Used to be, at a concert, you'd look out over the crowd and see a sea of lighters waving back and forth. Nowadays, you get a sea of cell phone video cameras dotted like stars in the night sky:
24 March 2007
22 March 2007
Greetings, Feeble Human.
Not long ago, Betty Boop and I were sitting on the sofa. I was having a particularly rough time at work, doing my best to adjust to the new position and generally stressing out about it far more than was actually necessary. You know how that goes.
Knowing that I was going to be really tired and in need of a pleasant evening in – and in anticipation of an evening spent catching up on DVRed TV goodness – I stopped off at the local low-budget wine shop and stocked up on a couple bottles of one of my favorite vins, a Rodney Strong merlot circa 2002.
The great danger with someone of my ilk – with my family history – is that overdoing it with alcohol is way too easy.
You see, I'm a bit of a lightweight to begin with. I don't drink that much or that often, owing to an abstemiousness instilled by my parents, one of whom, at least, was the child of... well, "non-abstemious people" is probably the most polite way I can put it.
So I'm not so good at drinking. I tend to treat every beverage placed in front of me with democratic even-handedness. That is to say, I'll treat a glass of wine with the same rampant and gluttonous imbibing glee as I will a glass of soda.
It's all quaffed, is what I'm saying.
This isn't a problem when I'm having a single glass, or even a second. But at some point, when any self-aware (read: wary) person would say, "Gee, that was great, I've had enough," I – he of the booze-swilling, no-shut-off-valve Irish heritage – will say, "That was freakin' delightful! Let's have more!"
The point here is that my evening, which had begun with the intention of enjoying a little backed-up DVR goodness and a nice glass of wine, turned into a long bullshit session with Betty Boop in which the entire bottle of wine was consumed, most of it by me.
Not really a big deal, since I still got to bed at a reasonable hour, and remembered to drink a glass of water and swallow some aspirin to stave off any hangover (which, by the way, never materialized... really good red wine won't give you a headache. Learn the lesson).
But being in my cups for most of the evening suddenly opened my conduit to the wisdom of the universe, and I made a startling discovery. As the ancient Buddhist master said, "A fool who persists in his folly will eventually become wise."
I turned to Betty Boop at one point and said, "Do you know the real problem with living in New York?"
"No," said Betty Boop, "do tell."
"Every once in a while, you'll be idly skipping through life and you'll randomly turn and look, and right next to you will be the most disspiritingly perfect and beautiful person you've ever seen; a person whose unaffected, non-chalant beauty just overwhelms you and makes you feel small, no matter how much you usually think of yourself as a fairly attractive person."
"Yeah," Ms. Boop says. "True. What of it?"
"In New York," I said, "that happens every seven minutes."
Knowing that I was going to be really tired and in need of a pleasant evening in – and in anticipation of an evening spent catching up on DVRed TV goodness – I stopped off at the local low-budget wine shop and stocked up on a couple bottles of one of my favorite vins, a Rodney Strong merlot circa 2002.
The great danger with someone of my ilk – with my family history – is that overdoing it with alcohol is way too easy.
You see, I'm a bit of a lightweight to begin with. I don't drink that much or that often, owing to an abstemiousness instilled by my parents, one of whom, at least, was the child of... well, "non-abstemious people" is probably the most polite way I can put it.
So I'm not so good at drinking. I tend to treat every beverage placed in front of me with democratic even-handedness. That is to say, I'll treat a glass of wine with the same rampant and gluttonous imbibing glee as I will a glass of soda.
It's all quaffed, is what I'm saying.
This isn't a problem when I'm having a single glass, or even a second. But at some point, when any self-aware (read: wary) person would say, "Gee, that was great, I've had enough," I – he of the booze-swilling, no-shut-off-valve Irish heritage – will say, "That was freakin' delightful! Let's have more!"
The point here is that my evening, which had begun with the intention of enjoying a little backed-up DVR goodness and a nice glass of wine, turned into a long bullshit session with Betty Boop in which the entire bottle of wine was consumed, most of it by me.
Not really a big deal, since I still got to bed at a reasonable hour, and remembered to drink a glass of water and swallow some aspirin to stave off any hangover (which, by the way, never materialized... really good red wine won't give you a headache. Learn the lesson).
But being in my cups for most of the evening suddenly opened my conduit to the wisdom of the universe, and I made a startling discovery. As the ancient Buddhist master said, "A fool who persists in his folly will eventually become wise."
