I found this post in the Drafts file - one I thought I had published months ago. Since it saves as of the date you wrote it, but publishes in real time - please accept that this was written in April, but still says some relevant things (to my mind!).
Okay, Arianna Huffington on Colbert says "The Huffington Post is not about Right versus Left, it is about Right versus WRONG ..."
Oh, honey.
And I read HuffPo from time to time.
But THAT. Is writerliness. And this finally gets me off my bum to write that Writerly post I've been thinking and saying I was going to get to soon.
***
Okay.
Writerly writing goes past self-consciousness and ends up in self-satisfaction instead, skewing either twee or superior depending upon its point. And it always has a point, which itself is tiresome.
More often than not, the latter seasons of M*A*S*H represent for me the sins of writerliness - the didactic sentimentality, the heavily over-ground axes - but it is popular even in journalism. In fiction, it can get pretty thick. Fiction peopled with auto-characters, avatars for an author's self (or dreams of self) modeled into *ary *ues, cheap exposition working to be clever, would-be clever verbiage straining to teach.
The writerly writer can be heard finding their own work witty and charming. On television, Sorkin productions sometimes fluff a writerly writer. Sitcoms of course do it, see the old war horse referenced above. In the seventies, before irony, archness, and meta came along (we did not know of these concepts of course, the human race before Teh Intarwebs), earnestness was done to a scale which might appear ostentatious to the wiser eyes of today. (Is Diane being writerly? The world may never know. But as Mr. X knows, I was never suBtle.)
Cleverness and sincerity had a dangerously passionate relationship, and of course audiences had no critical eye for it. This stuff was ENT-ertaiment! (*Cue Lovitz doing his Thespian character.) Even the quiet writerly moment - *especially* the quiet writerly moment - was thick with portent. "Portent!" these moments cried, with their contrived intensity. "Portent ..." they whispered, with the profundity of Lesson.
Ahh. Writerly writing.
It's hardly gone the way of the dodo, since all us hayseed pre-'netters grew up and got iPhones. Even reality TV occasionally falls prey to writerliness, don't kid yourself. And reality serves us up intimate, powerful personal monologues by the multi-ton.
If only we could keep it out of "JOURNALISM" ... Whatever that even is, anymore. The best ones out there are Colbert and Stewart. What does that say about our supposed non-fiction writers??
Showing posts with label I am being facetious. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I am being facetious. Show all posts
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Bitchin' Velvet
For those readers who may not be familiar with a cultural construct typified in a concept I like to call "the bitchin' Camaro", there is a use of this adjective which evokes a dude (it is *always* a "dude", man) who may have a mullet, is almost certainly smoking a Marlboro (it is always a Marlboro, man), and is wearing acid wash jeans tight to the ankle. He may have heard about the memo that 1990 has come and gone - but he doesn't care. And he drives a Bitchin' Camaro, thinking it's gonna get him "some tail".
The "bitchin'" this guy embodies is the way a lot of historical productions treat their design these days, most especially costuming. Films, miniseries, and shows touching on flashbacks or actual historicals seem to be populated, at our point in pop-culture history, with metal heads and emo lovers, endowed with crappy extensions (sorry, but as a lover of long-haired men, an actor given "long hair" by way of kanekalon always pretty much looks like a guy endowed with a bad fake mullet) and two-to-four days' stubble growth, wearing amazing costume design with all the historical authenticity of Prince after a particularly sweaty concert.
I'm focusing on men, you notice, and may want to sneer that I'm leaving the picture incomplete. True.
The women in these productions, you see, are given SUPERIOR extensions. Almost preternaturally glossy, thick, romance-novel tresses tend to unrealistically abound. Unbound. Of course. Oddly, the costume design on women, I notice, is often poorer, historically speaking. I think this is because the authentic look for certain periods seems cooler to our current sense of style, for men - as long as we give them the "bitchin'" look to keep it edgy, or goth, or dirty, or whatever. Authentic-with-lace is acceptable, as long as an actor is given a sheen of sweat, his laces are undone at the neck, his doublet carelessly loosened or entirely open - as long as we have the fake rockstar "hair" and some anachronistic modern sexual posturing to go with it.
