Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Elijah Wood
Should Free Willy (1993) be considered the pinnacle or pit of his career? He's so pathetic that I'm actually considering an "Either / Or" segment judging the acting chops of Keiko, the Orca whale that played Willy or Elijah Wood. Good God, Elijah. I will pray for you and will light a candle for you at church in hopes that another facial hair will sprout on your boyish face by the age of 40.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Unwritten Code
It goes without being said, you don't give a man's wife a foot massage, and [as a man] you don't walk into a bathroom with three urinals and choose the middle one. It's just bad form and extremely poor taste. And now a word from my friend Jules, "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord" (Pulp Fiction, 1994).
Facebook Dilemma
I am one of the 17 people scattered throughout the U.S. that doesn't have a Facebook or MySpace account. Part of me hates what these "social-networking" sites have replaced - meaningful communications and relations with people in the flesh. I understand the merits of such a tool, especially when keeping in touch with friends that are slaves to lines of longitude between them. I abhor this site for many reasons, much too many to list here in this insignificant blog.
That being said, I'm also aware that I'm a walking contradiction, but chief among the reasons for abstaining is the notion that some things are better left off of the intertubes. I know what you're thinking: Wait. What? You idiot you have a blog. That's true. But the blog, while incriminating, doesn't have my face and name tagged all over other people's half-naked pictures. I'm not taking the holier-than-thou approach here, because I can't recount all the infantile antics I've participated in whilst inebriated. However, I have no desire to become a MySpace or Facebook celebrity because of the digitized megapixels portraying me naked and straddling a porcelain throne at 5:16AM.
The only thing that makes me even consider opening a faceless account, is so people know I exist (and to pimp the Scriptural Apothecary). Facebook and MySpace have become a tool for people to do a background check on new acquaintances. It raises red flags in their minds when they find out I don't participate. I can understand that it's a bit strange and that I should just stop being me and create some stupid profile, but the stubborn Irish in me won't let me budge from my moral stance. I could picture in my mind's eye, as I typed the keys to fill out my bare-bones profile, my mother questioning, "If everyone jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it?" What can I say? I've always been a sucker for D.A.R.E. scare tactics.
That being said, I'm also aware that I'm a walking contradiction, but chief among the reasons for abstaining is the notion that some things are better left off of the intertubes. I know what you're thinking: Wait. What? You idiot you have a blog. That's true. But the blog, while incriminating, doesn't have my face and name tagged all over other people's half-naked pictures. I'm not taking the holier-than-thou approach here, because I can't recount all the infantile antics I've participated in whilst inebriated. However, I have no desire to become a MySpace or Facebook celebrity because of the digitized megapixels portraying me naked and straddling a porcelain throne at 5:16AM.
The only thing that makes me even consider opening a faceless account, is so people know I exist (and to pimp the Scriptural Apothecary). Facebook and MySpace have become a tool for people to do a background check on new acquaintances. It raises red flags in their minds when they find out I don't participate. I can understand that it's a bit strange and that I should just stop being me and create some stupid profile, but the stubborn Irish in me won't let me budge from my moral stance. I could picture in my mind's eye, as I typed the keys to fill out my bare-bones profile, my mother questioning, "If everyone jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it?" What can I say? I've always been a sucker for D.A.R.E. scare tactics.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Jobs & Torture
I can't recall the countless conversations that I've had over the past six months with people of all ages and walks of life that are completely uninformed of the economic realities that face us today.
Socializing can be agonizing. Look no further than the obligatory exchange between new acquaintances, "So what do you do?" I reluctantly confess that I work in finance, and before he/she can ask how things are going I blurt out, "Things are not great, but I'm still employed. But, you know, that can change at any moment." The listener usually empathizes publicly, but wishes bad things on my family because they think I somehow masterminded the credit freeze and the downward spiraling economy based on the intense Excel work I do on a daily basis.
As if that dialog wasn't unpleasant enough, I then ask about their career. They usually admit to a career that is more interesting than mine by a power of infinity. At this point I don't question further, and I'm ready to talk about something completely meaningless like the weather outside. However, they just continue, and I sit there and take it like a suspected terrorist being interrogated in some cavernous basement being exposed to "questionable tactics." This individual rambles on about how their job is fairly safe because he/she doesn't work in finance, or that they're immune from things that happen on Wall Street.
WRONG! In case you hadn't noticed, the engine for NYC and the economy (in the recent past) has been the excessive workings of Wall Street. That trickles down to every job, every municipality, every school, to all ends of the Earth. Wait. Am I suggesting that it affects auto manufacturing plants in Detroit? YES! So it's no surprise that it could affect your publishing job, or your trendy fashion job.
You don't realize it, but I'm judging you with each ignorant and naive statement and I don't care that you went to the country's finest schools because you are oblivious to reality. Now if you don't mind, I have to get back to scanning the room or bar for more interesting people than you, and drown in my lonely beer.
