Archive for September, 2007
cube comedy »
Tuesday, September 18th, 2007
I’ve never really been much for random office gab. I don’t care to be honest. but sometimes it’s funny. some details were brought to my attention by an cube-friend that make an email I received almost unbearably hilarious. you may not think it’s funny. that’s your concern I barely have enough concern for myself. but let me describe the scenario:
she I.M.s with this:
holy eff. when [cubeguy] talks baby talk to his girlfriend when she’s being a $&(#&$ I want to smack the @&#! out of him …
[My response, along the lines of, “Huh?”]
he calls her today because he won preseason wilds tickets. he wants his brother to go. she wants to go. he talks to her in baby talk and tells her he really wanted his bro to go. she apparently throws a fit because he gives in and tells her she can go then
so you may notice that he’s a gigantic gaping vagina of a man. I noticed that too. good observation. he has lost all remnants of independence in favor of submission to what appears to be a whiny box. I know, i’m happy for him too, but save your congratulations for me. who’s side are you on anyway?
the story doesn’t end there I’m afraid. approximately one hour later, this thirty-word chunk of digimail drops innocently into my inbox:
I just found out that I will not be able to make it to the Wild Game tonight, so If anyone would like 2 tix come and see me before 5:00.[cubeguy]
A few questions come up. What did he find out that changed the plan? Will his box be disappointed she’s not going? Was it box that decided for him that he couldn’t go? Does he remember what it was like to make decisions? Was his mother overbearing? Before this, was there a possibility I’d have respect for him? Does baby talk usually work? Or even ever work? Does his brother still love him?
But that’s the beauty of the office. no one actually cares. it’s all superficial gravy. neatly divided by aluminum and felt, meaningful relationships need not apply.
happy holidays »
Tuesday, September 18th, 2007
That’s right. I’m the first to say it. Don’t worry, whatever you’re saying doesn’t phase me. One, because I can’t hear you, and two, because I already hate myself. Because I just got out of a brainstorming meeting. The topic of said storming brains? Holiday promotions. There were cookies. It was my main motivation. I had two, and then another on my way out the door jackpot, by the way; peanut butter chocolate chip; scrumptious. The rest of the meeting is a haze.
From the lapbook, directly to my right, was heard a series of neuron irritating ballots from what sounded like Boys to Men with a merry, quasi-holiday theme. By track two I could feel my gallbladder in a heated argument with my spleen. I don’t know what it was about, but it was almost to the point of raised fists. The meeting proceeded with abstract references to emotional tripe and how we can spin that for monetary return. I didn’t speak up with my theme of, “it’s winter, do your children love you?”
Long-term readers may already know my thoughts on this merchandising cum bucket of a season. Or you can get a brief look at a post from last year, here. It pretty well sums up my feelings on the subject. But, I’ve never been a part of the back-end dealings before. It’s a trip.
What the holidays are about—good friends, family, memories, and sharing, don’t bring in the dollar. Oh, and for those out there along a different track: celebrating—on a day chosen because of existing ceremonies in pagan religions—the symbolic birth of a moral compass doesn’t pad wallets either unless you’re one of the hands that empties the collection plate. But tapping into those abstract values, like one would lodge a faucet into a maple tree, does. It’s how you wrestle what’s hard earned from those that can’t afford it ten months out of the year.
At least I’m working for a business that promotes in a way that adds to the city. It’d be worse if I was promoting a store that sold toys to mothers trying to appease their fuckwad children for three weeks. The money I generate helps support an economy instead of spiking profits to stay out of the read in a failing economy. To all the stores with Christmas theme sections and cards already sorted: fuck you very much.
If I had my way, the holiday season would be four days. And there would be a period of hollow, Mariana-trench-esque nothingness between Xmas/Hanukkah and New Years Eve. Then everything would snap back to normal. But I don’t. And by the time I’m thirty, the holiday season will start on the first Wednesday of August. Just wait ’til December actually rolls around. That’s when I really get in the holiday spirit. It’s intense.
disturbia »
Tuesday, September 18th, 2007
When the previews first circulated, this was rear window part two. A kid, trapped in his house, going mad in solitary, witnessing mysterious happenings an drawing conclusions that are somewhat twisted. For that reason, I didn’t really want to go out of my way to see it. And then a friend of mine mentioned liking it quite a bit. By some strange coincidence, it had been rented by a roommate and was set on the table when I came home.
It’s better than I expected. I guess I don’t know why I wrote it off in the first place. I like Shia LaBeouf (guide to recognizing your saints). I like even the cheesiest suspense plots. I like female leads who are obligatorily ridiculous in their attractiveness. So things were lined up for me to like this one. It was just better.