Women's costuming, though ... has to be enhanced - actually changed, to suit current sensibility. To watch a film today is to believe that decolletege' was de rigueur at every hour of the day, for all possible occasions (especially one's own wedding - hah), for something approaching the ten centuries up to and including ours. Corsetry and that "well cut through the body" look have never, ever gone out of style - even in periods known for a more billowing, or at least less midriff-conscious silhouette.
This isn't new - but it amuses me that designers right now almost certainly presume to a higher level of "authenticity" than one saw in historical productions in, say, the 50s or 60s when (just for fun) Liz Taylor used to run around in inexplicable bouffant styles or hideous swim cap styled headgear, as if THAT were remotely believable:
(The less I say about trends in makeup, then OR now, the better - it all follows on this rant anyway.)
I think my personal favorite throw-authenticity-to-the-winds idea of feminine costume design in recent memory is the body paint, nude gold lipstick, and fishnet fantasy from "The Mummy" (a movie, by the way, I actually enjoy - let it always be understood that my willingness to enjoy a production is as distinct from my willingness to dumb myself down to its caprices in design):
My point isn't so much that I would bother to call designers or makeup artists to go for authenticity. Very few viewers of these productions truly prefer to give up the eye-candy aspect for rigorous veracity, after all.
This is just one of those areas in which a lot of fans get to, and love to, play Guitarist for a sort of fun. Even as we lust after the insanely beautiful taffetas, and maybe think about how we will get to dress for Hallowe'en ...
This post will have a companion post in the upcoming Immaculate Misconception ...
 |
| Bitchin' jacquard |
The "bitchin'" this guy embodies is the way a lot of historical productions treat their design these days, most especially costuming. Films, miniseries, and shows touching on flashbacks or actual historicals seem to be populated, at our point in pop-culture history, with metal heads and emo lovers, endowed with crappy extensions (sorry, but as a lover of long-haired men, an actor given "long hair" by way of kanekalon always pretty much looks like a guy endowed with a bad fake mullet) and two-to-four days' stubble growth, wearing amazing costume design with all the historical authenticity of Prince after a particularly sweaty concert.
I'm focusing on men, you notice, and may want to sneer that I'm leaving the picture incomplete. True.
The women in these productions, you see, are given SUPERIOR extensions. Almost preternaturally glossy, thick, romance-novel tresses tend to unrealistically abound. Unbound. Of course. Oddly, the costume design on women, I notice, is often poorer, historically speaking. I think this is because the authentic look for certain periods seems cooler to our current sense of style, for men - as long as we give them the "bitchin'" look to keep it edgy, or goth, or dirty, or whatever. Authentic-with-lace is acceptable, as long as an actor is given a sheen of sweat, his laces are undone at the neck, his doublet carelessly loosened or entirely open - as long as we have the fake rockstar "hair" and some anachronistic modern sexual posturing to go with it.
Women's costuming, though ... has to be enhanced - actually changed, to suit current sensibility. To watch a film today is to believe that decolletege' was de rigueur at every hour of the day, for all possible occasions (especially one's own wedding - hah), for something approaching the ten centuries up to and including ours. Corsetry and that "well cut through the body" look have never, ever gone out of style - even in periods known for a more billowing, or at least less midriff-conscious silhouette.
This isn't new - but it amuses me that designers right now almost certainly presume to a higher level of "authenticity" than one saw in historical productions in, say, the 50s or 60s when (just for fun) Liz Taylor used to run around in inexplicable bouffant styles or hideous swim cap styled headgear, as if THAT were remotely believable:
 |
| The Inexplicable Swim Cap |
 |
| A Mid-Century Modern Sunburst Wall Clock as Hair Decoration |
(The less I say about trends in makeup, then OR now, the better - it all follows on this rant anyway.)