Socializing can be agonizing. Look no further than the obligatory exchange between new acquaintances, "So what do you do?" I reluctantly confess that I work in finance, and before he/she can ask how things are going I blurt out, "Things are not great, but I'm still employed. But, you know, that can change at any moment." The listener usually empathizes publicly, but wishes bad things on my family because they think I somehow masterminded the credit freeze and the downward spiraling economy based on the intense Excel work I do on a daily basis.
As if that dialog wasn't unpleasant enough, I then ask about their career. They usually admit to a career that is more interesting than mine by a power of infinity. At this point I don't question further, and I'm ready to talk about something completely meaningless like the weather outside. However, they just continue, and I sit there and take it like a suspected terrorist being interrogated in some cavernous basement being exposed to "questionable tactics." This individual rambles on about how their job is fairly safe because he/she doesn't work in finance, or that they're immune from things that happen on Wall Street.
WRONG! In case you hadn't noticed, the engine for NYC and the economy (in the recent past) has been the excessive workings of Wall Street. That trickles down to every job, every municipality, every school, to all ends of the Earth. Wait. Am I suggesting that it affects auto manufacturing plants in Detroit? YES! So it's no surprise that it could affect your publishing job, or your trendy fashion job.
You don't realize it, but I'm judging you with each ignorant and naive statement and I don't care that you went to the country's finest schools because you are oblivious to reality. Now if you don't mind, I have to get back to scanning the room or bar for more interesting people than you, and drown in my lonely beer.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Oochie Wally
"Yo, this is Horse, you know, the pussy filla. I still haven't gotten paid." John (01/17/2009), employed by Sony, sipping Purple Haze and articulating work-related frustrations.
Ryan's Daughter
"I like the blog."
"Thanks for reading it."
I settle into my beer at the bar at approximately 3:20AM and wax philosophical with Catherine. She takes offense to the way I portray UES women in the blog, and is still flabbergasted that I'd take the time to read Skinny Bitch. On cue an UES girl, wearing a strapless dress, tugs on her sagging fabric to re-establish the appropriate cleavage and orders another drink. The vapid girl with the obligatory tattoo on the inside of her wrist (probably related to Kabbalah) begs, "Gary, I'll have another drink." She looks to Kate as Gary fixes her poison, "I don't really care. My Dad pays my credit card bill." Catherine looks at me and rolls her eyes and commences laughing. In a desperate attempt to prove that my sweeping generalizations don't hold water, Catherine explains that she's really smart - besides she graduated from UPenn. I just continued to verbally spar with Catherine until last call. I got the impression that Catherine fully understood that it would only be a matter of time until the ink dries on another post.
"Thanks for reading it."
I settle into my beer at the bar at approximately 3:20AM and wax philosophical with Catherine. She takes offense to the way I portray UES women in the blog, and is still flabbergasted that I'd take the time to read Skinny Bitch. On cue an UES girl, wearing a strapless dress, tugs on her sagging fabric to re-establish the appropriate cleavage and orders another drink. The vapid girl with the obligatory tattoo on the inside of her wrist (probably related to Kabbalah) begs, "Gary, I'll have another drink." She looks to Kate as Gary fixes her poison, "I don't really care. My Dad pays my credit card bill." Catherine looks at me and rolls her eyes and commences laughing. In a desperate attempt to prove that my sweeping generalizations don't hold water, Catherine explains that she's really smart - besides she graduated from UPenn. I just continued to verbally spar with Catherine until last call. I got the impression that Catherine fully understood that it would only be a matter of time until the ink dries on another post.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Garbage & Jenga
When is it time to take the garbage out?
My roommate and I have a long-standing game going re: community garbage. I'm in no rush to take out the garbage, and he certainly doesn't volunteer to take it out. Every other week we engage in a strategic game of Jenga. It's not intentional. It just kind of happens. We stack the trash up into a pyramid structure, and usually it takes on a Jenga-like form. The idiot that adds the piece of trash that topples the structure is charged with taking the trash out. In the past I'd be beside myself because I had a roommate that had mastered garbage Jenga. He could stretch it an additional week before it had to be taken out. I'd always catch him chuckling, knowing it would take something special to take his Jenga crown. That type of sentiment twists my titties. If the garbage is full, just take it out. Don't play games. If you've mastered garbage Jenga, chances are your roommate has a deep-seeded hatred towards you.
My roommate and I have a long-standing game going re: community garbage. I'm in no rush to take out the garbage, and he certainly doesn't volunteer to take it out. Every other week we engage in a strategic game of Jenga. It's not intentional. It just kind of happens. We stack the trash up into a pyramid structure, and usually it takes on a Jenga-like form. The idiot that adds the piece of trash that topples the structure is charged with taking the trash out. In the past I'd be beside myself because I had a roommate that had mastered garbage Jenga. He could stretch it an additional week before it had to be taken out. I'd always catch him chuckling, knowing it would take something special to take his Jenga crown. That type of sentiment twists my titties. If the garbage is full, just take it out. Don't play games. If you've mastered garbage Jenga, chances are your roommate has a deep-seeded hatred towards you.
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