I turned to Betty Boop at one point and said, "Do you know the real problem with living in New York?"
"No," said Betty Boop, "do tell."
"Every once in a while, you'll be idly skipping through life and you'll randomly turn and look, and right next to you will be the most disspiritingly perfect and beautiful person you've ever seen; a person whose unaffected, non-chalant beauty just overwhelms you and makes you feel small, no matter how much you usually think of yourself as a fairly attractive person."
"Yeah," Ms. Boop says. "True. What of it?"
"In New York," I said, "that happens every seven minutes."
Insomniac
There seems to be a certain point in the evening, past which my staying out of bed renders me useless for sleep until I've managed to exhaust myself. As you may have guessed, this appears to be one of those occasions. Unfortunately, I haven't quite managed to suss out just when during the evening I reach that point.
This arrangement is a bit of a curse.
It can indeed be very bad because lack of sleep can be very, very bad for you. Especially the cumulative effects of several nights worth of lack of sleep.
In one way, though, it can be a kind of good thing.
Alone in the night, I tend to become bored and surf the net, and having gotten over any interest in porn a long time ago — let's face it, I prefer the real thing — I tend to find some interesting things floating out there in the cyber ether.
One of these delicious things is Senuti, a handy little application for copying the songs off your iPod onto your computer. This is, I can tell you, ever so much easier than having to lug your 160GB external hard drive — you know, the one on which you keep all your music — around so you can download your music onto another computer. So much easier on the back.
Staying awake at night has left me with a lot of time to ponder the eternal question:
"Mac or PC?"
I'm about to buy a new computer, and the horror stories I've heard about what a memory hog Windows Vista™ is, along with the equally horrifying stories of the constant security warnings that accompany every click has driven me to the very real edge of switching to the other team.
The decision is complicated, though, by a couple of things.
First of all, there's no freaking Page Up/Page Down button on a Mac. There's no easy way, other than clicking on a scroll bar, to move up or down in a window by one pane. I was raised on a Windows machine, and I freakin' love my Page Up/Page Down buttons for that functionality.
Also, although I often complain about Windows having sixteen ways to do everything, I really like the fact that there's a keyboard shortcut for just about every operation, and even if there isn't, you can always hit the ALT key in combination with some letter key to get yourself quickly to the menu bar, and from there you can generally hit some combo of keys to get the function you desire.
Less so on the Mac.
So, it's all gonna require a lot of thought.
Of course, that's okay, since it's going to take me the rest of my life to save for whatever computer I decide to buy.
Welcome to the poorhouse, baby.
This arrangement is a bit of a curse.
It can indeed be very bad because lack of sleep can be very, very bad for you. Especially the cumulative effects of several nights worth of lack of sleep.
In one way, though, it can be a kind of good thing.
Alone in the night, I tend to become bored and surf the net, and having gotten over any interest in porn a long time ago — let's face it, I prefer the real thing — I tend to find some interesting things floating out there in the cyber ether.
One of these delicious things is Senuti, a handy little application for copying the songs off your iPod onto your computer. This is, I can tell you, ever so much easier than having to lug your 160GB external hard drive — you know, the one on which you keep all your music — around so you can download your music onto another computer. So much easier on the back.
Staying awake at night has left me with a lot of time to ponder the eternal question:
"Mac or PC?"I'm about to buy a new computer, and the horror stories I've heard about what a memory hog Windows Vista™ is, along with the equally horrifying stories of the constant security warnings that accompany every click has driven me to the very real edge of switching to the other team.
The decision is complicated, though, by a couple of things.
First of all, there's no freaking Page Up/Page Down button on a Mac. There's no easy way, other than clicking on a scroll bar, to move up or down in a window by one pane. I was raised on a Windows machine, and I freakin' love my Page Up/Page Down buttons for that functionality.
Also, although I often complain about Windows having sixteen ways to do everything, I really like the fact that there's a keyboard shortcut for just about every operation, and even if there isn't, you can always hit the ALT key in combination with some letter key to get yourself quickly to the menu bar, and from there you can generally hit some combo of keys to get the function you desire.
Less so on the Mac.
So, it's all gonna require a lot of thought.
Of course, that's okay, since it's going to take me the rest of my life to save for whatever computer I decide to buy.
Welcome to the poorhouse, baby.
