I want my sandal. The left one to be exact. I don’t know where it is and I need it because I look stupid wearing only one sandal.
It’s getting warmer out. I’ll need to be cool and relaxed and the only way to do it is in my surfer shorts and ugly shirts. I can’t possibly complete the outfit with tennis shoes. I need sandals.
How can I wear just one sandal? I’d look like a fool. I mean, more so than usual.
Where is my sandal you ask? I don’t know. That’s why I’m looking for it. What happened? That’s an interesting story.
I blame the baby.
You see, since we’ve moved into a house the baby has increased mobility. In our old townhouse we had three floors. Each floor was about 8 inches from one side to another. We didn’t need to tell the baby not to go here or there because she couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go that we couldn’t see her.
Now it’s not so easy. There are simply certain sections of the house that cannot be blocked off. And she’s stealthy. Like a special ops soldier on a mission. One second she’ll be sitting on my lap looking at a book. The next thing I know I’ll wake up on the floor with a head ache and the baby is gone.
One of her favorite places to escape to is our closet. It’s big and has its own light. She spends more time there than in her room playing with her toys. For some reason my belts and shoes are infinitely more interesting that a buzzing, blinking toy that a loving aunt or uncle gave her.
When she disappears I know where to find her. Usually she’s wearing her mother’s “parochial funk” shoes, one of my hats and is carrying one of my sandals. I always arrive too late, no matter the situation. I could be right behind her and still she only has one damn sandal.
I give her the stern voice and ask her where my other sandal is.
Her usual look of maniacal glee is changed to a sweet innocence; she looks up at me with her big blue eyes and gives me an angelic face. “Shoo”, she says. I forget about what she had done and scoop her up in my arms, cover her in kisses and give her another credit card.
The other sandal always turns up a few days later. Usually on my bed, as if to say, “I own you.” As if there were any doubt.
But I was beginning to have doubts. Not about who was in charge, as it’s clearly the baby. My doubts were about her vocabulary. So I’ve been taping our conversations. (What? You’ve never had a conversation with an 18 month old?) If you slow it down, you’d be surprised what you hear.
There are a few things that are literal translations. For example:
Tebble = Table
Cheeeeeeez = Cheese
Peez = Please
Tink Ooo = Thank you
Buddee = Bunny
Uck! = Duck, yuck, I’m fed up with the current state of politics in our city
Nyuck = Either this means cup (which is odd because she can also say “cup” and “drink”) or she is trying to be a replacement stooge.
Dugee = Dog
Nums = Food
These are simple words that she uses on a daily basis. They are her survival words. Things she needs in order to get what she needs to eat, etc. However, there are other words that she uses that have a more nefarious use, I’ve discovered. When slowed down on tape, this is what they mean.
Uh oh = You’re screwed
Poopie = The princess has soiled herself and you, manservant, are expected to make things right immediately.
Mama = Your presence is irritating me. Go away and bring the Life Giver to me.
Mommy! = Did you not hear me the first time? Fetch the Life Giver!
Daddy! = I want something for which I do not have the vocabulary to describe. However, I demand that you provide it to me at once.
My Daddy! = I am trying to break your heart.
Shoo! = You are mine. I control you. Do not try to deny it for it will do you no good. I am in charge now. Serve me you pathetic adult. Now, hug me and forget that I have stolen the vessels that protect your soft feet from injury and harm.
Friday, May 30, 2003
Wednesday, May 28, 2003
I Know Nothing
To be honest, I have absolutely nothing to say today. So I won’t say anything. However, I will give you the list of ten jobs that I would like, should my current career not pan out.
10. Dog trainer. Hot dog trainer, that is. Real dogs bite and excrete things. And I can’t eat them. At least, it’s not accepted in my culture.
9. Website reader. I feel that some websites, such as mine, need professional regular readers. I can do that job. For a minimum price.