I think my personal favorite throw-authenticity-to-the-winds idea of feminine costume design in recent memory is the body paint, nude gold lipstick, and fishnet fantasy from "The Mummy" (a movie, by the way, I actually enjoy - let it always be understood that my willingness to enjoy a production is as distinct from my willingness to dumb myself down to its caprices in design):
 |
| 'tude |
My point isn't so much that I would bother to call designers or makeup artists to go for authenticity. Very few viewers of these productions truly prefer to give up the eye-candy aspect for rigorous veracity, after all.
This is just one of those areas in which a lot of fans get to, and love to, play Guitarist for a sort of fun. Even as we lust after the insanely beautiful taffetas, and maybe think about how we will get to dress for Hallowe'en ...
This post will have a companion post in the upcoming Immaculate Misconception ...
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Wait, Wait
... Paul Ryan supposedly loves Rage Against the Machine ... ? I don't guffaw easily, but dang that's pure comedy gold, that is.
(If you don't hit the link, you are seriously missing the joke here, kids.)
(If you don't hit the link, you are seriously missing the joke here, kids.)
Monday, July 16, 2012
Ancient Knickers
Sometimes, the surprised tone of media reportage regarding in-depth subjects without in-depth background (and the breathy, insinuating inventiveness often displayed by those with less of that background) is mildly amusing.
For instance, it turns out we didn't invent breast nor posterior coverings only 100 years ago. Also, the human body has not radically altered in design for some millennia, so the stuff we as a species may be likely to protect hasn't migrated or anything.
***
Continued surprises may be found in ancient Roman depictions of underwear.
Ahem.
For instance, it turns out we didn't invent breast nor posterior coverings only 100 years ago. Also, the human body has not radically altered in design for some millennia, so the stuff we as a species may be likely to protect hasn't migrated or anything.
***
Continued surprises may be found in ancient Roman depictions of underwear.
Ahem.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Tudor Tutor
It seems that no less a twit than an Oxford history don thinks that calling an era after the name of its rulers is twaddle - because they didn't do that in real time.
Tune in next time, when we whinge about the term The Dark Ages, because the ignoramii living in that period didn't call it that.
(Bonus time: what did the people born Before the Common Era call their years ... ?)
Holy smokes.
Tune in next time, when we whinge about the term The Dark Ages, because the ignoramii living in that period didn't call it that.
(Bonus time: what did the people born Before the Common Era call their years ... ?)
Holy smokes.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
I Remember ...
... when this blog used to actually get comments.
Now all I ever see 'round here is Russian spambots. Apparently, I have become painfully boring.
Now all I ever see 'round here is Russian spambots. Apparently, I have become painfully boring.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Writerliness
Okay, Arianna Huffington on Colbert says "The Huffington Post is not about Right versus Left, it is about Right versus WRONG ..."
Oh, honey.
And I read HuffPo from time to time.
But THAT. Is writerliness. And this finally gets me off my bum to write that Writerly post I've been thinking and saying I was going to get to soon.
***
Okay.
Writerly writing goes past self-consciousness and ends up in self-satisfaction instead, skewing either twee or superior depending upon its point. And it always has a point, which itself is tiresome.
More often than not, the latter seasons of M*A*S*H represent for me the sins of writerliness - the didactic sentimentality, the heavily over-ground axes - but it is popular even in journalism. In fiction, it can get pretty thick. Fiction peopled with auto-characters, avatars for an author's self (or dreams of self) modeled into *ary *ues, cheap exposition working to be clever, would-be clever verbiage straining to teach.
The writerly writer can be heard finding their own work witty and charming. On television, Sorkin productions sometimes fluff a writerly writer. Sitcoms of course do it, see the old war horse referenced above. In the seventies, before irony, archness, and meta came along (we did not know of these concepts of course, the human race before Teh Intarwebs), earnestness was done to a scale which might appear ostentatious to the wiser eyes of today. (Is Diane being writerly? The world may never know. But as Mr. X knows, I was never suBtle.)