20 March 2007
19 March 2007
Come the Revolution
As you are no doubt aware, I am destined to rule your petty world.
Don't worry. As long as you bend yourself to my will, your puny existence will be allowed to continue in pretty much the fashion to which you've become accustomed.
There are, however, a couple of rules it would be unwise of you to flaunt. I'm not saying I'll order your summary execution out of hand or anything, but let's just say that it would behoove you to be wary of my mood if you decide to transgress, puny plebeian.
So, forthwith, some things to consider in anticipation of my coming Reign ofTerror Enlightenment:
Don't worry. As long as you bend yourself to my will, your puny existence will be allowed to continue in pretty much the fashion to which you've become accustomed.
There are, however, a couple of rules it would be unwise of you to flaunt. I'm not saying I'll order your summary execution out of hand or anything, but let's just say that it would behoove you to be wary of my mood if you decide to transgress, puny plebeian.
So, forthwith, some things to consider in anticipation of my coming Reign of
- If you're taking up air on a stiflingly hot subway car and I happen to board that car on my way to work, get off. Quickly.
- If we're caught together in a rainstorm, and you decide to wield your circus tent-sized umbrella in a fashion that takes into consideration none of the people around you, you need to know I'm going to have your fingernails pulled out. While having your feet held to a nice charcoal brazier. While a slave princess scrapes away all seven layers of your biggest organ with a very, very sharp knife. And no, you sad and pathetic John Holmes wannabe, I don't mean that organ. I don't even think that qualifies as an organ. About that, I could be wrong.
- If ever I'm wrong, you might want to refrain from pointing it out. See #2 above. I'm just sayin'.
- When I summon you into my presence and ask, "Puling sycophant, how best do you think we could reduce our dependence on foreign oil?" it would behoove you, believe you me, not to suggest that we adjust Daylight Savings Time. That's just gonna really fucking piss me off.
- Chew with your mouth closed. It's just polite. And will likely stifle any urge I have to cut out your tongue.
- Don't cancel TV programs of which I'm inordinately fond. It doesn't matter if they're inferior to previous efforts by the same creative team, or even if they are, at some times, just plain bad. Don't do it. There'll be consequences. [Please note: I know this doesn't apply to everyone, but cross me and see if you don't meet the tragic end of some network executive.]
- There can never be enough ass kissing. However, don't think for a moment I'm going to let my guard down and give you a chance to impale me with a dagger while you're back there. Ass stabbing is guaranteed to irk me.
16 March 2007
14 March 2007
um·brel·la
Riddle me this, Batman:
When was the last time you actually bought an umbrella?
The weather here in New York was supposed to turn colder and rainy this afternoon, and I've been thinking for a while that I'm a little over all the ultra-mini promotional umbrellas that I've got laying around, and it was time to get a decent umbrella that will protect me from a serious rainfall, but isn't one of those walking-pavilion-golf-umbrella monstrosities that make me want to kill my fellow pedestrians.
So I got to thinking about it, and I seriously think the last time I bought an umbrella was over fifteen years ago, when I got a Rose Window umbrella at some museum shop or another. I loved that umbrella. It was large without being obnoxious, it was sturdy, with a nice wooden handle. It tucked neatly into a strap on my backpack, so I could whip it out over my shoulder like a samurai brandishing his katana. I freakin' loved that umbrella. Apparently, I'm not alone.
Of course, I lost it at some point, and everything since then has paled in comparison.
With the coming rain, I need to find a replacement. And I don't have the tiniest idea where one shops for an umbrella of substance. Macy's, perhaps? Bloomingdales? I'm certainly not buying one from one of those street vendors. That's what got me into this foul bumbershoot mood to begin with.
Last night as I was walking home from work, having listened all day to the dire predictions of impending downpour (we, after all, get CNN and NY1 piped into every lobby/waiting area), so I stopped at this t-shirt/tourist crap emporium on 7th Avenue, near the 57th Street stop on the Q train. I'd see umbrella's on a rack there before, during (marketing genuis!) a rain storm.
So I went into this place and the guy's all, "Can I help you?" and I'm all, "Umbrellas?" and he's all, "What size?" and I'm all, "Not miniature."
The guy reaches around and pulls out what, at first glance, seems to be the perfect umbrella. Nice wooden handle (curved, not one of those awful stave-like things), a tasteful black. All in all, it looked good. 'Til I put the tip of it on the ground, like a walking stick, and realized that the handle reached almost to my chest.