8. Sign writer. I feel I can bring a new flair to things like, “No Parking” and “One Way.” Right now they are so bland and overused. For example, rather than “One Way” I think we should have “You’re going the wrong way you stupid twit.” Let’s just be honest.
7. Bubble counter. Let’s face it; we just don’t know how many bubbles there are.
6. Professional board game player. Why isn’t there a competitive circuit? Think about the killer Monopoly games you could go see in an arena.
5. Professional Dodge Ball player. It combines the excitement of the NBA, NHL, hazing and public humiliation. Kind of like the WWF, but with a higher intelligence quotient. We’d all quote German philosophy between games.
4. Toothbrush designer. Bristles on a stick. How hard can it be?
3. Stoplight timer. I’d just enjoy messing with people.
2. Biographer for Pets of the Stars.
1. Music coordinator for motion pictures. Rather than still pictures. I think I could bring a fresh perspective to the stale and boring movie soundtrack. I could give you the greatest opening titles song ever. Call me Spielberg. We need to get you away from John Williams scores. Haven’t you noticed that he’s been writing the same song for you for the last two decades?
10. Dog trainer. Hot dog trainer, that is. Real dogs bite and excrete things. And I can’t eat them. At least, it’s not accepted in my culture.
9. Website reader. I feel that some websites, such as mine, need professional regular readers. I can do that job. For a minimum price.
8. Sign writer. I feel I can bring a new flair to things like, “No Parking” and “One Way.” Right now they are so bland and overused. For example, rather than “One Way” I think we should have “You’re going the wrong way you stupid twit.” Let’s just be honest.
7. Bubble counter. Let’s face it; we just don’t know how many bubbles there are.
6. Professional board game player. Why isn’t there a competitive circuit? Think about the killer Monopoly games you could go see in an arena.
5. Professional Dodge Ball player. It combines the excitement of the NBA, NHL, hazing and public humiliation. Kind of like the WWF, but with a higher intelligence quotient. We’d all quote German philosophy between games.
4. Toothbrush designer. Bristles on a stick. How hard can it be?
3. Stoplight timer. I’d just enjoy messing with people.
2. Biographer for Pets of the Stars.
1. Music coordinator for motion pictures. Rather than still pictures. I think I could bring a fresh perspective to the stale and boring movie soundtrack. I could give you the greatest opening titles song ever. Call me Spielberg. We need to get you away from John Williams scores. Haven’t you noticed that he’s been writing the same song for you for the last two decades?
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
I Can't Write My Mind The Way I Want it Read
I will finally get back to posting on a semi-regular schedule soon. I promise. After I get my deadlines met. Which, by the way, at this time I’ll have them met in about . . . never.
Meanwhile I’ve been considering what time of year it is. No, not the beginning of summer or the signal that I can wear black socks and sandals. Rather, I’ve been considering graduation time. My niece and nephew both graduated from High School last week and I’ve been thinking about what a glorious, and frightening, time it was.
You’ve accomplished something. Hooray! Crap! Now what? Sure, there’s college and all that. But you suddenly realize that your parents can’t protect you anymore. You’re actually responsible for yourself. Just you. If you flunk out of college, it’s your fault. If you get a crappy job, it’s your fault. If you don’t pay your rent, it’s your fault.
Well hell, what am I so excited about then? Of course, you’ve been longing for independence for so long that you thought it would be a welcome sight. I’m free! You’re dying to say that. But then you think about credit cards, student loans, car repairs and ramen noodles.
So, today I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon and offer a commencement address for the class of 2003. (Appologies to Kurt Vonnegut.)
Class of 2003:
I look out here today at a group of young, eager faces ready to conquer the world. I see a group of people who have finally accomplished something they’ve been aiming for since they were five years old. That’s thirteen years. Most of us can’t keep our attention focused on something for thirteen years. But you did. You surmounted endless tests, studying, long weekends, peer pressure, class strata, teen pregnancies, drug addictions, car accidents, football games, humiliation and the SATs. And here you are.
