I’m sure I’ve told this story here before, but I’m going to tell it again, and there’s nothing you can do about.
Well, I suppose you could not read it, but that’s not going to make a difference because it’s not like anyone reads any of this anyway, so knock yourself out. Either way, I’m still going to write it.
Years ago, back when I was in college and married, I was sitting on the living room floor in our apartment bagging and boarding my comics and resisting the natural temptation to just sit there and read them, while my wife and a friend of hers were sitting at the kitchen table.
In the midst of my organizing and archiving efforts, I sort of paused and started staring off into space.
Eventually my wife noticed this and asked me what was the matter.
I said, “I was just thinking...isn’t the whole point of having a hobby that you’re supposed to be doing something you enjoy?”
The point was, I like reading comics, and I’m only a collector inasmuch as I hold onto the comics after I’ve read them. I’m not terribly interested in the preservation and organization thing, and the fact that I engage in any of those things is, again, rather incidental. If I’m going to keep the comics I’ve read, I need to preserve them, and if I want to be able to read them again I need to be able to find them.
This idea came to mind again today not because I’ve got hundreds of un-bagged comics sitting around in disorganized piles, but because I’ve spent most of the day drawing.
In parallel with that I’ve also spent most of the day swearing, and saying things like, “Do I even know how to do anything? I don’t know why I’m even asking, as the answer is clearly, ‘No, I don’t.’”
Fucking hobbies.
Seriously, why the hell am I spending hours just pissing myself off doing something that I ostensibly enjoy? I’m obviously not doing it for money, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m doing it for love.
In any case, before sitting down to “enjoy” my hobby, I did the usual Saturday morning routine, which involves getting up after getting much less sleep than I normally do during the week yet, paradoxically, feeling much more rested, sitting around for a while, then showering and dressing and heading out to the comic shop and to go grocery shopping.
I actually did a little less sitting around, so I ventured out into the world earlier than usual, and as a result got home sooner than usual.
I didn’t have to buy much in the way of groceries, as I didn’t need much, and on Thursday I’ll be heading to Michigan for a week, so there wasn’t really much point in buying a bunch of stuff.
I’m looking forward to seeing the family, and getting away from work, though having an abbreviated work week means having to get a bunch of shit done before it’s over.
Speaking of work, on Wednesday, per the conversation with my boss on Monday, I actually wore a suit.
This led to a lot of surprise and amusement on the part of most of the people I work with, who all assumed that I was interviewing for a different job (“Interviewing for that VP position Jon?”), or that I’d been to a funeral.
A lot of people referred to me as Gordon Gekko (the character Michael Douglas played in the movie Wall Street), and while I did feel an urge to go around telling people that I wasn’t happy with the second quarter numbers, I thought about saying, “I’m more like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho,” but I don’t need to add fuel to the whole “secret serial killer/serial killer waiting to happen” fire, so I kept my mouth shut.
For my part, wearing the suit caused the song Suit and Tie Guy by D.R.I., the video for which is posted below, to keep playing in my head. This was fine by me, as I actually like the song - most of you probably will not; D.R.I. is clearly not for everyone, but yes, mother, I do call that music - and it served as a nice change of pace to have a song that I actually like stuck in my head.
Beyond that, not much of interest has been going on. On Thursday I discovered that the hot intern, whose internship was ending on Friday, will become the hot contractor next week, which means that she’ll be around for a while longer and, assuming she ever was, she’ll no longer be off-limits.
I mean, theoretically it means that she’ll no longer be off-limits. In practice I remain Jon, so it doesn’t actually mean anything.
Speaking of interns, on Friday during our staff meeting we had a goodbye lunch for our intern, who is also sticking around for a couple more weeks, but will be interning for someone else. He seems like a good kid, and did a good job for us, so hopefully he’ll go far in life.
*Sigh* Now do you see why I haven’t posted anything in a few days? It hardly seems possible, but my life just seems to get even more boring with each passing day.
Showing posts with label d.r.i.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label d.r.i.. Show all posts
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Beep Beep Beep Beep!
I was pre-heating my oven to heat up some Bagel Bites for lunch, and when the oven hit the target temperature, it emitted a string of beeps.
The cadence of the beeps inspired me to compose an "all beep" version of the song Argument Then War by D.R.I.
It went something like,
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep beep (reverb on the final beep)
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep beep (reverb on the final beep)
...and so forth.
Hey, if I couldn't keep myself entertained so easily, who knows what kind of trouble I might get into?
The cadence of the beeps inspired me to compose an "all beep" version of the song Argument Then War by D.R.I.