Cleverness and sincerity had a dangerously passionate relationship, and of course audiences had no critical eye for it. This stuff was ENT-ertaiment! (*Cue Lovitz doing his Thespian character.) Even the quiet writerly moment - *especially* the quiet writerly moment - was thick with portent. "Portent!" these moments cried, with their contrived intensity. "Portent ..." they whispered, with the profundity of Lesson.
Ahh. Writerly writing.
It's hardly gone the way of the dodo, since all us hayseed pre-'netters grew up and got iPhones. Even reality TV occasionally falls prey to writerliness, don't kid yourself. And reality serves us up intimate, powerful personal monologues by the multi-ton. Purported human beings sell their lives to the highest bidder so they can touch people - and get touched - and let's not pretend this stuff isn't scripted.
Still, for me, the worst writerliness is the CLEVER writerly moment - the scene in "Sports Night" where the implied emotional payoff is pride in condescension, when an inconceivably wealthy white dude offers a sandwich to a homeless person ... and the older guy *cuts it in half* because sharing is so cool and so deep, man, and we're all just the same, even though one dude is going home to his posh bachelor pad in half an hour. Hey, but he was HUNGRY - and the homeless guy was hungry - and we're all just in this together, man.
I resent these things most when I let them affect me, which is perhaps why I am suspicious of emotionalism in my own writing.
That - or ... Ax, at any rate, happens to be first-person male, and I'm steeled to the teeth for all the XY-chromosome-sporting Guitarists who're just sneering in wait for me to "fail" writing my character. And guys have no hearts, or whatever the stupid cliche' (err, common wisdom) is. Ahm.
But sometimes, writerly writing DOES work, mechanically. It's egregious and overheated, but damn if the tricks aren't effective, even when you see them for what they are. Good writers can be writerly - and those buggers can be lethal when you are having a good week's PMS.
But effective or no, I still speak out against the onanistic (that's writerly speak for Jillin' off, kids) and controlling will of the writerLYer. I play Guitarist to their performances, I scoff and snub and pretend I'm superior.
Don't be a writerly writer.
ESPECIALLY if it is "what you know". Writing what you know is almost odoriferously overrated.
And that whole, profoundly overacted, breathily delivered right/left/right/wrong thing above is SUPER writerly. Don't be That Writer. That dude is a tool (even if the dude's a woman).
Oh, honey.
And I read HuffPo from time to time.
But THAT. Is writerliness. And this finally gets me off my bum to write that Writerly post I've been thinking and saying I was going to get to soon.
***
Okay.
Writerly writing goes past self-consciousness and ends up in self-satisfaction instead, skewing either twee or superior depending upon its point. And it always has a point, which itself is tiresome.
More often than not, the latter seasons of M*A*S*H represent for me the sins of writerliness - the didactic sentimentality, the heavily over-ground axes - but it is popular even in journalism. In fiction, it can get pretty thick. Fiction peopled with auto-characters, avatars for an author's self (or dreams of self) modeled into *ary *ues, cheap exposition working to be clever, would-be clever verbiage straining to teach.
The writerly writer can be heard finding their own work witty and charming. On television, Sorkin productions sometimes fluff a writerly writer. Sitcoms of course do it, see the old war horse referenced above. In the seventies, before irony, archness, and meta came along (we did not know of these concepts of course, the human race before Teh Intarwebs), earnestness was done to a scale which might appear ostentatious to the wiser eyes of today. (Is Diane being writerly? The world may never know. But as Mr. X knows, I was never suBtle.)
Cleverness and sincerity had a dangerously passionate relationship, and of course audiences had no critical eye for it. This stuff was ENT-ertaiment! (*Cue Lovitz doing his Thespian character.) Even the quiet writerly moment - *especially* the quiet writerly moment - was thick with portent. "Portent!" these moments cried, with their contrived intensity. "Portent ..." they whispered, with the profundity of Lesson.
Ahh. Writerly writing.
It's hardly gone the way of the dodo, since all us hayseed pre-'netters grew up and got iPhones. Even reality TV occasionally falls prey to writerliness, don't kid yourself. And reality serves us up intimate, powerful personal monologues by the multi-ton. Purported human beings sell their lives to the highest bidder so they can touch people - and get touched - and let's not pretend this stuff isn't scripted.