Don’t let anyone tell you that you haven’t accomplished anything because you have. You never stopped. You didn’t give up. Sure, I know what some of you are thinking. Notall of us tried. Of course, there is the guy who snuck the bong into the boys’ bathroom and got wasted before the ceremony and there is the guy who thinks he’s cool because he’s only wearing underwear under his robe. We’ll forget those guys for the time being. We won’t have to worry about them until their court dates come up for negligence and driving under the influence.
Today is about you. And the fact that you survived this ordeal that we call childhood. And now you are officially adults. Some of you will go to college. Some of you will get jobs. Others will wander around Europe for a year thinking that you will build character somehow by living in hostels and riding the train from Luxombourg to Versailles.
You’re wrong. If you want to learn something while traveling, get a job on a Texas ranch or fighting fires in Oregon. Your thirst for knowledge should first be quenched by learning about the people and places in your own country. Go visit a Zuni elder in Arizona on your way to the shrine to Richard Feynman at Cal Tech. If you want real world experience, give your own countrymen a chance. I guarantee there are thousands of stories to hear on porches across this country. Better yet: You already speak the language and you enjoy the food. What an opportunity!
But I’m not here today to tell you about what adventures lay ahead. Rather, I have a request.
I know what sort of world you are inheriting. And thousands of people like to blame the people that came before. It’s always their fault isn’t it? Your stupid parents and the fat cat politicians they voted into office.
Forget that. We have to stop laying blame and find ways to fix the problems we have. Invest in real science, do away with superstition. Spend your time and money trying to find cures for diseases. Cancer, Diabetes, Heart Disease, Blindness. There are a thousand ways that nature tries to kill us. But these ways never allow us to be happy. Let nature kill us in ways that allow us to keep our dignity. Where we can go out happy, without having to ask someone to wipe up after us, or laying alone in a bed hallucinating. What kind of way is that to go?
But there is one disease that kills so many people. A disease that allows the flesh to survive, but the spirit to die. A disease that we’ve tried to cure with alcohol, marijuana, heroin, and a variety of FDA approved drugs and psychological treatments.
But there is only one cure to this ravaging disease.
The disease? Loneliness. The cure? Community.
As you grow, and as I’m sure you’ve already encountered, you’ll find that thousands of communities pop up around you. Groups of like-minded individuals who try to take care of each other. Groups organized around political beliefs, religion, race, sex, hobbies and more.
But these communities are weak communities. They are too single-celled and simple. They do not allow us ways to help one another using our skills. If you are in a group of men who get together because they are men, do you have the proper skills to help each other through any situation? Probably not. Why? Not enough diversity in skill and experience.
To you, the class of 2003, I say build communities. Don’t worry about building baseball stadiums or monuments to the dead. Work on erecting monuments to the living. Build communities of people who are carpenters, garbage men, stay at home parents, writers, executives, nurses, doctors, pilots, soldiers, bakers and candlestick makers. Build communities of the young, old and middle age mixed together. Allow the young to learn from the past of the old. Allow the strong to help out the weak, for someday the weak may be the strong. (Seems to me that someone once said something very similar but, alas we’ve forgotten. Or, perhaps we no longer know what “meek” means.)
Forget about like interests and beliefs. These are artificial constructs that we use to build walls around us. There must be a balance between important things and that means we must disagree at times.
It’s okay to argue as long as it goes somewhere.
So right now look around you. Look at these people who you’ve shared the last four years with. I’m sure you’ll see several people you’ve spent all thirteen years with, learning and growing. Look to your right and tell that person what you can offer. Tell them your skills and the way you can help. Someday they might need it. Now listen to what they have to say. Someday you might need it. File away that name, face and information. And when your phone rings asking for help, offer it gladly.
Tonight rather than spend your time drinking yourself into a frenzy in an attempt to stave of the fear and loneliness, go to your neighbors and offer some help. Tell old man Johnson that you’ll mow his lawn this weekend because you know his knees hurt.