David Morse (16 blocks) plays creepy as very few can. Carrie-Anne Moss (Chumscrubber, Matrix) now has a firm grasp on dysfunctional mom. Shia was his typical witty self. He has a few emotional tools that work very well for him. And Roemer (I haven’t seen anything she’s in, but want to see wristcutters: a love story) was adequate, so at least the cast could support themselves.
The story was a bit stale at first. Troubled teen goes apeshit, gets sentenced to house arrest, goes more apeshit, but less violently. It didn’t do anything for me when they force-fed the love interest either, but then the plot kicked up and I found myself getting into it. Kale (Shia) makes a real, though predictable, transition and details fall into place that make him suspect his neighbor of a series of prostitute slayings.
I think I got into it because of a great development of setting. Slowly they introduce us to the different rooms of his house, the different vantage points he uses to look on his neighbors, and the line (literally) that he cannot cross. There’s a strong sense of confinement. The same that made rear window so classic. We are only privy to the few things he can see going on. We are forced to make the same conclusions he does, and thus relate to him.
Rear Window concentrated on his limited resources. It added suspense and to the impression of helplessness. This one branched off from the confinement and gave the protagonist a much larger tool kit. The use of technology is smart. The off-handed semi-justification for all the tech they bring to the party is pathetic, but it’s a movie. It works well enough. They also use their gadgets to simultaneously give us a larger view of what’s going on and create more suspenseful situations.
I wasn’t really wrong in my snap judgment, but it breaks away from rear window in fairly smart ways. It’s an entertaining film above all else, good for a night in.
****
haha »
Monday, September 17th, 2007
Here’s to Monday, the second shittiest day of the week. Not only did I have a long yet fantastic weekend, but it’s shitty outside. It’s dark, dreary, and looking like it’s about to precipitate all over the place. But, in order to alleviate the shittiness, I’ll drop some quotes on your asses. These are courtesy of Overheard everywhere, one of my new favorite places to visit for everything stupid and ridiculous.
Professor: The French lords were so disbelieving. It was like your favorite puppy going ‘Rawr, rawr, rawr!’ and taking a chunk out of your arm — they were just like, ‘Huh? What?’
Burdine Hall, University of Texas
Austin, Texas
Midwestern tourist: Excuse me, are there any malls around here?
Local teen, in exaggerated accent: We don’t have malls in these here parts. Malls tempt the young ones to siiin. [Tourist leaves, scared. Teen then grumbles without accent] Fucking tourist.
Broadway and 4th Avenue
Nashville, Tennessee
…and my personal favorite:
Little girl, singing: Hey! I’m a crazy bitch, but I fuck so good you’re on top of it when you dream of doing me all night…
Father: What the fuck?! Are you trying to get taken by the social worker?!
-Food Court, Connecticut Post Mall
Milford, Connecticut
they just couldn’t do it… »
Friday, September 14th, 2007
Have any of the threes of you seen the new Nickelback video? Show of hands… Ok, put your hands down, you look ridiculous. I can’t see you. We’ve been over this before, but thanks for the cooperation. If you haven’t, you may want to look it up on the tube before reading the rest. It’s the video for “Rockstar.” If I put it in here, or even provided a link to it, I’d be responsible for adding a number to the times viewed tally. They’re probably checking it daily. I just couldn’t live with myself.
All set? Didn’t watch? Well you’re sort of a dick, eh? But that’s alright, I’ll proceed anyway.
They decided to make a movie mocking the fame and glamour along with the indulgence and ridiculousness of the rock industry. They put a bunch of random people in it, probably for two reasons: to seem as though they weren’t too into themselves, and to show that everyone has the same aspirations which is awful presumptuous of rock stardom. Except for the very last part.
They just couldn’t help themselves. In a video showing the universal ambition that everyone has to be like them, they had to be in it. What a pile of fuckwad. Plus they put a bunch of stars in the fucking thing. How do you pull off name-dropping in a fucking video? answer: you don’t.
Not only do they suck, and they really, really, really suck ass, but they have to be shitheads about it. I get it, you had a sweet song. All the ladies got wet over it and you had a successful tour. Then you made another set of songs with the same tracks as the first, with slightly more cheesy lyrics dubbed over the top of them. Again, the wetness. And now you’re all set in your plush and have to prove to everyone you’re not sucking.
If there was one person and I really hope I don’t have to choose just one; I’m terrible with decisions where there’s a plethora of options that I could have a free pass for shooting in the face, it’d be the stack of curly-haired fuck that is Chad Kroeger. Such a fucking asshole.
This is what I get for waking up early and turning on VH1 because it’s the only fucking station that plays videos on standard cable anymore; thanks mtv, you fuckwits. Nickelback is the exemplification of everything wrong with music. Fuck those guys.