Still, for me, the worst writerliness is the CLEVER writerly moment - the scene in "Sports Night" where the implied emotional payoff is pride in condescension, when an inconceivably wealthy white dude offers a sandwich to a homeless person ... and the older guy *cuts it in half* because sharing is so cool and so deep, man, and we're all just the same, even though one dude is going home to his posh bachelor pad in half an hour. Hey, but he was HUNGRY - and the homeless guy was hungry - and we're all just in this together, man.
I resent these things most when I let them affect me, which is perhaps why I am suspicious of emotionalism in my own writing.
That - or ... Ax, at any rate, happens to be first-person male, and I'm steeled to the teeth for all the XY-chromosome-sporting Guitarists who're just sneering in wait for me to "fail" writing my character. And guys have no hearts, or whatever the stupid cliche' (err, common wisdom) is. Ahm.
But sometimes, writerly writing DOES work, mechanically. It's egregious and overheated, but damn if the tricks aren't effective, even when you see them for what they are. Good writers can be writerly - and those buggers can be lethal when you are having a good week's PMS.
But effective or no, I still speak out against the onanistic (that's writerly speak for Jillin' off, kids) and controlling will of the writerLYer. I play Guitarist to their performances, I scoff and snub and pretend I'm superior.
Don't be a writerly writer.
ESPECIALLY if it is "what you know". Writing what you know is almost odoriferously overrated.
And that whole, profoundly overacted, breathily delivered right/left/right/wrong thing above is SUPER writerly. Don't be That Writer. That dude is a tool (even if the dude's a woman).
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Oh BLOGGER
I love the stats function here, it's almost as poor a tool as Loti Noti.
Today, for instance: I have had 7 pageviews.
35 of those were on Windows machines, with multiple views also coming from Linux, Firefox, Safari, and Mobile Safari, among others.
FUN WITH MAYUTH. And Blogger is funnin' with my paltry brainmeats.
I'm going to take my stupid back and my stupid, distracted, and slightly depressed brain to bed early again tonight.
Today, for instance: I have had 7 pageviews.
35 of those were on Windows machines, with multiple views also coming from Linux, Firefox, Safari, and Mobile Safari, among others.
FUN WITH MAYUTH. And Blogger is funnin' with my paltry brainmeats.
I'm going to take my stupid back and my stupid, distracted, and slightly depressed brain to bed early again tonight.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Do It. I Dare Ya.
Try typing rickperry.com into your browser. See where it takes you. (SFW and safe for nieces to ... well, insofar as the GOP goes ...)
Holy frijoles.
Holy frijoles.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Chopped
A banana of the perfect ripeness, a wonderful, gritty pear, a Virginia peach, a fistful of black, tart grapes. Dessert at my house was good tonight.
The problem with fruit salad, for me, is that in order to make it, you have to make quite a BIT of it - it's not really realistic to chop up one quarter of a fruit at a time and end up with one reasonable sized serving. Oh, but la.
Sometimes, you just have to have fruit salad. So dinner must be minimal. And, oh - dessert was maximal.
It's at times like these - with so many such wonderful fruits in the house - I miss X the most. Heh.
The problem with fruit salad, for me, is that in order to make it, you have to make quite a BIT of it - it's not really realistic to chop up one quarter of a fruit at a time and end up with one reasonable sized serving. Oh, but la.
Sometimes, you just have to have fruit salad. So dinner must be minimal. And, oh - dessert was maximal.
It's at times like these - with so many such wonderful fruits in the house - I miss X the most. Heh.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Oh, And
I do know I shifted from italics for book titles, to quotation marks. While I do prefer italicization, it requires a vanishingly small amount more effort, and after the workday I had today, even vanishing effort can be a bit much to self-demand. My apologies to any dilettantes offended by my inability to fully organize standards of usage on even my own blog.
Heh.