Bring the family down the street that just had a baby a pre-made dinner because you know how tired they are. They’ll appreciate it.
But most of all go home and care about each other. Because, in the end we all fear loneliness. So let’s start fighting it off now.
Discuss
Meanwhile I’ve been considering what time of year it is. No, not the beginning of summer or the signal that I can wear black socks and sandals. Rather, I’ve been considering graduation time. My niece and nephew both graduated from High School last week and I’ve been thinking about what a glorious, and frightening, time it was.
You’ve accomplished something. Hooray! Crap! Now what? Sure, there’s college and all that. But you suddenly realize that your parents can’t protect you anymore. You’re actually responsible for yourself. Just you. If you flunk out of college, it’s your fault. If you get a crappy job, it’s your fault. If you don’t pay your rent, it’s your fault.
Well hell, what am I so excited about then? Of course, you’ve been longing for independence for so long that you thought it would be a welcome sight. I’m free! You’re dying to say that. But then you think about credit cards, student loans, car repairs and ramen noodles.
So, today I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon and offer a commencement address for the class of 2003. (Appologies to Kurt Vonnegut.)
Class of 2003:
I look out here today at a group of young, eager faces ready to conquer the world. I see a group of people who have finally accomplished something they’ve been aiming for since they were five years old. That’s thirteen years. Most of us can’t keep our attention focused on something for thirteen years. But you did. You surmounted endless tests, studying, long weekends, peer pressure, class strata, teen pregnancies, drug addictions, car accidents, football games, humiliation and the SATs. And here you are.
Don’t let anyone tell you that you haven’t accomplished anything because you have. You never stopped. You didn’t give up. Sure, I know what some of you are thinking. Notall of us tried. Of course, there is the guy who snuck the bong into the boys’ bathroom and got wasted before the ceremony and there is the guy who thinks he’s cool because he’s only wearing underwear under his robe. We’ll forget those guys for the time being. We won’t have to worry about them until their court dates come up for negligence and driving under the influence.
Today is about you. And the fact that you survived this ordeal that we call childhood. And now you are officially adults. Some of you will go to college. Some of you will get jobs. Others will wander around Europe for a year thinking that you will build character somehow by living in hostels and riding the train from Luxombourg to Versailles.
You’re wrong. If you want to learn something while traveling, get a job on a Texas ranch or fighting fires in Oregon. Your thirst for knowledge should first be quenched by learning about the people and places in your own country. Go visit a Zuni elder in Arizona on your way to the shrine to Richard Feynman at Cal Tech. If you want real world experience, give your own countrymen a chance. I guarantee there are thousands of stories to hear on porches across this country. Better yet: You already speak the language and you enjoy the food. What an opportunity!
But I’m not here today to tell you about what adventures lay ahead. Rather, I have a request.
I know what sort of world you are inheriting. And thousands of people like to blame the people that came before. It’s always their fault isn’t it? Your stupid parents and the fat cat politicians they voted into office.
Forget that. We have to stop laying blame and find ways to fix the problems we have. Invest in real science, do away with superstition. Spend your time and money trying to find cures for diseases. Cancer, Diabetes, Heart Disease, Blindness. There are a thousand ways that nature tries to kill us. But these ways never allow us to be happy. Let nature kill us in ways that allow us to keep our dignity. Where we can go out happy, without having to ask someone to wipe up after us, or laying alone in a bed hallucinating. What kind of way is that to go?
But there is one disease that kills so many people. A disease that allows the flesh to survive, but the spirit to die. A disease that we’ve tried to cure with alcohol, marijuana, heroin, and a variety of FDA approved drugs and psychological treatments.
But there is only one cure to this ravaging disease.
The disease? Loneliness. The cure? Community.
As you grow, and as I’m sure you’ve already encountered, you’ll find that thousands of communities pop up around you. Groups of like-minded individuals who try to take care of each other. Groups organized around political beliefs, religion, race, sex, hobbies and more.
