I liked 2010 because I am bad at math.
2010 was easy, man.
What year were you born? Oh, you're 24... that's 1986, sucka! 30? 1980! 76? 1944! Wait... 1934!
Nice round numbers are so lovely for people like me. I work in increments of 5 and 10 pretty easily... decades rock, see. But come tomorrow... I'm screwed.
2011 minus 1984? Uuuugghghhhhh.... twenty.... um.... not six.....
On a somewhat related note, it's time to stop.
Tonight we ring in the year TWENTY-ELEVEN. Not, two-thousand-and-eleven. Shut your pie hole, you verbal diarrhea-ed society.
Proof: You don't say the year 1911 as nineteen-thousand-and-eleven.
Why are people sill marvelling at the fact that we have passed 2000 CE?! That is the only explanation I can come up with for the insistence on saying two-thousand-and-eleven, as opposed to the much more catchy and streamlined 2011 - do we as a society think we're fancy and space-age and living in the future and thus must reference such things as often as possible?
Cut it out. Tonight is the night.
31.12.10
27.12.10
Listening to Devendra, thinking about things.
"It's not a date if you don't make-out." -as texted by yours truly the other day.
Question: why does it take longer to decide that you want to be friends with someone than it does to decide you want to make-out with them on the regular?
I'd say it's a pretty reasonable thing that after meeting a fella that you think looks like he could chop down a good tree or has revealed to you that he reads Neil Gaiman, to decide that you should probably make-out with him. This decision happens quickly and naturally, and in another short period of time post-make-out, you'll probably be in a good place to judge if you would like to do such things again.
It would be unreasonable however, to be introduced to a friend of a friend while out on the town, and decide within mere minutes that this new girl should come over to your house and bake cookies and play monopoly and have a goofy photoshoot and trade outfits. Even if that decision was made, it would be drunken and ill-advised, and you'd never actually follow through because oh god, how awkward! What would you talk about?! How would you kill the time?
I guess that's why making new sexy-time-friends is easier.
You just fill the awkwardness with tongue parties.
You can't do that with your real friends.
On the flip side, you'd swap "electrolytes, mucus, antibacterial compounds and various enzymes" with a lumberjack, but probably wouldn't ask him to help you move the next day.
So too, if you are just hanging out with some new dude or lady or what have you, that you just met. And you don't make-out, then congratulations! You were just hanging with your new bud. If it wasn't awkward, hold onto that sucker tight.
Question: why does it take longer to decide that you want to be friends with someone than it does to decide you want to make-out with them on the regular?
I'd say it's a pretty reasonable thing that after meeting a fella that you think looks like he could chop down a good tree or has revealed to you that he reads Neil Gaiman, to decide that you should probably make-out with him. This decision happens quickly and naturally, and in another short period of time post-make-out, you'll probably be in a good place to judge if you would like to do such things again.
It would be unreasonable however, to be introduced to a friend of a friend while out on the town, and decide within mere minutes that this new girl should come over to your house and bake cookies and play monopoly and have a goofy photoshoot and trade outfits. Even if that decision was made, it would be drunken and ill-advised, and you'd never actually follow through because oh god, how awkward! What would you talk about?! How would you kill the time?
I guess that's why making new sexy-time-friends is easier.
You just fill the awkwardness with tongue parties.
You can't do that with your real friends.
On the flip side, you'd swap "electrolytes, mucus, antibacterial compounds and various enzymes" with a lumberjack, but probably wouldn't ask him to help you move the next day.
So too, if you are just hanging out with some new dude or lady or what have you, that you just met. And you don't make-out, then congratulations! You were just hanging with your new bud. If it wasn't awkward, hold onto that sucker tight.
23.12.10
Good point...
Friend: You should delete him from facebook.
Me: Why?
Friend: You just called him a motherfucker to his face.
Me: Right.
Me: Why?
Friend: You just called him a motherfucker to his face.
Me: Right.
21.12.10
The best text message I have ever received.
4:06am:
"A middle aged man named Donald just told me his entire life story at the airport and has left his bags in my care and I think his dead wife might be in one."
-Mandy.
"A middle aged man named Donald just told me his entire life story at the airport and has left his bags in my care and I think his dead wife might be in one."
-Mandy.
20.12.10
For Carolyn on her 24th Birthday.
Even though I am posting this beyond 12am my time, Carolyn is stuck in Ohio, which is probably six hours behind, or maybe time doesn't really move there, so it will still be her birthday.
This is my Carolyn.
Carolyn is hilarious and great.
To show my appriciation of her, here are some things she has amused me with via facebook over the years:
"
18.12.10
Panic at the Liquor Store
A phone conversation:
Mandy: Heeeey, what's going on?
Me: I'm freaking out. I have to go to a party in a furniture store and I don't have any idea what to drink.
Mandy: Wait, what?
Me: It's a staff party for the store next door. There might be some booze there, but like... I need to bring something to drink. I have a little wine left over from yesterday.
Mandy: You can't bring a half-drunk bottle of hobo-wine to a party with strangers. You can only do that with your friends because we won't judge you.
Me: What do I buy!?
Mandy: Buy a mid-priced bottle of wine. Something normal and not pretentious. You won't get shitfaced and make a fool of yourself, but you won't be stuck drinking some ridiculous drink like scotch all night.
Me: Okay, that makes sense. Thank-you.
Mandy: You're welcome. I know how you panic in situations like this.
13.12.10
Flood.
Every time it crazy-rains like today, and the sidewalks flood over so there is no hope of me not getting my feet wet, and cars start hydroplaning, and someone probably should just get on building an ark already - every time it is like that, then I am reminded of the time a dozen years ago or more (um… 2008) when downtown Fredericton flooded like a real bastard. Lou Lou and I lived at the bottom of York street, and so the swollen river was just a few yards from our apartment. We took the Slovenian teen who was staying with us* there for sight seeing purposes. I don’t recall being overly concerned the first few days, but then Trinitea's Cup put up a sign on their door declaring that the End was Nye, and rumours of power-outtages ran amuck.
We decided that we should probably become refugees.
Lou Lou and our young Slovenian fled to a relative’s home outside of town. I was invited, but I had one giant orange tag-along that it seemed inappropriate to bring. Raleigh was a house guest that required moving a shit-box into your home, so I completely understand.
I called Cameron. I used my best damsel in distress voice. He didn’t seem that bothered. I used my best “I’ll never speak to you again if you let me and my cat down in a flood” voice. He rescinded, albeit disgruntled.
As we stuffed Raleigh’s cat-carrier into the idling cab, some friends of Cameron’s happened to be walking down York to spy on the waters and asked what we were doing. I commend him for answering that question with a straight face.
“Uh… Marg wants me to save her from the flood.”
“And my cat!”, I squeaked from the cab.
“Oh.. I see.” said his friend.
“Yeah…”
“I didn’t think the flood was that bad…”
“Nope, me neither.” said Cameron.
And they were right, of course. Our power never went out, and living on the second floor, there never was any risk of us actually getting flooded out.
Raleigh did have an excellent time leaping through Cameron’s laundry piles though.
*Yup.
We decided that we should probably become refugees.
Lou Lou and our young Slovenian fled to a relative’s home outside of town. I was invited, but I had one giant orange tag-along that it seemed inappropriate to bring. Raleigh was a house guest that required moving a shit-box into your home, so I completely understand.
I called Cameron. I used my best damsel in distress voice. He didn’t seem that bothered. I used my best “I’ll never speak to you again if you let me and my cat down in a flood” voice. He rescinded, albeit disgruntled.
As we stuffed Raleigh’s cat-carrier into the idling cab, some friends of Cameron’s happened to be walking down York to spy on the waters and asked what we were doing. I commend him for answering that question with a straight face.
“Uh… Marg wants me to save her from the flood.”
“And my cat!”, I squeaked from the cab.
“Oh.. I see.” said his friend.
“Yeah…”
“I didn’t think the flood was that bad…”
“Nope, me neither.” said Cameron.