Heh.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Hah
Okay, so Michelle Bachmann's handlers are physically abusing FOX NEWS reporters??
Did she not get the memo, that Fox is the fawning Bestest Friend of her party ... ?
Did she not get the memo, that Fox is the fawning Bestest Friend of her party ... ?
Monday, July 25, 2011
How Much Do I Love My President Right Now?
Yeah, the speech he is giving even as I type is pretty stellar and all that.
But he just asked why hedge fund managers should pay lower tax rates than their secretaries. WOO for him ditching that "Administrative Assistant" bullshit. (Additionally: good question. Let's get a *decent* answer.)
And also, you know - for growing a functional pair, and publicly making the most salient point of our day.
Get it the hell done, O Wealthy Lawyer-Politicians. The rest of us are heartily sick of the bloody brinksmanship. NOBODY'S little "endowments" (all entendres intended) are going to look good if this plays out. So quit lying about your measurements and each other's. You guys have a ****ing job to do.
Do it.
But he just asked why hedge fund managers should pay lower tax rates than their secretaries. WOO for him ditching that "Administrative Assistant" bullshit. (Additionally: good question. Let's get a *decent* answer.)
And also, you know - for growing a functional pair, and publicly making the most salient point of our day.
Get it the hell done, O Wealthy Lawyer-Politicians. The rest of us are heartily sick of the bloody brinksmanship. NOBODY'S little "endowments" (all entendres intended) are going to look good if this plays out. So quit lying about your measurements and each other's. You guys have a ****ing job to do.
Do it.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Entitle-ment
Writers often have a hard time coming up with titles, and sometimes they can be incredibly meaningful, or as frustratingly opaque as the silly non-descriptors cosmetic companies come up with for their shades. Some titles gain power beyond their sources, and some mean a lot for reasons obvious and not (and if you are not catching my drift, for pete's sake will you notice my name, please?). My own debut took a long time to entitle, yet once I did it was so screamingly obvious, if I'd had any sense of decency (or shame), I'd have been terribly embarrassed it wasn't clear to me from day one. Novel #2 is still laboring under the working (but not at all well) title, "Matrilineage" - and I will be glad once I've gotten absorbed enough to actually know its real name.
Still probably won't manage to be properly embarrassed, though.
Still probably won't manage to be properly embarrassed, though.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
My Ex Husband Says It's Not ...
... but spelling is so important. Just one M can mean the difference between great marketing and a slimming garment - or the disgusting prospect of a dress which will snot all over you.
Ew, ew, ew, ew.
Ew, ew, ew, ew.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Mean Joke About a Dead Guy
So ... it seems that I originally purchased my anti-virus protection on April 14 - the day Peter Steele died.
Given his reputation with The Ladies - is renewing VIRUS PROTECTION software as fitting a way to pay tribute every year on this anniversary as it seems to be ... ?
Eep.
Aww.
Given his reputation with The Ladies - is renewing VIRUS PROTECTION software as fitting a way to pay tribute every year on this anniversary as it seems to be ... ?
Eep.
Aww.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Sunshine, Lollipops--
The headline I chose below now has that obnoxious little ditty in my head - and, as I am hideously wont to do - my puling little brain insists upon lyrics ... since I don't know the real ones.
Search strings, queryings, and
writerly little things, and
all the agent-seeking work that makes a
day go better!
Keep your chinny up, and
scritch that stinky pup, and
don't forget the sparkling text of
your query letter!
Oh good lord, I can't even stand myself.
I composed one this morning at breakfast for The Lolly that was absurdly satisfying (... there's that nasty word!), but can't remember it at the moment. I'll be SURE to record it for posterity when it re-rears its ugly little comical head. They always come back, these personally written brainworms I sing to my doggie.
Search strings, queryings, and
writerly little things, and
all the agent-seeking work that makes a
day go better!
Keep your chinny up, and
scritch that stinky pup, and
don't forget the sparkling text of
your query letter!
Oh good lord, I can't even stand myself.