It went something like,
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep beep (reverb on the final beep)
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep beep (reverb on the final beep)
...and so forth.
Hey, if I couldn't keep myself entertained so easily, who knows what kind of trouble I might get into?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Wait, That Blog Says She's An A Cup! Why, Her Boobs Aren't Big At All! Damn These Lying Eyes!
First off, happy National Gorilla Suit Day!
Secondly, I have to admit that in yesterday’s post I was a bit less than honest.
After all, for me, a day in which I get a haircut and make meat loaf is actually pretty amazingly eventful.
What makes it worse is that I also made biscuits and gravy for breakfast/lunch, which makes for a phenomenally eventful day in the life of Jon.
(By the way, someone should come up with a word for breakfast/lunch, something that demonstrates that it’s not quite breakfast, not quite lunch…hmm…br…bru…got it! Blunch! Or, if you want to get all hip hop, you could day b-lunch, like, “What’s for b-lunch, b-yotch?” Perfect. What’s that? Oh, right, “brunch.” Never mind.)
The point is that despite what I claimed, yesterday really wasn’t any less eventful than my standard non-eventful days; I just didn’t feel like writing much of a post.
I had no random complaints that I really felt like getting off my chest, no “witty” observations, no desire to write an entry mentioning Giada’s boobs or something that would lure unsuspecting people wanting to learn Carla Gugino’s bra size pointlessly here.
I really shouldn’t make fun of the boob and bra size seekers, though I do have to ask a question, which I know none of the people who could answer will, since they only stick around long enough to see that they aren’t going to find any pictures of Giada’s boobs or learn anyone’s bra size, about why people want to know bra sizes anyway.
Honestly, why do you want to know? What will you gain from the knowledge? Is it a matter of wanting your masturbatory fantasies to be as specific and accurate as possible? Are you planning on designing clothes for them?
What sort of edification do you gain from knowing a celebrity's cup size? I mean, “freaking huge” or “tiny and cute” aren’t specific enough for you? Is it like, “Hmm, I thought her boobs were big, but I couldn’t be sure just by looking at them.”
And beyond your need to know, what makes you think you’re going to find out?
For the most part, the only celebrities who provide their bra sizes are Playboy Playmates and the like. Most actresses don’t really publicize that sort of thing.
Still, I really shouldn’t be picking on the seekers of knowledge, the seekers of boobs, and the seekers of knowledge about boobs whose quests unwittingly guide them here for a 0-5 second stay.
After all, if it weren’t for the people who click on the links that pop up in search engine results even though if they looked at the text of the results they’d clearly see that they’re not going to find what they’re looking for, I would hardly have any traffic at all, just the meager handful, the B cup’s worth, if you will, of regular visitors.
Me complaining about the misguided visitors I get is like when D.R.I. would sing those songs about what a hassle it is to be famous.
Right now you’re saying, “D.R.I.? Who the hell is D.R.I.?”
To which I respond, “Exactly.”
(For the record, D.R.I., or “Dirty Rotten Imbeciles,” was a punk band that crossed over to thrash metal. Sort of like Sean Astin in Rudy, who made up for what he lacked in height with spirit, D.R.I. made up for what they lacked in talent with enthusiasm. I loved those guys, and listening to them still makes me smile. I didn’t always agree with their opinions – the song Gun Control comes to mind – but who could resist the hard, fast, and heavy sound mixed with inspired lyrics, coming together to form short, punch little ditties that seldom lasted for more than a minute?
One of my favorites is Dead in a Ditch:
Pretty young girl from the Oakland Hills
Stole her dad’s car and all her mom’s pills
Got all fucked up, drove off a cliff
Ended up dead, dead in a ditch
Just like her mother always told her she’d end up
All fucked up
Dead
Dead in a ditch
They often turned their attention to a variety issues, such as drug abuse, AIDS, child abduction, war, and pollution, but they also liked to cut loose and just have some fun every so often.
One of the other things I liked about them is their appreciation for the work of ee cummings, who is one of my favorite poets.
Anyway, that’s it for this little D.R.I. retrospective. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Threshold, already in progress.)
..to which I said, “No way. You’re the one who wanted to have hookers over in the first place, so you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with getting rid of the bodies.”
Anyway, today the only thing I have on tap is a trip back to the car dealership for Emission Inspection version 2.0.
Hopefully the 100+ miles I’ve put on is sufficient to give them what they need.
Other than that I’m waiting on a phone call that I also spent most of yesterday waiting on, before finally getting a call at the end of the day asking if it’d be okay if we postponed the call until today.
Yes, I’m being vague.