And they were right, of course. Our power never went out, and living on the second floor, there never was any risk of us actually getting flooded out.
Raleigh did have an excellent time leaping through Cameron’s laundry piles though.
*Yup.
12.12.10
Pedestrian Comraderie.
One of my favorite social interactions is when you are about to jaywalk, and you see another pedestrian standing on the other side of the street, waiting to cross. You glance both ways and know that the odds are in your favor that if you go now, you won't get smoked by a transport truck. You make eye contact with the person on the other side. Their face, once wraught with trepidation changes as you cross toward them - ah fuck it, their new expression says. They jaywalk too. You both arrive on your respective desired sides of the street, safe and feeling all the braver for your boldness.
7.12.10
1.12.10
Whimsical.
I made a trip to the supermarket this evening. Usually I prefer to go to the smallest grocery stores available because I usually freak out at the sheer amount of choices available at the big ones, and end up leaving with just a bottle of strange sauce and a decorative spatula, when I need to actually buy my food for the week. Regardless, I went to the Super Store with the intent to buy a very specific type of cookies, which they didn’t even have! Luckily, I had no choice induced panic attacks. Instead, I loaded up my cart (fun fact: just typed “cake” there.) with all sorts of absurd things: make-your-own-mini-pizzas? Yes please! Salt & Pepper shakers for 94 cents? Well, I don’t actually own either salt or pepper, but that’s just too good a deal to pass up! Giant box of clementines? Bag o‘ Mixed nuts?! “Whimsical” holiday tree… EIGHT DOLLARS!?!?!?!!… it was meant to be.
I distinctly remember mentioning to my cashier, “I only brought the one reusable bag, so if it doesn’t all fit, no worries.” Which she took to mean: cram every item into the reusable bag until it is too heavy to carry, leaving the Whimsical tree out, and the clementines sideways in their own plastic bag.
I knew this was trouble.
By the time I was out of the sliding doors, my main bag was breaking my shoulder, and all the clementines had escaped from their box, and were dangling loose, aching for freedom, in the bottom of the plastic bag. I placed everything down on a bench to readjust. Clementines back in their box, mixed nuts out of the heavy bag and put atop the clementines. Heavy bag firmly placed back on my left shoulder, my purse swung over my right. Clementine box held in the proper position under my right arm, my left hand clutching the whimsical tree.
I made it across the street before both my purse and the heavy bag slid from my shoulders, saved only by the crooks in my boney arms. The bag of nuts threatened to slid out from their perch on the clementines.
I put the strap of my purse around my neck, and pulled the handles of the heavy bag back up over my shoulder as far as they could go. Set off again. Within seconds, the nuts were in the snow and the inside of my elbow was carrying the burden of the remainder of my ridiculous purchases. Somehow, the whimsical tree remained intact in its position in my right fingers.
Still, despite the whimsical tree’s perseverance, I knew that the only way to pick up the mixed nuts would be to sacrifice the whimsy.
Or, put it on my head.
Luckily, the whimsical tree is really more of a crazy-looking cone, the perfect size for a make-shift Gnome costume… or so I learned tonight.
I walked the rest of the way home with slightly greater ease in my lovely new holiday hat. Many, many people saw me.
Some clementines did manage to meet sweet, sweet freedom about 30 seconds away from my front door.
I distinctly remember mentioning to my cashier, “I only brought the one reusable bag, so if it doesn’t all fit, no worries.” Which she took to mean: cram every item into the reusable bag until it is too heavy to carry, leaving the Whimsical tree out, and the clementines sideways in their own plastic bag.
I knew this was trouble.
By the time I was out of the sliding doors, my main bag was breaking my shoulder, and all the clementines had escaped from their box, and were dangling loose, aching for freedom, in the bottom of the plastic bag. I placed everything down on a bench to readjust. Clementines back in their box, mixed nuts out of the heavy bag and put atop the clementines. Heavy bag firmly placed back on my left shoulder, my purse swung over my right. Clementine box held in the proper position under my right arm, my left hand clutching the whimsical tree.
I made it across the street before both my purse and the heavy bag slid from my shoulders, saved only by the crooks in my boney arms. The bag of nuts threatened to slid out from their perch on the clementines.
I put the strap of my purse around my neck, and pulled the handles of the heavy bag back up over my shoulder as far as they could go. Set off again. Within seconds, the nuts were in the snow and the inside of my elbow was carrying the burden of the remainder of my ridiculous purchases. Somehow, the whimsical tree remained intact in its position in my right fingers.
Still, despite the whimsical tree’s perseverance, I knew that the only way to pick up the mixed nuts would be to sacrifice the whimsy.
Or, put it on my head.
Luckily, the whimsical tree is really more of a crazy-looking cone, the perfect size for a make-shift Gnome costume… or so I learned tonight.
I walked the rest of the way home with slightly greater ease in my lovely new holiday hat. Many, many people saw me.
Some clementines did manage to meet sweet, sweet freedom about 30 seconds away from my front door.
29.11.10
Where the tv is better.
I spent much of my weekend watching an absurd amount of British comedy.
If you have good taste (and so many people don't) and access to the internet (that, you do have), then there is nothing standing in your way from also spending several hours alone watching television and drinking tea and feeling very pleased with yourself and warm and vicariously hilarious. IT SOLVES WINTER.
Here is your television prescription* from lovely Dr. Marg**:
Peep Show: This is my favourite show. It just is. Ever. Of all time. And they've just started their 7th series***. This is huge for British comedies, since the English aren't dead-horse-beaters like Americans****, and often only do two or three series. Since each Peep Show series is only six episodes long AND the writing is so good, even in it's 7th series, it's still fresh. The important thing is to commit yourself and start from Series One. I'll see you in a few days.
Getting On: I still haven't been able to watch all of Series One, but just am loving Series Two, so I can get behind not starting from the beginning on this one, just because the second series is more readily available on youtube. Two nurses and a doctor in a geriatric ward of a hospital - directed by Peter Capaldi, written by the actresses (Jo Brand, Vicki Pepperdine, and Joanna Scanlan), who also star. Watch this first, and you'll be hooked.
Whites: Unfortunately named show, really, but so, so funny. Created by Peep Show's Super Hans, this one brings us into the world of a fancy hotel kitchen. You'll develop a crush on Bib the sous chef, if you have a heart at all. And if you watch Peep Show, you'll love that Isy Suttie (Dobby in that, Kiki in this) is given free range to steal every scene she's in. “What does steak mean?”
The Trip: I didn't like the movie Sideways, probably because I was waiting for it to be less about wine and more about food, and for it to be less American and more British, and for it to be actually funny, and not just... Sideways. If you've heard anything about The Trip, you've probably heard some comparisons. But what you really needed to hear is that Steve Coogan can do no wrong. And that it is important for Rob Brydon to do impressions ad nauseam, so that you can feel Steve Coogan's pain/jealousy/competitiveness AND yet, if you are anything at all like me, you will still be IN LOVE with Rob Brydon. Yes, it's true. I love him. Even though he looks like this.
Grandma's House: A dark-horse contender really. It's gotten lots of mixed reviews. The important thing though, is that it is really fucking funny. And who the hell cares about anything else? Did you like Never Mind the Buzzcocks when Simon Amstell was the host? Then watch his sitcom! Never watched Never Mind the Buzzcocks? Fuck off and youtube that too.
While you're fucking off and watching that panel show, please also do yourself a solid and watch Would I Lie To You and the motherload, QI.
You are insulting Stephen Fry by not watching QI. What kind of North American monster are you? Get out of my blog!
Well... don't do that.
*I could go on for days about the back catalog of Brit-com you are probably lacking.
** Sure, why not.
*** You know full well that they call seasons series over there.
**** You also know exactly what I am talking about, Just imagine all the solid gold I could link to.
If you have good taste (and so many people don't) and access to the internet (that, you do have), then there is nothing standing in your way from also spending several hours alone watching television and drinking tea and feeling very pleased with yourself and warm and vicariously hilarious. IT SOLVES WINTER.
