of the kitchen again. This continues until I give up, put the entire apparatus back in the fridge and just go pee.
This does not sit well with my little dictator. She screams outside the door until I finish my bidness and open it again. I look down at her tear-stained face, red with fury, as she gasps and sniffles. She looks back up at me with serious eyes full of hope and says: pry?
Grrrrr.