But these communities are weak communities. They are too single-celled and simple. They do not allow us ways to help one another using our skills. If you are in a group of men who get together because they are men, do you have the proper skills to help each other through any situation? Probably not. Why? Not enough diversity in skill and experience.
To you, the class of 2003, I say build communities. Don’t worry about building baseball stadiums or monuments to the dead. Work on erecting monuments to the living. Build communities of people who are carpenters, garbage men, stay at home parents, writers, executives, nurses, doctors, pilots, soldiers, bakers and candlestick makers. Build communities of the young, old and middle age mixed together. Allow the young to learn from the past of the old. Allow the strong to help out the weak, for someday the weak may be the strong. (Seems to me that someone once said something very similar but, alas we’ve forgotten. Or, perhaps we no longer know what “meek” means.)
Forget about like interests and beliefs. These are artificial constructs that we use to build walls around us. There must be a balance between important things and that means we must disagree at times.
It’s okay to argue as long as it goes somewhere.
So right now look around you. Look at these people who you’ve shared the last four years with. I’m sure you’ll see several people you’ve spent all thirteen years with, learning and growing. Look to your right and tell that person what you can offer. Tell them your skills and the way you can help. Someday they might need it. Now listen to what they have to say. Someday you might need it. File away that name, face and information. And when your phone rings asking for help, offer it gladly.
Tonight rather than spend your time drinking yourself into a frenzy in an attempt to stave of the fear and loneliness, go to your neighbors and offer some help. Tell old man Johnson that you’ll mow his lawn this weekend because you know his knees hurt.
Bring the family down the street that just had a baby a pre-made dinner because you know how tired they are. They’ll appreciate it.
But most of all go home and care about each other. Because, in the end we all fear loneliness. So let’s start fighting it off now.
Discuss
Friday, May 23, 2003
Written While I Was Away Pt. 2
I have no internet access at this point, but I’m writing anyway. It has nowhere to go, it’s going to sit here on my hard drive, but it will still exist. My thoughts will be forever cemented onto a piece of my hard drive. There will be a permanent digital record of what was going on in my life, should I be hit by a meteor before my DSL finally gets activated.
So, we are now officially in the new house. I have wood paneling. Do you have wood paneling? I have a LOT of wood paneling. All over my basement. With deep red carpeting.
Matilda says that she likes the red carpeting. “That way,” she says, “the blood won’t show up.”
I’m worried about her.
We hired some moving monkeys to come in and take all of our stuff and place it in our new stuff holder, also known as our house.
We spent hours and hours and hours writing destinations on the boxes. Simple explanations like “Bedroom” or “Master Bath” or even easier to understand, “Kitchen.”
Well . . . everything we own is piled in the back of the garage. The moving monkeys, even after having it explained to them that the destination for these boxes was WRITTEN ON THE BOX seemed to think that the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom are all in our garage.
Luckily I had told them that I would move all audio/video equipment, all computer equipment and anything that we could either eat, or otherwise apply to our bodies. Which was probably a good idea. Can you imagine having moving monkey sweat dripped into your crackers? Ew.
So I have an office and everything. It’s neat. It’s bare. It’s kind of depressing.
I admit to enjoying the fact that I have my own space to spread out and thoroughly enjoy working again. I don’t have my files and work spread out throughout the entire house anymore. Instead, it’s all in one room.
In the basement.
With no natural light.
By the end of one year working here I’ll be translucent like one of those cave fish. My eyes will grow giant and black. My skin will be as thin as paper and my voice will change.
Gollum!
I do enjoy having the office. But I fear that I will get terribly lonely sitting here alone in the basement all day. It will be like my days working at eCrapplace when I sat in my cushy office all alone and no one ever talked to me. Well, they did, but only to make fun of the fact that I liked Disney World. They’d ask me how Mickey was today.
Ha ha. So very funny. Woo! I can’t believe how funny that is.