Basically, there is the possibility of me getting a part-time job. I’ll give you more details as things develop.
Anyway, I’ve been more than wordy enough today to make up for yesterday’s terseness, so I guess I’ll bring this entry to a close.
Secondly, I have to admit that in yesterday’s post I was a bit less than honest.
After all, for me, a day in which I get a haircut and make meat loaf is actually pretty amazingly eventful.
What makes it worse is that I also made biscuits and gravy for breakfast/lunch, which makes for a phenomenally eventful day in the life of Jon.
(By the way, someone should come up with a word for breakfast/lunch, something that demonstrates that it’s not quite breakfast, not quite lunch…hmm…br…bru…got it! Blunch! Or, if you want to get all hip hop, you could day b-lunch, like, “What’s for b-lunch, b-yotch?” Perfect. What’s that? Oh, right, “brunch.” Never mind.)
The point is that despite what I claimed, yesterday really wasn’t any less eventful than my standard non-eventful days; I just didn’t feel like writing much of a post.
I had no random complaints that I really felt like getting off my chest, no “witty” observations, no desire to write an entry mentioning Giada’s boobs or something that would lure unsuspecting people wanting to learn Carla Gugino’s bra size pointlessly here.
I really shouldn’t make fun of the boob and bra size seekers, though I do have to ask a question, which I know none of the people who could answer will, since they only stick around long enough to see that they aren’t going to find any pictures of Giada’s boobs or learn anyone’s bra size, about why people want to know bra sizes anyway.
Honestly, why do you want to know? What will you gain from the knowledge? Is it a matter of wanting your masturbatory fantasies to be as specific and accurate as possible? Are you planning on designing clothes for them?
What sort of edification do you gain from knowing a celebrity's cup size? I mean, “freaking huge” or “tiny and cute” aren’t specific enough for you? Is it like, “Hmm, I thought her boobs were big, but I couldn’t be sure just by looking at them.”
And beyond your need to know, what makes you think you’re going to find out?
For the most part, the only celebrities who provide their bra sizes are Playboy Playmates and the like. Most actresses don’t really publicize that sort of thing.
Still, I really shouldn’t be picking on the seekers of knowledge, the seekers of boobs, and the seekers of knowledge about boobs whose quests unwittingly guide them here for a 0-5 second stay.
After all, if it weren’t for the people who click on the links that pop up in search engine results even though if they looked at the text of the results they’d clearly see that they’re not going to find what they’re looking for, I would hardly have any traffic at all, just the meager handful, the B cup’s worth, if you will, of regular visitors.
Me complaining about the misguided visitors I get is like when D.R.I. would sing those songs about what a hassle it is to be famous.
Right now you’re saying, “D.R.I.? Who the hell is D.R.I.?”
To which I respond, “Exactly.”
(For the record, D.R.I., or “Dirty Rotten Imbeciles,” was a punk band that crossed over to thrash metal. Sort of like Sean Astin in Rudy, who made up for what he lacked in height with spirit, D.R.I. made up for what they lacked in talent with enthusiasm. I loved those guys, and listening to them still makes me smile. I didn’t always agree with their opinions – the song Gun Control comes to mind – but who could resist the hard, fast, and heavy sound mixed with inspired lyrics, coming together to form short, punch little ditties that seldom lasted for more than a minute?
One of my favorites is Dead in a Ditch:
Pretty young girl from the Oakland Hills
Stole her dad’s car and all her mom’s pills
Got all fucked up, drove off a cliff
Ended up dead, dead in a ditch
Just like her mother always told her she’d end up
All fucked up
Dead
Dead in a ditch
They often turned their attention to a variety issues, such as drug abuse, AIDS, child abduction, war, and pollution, but they also liked to cut loose and just have some fun every so often.
One of the other things I liked about them is their appreciation for the work of ee cummings, who is one of my favorite poets.
Anyway, that’s it for this little D.R.I. retrospective. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Threshold, already in progress.)
..to which I said, “No way. You’re the one who wanted to have hookers over in the first place, so you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with getting rid of the bodies.”
Anyway, today the only thing I have on tap is a trip back to the car dealership for Emission Inspection version 2.0.
Hopefully the 100+ miles I’ve put on is sufficient to give them what they need.
Other than that I’m waiting on a phone call that I also spent most of yesterday waiting on, before finally getting a call at the end of the day asking if it’d be okay if we postponed the call until today.
Yes, I’m being vague.
Basically, there is the possibility of me getting a part-time job. I’ll give you more details as things develop.
Anyway, I’ve been more than wordy enough today to make up for yesterday’s terseness, so I guess I’ll bring this entry to a close.
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