A Celebration

I had to call Laura in the management office today of my apartment complex today, and I was hit in the face with a wet slab of retardation. Let's watch a re-enactment:

Me: Hi, can I talk to Laura?
Girl: What building?
Me: Um, the management office? Your building.
Girl: Wait, what building?
Me: 78/79 York. The management office. She works there. [She's your boss, you stupid cow!]
Girl: Please hold.
[Shakira music. Rock out.]
Girl: Thanks for holding.
Me: ....
Girl: ....
Me: Is this Laura?
Girl: No.
Me: Ummm...
Girl: She's not in the office right now. Do you want her voicemail?
Me: No, I already left her something this morning. Can I just have her direct number?
Girl: That is her direct number.
Me: Yeah, give it to me so I can call later.
Girl: *Connects me to Laura'a voicemail*

How does this species even survive?

Maul of America

This is another perfect reason for neurotic people like my mom and ignorant neurotic people like America to never leave the house again. Every time there's an animal mauling, the news media explodes. People eat this shit up. Pun totally intended.

You may not know it because the article is near impossible to find at this point, but there has been a series of shootings all over New York. Unfortunately, all they get is a crappily-written article with no picture. The animal story has trumped it because being mauled is such a shit way to die. What seems to be forgotten at times like this is that getting shot is ALSO a shit way to die. The problem is that shootings in a big city are so commonplace that nobody wants to hear about them anymore.

Shootings aren't real or interesting unless they happen in a school or a shopping mall or somewhere else where the people are innocent and hopefully healthy, wealthy and white. In other cases, there's this general assumption that if a guy (male) gets shot on the streets of New York, he somehow deserved it. He lived in a bad part of town, he ran with the wrong crowd, he had it coming. Who cares, he was probably on drugs anyway. You barely ever hear "Oh, the humanity!" or "Gun control!" after things like that. The school and mall ones, though? They always spark the same tired debate that goes nowhere.

In a similar vein, why is it that when an adult is killed, it's pretty sad, but when a child is killed, it's "Oh, again, the humanity!" and "He had his whole life in front of him!" And at what age does that shift happen? Does a 30-year-old not also have his life in front of him? And why is it that there's a difference between the death of a 20-year-old man and the death of a 20-year-old college sophomore? You know one tugs at your heartstrings more than the other, which is pretty much proof positive that you're capable of valuing one human life over another, you dick.

Here's a quick-reference guide to how people react to the unnatural deaths of the innocent:

  • Elderly death -- "Well, they were gonna eat it soon anyway."
  • Middle-aged death -- "Yeah, it happens."
  • 30-something death -- "Only sad if he/she was hot."
  • 20-something death -- "Pity. What a world."
  • Student death -- "What is our society coming to?? How can we let this happen????"
  • Child death -- [tears] "An innocent child! I can't even.... please, no... it's too much."
  • Baby death -- "I can't believe it! Animal! Why didn't she have an abortion or put it up for adoption?"
  • Miscarriage -- "Yeah, it happens. They were gonna eat it soon anyway."

But back to the tiger. That's what this entry was supposed to be about before I got all distracted with how bad I feel that I'm no longer young enough for people to care if I'm murdered.

HPJC

Anyway, they shot the tiger dead, which I must honestly say I found more upsetting than the death of the man. This is for hippie reasons of the injustice of animal captivity and stuff. Tigers are carnivores. They prey upon the weak by nature. If you're going to put yourself within 50 yards of a tiger, much like mixing with gangs and walking the mean streets of New York, you probably have it coming.

That's not to say that all zoo-goers should be mauled. I like the zoo too. I'm just saying that this is what tigers do. Here's my favorite part of the article:

Officials said that the same tiger, a Siberian named Tatiana, had mauled a zookeeper in front of horrified visitors about a year ago.

Maul me once, shame on you. Maul me twice...

I know the same guy was not mauled twice. Just go with it.

Right, so after this big coup at the zoo, we're going to be hearing all about zoo safety and tiger taming and crap like that. Typical media hooplah. "It could happen to you!" "Wild beasts! In your own backyard?" I hate this stuff, but there it is. They say it's in the name of security and protecting the children and "better safe than snack food", but really it's a sad attempt to make our lame lives sound more interesting.

Don't fall for it. People don't just get mauled. They do, however, just get shot. But that's not so exciting anymore.

Broken Dreams, Broken Glasses

Explosive

I'm home sick from work today for two reasons. For one, I'm sick. Fever, sniffles, yuckiness, ookiness, all that. Whatever, who cares?

The OTHER reason I'm sick is because I broke my fucking glasses last night! I don't even know what happened! I reached up to adjust them, and the delicate touch of my supple hands caused the "ear attachy stick thingy" to snap right off! I would have been better if I sat on them or stepped on them or something real, but they broke in such a pitiful way that it makes me feel more pathetic.