Side note: Make my local radio station stop playing Elton John. I hate Elton John. With a passion. Really. I hate the following songs:
Rocket Man
Tiny Dancer
Your Song
Daniel
Levon
Crocodile Rock (though it is fun to sing the la la la part)
Bennie and the Jets
And all other songs ever recorded by Elton John with the exception of Funeral for a Friend.
I also hate Bernie Taupin.
I like Burt Bacharach and Hal David though. They are cool. And old.
I’ve totally lost focus here.
That’s okay. I have to finish setting up my office. Then I have to get some work done. Then I have to mow the lawn before it rains today. First I have to put the lawnmower together. That’ll be interesting, to say the least. Yoinks!
So, we are now officially in the new house. I have wood paneling. Do you have wood paneling? I have a LOT of wood paneling. All over my basement. With deep red carpeting.
Matilda says that she likes the red carpeting. “That way,” she says, “the blood won’t show up.”
I’m worried about her.
We hired some moving monkeys to come in and take all of our stuff and place it in our new stuff holder, also known as our house.
We spent hours and hours and hours writing destinations on the boxes. Simple explanations like “Bedroom” or “Master Bath” or even easier to understand, “Kitchen.”
Well . . . everything we own is piled in the back of the garage. The moving monkeys, even after having it explained to them that the destination for these boxes was WRITTEN ON THE BOX seemed to think that the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom are all in our garage.
Luckily I had told them that I would move all audio/video equipment, all computer equipment and anything that we could either eat, or otherwise apply to our bodies. Which was probably a good idea. Can you imagine having moving monkey sweat dripped into your crackers? Ew.
So I have an office and everything. It’s neat. It’s bare. It’s kind of depressing.
I admit to enjoying the fact that I have my own space to spread out and thoroughly enjoy working again. I don’t have my files and work spread out throughout the entire house anymore. Instead, it’s all in one room.
In the basement.
With no natural light.
By the end of one year working here I’ll be translucent like one of those cave fish. My eyes will grow giant and black. My skin will be as thin as paper and my voice will change.
Gollum!
I do enjoy having the office. But I fear that I will get terribly lonely sitting here alone in the basement all day. It will be like my days working at eCrapplace when I sat in my cushy office all alone and no one ever talked to me. Well, they did, but only to make fun of the fact that I liked Disney World. They’d ask me how Mickey was today.
Ha ha. So very funny. Woo! I can’t believe how funny that is.
Side note: Make my local radio station stop playing Elton John. I hate Elton John. With a passion. Really. I hate the following songs:
Rocket Man
Tiny Dancer
Your Song
Daniel
Levon
Crocodile Rock (though it is fun to sing the la la la part)
Bennie and the Jets
And all other songs ever recorded by Elton John with the exception of Funeral for a Friend.
I also hate Bernie Taupin.
I like Burt Bacharach and Hal David though. They are cool. And old.
I’ve totally lost focus here.
That’s okay. I have to finish setting up my office. Then I have to get some work done. Then I have to mow the lawn before it rains today. First I have to put the lawnmower together. That’ll be interesting, to say the least. Yoinks!
Thursday, May 22, 2003
My Life is Hell
Anyone care to bankroll a trip for my wife, my brother, his wife and me to London? I think I need to see this.
In case you aren't familiar with the material . . . this could be one of the most important steps in rock and roll history. The genius himself is unearthing his great lost masterpiece. Holy crap. This is like Bach coming back from the dead.
Please release it. Please release it. Please release it.
Please do this in St. Louis! I'd pay one hell of a lot of money to see this show.
In case you aren't familiar with the material . . . this could be one of the most important steps in rock and roll history. The genius himself is unearthing his great lost masterpiece. Holy crap. This is like Bach coming back from the dead.
Please release it. Please release it. Please release it.
Please do this in St. Louis! I'd pay one hell of a lot of money to see this show.
Written While I Was Away
What follows is something I wrote while I had no Internet connection. It's terrible. But that's not your fault, is it? Clearly you could make the decision not to read it right now. And, to be honest, I think that's best for all of us.