Here is your television prescription* from lovely Dr. Marg**:
Peep Show: This is my favourite show. It just is. Ever. Of all time. And they've just started their 7th series***. This is huge for British comedies, since the English aren't dead-horse-beaters like Americans****, and often only do two or three series. Since each Peep Show series is only six episodes long AND the writing is so good, even in it's 7th series, it's still fresh. The important thing is to commit yourself and start from Series One. I'll see you in a few days.
Getting On: I still haven't been able to watch all of Series One, but just am loving Series Two, so I can get behind not starting from the beginning on this one, just because the second series is more readily available on youtube. Two nurses and a doctor in a geriatric ward of a hospital - directed by Peter Capaldi, written by the actresses (Jo Brand, Vicki Pepperdine, and Joanna Scanlan), who also star. Watch this first, and you'll be hooked.
Whites: Unfortunately named show, really, but so, so funny. Created by Peep Show's Super Hans, this one brings us into the world of a fancy hotel kitchen. You'll develop a crush on Bib the sous chef, if you have a heart at all. And if you watch Peep Show, you'll love that Isy Suttie (Dobby in that, Kiki in this) is given free range to steal every scene she's in. “What does steak mean?”
The Trip: I didn't like the movie Sideways, probably because I was waiting for it to be less about wine and more about food, and for it to be less American and more British, and for it to be actually funny, and not just... Sideways. If you've heard anything about The Trip, you've probably heard some comparisons. But what you really needed to hear is that Steve Coogan can do no wrong. And that it is important for Rob Brydon to do impressions ad nauseam, so that you can feel Steve Coogan's pain/jealousy/competitiveness AND yet, if you are anything at all like me, you will still be IN LOVE with Rob Brydon. Yes, it's true. I love him. Even though he looks like this.
Grandma's House: A dark-horse contender really. It's gotten lots of mixed reviews. The important thing though, is that it is really fucking funny. And who the hell cares about anything else? Did you like Never Mind the Buzzcocks when Simon Amstell was the host? Then watch his sitcom! Never watched Never Mind the Buzzcocks? Fuck off and youtube that too.
While you're fucking off and watching that panel show, please also do yourself a solid and watch Would I Lie To You and the motherload, QI.
You are insulting Stephen Fry by not watching QI. What kind of North American monster are you? Get out of my blog!
Well... don't do that.
*I could go on for days about the back catalog of Brit-com you are probably lacking.
** Sure, why not.
*** You know full well that they call seasons series over there.
**** You also know exactly what I am talking about, Just imagine all the solid gold I could link to.
23.11.10
Pigeon.
Every morning, my departure from my apartment is carefully timed so that I reach the bus stop with exactly enough time to find fare in my purse before the bus arrives. Even one minute later leaving the building, and I run the risk of missing the bus entirely. I don't understand why, but without fail, if it is a rainy day, I will walk out the door at 9:11 rather than 9:10, and the good ol' 15 bus will drive right by me. The rain will be pouring down, and I will be disgruntled, soaked, and forced to pay for a cab to work. This happens 85% of the time if it rains. Bizarrely, I am also about 60% as likely to miss the bus if it not raining yet, but ends up raining later in the day. This leads me to the conclusion (science!), that it is not the rain actually slowing me down, but rather atmospheric pressure fucking with my internal clock.
I missed the bus today.
I blame that aforementioned atmospheric pressure.
And also a pigeon.
See I knew I was cutting it super close when I left my nice warm bunker-like-shit-hole-apartment this morning, so I was booting 'er down the street to the bus stop like a mad-woman, and naturally, fate was against me.
First, I realized that I had altogether too quickly caught up to the slowest walker in the world* as she waddled her way down the middle of the sidewalk**. Undeterred, I stomped through the snow to get around her. Eat my snow-dust, lady.
Then, from the front door of a house emerged a 167-year-old-man*** dragging a giant suitcase with wheels. He stopped for a siesta directly in my path. Out of my way, old man!****
Both these human obstacles I could avoid. I was going to make it! I believed in me!
Then came the following conversation as a lone pigeon came to share the sidewalk with me.
Gus the Pigeon: Oh, pardon me.
Me: Move pigeon!
Gus the Pigeon: Excuse me, oh, ha ha, I see we went in the same direction there.
Me: Pigeon! Move!
Gus the Pigeon: Doesn't that always happen, mercy me. So sorry.
Me: Fly away!
Gus the Pigeon: Ooops! Did it again!
Me: Ack! What the fuck?
Gus the Pigeon: Oh I am a silly thing this morning aren't I? I'll just...
Me: Seriously?!
Gus the Pigeon: I see you had the same thought of moving off the sidewalk, how droll!
Me: Jesus! Fly away!!!
Gus the Pigeon: Aren't we just a couple of jokers? Perhaps if one of us let the other go first.
Me: Move pigeon! Stop getting in my way!
Gus the Pigeon: Ha-ha, where are my manners? I assumed I would be the one to move first.
Me:What is happening?!
Gus the Pigeon: You go. I promise, I won't move a feather until you pass. Unless you want me to...
Me: God damn it, there's the bus.
Gus the Pigeon: I'm such a rube, I've done it again.
I guess atmospheric pressure messes with birds too. That dude just wouldn't get out of my way.
*Record pending.
**Why the hell do slow walkers pick the dead center of the sidewalk to go down?
***No hyperbole.
**** No, I didn't push an old man down in the snow.
I missed the bus today.
I blame that aforementioned atmospheric pressure.
And also a pigeon.
See I knew I was cutting it super close when I left my nice warm bunker-like-shit-hole-apartment this morning, so I was booting 'er down the street to the bus stop like a mad-woman, and naturally, fate was against me.
First, I realized that I had altogether too quickly caught up to the slowest walker in the world* as she waddled her way down the middle of the sidewalk**. Undeterred, I stomped through the snow to get around her. Eat my snow-dust, lady.
Then, from the front door of a house emerged a 167-year-old-man*** dragging a giant suitcase with wheels. He stopped for a siesta directly in my path. Out of my way, old man!****
Both these human obstacles I could avoid. I was going to make it! I believed in me!
Then came the following conversation as a lone pigeon came to share the sidewalk with me.
Gus the Pigeon: Oh, pardon me.
Me: Move pigeon!
Gus the Pigeon: Excuse me, oh, ha ha, I see we went in the same direction there.
Me: Pigeon! Move!
Gus the Pigeon: Doesn't that always happen, mercy me. So sorry.
Me: Fly away!
Gus the Pigeon: Ooops! Did it again!
Me: Ack! What the fuck?
Gus the Pigeon: Oh I am a silly thing this morning aren't I? I'll just...
Me: Seriously?!
Gus the Pigeon: I see you had the same thought of moving off the sidewalk, how droll!
Me: Jesus! Fly away!!!
Gus the Pigeon: Aren't we just a couple of jokers? Perhaps if one of us let the other go first.
Me: Move pigeon! Stop getting in my way!
Gus the Pigeon: Ha-ha, where are my manners? I assumed I would be the one to move first.
Me:What is happening?!
Gus the Pigeon: You go. I promise, I won't move a feather until you pass. Unless you want me to...
Me: God damn it, there's the bus.
Gus the Pigeon: I'm such a rube, I've done it again.
I guess atmospheric pressure messes with birds too. That dude just wouldn't get out of my way.
*Record pending.
**Why the hell do slow walkers pick the dead center of the sidewalk to go down?
***No hyperbole.
**** No, I didn't push an old man down in the snow.
20.11.10
Consumerist Christmas Claptrap.
I fucking love Christmas. I always have. I fight tooth and nail to maintain it in my parents home (LET ME HAVE IT!) - after they decided a few years ago that they didn't want to have a tree anymore, I went out to the woods with Lou Lou and chopped one down*. I love buying presents, and decorating, and baking obscene amounts of treats. I love boozy spiced apple cider.
Christmas is the shit.