I turned to the guy, who's looking at me like, "Are you gonna buy the fucking thing, or what?" and I say, "Uh, do you have anything a little bit shorter?"
"Nope, one size fits all, pal," he says, turning back to the chickie he's smooth talking.
No sale, and the search continues.
When was the last time you actually bought an umbrella?
The weather here in New York was supposed to turn colder and rainy this afternoon, and I've been thinking for a while that I'm a little over all the ultra-mini promotional umbrellas that I've got laying around, and it was time to get a decent umbrella that will protect me from a serious rainfall, but isn't one of those walking-pavilion-golf-umbrella monstrosities that make me want to kill my fellow pedestrians.
So I got to thinking about it, and I seriously think the last time I bought an umbrella was over fifteen years ago, when I got a Rose Window umbrella at some museum shop or another. I loved that umbrella. It was large without being obnoxious, it was sturdy, with a nice wooden handle. It tucked neatly into a strap on my backpack, so I could whip it out over my shoulder like a samurai brandishing his katana. I freakin' loved that umbrella. Apparently, I'm not alone.Of course, I lost it at some point, and everything since then has paled in comparison.
With the coming rain, I need to find a replacement. And I don't have the tiniest idea where one shops for an umbrella of substance. Macy's, perhaps? Bloomingdales? I'm certainly not buying one from one of those street vendors. That's what got me into this foul bumbershoot mood to begin with.
Last night as I was walking home from work, having listened all day to the dire predictions of impending downpour (we, after all, get CNN and NY1 piped into every lobby/waiting area), so I stopped at this t-shirt/tourist crap emporium on 7th Avenue, near the 57th Street stop on the Q train. I'd see umbrella's on a rack there before, during (marketing genuis!) a rain storm.
So I went into this place and the guy's all, "Can I help you?" and I'm all, "Umbrellas?" and he's all, "What size?" and I'm all, "Not miniature."
The guy reaches around and pulls out what, at first glance, seems to be the perfect umbrella. Nice wooden handle (curved, not one of those awful stave-like things), a tasteful black. All in all, it looked good. 'Til I put the tip of it on the ground, like a walking stick, and realized that the handle reached almost to my chest.
I turned to the guy, who's looking at me like, "Are you gonna buy the fucking thing, or what?" and I say, "Uh, do you have anything a little bit shorter?"
"Nope, one size fits all, pal," he says, turning back to the chickie he's smooth talking.
No sale, and the search continues.
Brother, Can You Spare $100K?
So, okay, I'm not so rich, and likely never will be. But if ever I am, I've decided exactly what I'm buying: A Tesla Motors roadster.
Seriously.
Have you seen these things? I came across some talking head from the company on a Discovery Channel show, I think, and I was all, "Tesla Motors? What's that all about? Electric cars? Feh."
Then I looked 'em up online.
Beautiful. Practical. Powerful. The only problem is that you'd have trouble going more than 250 miles in a day. Troublesome if I wanted to drive home to Pittsburgh.
Oh, and they cost a hundred thousand dollars.
I wonder if, to sweeten the deal, they'd throw in a second battery, so you can go on longer trips?
Still. Sign me up, baby.
Seriously.
Have you seen these things? I came across some talking head from the company on a Discovery Channel show, I think, and I was all, "Tesla Motors? What's that all about? Electric cars? Feh."
Then I looked 'em up online.
Beautiful. Practical. Powerful. The only problem is that you'd have trouble going more than 250 miles in a day. Troublesome if I wanted to drive home to Pittsburgh.
Oh, and they cost a hundred thousand dollars.
I wonder if, to sweeten the deal, they'd throw in a second battery, so you can go on longer trips?
Still. Sign me up, baby.
13 March 2007
Yeesh
The Fozz gave me a little grief this past weekend because he says I haven't been updating my blog enough.He makes a fine point.
I've had a tendency lately to post the little funnies that I find out on the net, but I haven't been really writing anything of substance, because, frankly, I've been pretty busy.
So this week, I started my new job. It looks, truth be told, a lot like my old job, or, at least, my old temp assignment. With added responsibilities.
I'll be curious to see how much, if at all, that changes in the coming weeks. The job description as written was ambitious, and a stretch for me, and I'm only slowly working my way into the new duties. There'll be a learning curve, of course, but even accepting that I'm pretty smart, have worked with computers, webpages and the internet for a long time and have been around corporate cultures enough to be able to navigate those shark-infested waters, it's still going to be a challenge.