I composed one this morning at breakfast for The Lolly that was absurdly satisfying (... there's that nasty word!), but can't remember it at the moment. I'll be SURE to record it for posterity when it re-rears its ugly little comical head. They always come back, these personally written brainworms I sing to my doggie.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Well Alrighty Then
I'd been called for jury duty this morning, and was to report in at 9:30 for selection, and be ready for a 5-day trial. Apparently, there was a plea bargain or something; I just got the call that I have been de-called. So on to work I go.
It's funny, the single commonest response to this news has been the many ways to get out of jury duty. I know that's the cliche' and nobody's ever supposed to desire to do their civic duty ... but, honestly, for the life of me, I really do not understand that. I guess it's that I don't understand what the sacrifice is supposed to be for these people, who so devoutly feel they mustn't be prevailed upon for this. Boredom is really the only thing I can come up with, and the inconvenience to a job. But ... that, I guess, doesn't hold water, at least not with me. Maybe it's because I'm "just a secretary" (yeah, and you can read that with a fair measure of morally superior facetiousness in this case, I guess. Maybe the fact that I don't define myself by the means to my paycheck makes me just the sort of lemming fit for the stultifying degredation of serving my community. Eh, who knows.
Either way, instead of getting in my car right now with a slim purse and a fat book, I'm about to pack up my laptop, my purse, my smallish tote of work goods and extras, and lug my way into the office. Two hours of jury duty for my timecard - and all of that served in my own home. An irony, that the one who wouldn't mind serving gets the free pass all the disgruntled types get so het about ... ?
It's funny, the single commonest response to this news has been the many ways to get out of jury duty. I know that's the cliche' and nobody's ever supposed to desire to do their civic duty ... but, honestly, for the life of me, I really do not understand that. I guess it's that I don't understand what the sacrifice is supposed to be for these people, who so devoutly feel they mustn't be prevailed upon for this. Boredom is really the only thing I can come up with, and the inconvenience to a job. But ... that, I guess, doesn't hold water, at least not with me. Maybe it's because I'm "just a secretary" (yeah, and you can read that with a fair measure of morally superior facetiousness in this case, I guess. Maybe the fact that I don't define myself by the means to my paycheck makes me just the sort of lemming fit for the stultifying degredation of serving my community. Eh, who knows.
Either way, instead of getting in my car right now with a slim purse and a fat book, I'm about to pack up my laptop, my purse, my smallish tote of work goods and extras, and lug my way into the office. Two hours of jury duty for my timecard - and all of that served in my own home. An irony, that the one who wouldn't mind serving gets the free pass all the disgruntled types get so het about ... ?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Reach Out ...
Life's sense of humor is fairly weak, all things considered.
I come home today and the message light is on. Before I bother finding out which auto-dialer has blessed me with an actual voicemail, the phone rings twice. At one point it is my drugstore robot. And next is the finance company for my windows, asking for a payment they apparently never received, when I sent a check on February 15. Great.
Ask me if I've bothered considering the possibility the message was left by an actual human. My mom's on vacation, and everyone else ... well, as TEO and I say: yeah - but no.
Life? It's weak, as punch lines go. Just sayin'. Saw it coming a mile away. Very formulaic, very predictable, this joke.
I come home today and the message light is on. Before I bother finding out which auto-dialer has blessed me with an actual voicemail, the phone rings twice. At one point it is my drugstore robot. And next is the finance company for my windows, asking for a payment they apparently never received, when I sent a check on February 15. Great.
Ask me if I've bothered considering the possibility the message was left by an actual human. My mom's on vacation, and everyone else ... well, as TEO and I say: yeah - but no.
Life? It's weak, as punch lines go. Just sayin'. Saw it coming a mile away. Very formulaic, very predictable, this joke.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Uuggh
Okay, Netflix instant is buffering PAINFULLY slowly tonight, and my DVD player no longer works, and as much as I love Nova Science Now I'm somehow not quite in the mood for it ... so this is annoying. Boo.
Instant gratification! Now!
GIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMME ...
C'mon!
Instant gratification! Now!
GIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMME ...
C'mon!
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