Another week without Internet access. I’m going insane. I haven’t been able to receive a single forwarded email with a cute movie of a dog peeing on a car nor has a single Nigerian offered me the opportunity to make millions if I just gave him my bank account number.
Damn I feel so lost.
So, instead, I’ve been spending what free time I have watching my brand new satellite television. It’s great. There are a hundred channels that I can watch whenever I want. But I can never settle on one thing. Sure, that episode of Get Smart is fantastic, but there may be a rerun of A Different World on somewhere. And I love Dwayne Wayne!
I’ve also been reading a lot more. Neal Stephenson to be exact. The man frightens me. He can describe things in such detail that I’m sure, to him, they exist. But they are just made up. In his little head. I can’t even tell you what color my shoes are. (Kind of a tannish, brownish, beige-y type of color. Only darker but a little lighter than that.)
So far I’ve discovered an addiction to two stations and an intense hatred for another one that I’ve been longing for.
The hatred is for the Sci-Fi Channel. Home of Farscape, the best Sci-Fi show in recent years. Of course, Sci-Fi anally raped Farscape and left it sore and bleeding in a back alley. Now they only show reruns at 11 p.m. on weeknights. I know I’m a geek and everything, but I’m a tired geek who can’t stay up to watch Farscape that late.
Yes, I could tape it. But that’s so archaic. If I can’t digitally archive it, I don’t want it. No lossy video for me. I need beauty and clarity with 5.1 Dolby Digital sound.
Yes, I could get Tivo, but then it’s stored on my hard drive.
Yes, I could get a recordable DVD player but they are so damned expensive.
Yes, I do complain a lot.
I hate Sci-Fi more than I even imagined. The sting of getting it AFTER Farscape ended is painful. But what is more painful is the horrid crap they push off on you. Reruns of the X-Files. Great. Everyone has those. Quantum Leap. Very cool, but on at random times. Battlestar Galactica. I thought I’d be excited but now it just feels like every time Dirk Benedict is onscreen and someone calls him “Starbuck” someone in Seattle yells, “Cha-Ching!”
Plus, these guys have The Twilight Zone. And they BURY it in late nights. One of the greatest television shows in history and they don’t allow the masses to see it. Screw you Sci-Fi. Your shows suck. Stargate SG-1 is a rancid pile of raccoon crap. Scare Tactics is a boring piece of crap made even more boring and crappy by the inclusion of Shannon Doherty. The last thing she did I liked was the short-lived TV show she co-starred on with Wilfred Brimley.
I like Wilfred Brimley.
The first station I’m addicted to is The Travel Channel. Beauty. There is a show on called “Great Hotels” that I could watch twenty four hours a day. They show beautiful hotels and all their amenities. I have a minor television crush on the hostess. I don’t know if it’s because she’s cute in a goofy sort of way, or because she gets to travel for a living.
The second station I love is Trio, an obscure station that clearly has me as its audience. For example, just yesterday I could watch:
True Stories, a film by David Byrne.
A Rufus Wainwright concert.
A Joe Jackson concert.
An Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach concert.
Today I can watch Tori Amos and Elvis Costello. Groovy. Plus they have a TV show called “Book Television”. An oxymoron, but cool anyway.
On Friday, the Independent Film Channel is playing Wild at Heart. Extra cool. Sunday is Barton Fink.
Of course, I only have an hour a day to watch any of this. Rabid bastards.
Still, I worry about what sort of message Satellite TV is sending to the space aliens who are receiving the signals years after they are transmitted.
They probably all assume that we were born in the Ozarks but moved to Beverly before we became secret agents and then went to live on a desert island only to vote off members of society.
In fact, if they watch Univision, they’re scared witless of us.
Another week without Internet access. I’m going insane. I haven’t been able to receive a single forwarded email with a cute movie of a dog peeing on a car nor has a single Nigerian offered me the opportunity to make millions if I just gave him my bank account number.