Now, it is still a little early for the real spirit of the season**. I'm not decorating until post-December 1st, I promise.*** But I am starting a tentative Chrimbo list:
MARG'S X-MAS WISHLIST 2010:
-Jumbo Package of Quality Toilet Paper (I always run out of toilet paper, and have to buy over-priced two-packs of the really awful sandpapery 1-ply stuff from Victory)
-A bag of Potatoes.
-My cat back (he'll fit in the new place now!)
-A bag of kitty litter and large cat-box.
-A new make-up bag (the one I have is too small, plus I spilled bronzer in part it, plus it flakes off black stuff and I don't understand why)
-A sweater.
-Candy.
So yeah, what is the most important thing I want for Christmas?
*It turned out to be a skunk spruce, so I wasn't allowed to keep it inside.
**But I do work retail, so you know, the season starts in September.
***Because I don't move into my new place until then.
Christmas is the shit.
Now, it is still a little early for the real spirit of the season**. I'm not decorating until post-December 1st, I promise.*** But I am starting a tentative Chrimbo list:
MARG'S X-MAS WISHLIST 2010:
-Jumbo Package of Quality Toilet Paper (I always run out of toilet paper, and have to buy over-priced two-packs of the really awful sandpapery 1-ply stuff from Victory)
-A bag of Potatoes.
-My cat back (he'll fit in the new place now!)
-A bag of kitty litter and large cat-box.
-A new make-up bag (the one I have is too small, plus I spilled bronzer in part it, plus it flakes off black stuff and I don't understand why)
-A sweater.
-Candy.
So yeah, what is the most important thing I want for Christmas?
This guy!
*It turned out to be a skunk spruce, so I wasn't allowed to keep it inside.
**But I do work retail, so you know, the season starts in September.
***Because I don't move into my new place until then.
15.11.10
Brenda Part 2 (Angel)
"Also, re: your latest blog post, I too have had this problem. For three years, now, I have been receiving calls for a man named "Angel Rodriguez". As it happens, they are neither from his friends nor family, but rather from creditors. Consequently I have received many a call at 6:30 am for Angel, and then again at 7, and then again at 7:30. And they won't believe that I am not him! I literally had one creditor say in response to my vehement claim that I was in fact a white Canadian of Irish descent that "that would be just what Angel would say, isn't it?". Lordy." -Stuart.
14.11.10
Brenda
Dear Brenda,
Hello! You don’t know me… my name is Marg. I don’t know you either. What I do know is that none of your friends believe me when I tell them that I am Marg. That’s right, Marg. Not Brenda.
Now Brenda, you may be wondering why all your friends seem to have us so terribly confused. Well, I think it has a little something to do with the fact that they all think my phone number is in fact, your phone number.
I realize that the most logical explanation for the confusion is simply that this used to be your number, and then you changed numbers or moved or something, and now it belongs to me.
But, I have come to believe that you are not a logical person, Brenda. Because if you did simply change numbers, you failed to inform any of your friends or family members of the fact. I’ve been the proud owner of my number for several months now, and I would say that about 75% of my calls are for you. You would think that as the months went on, that people would realize their error, but actually, your calls have been steadily increasing.
This leads me to the following conclusion: Brenda, you do not know your own phone number, and you remember it incorrectly as mine. You have been wandering around town giving out your (my) number to everyone you know, and honestly, you’re probably pretty curious why no one ever calls you.
They don’t call you because you’re stupid, Brenda.
To be fair, I think they might be stupid too. Here are just a sampling of the conversations and messages that I have been privy to on your behalf:
Me: Hello?
Dude: Hey Brenda!
Me: Oh, you have the wrong number.
Dude: No I don’t, you’re a contact in my phone! What’s up?
Me: Hello?
Lady: Brenda?
Me: No, sorry, this isn’t Brenda.
Lady: Brenda, is that you?
Me: No…
Voicemail: You have reached the mailbox of “Marg Craig”, please leave a message after the tone.
Woman with Accent: Hello Brenda! Your voicemail sounds strange. Anyway, just calling to wish you Happy Thanksgiving! Doug and I missed you this year, I hope everything is well! Did you manage to ask Jessica about the gift basket? Call me back when you have time. Okay Brenda, Happy Thanksgiving again! Bye!
You should try and figure this out, Brenda. I’ve started snapping at your friends. Also, Dr. Christie’s office keeps calling you. Um… you might have the clap.
Hugs & Kisses!
Marg
Hello! You don’t know me… my name is Marg. I don’t know you either. What I do know is that none of your friends believe me when I tell them that I am Marg. That’s right, Marg. Not Brenda.
Now Brenda, you may be wondering why all your friends seem to have us so terribly confused. Well, I think it has a little something to do with the fact that they all think my phone number is in fact, your phone number.
I realize that the most logical explanation for the confusion is simply that this used to be your number, and then you changed numbers or moved or something, and now it belongs to me.
But, I have come to believe that you are not a logical person, Brenda. Because if you did simply change numbers, you failed to inform any of your friends or family members of the fact. I’ve been the proud owner of my number for several months now, and I would say that about 75% of my calls are for you. You would think that as the months went on, that people would realize their error, but actually, your calls have been steadily increasing.
This leads me to the following conclusion: Brenda, you do not know your own phone number, and you remember it incorrectly as mine. You have been wandering around town giving out your (my) number to everyone you know, and honestly, you’re probably pretty curious why no one ever calls you.
They don’t call you because you’re stupid, Brenda.
To be fair, I think they might be stupid too. Here are just a sampling of the conversations and messages that I have been privy to on your behalf:
Me: Hello?
Dude: Hey Brenda!
Me: Oh, you have the wrong number.
Dude: No I don’t, you’re a contact in my phone! What’s up?
Me: Hello?
Lady: Brenda?
Me: No, sorry, this isn’t Brenda.
Lady: Brenda, is that you?
Me: No…
Voicemail: You have reached the mailbox of “Marg Craig”, please leave a message after the tone.
Woman with Accent: Hello Brenda! Your voicemail sounds strange. Anyway, just calling to wish you Happy Thanksgiving! Doug and I missed you this year, I hope everything is well! Did you manage to ask Jessica about the gift basket? Call me back when you have time. Okay Brenda, Happy Thanksgiving again! Bye!
You should try and figure this out, Brenda. I’ve started snapping at your friends. Also, Dr. Christie’s office keeps calling you. Um… you might have the clap.
Hugs & Kisses!
Marg
8.11.10
This happens a lot.
The other day on Pajiba, I saw the trailer for the new Natalie Portman/Ashton Kutcher tour-de-force romantic comedy, No Strings Attached. (Go ahead, watch the trailer, I'll wait.) I was confused when I saw this, as I thought this film stared Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis. My suspicions were confirmed by Pajiba again, when today they posted the trailer to Friends with Benefits.
When you're done watching that trailer, get ready and say it with me: it's the same damn movie!
It's nothing new. Famous examples abound of releasing the same damn movie in the same damn year with different damn actors. See*: Ants/A Bug's Life, and Armageddon/Deep Impact, Saving Private Ryan/The Thin Red Line, The Prestige/The Illusionist.
This happens time and time again, and one film always seems to just demolish the other, leaving it labeled inferior, pathetic, and sad in the annals of film history. So which fuck buddies film will be the victor this time around?
No Strings has the Portman factor, which could be helpful since she's the most dramatically well-respected of the four leads. But, she is so so clearly slumming it here it hurts! There is no universe in which Natalie Portman would bone Ashton Kutcher. Think what you will of her as an actress, the woman is a Harvard graduate! Kutcher on the other hand, tweets pictures of his wife's ass**.
No one is going to buy this shit.
Friends with Benefits has Justin Timberlake, who brings with him a build-in-audience of people with good taste in pop music. It also has Mila Kunis, who is just adorable. I thought she was a plausible as a match for Ashton Kutcher***, you know, TWELVE years ago. Where her career has advanced (is she the only other That 70s Show alumni working now? I'll have to look that up), Kutcher (not to keep harping on) has remained the same old clutching-to-a-douche-bag-version-of-youth-turd that he has been since first appearing on the scene so many years ago.
Long story short, in the battle of these movies (both, let's face it, look just terrible), my bet is on the Timberlake/Kunis version. Predominately because he appears to be singing into her hoo-haw in the trailer.
One further thought: it is obvious with both takes on the clearly same script (different character names were easily inserted in Final Draft), that the fuck buddies in question end up falling in love and getting together. Because that is what happens in movies like this. BUT... that isn't really what happens in real life. If one or both members of a FWB situation do not want to date the other, then they won't date. If one member does fall madly in love with the other, than the one who isn't in love will stop sleeping with the smitten one, or they will keep sleeping with them but ignore them in public, never take it seriously, and eventually find a real boyfriend that they actually like****. Two movies coming out with the same promise of false hope might do some real damage... so watch out!
*The internet was helpful here.
** Seriously. Google that, you'll get to see a very boney 40 something butt.
*** And she dates Kevin McCallister in real life!
**** Sorry! xox*!
*Not really.
When you're done watching that trailer, get ready and say it with me: it's the same damn movie!
It's nothing new. Famous examples abound of releasing the same damn movie in the same damn year with different damn actors. See*: Ants/A Bug's Life, and Armageddon/Deep Impact, Saving Private Ryan/The Thin Red Line, The Prestige/The Illusionist.
This happens time and time again, and one film always seems to just demolish the other, leaving it labeled inferior, pathetic, and sad in the annals of film history. So which fuck buddies film will be the victor this time around?
No Strings has the Portman factor, which could be helpful since she's the most dramatically well-respected of the four leads. But, she is so so clearly slumming it here it hurts! There is no universe in which Natalie Portman would bone Ashton Kutcher. Think what you will of her as an actress, the woman is a Harvard graduate! Kutcher on the other hand, tweets pictures of his wife's ass**.
No one is going to buy this shit.
Friends with Benefits has Justin Timberlake, who brings with him a build-in-audience of people with good taste in pop music. It also has Mila Kunis, who is just adorable. I thought she was a plausible as a match for Ashton Kutcher***, you know, TWELVE years ago. Where her career has advanced (is she the only other That 70s Show alumni working now? I'll have to look that up), Kutcher (not to keep harping on) has remained the same old clutching-to-a-douche-bag-version-of-youth-turd that he has been since first appearing on the scene so many years ago.
Long story short, in the battle of these movies (both, let's face it, look just terrible), my bet is on the Timberlake/Kunis version. Predominately because he appears to be singing into her hoo-haw in the trailer.
One further thought: it is obvious with both takes on the clearly same script (different character names were easily inserted in Final Draft), that the fuck buddies in question end up falling in love and getting together. Because that is what happens in movies like this. BUT... that isn't really what happens in real life. If one or both members of a FWB situation do not want to date the other, then they won't date. If one member does fall madly in love with the other, than the one who isn't in love will stop sleeping with the smitten one, or they will keep sleeping with them but ignore them in public, never take it seriously, and eventually find a real boyfriend that they actually like****. Two movies coming out with the same promise of false hope might do some real damage... so watch out!
*The internet was helpful here.
** Seriously. Google that, you'll get to see a very boney 40 something butt.
*** And she dates Kevin McCallister in real life!
**** Sorry! xox*!
*Not really.
7.11.10
4.11.10
Lady-boner for Zombies.
I was a few days late on watching the first episode of The Walking Dead (although, according to Project Free TV I could have been watching a bootlegged version as early as October 21st!)... anyway, I am glad that I a) waited, so that I could give it my full attention and b) refused to read any reviews pre-watching. I say both these things because Christ-on-a-cracker, it kicked ass. Also I am a big fan of kick-assery coming toward me unadulterated by the opinions of others.
I love the Zombie Genre, and one of the things I found most enjoyable about The Walking Dead from this first episode is the traditionalist stance on zombies it is taking. These are old-school zombies, they moan, they amble, they eat human flesh, they are killed by removing the head or destroying the brain. They aren't clever, they aren't learning, they don't run. They are classic. I love it.
One of the most frightening things about zombies you see, is that they are nature's* most unsuspecting killers. A reoccuring theme in Z-stories is the protagonist having a zombie invasion sneak up on them. We see this in The Walking Dead, in a fashion almost identical to that in 28 Days Later - obviously the parrallels can't be denied, especially since the Danny Boyle film was released in 2002 and The Walking Dead graphic novel (upon which the series is based) was first published (wikipedia tells me) in 2003. Side project: let's think of other ways in which a guy can fall out of society for a month or so rather than end up the hospital... falling down a well? Hiding from his student loan repayments?
Anyway, it isn't just those two projects in which the zombie infestation comes as an overwhelming surprise to the main characters in the film. Our beloved heroes in Shaun of the Dead for example, get dealt the zombies-are-already-everywhere cards because they are simply not paying close enough attention. That could literally happen to any one of us. If I wasn't constantly on guard about potential zombie attacks**, then I wouldn't blink twice at the suspiciously zombie-like people I see on the bus, in stores, or at bars, either!
The hero in The Walking Dead is pretty well-equipped for a zombie attack, which is nice, considering that he is this guy. (I think you're perfect too, Andrew Lincoln***). And not to spoil anything, but the guy rode into town on the motherfarmin' horse, guns strapped to his back, balls-out-ready-to-kill-zombies. Amazing. And sure, this is drama, so not everything is always going to go his way - but so far I sure as hell want it to, something you certainly want from your leading man.
Personally, I would be pretty awful in the advent of a zombie-party. I have zero upper body strength, I've never shot a gun, I don't like the smell of dead people. Marg = 0, Zombies = everything.
Back to the show, I thought that the father & son were excellent (imdb is not helping me out with their names for some reason), but Rick's wife, child, and cop-partner are thus far pretty pukey. Big fan of the production's use of silence to add tension - it is vital to the zombie experience, in my opinion. This paragraph is what we call a compliment sandwich.
I am so excited to see where they take The Walking Dead. So much so that I am refusing to read (or read about) the source material, except to see that is had garnered hugely positive reviews. AMC is pretty solid in my books, and as long as they don't burn out too fast with this one, then I, like a zombie intent on munching a brain, will keep coming back for more.
*Yes, "nature", just go with it.
**Seriously.
*** Dear Andrew Lincoln, I know your real name. Clutterbuck? Amaze-balls.
I love the Zombie Genre, and one of the things I found most enjoyable about The Walking Dead from this first episode is the traditionalist stance on zombies it is taking. These are old-school zombies, they moan, they amble, they eat human flesh, they are killed by removing the head or destroying the brain. They aren't clever, they aren't learning, they don't run. They are classic. I love it.
One of the most frightening things about zombies you see, is that they are nature's* most unsuspecting killers. A reoccuring theme in Z-stories is the protagonist having a zombie invasion sneak up on them. We see this in The Walking Dead, in a fashion almost identical to that in 28 Days Later - obviously the parrallels can't be denied, especially since the Danny Boyle film was released in 2002 and The Walking Dead graphic novel (upon which the series is based) was first published (wikipedia tells me) in 2003. Side project: let's think of other ways in which a guy can fall out of society for a month or so rather than end up the hospital... falling down a well? Hiding from his student loan repayments?
Anyway, it isn't just those two projects in which the zombie infestation comes as an overwhelming surprise to the main characters in the film. Our beloved heroes in Shaun of the Dead for example, get dealt the zombies-are-already-everywhere cards because they are simply not paying close enough attention. That could literally happen to any one of us. If I wasn't constantly on guard about potential zombie attacks**, then I wouldn't blink twice at the suspiciously zombie-like people I see on the bus, in stores, or at bars, either!
The hero in The Walking Dead is pretty well-equipped for a zombie attack, which is nice, considering that he is this guy. (I think you're perfect too, Andrew Lincoln***). And not to spoil anything, but the guy rode into town on the motherfarmin' horse, guns strapped to his back, balls-out-ready-to-kill-zombies. Amazing. And sure, this is drama, so not everything is always going to go his way - but so far I sure as hell want it to, something you certainly want from your leading man.