For any of you who have experienced broken glasses, you know it's the worst feeling in all the world. Worse than being dumped. Worse than losing your job. Worse than accidentally killing your pet. (Hi, Kitty!) To quote my favorite movie, "I felt like my stomach was gonna fall out my butt!"

Broken Glasses

So I had to sit through all of Grease, the musical, with my hand to my face. Now I'm home sick, feverish, achy, sweating, and legally blind. The only positive thing about this is that it just put "Legally Blonde" (from the musical) in my head, but after about an hour of repeated refrains, that won't be so positive anymore.

So that's my shitty day. Tell me about yours. I bet I win.

Cookie Party?

I'm back from L.A., where I went for the past week and didn't tell you. There are a lot of great stories I could tell you about it, but there is something more pressing I'd like to discuss.

"Somebody brought in cookies!" Ah, those sweet words are a rare cause for celebration here at the office. We get no Christmas bonus, no proper holiday party, and no free coffee machine, so cookies from an anonymous donor are infinitely more exciting in the month of December. When there's something good to eat at work, productivity skyrockets and Jesus smiles, so it was with great relish that I stalked across the room to the cookies only to find that they weren't real cookies but rather OLD PEOPLE COOKIES! I was so pissed, but I decided to eat one anyway just in case these old people cookies were different. They weren't; it was a nightmare!

Old People Cookies
A colony of Old People Cookies at rest.

In case you don't know, here's a quick lesson in old people cookies from a science and nature magazine I just made up:

The Old People Cookie is a nefarious beast that takes the form of a dry, unadorned, artificially-colored and entirely tasteless lump. Old People Cookies travel in groups called Shitty Gift Boxes. They are nomadic creatures, though they will often settle for brief periods at church receptions, rest home Christmas parties, ghetto blood drives, and the already-occupied houses of old people. Ironically, despite the name, the Old People Cookie has only one natural predator: old people. This is because they produce a natural toxin to which old people are immune. Other species who ingest an Old People Cookie are inflicted with the non-lethal but incapacitating poison that some victims have described as "fucking disgusting." The Old People Cookie is therefore able to enjoy a life relatively free of predation until its natural life cycle ends in staleness, though at what point staleness sets in is often unclear, and the corpse of an Old People Cookie can be passed off as a member of the community for up to 50 years.

I don't know why anybody buys these gross cookies or how the companies that make them haven't a) gone out of business or b) been bombed. The picture above represents how many cookies were on the plate after I took one. It also represents the number left on the plate when I left for the day. NOBODY LIKES OLD PEOPLE COOKIES! STOP TRYING TO FOIST THEM ON US! These were probably a regift of a regift of a gift originally given in 1960.

Fucking Old People Cookies. Fucking old people.

Nobody better bother me because I'm mad.

Flimflammed! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! Egads, I'm upset!

A friend of mine has seen fit to dangle in front of me a shiny golden trinket, only to reveal later that it resides behind an invisible web of DECEIT!

I was supposed to go to the premiere of There Will Be Blood at the Ziegfeld tonight. I have this spiff new outfit for the occasion (as well as for a show premiere in LA this weekend, but pretend that's not happening to enhance the indignation.) Anyway, it should be clear by the fact that I'm blogging that I'm not wearing my sexy outfit on a red carpet with Daniel Day-Lewis! Instead, I'm sitting at home on my couch ALL BY MYSELF IN MY VOLDEMORT T-SHIRT! Yeah, I was stood up. AM BEING stood up.

Here's a MySpace-style mirror self-portrait to illustrate my annoyance:

Annoyed

Can't you just feel the flames of wrath?

Actually, I'm not in as shitty a mood as I could be, but it sure is fun to pretend. FUCK YOU!

Anyway, since I never post pictures of myself, let's take this opportunity to examine how much I've grown. Here's a closer, less irate, but still slightly constipated-looking shot:

Yeah

You will notice that my hair is quite a bit longer than it used to be. It has also stayed a vibrant shade of red instead of fading to the anemic strawberry blonde of yestermonth. But mostly, I want to show off my new Voldemort t-shirt that I got on the Internet.

I'd also like to point out my enormous Jew nose, proving my ancestry for those who may think I was born gentile like my "friend" did today.

Anyway, enough examining my face. Put it back in your pants. I'm lookin' at you, Bagel.) I'm in a bad mood for being stood up, so I don't feel like being the object of anyone's affection. Oh, and by the way, observe here the cherry on top of a fabulous evening:

Zit

The Golden CompASS (hee hee, did you see what I did with the caps?)

So I saw The Golden Compass last night finally, and I'm going to tell you about it.