One I'm looking forward to, of course.
So the weather early this week has taken a turn for the spring-like. Not a moment too soon, as far as I'm concerned.According to the TV news, it's supposed to reach 70° tomorrow.
Glory, hallelujah! If only it would stay.
I think the forecast is for weather back in the 30s.
I well and truly shake my fist at the weather gods, my friends.
11 March 2007
06 March 2007
I'm, Apparently, the Cat.
This was forwarded to me by Kenjiman. It's something his sister sent along to him. He remarked that the cat sounded like me.
Excerpts from a Dog's Daily Diary:
Excerpts from a Cat's Daily Diary:
Excerpts from a Dog's Daily Diary:8:00 a.m. - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 a.m. - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 a.m. - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 a.m. - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 p.m. - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 p.m. - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 p.m. - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 p.m. - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 p.m. - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 p.m. - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 p.m. - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Daily Diary:Day 683 of my captivity:
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the floor.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. The audacity!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded!
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.... for now.
04 March 2007
Baching It.
Man, I'm in serious trouble. I went around telling everyone I was "baching it" this weekend, but it turns out I had an incomplete idea of what that word actually means!
I thought it was just you were alone while your significant other was elsewhere. I didn't know it meant you were actively looking for, er, trouble while your whatever wasn't on the scene.
In any case, I didn't actually pick anyone up, so I guess I'm off the hook. But trust me when I tell you I won't be using that particular phrase anytime soon.
So Fozzie was out of town Friday night and Saturday afternoon. He went to Philadelphia to meet his dear friend Vixanne Wigg. Apparently they painted the town red. Or at least they fondued a lot. And they saw the Scissor Sisters who, according to Fozzie, aren't quite all that live.
Still, he is quick to admit that Jake Shears is wicked hot. I, frankly, coulda told him that. He needn't have gone all the way to Philadelphia just to learn that.
So here's a bit of good news.
You'll recall that a while back, I applied for a job at The Velvet Prison™, right?
Well, I got it.
That's right! I got the offer letter on Friday.
So it looks like myemployment incarceration at The Velvet Prison™ is now official and indefinite.
It bodes well for my immediate financial future, but it does raise a pretty serious question:
What about my acting career?
Well, friends, I don't think it's any great shock to those close to me that I've been thinking for rather a long while about stepping away from my life-long obsession with the stage.
A couple things:
Trust me. I can't believe I just said that.
I thought it was just you were alone while your significant other was elsewhere. I didn't know it meant you were actively looking for, er, trouble while your whatever wasn't on the scene.
In any case, I didn't actually pick anyone up, so I guess I'm off the hook. But trust me when I tell you I won't be using that particular phrase anytime soon.
So Fozzie was out of town Friday night and Saturday afternoon. He went to Philadelphia to meet his dear friend Vixanne Wigg. Apparently they painted the town red. Or at least they fondued a lot. And they saw the Scissor Sisters who, according to Fozzie, aren't quite all that live.
Still, he is quick to admit that Jake Shears is wicked hot. I, frankly, coulda told him that. He needn't have gone all the way to Philadelphia just to learn that.So here's a bit of good news.
You'll recall that a while back, I applied for a job at The Velvet Prison™, right?
Well, I got it.
That's right! I got the offer letter on Friday.
So it looks like my
It bodes well for my immediate financial future, but it does raise a pretty serious question:
What about my acting career?
Well, friends, I don't think it's any great shock to those close to me that I've been thinking for rather a long while about stepping away from my life-long obsession with the stage.
A couple things:
- I haven't worked in over a year. Oddly, for some reason, I refuse to count the two weeks I worked on the extension of the kiddy show in Philadelphia.
- I've grown a little weary of living out of a suitcase for months at a time.
- I'm tired of making so little money that I have to sublet my apartment when I go off to work, and even doing that barely pays my rent and allows me money to live.
- Since moving here in 2001, I've learned that I love New York City — its energy, its vitality, its opportunity — more than any place I've ever been, and I don't want to leave it. But I've also learned that if you don't have the money to enjoy it, it can be a hellacious grind, and I want to enjoy all the city has to offer.
- I'm a grown up, now. It might be time to start thinking about buying a home.
Trust me. I can't believe I just said that.
01 March 2007
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