Damn I feel so lost.
So, instead, I’ve been spending what free time I have watching my brand new satellite television. It’s great. There are a hundred channels that I can watch whenever I want. But I can never settle on one thing. Sure, that episode of Get Smart is fantastic, but there may be a rerun of A Different World on somewhere. And I love Dwayne Wayne!
I’ve also been reading a lot more. Neal Stephenson to be exact. The man frightens me. He can describe things in such detail that I’m sure, to him, they exist. But they are just made up. In his little head. I can’t even tell you what color my shoes are. (Kind of a tannish, brownish, beige-y type of color. Only darker but a little lighter than that.)
So far I’ve discovered an addiction to two stations and an intense hatred for another one that I’ve been longing for.
The hatred is for the Sci-Fi Channel. Home of Farscape, the best Sci-Fi show in recent years. Of course, Sci-Fi anally raped Farscape and left it sore and bleeding in a back alley. Now they only show reruns at 11 p.m. on weeknights. I know I’m a geek and everything, but I’m a tired geek who can’t stay up to watch Farscape that late.
Yes, I could tape it. But that’s so archaic. If I can’t digitally archive it, I don’t want it. No lossy video for me. I need beauty and clarity with 5.1 Dolby Digital sound.
Yes, I could get Tivo, but then it’s stored on my hard drive.
Yes, I could get a recordable DVD player but they are so damned expensive.
Yes, I do complain a lot.
I hate Sci-Fi more than I even imagined. The sting of getting it AFTER Farscape ended is painful. But what is more painful is the horrid crap they push off on you. Reruns of the X-Files. Great. Everyone has those. Quantum Leap. Very cool, but on at random times. Battlestar Galactica. I thought I’d be excited but now it just feels like every time Dirk Benedict is onscreen and someone calls him “Starbuck” someone in Seattle yells, “Cha-Ching!”
Plus, these guys have The Twilight Zone. And they BURY it in late nights. One of the greatest television shows in history and they don’t allow the masses to see it. Screw you Sci-Fi. Your shows suck. Stargate SG-1 is a rancid pile of raccoon crap. Scare Tactics is a boring piece of crap made even more boring and crappy by the inclusion of Shannon Doherty. The last thing she did I liked was the short-lived TV show she co-starred on with Wilfred Brimley.
I like Wilfred Brimley.
The first station I’m addicted to is The Travel Channel. Beauty. There is a show on called “Great Hotels” that I could watch twenty four hours a day. They show beautiful hotels and all their amenities. I have a minor television crush on the hostess. I don’t know if it’s because she’s cute in a goofy sort of way, or because she gets to travel for a living.
The second station I love is Trio, an obscure station that clearly has me as its audience. For example, just yesterday I could watch:
True Stories, a film by David Byrne.
A Rufus Wainwright concert.
A Joe Jackson concert.
An Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach concert.
Today I can watch Tori Amos and Elvis Costello. Groovy. Plus they have a TV show called “Book Television”. An oxymoron, but cool anyway.
On Friday, the Independent Film Channel is playing Wild at Heart. Extra cool. Sunday is Barton Fink.
Of course, I only have an hour a day to watch any of this. Rabid bastards.
Still, I worry about what sort of message Satellite TV is sending to the space aliens who are receiving the signals years after they are transmitted.
They probably all assume that we were born in the Ozarks but moved to Beverly before we became secret agents and then went to live on a desert island only to vote off members of society.
In fact, if they watch Univision, they’re scared witless of us.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
Monday, May 19, 2003
Thursday, May 01, 2003
On Hiatus (FINALLY!)
We're moving. Yay! I'll be away from the computer for a while.
I'll probably start posting again next week, as soon as DSL is up and running in the new house.
Be good to each other!
You Can Talk To Each Other For A While
I'll probably start posting again next week, as soon as DSL is up and running in the new house.
Be good to each other!
You Can Talk To Each Other For A While
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