Personally, I would be pretty awful in the advent of a zombie-party. I have zero upper body strength, I've never shot a gun, I don't like the smell of dead people. Marg = 0, Zombies = everything.
Back to the show, I thought that the father & son were excellent (imdb is not helping me out with their names for some reason), but Rick's wife, child, and cop-partner are thus far pretty pukey. Big fan of the production's use of silence to add tension - it is vital to the zombie experience, in my opinion. This paragraph is what we call a compliment sandwich.
I am so excited to see where they take The Walking Dead. So much so that I am refusing to read (or read about) the source material, except to see that is had garnered hugely positive reviews. AMC is pretty solid in my books, and as long as they don't burn out too fast with this one, then I, like a zombie intent on munching a brain, will keep coming back for more.
*Yes, "nature", just go with it.
**Seriously.
*** Dear Andrew Lincoln, I know your real name. Clutterbuck? Amaze-balls.
3.11.10
Mystical Parade.
Lou Lou and I were Skyping. Her microphone wasn't working, so she could hear me but I was deaf to her. So I talked, and she responded via text. I feel as though the result is rather like Garfield Minus Garfield.
Here is a sample of dialog:
Lou-Lou:
[10:10:06 PM] FACK
[10:10:14 PM] yes
[10:10:26 PM] so please continue
[10:10:46 PM] nope but sounds hilarious
[10:10:50 PM] hee hee
{Technical errors abound, then I resume my story}
[10:22:32 PM] yesm
[10:23:16 PM] nay, I suspected that there was lingering oddness but I am really strange and tend not to notice these things .
[10:24:51 PM] cars do that to people
[10:25:02 PM] I never know what to do with my hands
[10:25:23 PM] sigh
[10:26:34 PM] haha
[10:26:55 PM] {Redacted}'s fb tells me he wore a bunny costume. THAT would have been troubling to wake up to
[10:27:09 PM] WORSE!!
[10:27:17 PM] WORSE WORSE!
[10:27:31 PM] this possible situation just grows
[10:27:43 PM] next there would have been a pygmy dwarf involved*
[10:27:55 PM] asleep in the tub or something
[10:28:11 PM] well that's a relief isn't it
[10:28:38 PM] :)
[10:29:09 PM] :|
[10:29:21 PM] Mystical parade
[10:34:09 PM] FUCK!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!
[10:34:33 PM] How does this shit happen to you Marg? How?
[10:34:56 PM] But you have like daily hilarious that just flies at you
2.11.10
Baby-talk.
Marg: if you ever feel like having a baby, how do you want to go about it? adoption? or surrogate? "Personal Questions with Marg Craig". Experimental one night stand?!?! MAKE A BABY OUT OF CLAY AND PRETEND IT IS REAL?!?!
Matthew: clay baby. for sure.
1.11.10
Boardwalking.
I’ve been watching Boardwalk Empire - sticking with it despite the fact that subsequent episodes have paled in comparison to that spectacular premiere - because I still find it interesting. The show has it’s issues, certainly. I don’t buy Nucky Thompson’s (Steve Buscemi) virility for one. He’s a fantastic actor and the role suits him for the most part, but there are limits to any fiction - Donny from The Big Lebowski boning 3 ladies in one day is one of those limits. It isn’t even about how gross the man looks (which of course he does) - but I just can’t buy into someone that sickly being such a demon in the sack. He’d faint first.
I have even more issues with the weak female characters in the show. One of the best aspects of Mad Men is how well written the women are. Even Betty, who is insufferable, has an immense amount of effort put into her character (for one of the best articles explaining what made Betty transform from a demure housewife to a monster, read this - it is a spot-on analysis). On Boardwalk however, we’re given nothing! Well, that’s not entirely true - we’re given Margaret Schroeder, played by Kelly MacDonald (whom I normally really like) - who I know we are supposed to connect with on some level, I’m sure. But… I don’t. I feel like the writers don’t know who she really is, so they change her over-arching motivations from episode to episode. Development in drama is good, of course, but Mrs. Schroeder’s character development seems inconsistent and uneven. It’s too early to tell, and I really do want to be proven wrong because there certainly is a lot of potential there. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it immigration revelation about her activities as a 16 year old in Episode 6, was over-shadowed by Agent Van Nelson (the fantastic Michael Shannon) and his kinky atonements.
This wasn’t a very well written review, but I’m trying to watch Episode 7 and my player keeps freezing, so I’m writing in between scenes.
Some parting thoughts however:
-I always forget Jimmy’s mother Gillian (Gretchen Mol), even 7 episodes in, and am always like “who the hell is that?” before I clue in that she is actually a real character. Poor Gretchen Mol, I’ve known her name for years but apparently had no idea who she actually was until this show (and even now!) She’s not bad either, though it is about time they address that she must have been about 12 when Jimmy was born.
-Mrs. Schroeder Lysoled her vagina.
-I want them to start showing how Al Capone (Stephen Graham) managed to become the biggest player in the game. If I didn’t know that it was historically relevant, then I wouldn’t believe it for a second. They are playing him like Spike the Bulldog.
-Why don’t I recognize Dabney Coleman in this role, but I do normally?
-My sister doesn’t like the theme music, and I actually totally agree. She felt I was being facetious when I suggested they instead use a song called “The Merkin Hop”. I wasn’t, though (at least, not to her).
-Vincent Piazza as Lucky Luciano is just knocking my socks off. But maybe that’s just because he is pretty handsome. That’s one thing I like about show business… the actors portraying real people are always much better looking than the real thing. Is it accurate? No, but I wouldn’t want to look at this all night, either.
-I know it's bad but the guy with the face (or um... without, rather) in Episode 7 is freaking me out.
EDIT:
-HOLY SHIT... the episode just loaded more and I take it back about them not giving the ladies enough to do!
Second Edit:
-I don't recognize Dabney Coleman because he doesn't have a mustache anymore!
29.10.10
Marg versus The Smoke Detector.
Scene: Marg is trying to watch Mickey’s Haunted House while her dinner, a frozen pizza, cooks in the oven.
Marg: Ha ha ha, oh Mickey.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Why the face, Smoke Detector?
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg gets up, waves empty pizza box at Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: {silence.}
Marg checks on pizza, it is barely thawed sitting in the oven. Marg sits down, resumes youtube.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Fuck!
Marg waives pizza box at Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg: Shut up! Shut uuuuppppp!
Smoke Detector: {Silence}
Marg returns to Mickey.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Nooo!
Marg opens window, waives pizza box.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Turn off! Turn off!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Off!!! Damn you!!!
Marg opens a second window, keeps waiving the pizza box at the Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep
Marg: You cock! Turn off!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg: I hate you!!!!
Marg goes to oven.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep.
Marg removes now-admittedly smoky pizza from oven.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg returns to Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep
Marg: What more do you want from me?!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg begins jumping up and down, trying to reach the Smoke Detector and failing miserably.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Fuck! Shut up!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep
Marg: So help me god, I will hit you with a fucking hammer and you will die, Smoke Detector!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg stops jumping, rummages through her closet.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg finds a plastic milk crate.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg hauls the crate out of the closet, turns it over and stands on it.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Suck on it, you asshole device!
Marg grabs the Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg rips the Smoke Detector from the ceiling.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg: Detect this, motherfucker!
Marg slams the Smoke Detector to the floor, triumphantly.
Smoke Detector: {silence}
Marg: Ha! In your stupid face, shit for brains!
Smoke Detector: {quietly} Beep.
Marg: Ha ha ha, oh Mickey.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Why the face, Smoke Detector?
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg gets up, waves empty pizza box at Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: {silence.}
Marg checks on pizza, it is barely thawed sitting in the oven. Marg sits down, resumes youtube.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Fuck!
Marg waives pizza box at Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg: Shut up! Shut uuuuppppp!
Smoke Detector: {Silence}
Marg returns to Mickey.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Nooo!
Marg opens window, waives pizza box.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Turn off! Turn off!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Off!!! Damn you!!!
Marg opens a second window, keeps waiving the pizza box at the Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep
Marg: You cock! Turn off!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg: I hate you!!!!
Marg goes to oven.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep.
Marg removes now-admittedly smoky pizza from oven.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg returns to Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep
Marg: What more do you want from me?!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg begins jumping up and down, trying to reach the Smoke Detector and failing miserably.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Fuck! Shut up!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep
Marg: So help me god, I will hit you with a fucking hammer and you will die, Smoke Detector!
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg stops jumping, rummages through her closet.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
Marg finds a plastic milk crate.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg hauls the crate out of the closet, turns it over and stands on it.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep beep.
Marg: Suck on it, you asshole device!
Marg grabs the Smoke Detector.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg rips the Smoke Detector from the ceiling.
Smoke Detector: Beep beep beep.
Marg: Detect this, motherfucker!
Marg slams the Smoke Detector to the floor, triumphantly.
Smoke Detector: {silence}
Marg: Ha! In your stupid face, shit for brains!
Smoke Detector: {quietly} Beep.
27.10.10
"We're our own special time of people."
This is an excerpt from a conversation with Lou Lou who is in Japan, and who I miss with all the depths of my soul. It is from back in May when I told her "we're our own special time of people", when I meant to write "type".
She replied:
"I was confused by the typo at first but actually was able to figure it out. But seriously, at first I thought that you might have spent an evening reading Kerouac/drinking lots of something - and then I was like "nope, not Marg's style to be all hipster-beatnik. Typo."
Lou further proved my initial point, explaining how certain insufferable people who made great stretches of our lives "a death march"* ... "have now turned all hippie-gardeners/hippie-musicians, and are all "man, I love returning to my roots and just kicking back with friends and a beer/nice wine, and making things grow. I love New Brunswick. I love my mom." Which would be fine, I love doing that and love my mum too, except these people are douche-bags in the guise of kindly hippie-types and not worth the nosebleed that result from having to stand two minutes of their awkward "Hiya! How ARE yoooooou?!" cheers, and their self righteous nonsense about how they not only grew their own cucumbers this year they fucking pickled them."
I bolded that last part because it is one of the funniest things I've ever read in my entire life.
*We weren't popular in high-school. Were you? What does being popular in high-school do to a person? Inquiring minds want to know!
25.10.10
Cool as a Cucumber.
Matthew: Nice job slick rick.
Marg: I know… I’m a smooth operator.
Which brings us to...
Marg’s List of Things Not to Call or Say to Someone of the Opposite Sex:
(every one of which she has said to someone of the opposite sex, or called them which they later discovered)
1) An Armchair Intellectual*.
2) “No seriously, I saw your exact outfit on one of the mannequins at American Eagle.”**
3) “Are you sure you’re not gay?”***
4) Anyone’s “handbag”****
5) “You exude absolutely zero sex appeal for anyone.”*****
6) “You’re more attractive from side on then the front…”******
7) An asshole.*******
8) "We should like... date!"********
If I have ever said something reprehensible to you, feel free to remind me of the fact, and I will add you to a 2nd list!
*Ouch.
**To be fair, it was true.
*** Not insulting in the least, except not something you should drunkenly bring up to someone you're dating.
**** Oh god!
***** Because that is never even true, and you will get proved wrong by someone, and it is mean.
****** Even though it was true, it was very mean.
******* I don't know when this became the meanest thing to say, but anytime I've said "you're such an asshole" the guy has acted as though I insulted them unforgivably, and argued with me the next day about how much of an asshole they are not. This has happened more than once.
******** No, Marg, no! Shut up! SHUT UP!!!
Marg: I know… I’m a smooth operator.
Which brings us to...
Marg’s List of Things Not to Call or Say to Someone of the Opposite Sex:
(every one of which she has said to someone of the opposite sex, or called them which they later discovered)
1) An Armchair Intellectual*.
2) “No seriously, I saw your exact outfit on one of the mannequins at American Eagle.”**
3) “Are you sure you’re not gay?”***
4) Anyone’s “handbag”****
5) “You exude absolutely zero sex appeal for anyone.”*****
6) “You’re more attractive from side on then the front…”******
7) An asshole.*******
8) "We should like... date!"********
If I have ever said something reprehensible to you, feel free to remind me of the fact, and I will add you to a 2nd list!
*Ouch.
**To be fair, it was true.
*** Not insulting in the least, except not something you should drunkenly bring up to someone you're dating.
**** Oh god!
***** Because that is never even true, and you will get proved wrong by someone, and it is mean.
****** Even though it was true, it was very mean.
******* I don't know when this became the meanest thing to say, but anytime I've said "you're such an asshole" the guy has acted as though I insulted them unforgivably, and argued with me the next day about how much of an asshole they are not. This has happened more than once.
******** No, Marg, no! Shut up! SHUT UP!!!
23.10.10
Television for people who don't own a television...
I spent eight months (more or less - often less) of my life thinking I wanted to write for television. In fact, I still go back and forth on the subject because I really love a lot of TV. There is some quality programming being produced, but damn-it if the most popular shows aren't usually just huge piles of shit.
I could wax poetics all night about the great televisions shows that I've loved and lost because not enough people loved them too, but there really isn't anything left to be said about that. Those shows are done, and the only thing to do is watch them on the internet.
There in lies my own hypocrisy. It isn't just canceled shows that show up on my crappy old laptop's screen. The internet is where I watch all television, old and new. And watching television on the internet does not help good shows stay in production, plain and simple.
I do what I can - I try to watch directly on the network websites. I don't mind watching a few commercials - at least the powers that be know that I'm watching. But you don't hear much about stats from the web in ratings discussions (surprise, surprise), and thus who knows how much good I am actually doing in that regard.
Also, the networks always post the episodes the day after they air... so if you are in a hurry to watch the latest episode spoiler free of whatever given show is your favorite, then you can almost always find it posted within a few hours elsewhere. I don't blame you a bit if that's the route you chose. In essence, by delaying their posts, networks are shooting themselves in the foot.
The fact is, that if you are watching one show on the web two hours after it officially aired, it is not necessarily because you were watching something else on another network two hours previously. More likely as not, especially if you are a relatively young person, you are accessing TV the only way you can - via the wonders of the internet. If networks became savvy to this, then they could easily gain the ad revenue to match that of traditional TV. But instead they seem frightened of taking away their own audience - as though if they made the episode available at the same time as the TV broadcast it would hurt their ratings. What they need to work on is recognizing that online ratings have the potential to profoundly impact their business.
The networks should stop considering the internet (even their own official sites, as seems now the case) as the enemy to ad-based revenue, and instead focus on making a better experience (instant accessibility to episodes, for one) for their online viewers, so that we don't turn to other means (torrents, free streaming sites) to receive the products (the shows).
I don't hate commercials, and I would much rather sit through a few of them every week, then not have a show to sit through at all. The target demographic of advertisers is supposed to be that generic age range of 18-35, well, guess which age range has decided that paying for cable is a fool's game? You can't go online on any device without experiencing advertising, this is not a revolutionary idea. If I go to NBC, I see commercials. It's time for those commercials to count for something (predominantly, keeping good shows in production). I'd prefer that than see another ad for creepy computer animated online poker at Project Free TV (which I love because it let's me watch British Shows and HBO*).
Anyway, that's what I thought about that.
*Hey HBO, why don't you put episodes online on your website? I promise, no one will think you're a corporate whore if you put a side bar ad about Pomegranate Juice beside the next episode of Bored to Death. Just as long as it isn't one of those ones that makes noise when all you want to do is listen to (and look at) Jason Schwartzman.
I could wax poetics all night about the great televisions shows that I've loved and lost because not enough people loved them too, but there really isn't anything left to be said about that. Those shows are done, and the only thing to do is watch them on the internet.
There in lies my own hypocrisy. It isn't just canceled shows that show up on my crappy old laptop's screen. The internet is where I watch all television, old and new. And watching television on the internet does not help good shows stay in production, plain and simple.
I do what I can - I try to watch directly on the network websites. I don't mind watching a few commercials - at least the powers that be know that I'm watching. But you don't hear much about stats from the web in ratings discussions (surprise, surprise), and thus who knows how much good I am actually doing in that regard.
Also, the networks always post the episodes the day after they air... so if you are in a hurry to watch the latest episode spoiler free of whatever given show is your favorite, then you can almost always find it posted within a few hours elsewhere. I don't blame you a bit if that's the route you chose. In essence, by delaying their posts, networks are shooting themselves in the foot.
The fact is, that if you are watching one show on the web two hours after it officially aired, it is not necessarily because you were watching something else on another network two hours previously. More likely as not, especially if you are a relatively young person, you are accessing TV the only way you can - via the wonders of the internet. If networks became savvy to this, then they could easily gain the ad revenue to match that of traditional TV. But instead they seem frightened of taking away their own audience - as though if they made the episode available at the same time as the TV broadcast it would hurt their ratings. What they need to work on is recognizing that online ratings have the potential to profoundly impact their business.
The networks should stop considering the internet (even their own official sites, as seems now the case) as the enemy to ad-based revenue, and instead focus on making a better experience (instant accessibility to episodes, for one) for their online viewers, so that we don't turn to other means (torrents, free streaming sites) to receive the products (the shows).
I don't hate commercials, and I would much rather sit through a few of them every week, then not have a show to sit through at all. The target demographic of advertisers is supposed to be that generic age range of 18-35, well, guess which age range has decided that paying for cable is a fool's game? You can't go online on any device without experiencing advertising, this is not a revolutionary idea. If I go to NBC, I see commercials. It's time for those commercials to count for something (predominantly, keeping good shows in production). I'd prefer that than see another ad for creepy computer animated online poker at Project Free TV (which I love because it let's me watch British Shows and HBO*).
Anyway, that's what I thought about that.
*Hey HBO, why don't you put episodes online on your website? I promise, no one will think you're a corporate whore if you put a side bar ad about Pomegranate Juice beside the next episode of Bored to Death. Just as long as it isn't one of those ones that makes noise when all you want to do is listen to (and look at) Jason Schwartzman.
21.10.10
Can't do much...
On my walk home from work the other day, I noticed that there was this little sign in the window of a house in my neighbourhood. I did a double take, then took out my phone and snapped a picture of the sign. It is blurry since I didn’t want to spend too much time looking like I was trying to take pervy pictures of the home’s occupants.
It reads:
"Don't ever be doing something you wouldn't want to be doing when Jesus comes back"
I’m pretty sure I know what they are implying. But really, there are lots of things I wouldn’t want to be caught doing if Jesus were to show up unannounced. So without further adieu:
Marg’s List of Unfortunate Things to be Doing Should Jesus Pop-In:
-Boning (I don’t think it’s a sin, I just think it’d be really awkward… “oh hey Jesus… um, let me just find my bra.)
-Eating a snack (you’d have to share, because it’s Jesus.)
-Clipping your toe-nails (One will fly up and hit Jesus in the eye)
-Going to the toilet (everybody does it, but you don’t want to gross Jesus out.)
-Texting friends when you see someone fall down on a skateboard or doing something bizarre on the bus (Jesus would shake his head you so hard.)
- Blogging (Jesus probably thinks you have better things to do)
- Sleeping (you’ll miss the big visit!)
- Showering (“oh hey Jesus, I wasn’t quite done washing my hair… okay, just let me grab a towel.”)
- Shaving your legs (“Yeah Jesus, I guess I can go out with only one leg done.”)
- Speaking English (Jesus didn’t speak English. He won’t understand you.)
- Praising the Baby Jesus (He’s grown-up a lot, thank-you very much.)
- Wearing a crucifix necklace (Yeah, maybe it isn’t the best idea to remind him of that incident… awkward!)
- Writing mildly offensive lists.
-Boning (I don’t think it’s a sin, I just think it’d be really awkward… “oh hey Jesus… um, let me just find my bra.)
-Eating a snack (you’d have to share, because it’s Jesus.)
-Clipping your toe-nails (One will fly up and hit Jesus in the eye)
-Going to the toilet (everybody does it, but you don’t want to gross Jesus out.)
-Texting friends when you see someone fall down on a skateboard or doing something bizarre on the bus (Jesus would shake his head you so hard.)
- Blogging (Jesus probably thinks you have better things to do)
- Sleeping (you’ll miss the big visit!)
- Showering (“oh hey Jesus, I wasn’t quite done washing my hair… okay, just let me grab a towel.”)
- Shaving your legs (“Yeah Jesus, I guess I can go out with only one leg done.”)
- Speaking English (Jesus didn’t speak English. He won’t understand you.)
- Praising the Baby Jesus (He’s grown-up a lot, thank-you very much.)
- Wearing a crucifix necklace (Yeah, maybe it isn’t the best idea to remind him of that incident… awkward!)
- Writing mildly offensive lists.
- Baby talk your pets (Jesus would roll his eyes.)
- Taking cell-phone pictures in people’s windows.
- Taking cell-phone pictures in people’s windows.
20.10.10
Life Lesson.
On the subject of Justin Bieber:
Marg: I just wanted to inform you that apparently Justin Bieber "has skills in the rap game."
Stu*: The video has been blocked for reasons of copyright, but I don't doubt that he's been spinning rhymes in the rap game at all - the boy is talented! He beat Shaquille O'Neal at basketball, even.
Marg: I can see that you're a very big fan. Are you going to reference the Biebe in future lectures? Have you already begun!?
Stu: Oh I talk about him all the time. He's a great example of natural inequality: none of the turds in my class, not even me, will ever be able to dance like him, for instance. These kinds of claims are helpful, because they wake the students out of their daze that we are all equal and equally worthy. Similarly with JT, Lebron James, you name it.
*Stu is one of the cleverest people I know (he knows I know this), these are his thoughts on the home-truths we can learn from a 16-year-old superstar.
Dress Pants
Last night during a phone date with Carolyn, she recounted an incident from this summer. I was not in attendance during a night out, when Car ran into someone I know. They were introduced, despite knowing exactly who each other are. Carolyn thinks she said something along the lines of "I was probably a shitshow the last time you saw me" {not a direct quote, but that's the gist}.
He just stared at her awkwardly before asking, "Where's Marg tonight?"
"She's away with her boyfriend," Carolyn answered, {making a face, I assume*.}
"Her boyfriend?" there was a pause, "Huh. What sort of guys does Marg date?"
This, my friends, was Carolyn's glorious response to that odd question: "Oh! I couldn't begin to tell you!"
Which is pretty accurate really.
*Last night, Carolyn was able to describe that then-boyfriend as "wearing dress pants." That is also pretty accurate, but by no means indicative of my type.
He just stared at her awkwardly before asking, "Where's Marg tonight?"
"She's away with her boyfriend," Carolyn answered, {making a face, I assume*.}
"Her boyfriend?" there was a pause, "Huh. What sort of guys does Marg date?"
This, my friends, was Carolyn's glorious response to that odd question: "Oh! I couldn't begin to tell you!"
Which is pretty accurate really.
*Last night, Carolyn was able to describe that then-boyfriend as "wearing dress pants." That is also pretty accurate, but by no means indicative of my type.
19.10.10
Conversational Tidbit.
On the subject of this blog -
Matthew: Have you attached it to your facebook?
Marg: It is quietly listed as my website.
Matthew: you're so quiet about this.
Marg: Well, I'm shy.
Matthew: I feel like the correct responce to that is "tee-hee".
Matthew: Have you attached it to your facebook?
Marg: It is quietly listed as my website.
Matthew: you're so quiet about this.
Marg: Well, I'm shy.
Matthew: I feel like the correct responce to that is "tee-hee".
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