Everyone was cast well, especially the little girl who isn't nearly as creepy as I thought she might be. She was actually fabulous and I wish I could be 11 again so we could be friends. Nicole Kidman was fine, in her breathy sotto voce kinda way. Kathy Bates, however, managed to claim the Fierce Diva Award with her portrayal of Hester, this jackrabbit thing. She had one scene and about 5 lines, but she pretty much stole the show. Horribly miscast was that ass ugly child they got to play Roger. I don't know what side of the swamp he came from, but the toads must be happy to see him go.

Moving on, don't expect a recreation of the book. The concepts in the novel are too complex and numerous, so a lot of the film ended up being really talky, but it was pretty ok anyway. The ending fizzled out into this schlocky "movie" ending with no sense of wonder or inquisition like in the book. Without reading the series, I have no idea why anyone would want to see the second movie. The last 5 minutes of this one were utter crap.

Flat Gold
"Lyra, ask the alethiometer
what happened to my breasts."

My number one gripe, however, was the level of violence. There wasn't enough. This movie would have been 1,000% better with a) blood and b) kids getting shot with arrows. Let's examine these two concepts.

First of all, there was no blood in the entire movie despite countless images of people getting mauled and stabbed and one scene where a bear gets his entire freaking face ripped off. Apparently the citizenry of this alternate universe survives on pure willpower because not a drop of anything was spilt the entire film. This is war on snow! The land should awash in the blood of the innocent!

Speaking of the blood of the innocent, there's one scene with a bunch of men in furry hats trying to 'get' a bunch of children, and this whole battle breaks out with witches flying about (as witches do) and shooting everyone with arrows. You're gonna tell me that not a single child dies in this bloodbath? I mean willpowerbath. So that was disappointing, along with the removal of one really important death of a child from the book, which is a proper plot point that I was sad to see go rather than disappointment due to my twisted, violent desires.

Kate Bush
It's just a name, Kate.

One thing that really stood out about The Golden Compass was the score by Alexandre Desplat. It was totally effective and exciting and blah blah all that. Imagine my surprise, then, when the movie fizzled out to the credits and instead of some rollicking overture, I was treated with some hippie Enya new age crap. "Oh Lyraaaaaaa..." It was pretty much the most shit song ever written. Thanks, Kate Bush. In case you don't know who she is, the picture on the right embodies everything that is right and wrong with her.

In conclusion, The Golden Compass is worth seeing only if you are already going to see it no matter what I say.

Good morning, Internet!

It's a miserable day today because I'm starving, hung over, and I can't think of a thing to do with myself. I have to run to SoHo to pick up some clothes--oh crap, and I've had dry cleaning ready since Tuesday. God dammit.

Man, and I can't find my cell phone now... ok, y'know what, screw the blog entry. I gotta get going.

Here, look, the Pipettes released a video for one of my favorite songs of theirs. Watch it.

Inspiration

As you've all surely noticed from your late nights of desperately hitting the refresh button on my blog, I haven't been writing a lot lately. The problem is, I've not been inspired. I don't know why, especially considering I've done lots of great things lately worth writing about. I've also learned a lot of neat things like all about sea monkeys. Yet somehow, when I go to write anything, it either doesn't come out or sucks.

But I recently came across a video from one of my favorite internet personalities, Ze Frank. The video, from his blog, is about inspiration.

I don't know how he does it, but the man is fabulous and hilarious one minute, and then he'll come out with sage advice that makes me feel so good about the world. Ze Frank is the best, and he's one of those people I secretly watch out for when I'm walking around the city.

Anyway, I still have nothing to write about, but in the spirit of "keep on making stuff," I've decided to share some things that might inspire you. From my lack of inspiration, I have been inspired to inspire. I'm so meta it hurts so much it hurts.

Anyway, I'm going with the philosophy here that seeing people be creative will make you feel creative. To begin, this was floating around the Music Librarian Association listserv this morning:

It gets annoying at 3:18, but better again at 4:22. My favorite is the pepper kazoo.

The following is one of my favorite things to watch, largely based on the content at Indexed:

I imagine that man being very sexy.

Ok, I gotta get back to work, and you've wasted enough time watching videos. Loser. The moral of the story is I'm going to blog more even if I'm not inspired, so be prepared for a whole lot of shit in the coming weeks.

Also, speaking of Ze Frank, you should go to The ORG, which is basically this community of who I consider to be some of the most creative people on the Internet just having fun sharing pictures and videos and projects. I'm a member, but you all know I don't do much of anything, so.... whatever, ok.

But before you go, here's a holiday video sorta related to the Vegetable Orchestra one above. It's the most adorable Japanese man ever and his rendition of Angels We Have Heard on High: