I've never been dimensionally rendered before. But I'm about to be. That's because all next week I'm going to be standing on a spinny disc wearing...er...business casual (that was close!) while I...er...do business with these world-class sculptors in this sculpture competition.
I stopped by the studio for a little while today. This was the day everyone arrived to build their armatures and meet one another.
They were all very nice, although some of them had this little nervous crazy artist edge to them. It'll be interesting to see what happens as the competition heats up in the later days of the week. Like, will somebody spike their rival's modeling clay with glue or applesauce or something. Maybe set some cocker spaniels loose in the studio at night.
They're taking some pictures of the event throughout the week. Oh Lord...spray-on tan, don't fail me now!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Hate to Disappoint...
...but disappoint I must. I got really close to finishing today's song, but there's a key change near the end that's got me in a musical dither. It's really hard to figure out vocally without anyone standing by me with a piano. I COULD post one of the takes I've done, but it's taken two years to get over my fear of singing and I don't need to set myself back...
I promise it'll be posted sometime this weekend...
Promise.
I promise it'll be posted sometime this weekend...
Promise.
Business as Usual
I returned from Cackalackee ready to languish over this difficult decision. Leave New York and take the sacks of money they hand me, or stay in New York and keep hoping for a jackpot.
I told folks there was no effing way I'd take the job. And immediately after saying that, I began to think of all the good things that could come from it.
For one thing, I'd return to the land of enormous apartments, having a cat, and breathing fresh air.
Ten days to decide. I was ready to do this. I dug in my heels and prepared to plant the back of my hand firmly against my forehead for two weeks.
But the morning after getting back, my Mom sends me an email that began something like this:
"Had they NOT decided to move the film commish, your cousin was going to offer you the job."
Reading this at 7:30 in the morning meant I had to read that sentence three times before I grasped what she was telling me.
So that's it. The Cackalackee film co--
I'm sorry. I just have to stop for a second. This morning I'm typing from Cafe Netto and a bus just went by with Patti LuPone's mouth all open at me and some snippet saying that her performance in GYPSY is going to be the stuff of legend. I'm sorry. I've seen almost every big show this season surprisingly well-acted season and her performance was only memorable for being so overhyped, ham-fisted, and unreal. Oh well.
So that's it. The Cackalackee film commission has been moved to the department of...something stupid that doesn't make sense. Like...the department of dairy cows and tobacco farmers or soemthing. It's a totally boneheaded move.
My Mom, being in politics herself, told me about all the things the politicians are doing, etc. etc. and I've finally come to the conclusion that most politicians do NOT have our best interests at heart. It's all about egos. It's all about power. It's all about saying, "Yes, I set up this such-and-such million-dollar, tax-sucking program during my tenure--see? It's named after me" or "Yes, I am the one who moved the film commish from the department that makes sense to the department that doesn't."
I don't know why I'm pissed about this. I guess because I don't like seeing people do stupid stuff with perfectly good things. You've got something perfectly good or you've got a way to make it better, but then people come along determined to destroy it or ruin it. And what's frustrating is that they don't seem to have a real REASON for wanting to do it. They just stare blankly back at you when you say, "J'accuse!" and go back to pulling the wings of butterflies.
But back to the Decision.
I was robbed, dammit.
I wanted to make this decision. I wanted, as the Cachinnator and I discussed while I was down there, to make this decision to prove to myself that my fate hasn't been the result of unfurling my sails and letting the wind take me where it will. I want to feel like I at LEAST put my hand on the rudder and made it go GENERALLY toward that attractive little island with palm trees, coconuts, and an underground dungeon.
But that's life for you. That's God for you.
"Oh no you don't, Fork!"
And that Door shuts with a quick snap.
So to make myself feel better, I went and got a spray-on tan.
And you know what?
I DO feel better.
I feel a LOT better. And all it took was to pay someone to make me brown.
In fact, I can't look into a mirror now without thinking those oft-lampooned words from the famous "Character's Sudden Discovery of Physical Beauty That Was Really There All Along" scene from GYPSY...
I'm a pretty girl, mama!
-------
Going to really try to get a Forkulele song recorded today. In the meantime, look at what I'm doing next week! Yep. I'm the "life" they're talking about. Okay. Time to hit the gym.
I told folks there was no effing way I'd take the job. And immediately after saying that, I began to think of all the good things that could come from it.
For one thing, I'd return to the land of enormous apartments, having a cat, and breathing fresh air.
Ten days to decide. I was ready to do this. I dug in my heels and prepared to plant the back of my hand firmly against my forehead for two weeks.
But the morning after getting back, my Mom sends me an email that began something like this:
"Had they NOT decided to move the film commish, your cousin was going to offer you the job."
Reading this at 7:30 in the morning meant I had to read that sentence three times before I grasped what she was telling me.
So that's it. The Cackalackee film co--
I'm sorry. I just have to stop for a second. This morning I'm typing from Cafe Netto and a bus just went by with Patti LuPone's mouth all open at me and some snippet saying that her performance in GYPSY is going to be the stuff of legend. I'm sorry. I've seen almost every big show this season surprisingly well-acted season and her performance was only memorable for being so overhyped, ham-fisted, and unreal. Oh well.
So that's it. The Cackalackee film commission has been moved to the department of...something stupid that doesn't make sense. Like...the department of dairy cows and tobacco farmers or soemthing. It's a totally boneheaded move.
My Mom, being in politics herself, told me about all the things the politicians are doing, etc. etc. and I've finally come to the conclusion that most politicians do NOT have our best interests at heart. It's all about egos. It's all about power. It's all about saying, "Yes, I set up this such-and-such million-dollar, tax-sucking program during my tenure--see? It's named after me" or "Yes, I am the one who moved the film commish from the department that makes sense to the department that doesn't."
I don't know why I'm pissed about this. I guess because I don't like seeing people do stupid stuff with perfectly good things. You've got something perfectly good or you've got a way to make it better, but then people come along determined to destroy it or ruin it. And what's frustrating is that they don't seem to have a real REASON for wanting to do it. They just stare blankly back at you when you say, "J'accuse!" and go back to pulling the wings of butterflies.
But back to the Decision.
I was robbed, dammit.
I wanted to make this decision. I wanted, as the Cachinnator and I discussed while I was down there, to make this decision to prove to myself that my fate hasn't been the result of unfurling my sails and letting the wind take me where it will. I want to feel like I at LEAST put my hand on the rudder and made it go GENERALLY toward that attractive little island with palm trees, coconuts, and an underground dungeon.
But that's life for you. That's God for you.
"Oh no you don't, Fork!"
And that Door shuts with a quick snap.
So to make myself feel better, I went and got a spray-on tan.
And you know what?
I DO feel better.
I feel a LOT better. And all it took was to pay someone to make me brown.
In fact, I can't look into a mirror now without thinking those oft-lampooned words from the famous "Character's Sudden Discovery of Physical Beauty That Was Really There All Along" scene from GYPSY...
I'm a pretty girl, mama!
-------
Going to really try to get a Forkulele song recorded today. In the meantime, look at what I'm doing next week! Yep. I'm the "life" they're talking about. Okay. Time to hit the gym.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The Job Opportunity
For those of you just joining us and thinking, "What the fork is Fork doing in South Cackalackee when New York is his oyster?", I'll tell you. I had an interview for something called The Job Opportunity.
This particular The Job Opportunity was for the film commish. I'd be based out of the capital and jet around to Hollywood, LA, fancy film festivals, etc., and try and convince the people who hold the purse strings of Tinseltown to film their movies here.
Yep. That's it. Seriously. Every time someone in charge explains The Job Opportunity to me, that's basically what they tell me. Rub shoulders with famous/fancy people and hype up Cackalackee.
But it's not all wine and roses, y'all.
You don't just kick back and hand people a brochure between gulps of dry gin martinis.
In the two and a half hour interview with the people in charge, all I heard from them was how difficult the job is, how nobody they have right now is very good at it, how even though the official hours are 8:30-5:00, most people work from 8-8. Every day. Most of the salesmen they currently have suck at the job because, being raised to be polite Southern gentlemen, they're steamrolled by the pushy, brassy, mean, egotistical, imposing Hollywood types. Basically, you're dealing with people who hate the ukulele.
Thing is, you make enough money to swim in. Want a nice car? Check. Medical benefits? You get so many you'll never die. Like cats? You can have eight. Want a 63 inch TV? That's yours too. Want New York City--the place where dreams come true? Absolutely.
Oh wait. No. Actually. That last part is the catch.
I was talking to my mom at dinner the other night.
"Mom," says I, "This doesn't sound like it would be fun for a minute. Sure, it's an interesting opportunity, but based on what everyone at the commish told me, it sounds wrist-slashingly stressful. Why would I WANT to do a job like this?"
"Well, you'd want to do it so you could learn how to do it."
Poor thing. She works so hard.
So that's The Job Opportunity. That's why I'm here. It's totally interesting. It's a cool opportunity. It's got the potential to be an exciting challenge. But is it what I want? Is it what I should do? Is it worth leaving the Casino of Hopes and Dreams for?
That's the question. And I have ten days to decide.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Charleston 2
I wanted to eat the world famous Charleston fish.
We ate quiche instead.
I wanted to see the pirate stuff.
We went to an afternoon tea party instead.
I never realized Charleston was so...frilly.
We ate quiche instead.
I wanted to see the pirate stuff.
We went to an afternoon tea party instead.
I never realized Charleston was so...frilly.
Charleston, Made in Carolina
Today we're going to take a trip to Charleston.
If I take this job I'll have to wear ties and cut my hair.
Friday, May 23, 2008
SC Update
We all got to know Jeffery (aka "Buddy"), Eric, and Little Sarah *very* well by the end of the trip. It seems that this family wasn't on vacation in New York after all--they were headed to South Carolina. And this was the kiddos' first plane trip.
I'm sitting in my Mom's office. She's in a meeting now. I paused for a moment and thought of her being here conducting an important meeting...and me walking around New York. It's a funny thing, thinking about that. Like, as I'm walking through Crimes Square, I sometimes think, "Gee, I wonder what my parents are doing in their little places hundreds of miles away." Well, now I know.
My interview is in an hour and a half. I'm starting to wish I'd cut my hair. I know I'm not qualified for this position and I may not take it anyway, but at least I could look a little less like a long-haired New Yorker in a snazzy but difficult-to-pull-off vest and blue suede loafers from Banana Republic.
I'm sitting in my Mom's office. She's in a meeting now. I paused for a moment and thought of her being here conducting an important meeting...and me walking around New York. It's a funny thing, thinking about that. Like, as I'm walking through Crimes Square, I sometimes think, "Gee, I wonder what my parents are doing in their little places hundreds of miles away." Well, now I know.
My interview is in an hour and a half. I'm starting to wish I'd cut my hair. I know I'm not qualified for this position and I may not take it anyway, but at least I could look a little less like a long-haired New Yorker in a snazzy but difficult-to-pull-off vest and blue suede loafers from Banana Republic.
Forkulele Friday: Headin' to SC
No song today. Instead, I'm hanging out in an airplane. I'm on my way to making a life-changing decision.
Many of my fellow passengers look as though they've missed all that Carolina bacon and sugar. Our plane is small. They are not.
There's a family of five--three little little noisy children all the same age. Good grief. How did my parents do it? I wonder what possessed them to go on a family vacation to New York.
In the waiting area, one kid asked mommy, "Where's daaaaddy. Where's daaaddy. Where's daaaddy."
"He's probably off goofing-off somewhere. That's what he usually does."
There's drama there...
I called Mentor Moggles, my former acting professor, about this trip. She said something interesting. Instead of encouraging me to pray about *what* I should do, she said, to pray and ask *why* I'm being given this unique opportunity.
At this point, sitting here, right now, in seat 12C, I'm thinking it may have something to do with deciding what it is I *really* want to do. What's *really* important.
My brain has been going like crazy the past few days.
I wish I could've had one more year in the City before having to do this. I somehow feel as though it would be easier to decide if I had a full three years under my belt.
Okay. Time to turn off any portable electronic devices such as cell phones, PDAs, laptops, and Game Boys.
Does anyone still play a Game Boy?
Many of my fellow passengers look as though they've missed all that Carolina bacon and sugar. Our plane is small. They are not.
There's a family of five--three little little noisy children all the same age. Good grief. How did my parents do it? I wonder what possessed them to go on a family vacation to New York.
In the waiting area, one kid asked mommy, "Where's daaaaddy. Where's daaaddy. Where's daaaddy."
"He's probably off goofing-off somewhere. That's what he usually does."
There's drama there...
I called Mentor Moggles, my former acting professor, about this trip. She said something interesting. Instead of encouraging me to pray about *what* I should do, she said, to pray and ask *why* I'm being given this unique opportunity.
At this point, sitting here, right now, in seat 12C, I'm thinking it may have something to do with deciding what it is I *really* want to do. What's *really* important.
My brain has been going like crazy the past few days.
I wish I could've had one more year in the City before having to do this. I somehow feel as though it would be easier to decide if I had a full three years under my belt.
Okay. Time to turn off any portable electronic devices such as cell phones, PDAs, laptops, and Game Boys.
Does anyone still play a Game Boy?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Hiatus
Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I'm back to "temping" in the mornings, gyming in the afternoons, and "working" in the evenings. I haven't played a ukulele in almost two weeks. It's so unfortunate.
Also, the moment of decision is rapidly approaching. This weekend I'm making a trip to South Carolina to meet with my cousin about "the Dream Job". Will I take it and make lots of money? Or will I stay in New York and get ready for shows #8 and #9 that are going to take up my summer months?
We'll see.
Probably no Forkulele Friday again this week. I mean...I might get around to it but don't hold your breath. You'll probably pass out.
Also, the moment of decision is rapidly approaching. This weekend I'm making a trip to South Carolina to meet with my cousin about "the Dream Job". Will I take it and make lots of money? Or will I stay in New York and get ready for shows #8 and #9 that are going to take up my summer months?
We'll see.
Probably no Forkulele Friday again this week. I mean...I might get around to it but don't hold your breath. You'll probably pass out.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Fun Conversations
So yesterday's conversation at work was all about how it's okay to b!tch slap yo' hoes.
At one point the conversation got so offensive I found myself completely involuntarily out of my chair and reaching for the doorknob of the room. It was incredible.
I'm really different from these guys.
In fact, I'm about to throw down. Look, forks, I don't normally freak out when I see black people. But after spending a week with THESE guys, I DO!!
There was a gangsta and his ho using the turnstile ahead of me and taking their SWEET time. I suddenly noticed that, once they saw me, they got even SLOWER. Normally I'd raise my eyebrows and tap my foot. Maybe even sigh audibly.
Not anymore! I didn't want someone to bus' a cap in my ass.
I actually CAN'T believe it!
GET THIS! I accidentally bumped against a black woman yesterday in Crimes Square and for about half a second, I went immediately into fight or flight mode.
I'm floored. I don't react like that. People are people. Sure, they're raised in different places with different people, and many of them have been through a whole lot of bad stuff.
But while NORMAL people would try to rise above the abuse or trauma, the guys I'm working with are totally warped. They think Grand Theft Auto is real. They think it's cool to spend time in jail. They think it's your DESTINY to get into a street fight or have to b!itch slap your girlfriend if they disrespek you.
I want to go in to work tonight and let them have it. Really.
Most of them are in their early twenties. Like 23. And they talk like they know everything and have been everywhere. And it's funny. Because when I was 23 I talked like I knew everything. But I didn't. And now I'm 28 and I still don't know everything, but I sure as hell know that I REALLY didn't know anything when I was 23.
At one point the conversation got so offensive I found myself completely involuntarily out of my chair and reaching for the doorknob of the room. It was incredible.
I'm really different from these guys.
In fact, I'm about to throw down. Look, forks, I don't normally freak out when I see black people. But after spending a week with THESE guys, I DO!!
There was a gangsta and his ho using the turnstile ahead of me and taking their SWEET time. I suddenly noticed that, once they saw me, they got even SLOWER. Normally I'd raise my eyebrows and tap my foot. Maybe even sigh audibly.
Not anymore! I didn't want someone to bus' a cap in my ass.
I actually CAN'T believe it!
GET THIS! I accidentally bumped against a black woman yesterday in Crimes Square and for about half a second, I went immediately into fight or flight mode.
I'm floored. I don't react like that. People are people. Sure, they're raised in different places with different people, and many of them have been through a whole lot of bad stuff.
But while NORMAL people would try to rise above the abuse or trauma, the guys I'm working with are totally warped. They think Grand Theft Auto is real. They think it's cool to spend time in jail. They think it's your DESTINY to get into a street fight or have to b!itch slap your girlfriend if they disrespek you.
I want to go in to work tonight and let them have it. Really.
Most of them are in their early twenties. Like 23. And they talk like they know everything and have been everywhere. And it's funny. Because when I was 23 I talked like I knew everything. But I didn't. And now I'm 28 and I still don't know everything, but I sure as hell know that I REALLY didn't know anything when I was 23.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Happy Times
I had to step out of the "office" for a little while yesterday.
The guys in the office are so ghetto, if you cut them gangsta rap comes out.
It got so bad at one point that I really and truly had to excuse myself.
Now, you have to understand, 42nd Floorers, I AM NOT RACIST! My siblings and I were raised with the assistance of a number of ethnic women who lived in our home and taught us that, yes, our skin may be different, but deep down, we're all still regular people.
But sometimes I wish I could use the N word every once in a while. I mean, geeze. THEY get to. I guess the reason I can't is because my ancestors never experienced discrimination. That makes sense.
Street fights (yes, as in this) came up as a topic of conversation. Someone asked me if I had ever been in a street fight. And after my declaration that "You don't F___ with the Fork", I made a 180 and assured them that, no, I had never been in a fight before, with or without hadoukens.
Vance, the 23 year old goth geek who thinks he knows EVERYTHING, found this impossible to believe.
"Fork, at some point in your life, you WILL be forced into a fight with someone on the street."
"No I won't," I said.
"Let me give you a scenario. You're on the subway, minding your own business, when a guy gets on who looks like he's really really pissed. It's really crowded and his feet bump against yours. He looks at you and shouts, 'WHY'D YOU KICK ME, KID?!' What do you do?"
"Uhh...I guess...if he's a big, angry guy, I'd diffuse this potential confrontation by just saying sorry and going back to my book."
"..............You would?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"What?"
"You mean...you wouldn't stand up and tell him that you didn't kick him and that he's an effing psycho who needs to calm down?"
"No. If I did that we'd probably get into a fight."
So that was Vance. Then there's Tom.
Tom is the energetic "idea" guy. He's the one who came from Atlanta two months ago to seek his fortune in the Big City.
Every day he tells us about these fabulous ideas he has to make a million dollars in six months. And most of his ideas, like opening a revolutionary **new** kind of store where you can get whatever you wanted printed on a t-shirt, have been done before or aren't very good.
Last night he was talking to us about how his friend and him came up with this character called Jesus in Santa Monica. The idea behind the character is that if Jesus came back today, he would be a fish out of water. Like when you go to Santa Monica.
....
You know, like, Jesus goes out with some friends to a diner and they skimp on the tip and leave in a hurry. Then the waitress comes by and screams at Jesus because it looks like HE skimped on the tip. And then Jesus says, "I forgive you" and makes the guys he was with throw up blood as punishment.
....
Yeah.
So he's upset because his friend and roommate has taken the idea and turned it into his film project for school. The roommate is even talking about taking the character further and trying to start some kind of franchise based on Jesus in Santa Monica.
Tom was really upset about this. Fights had ensued. Words were had. Their longtime friendship was on the rocks.
But the roommate stealing the idea wasn't his main concern.
"We've been friends for so long. And now we don't talk to each other. I don't even CARE about this stupid character anymore. I just want my friend back. But I feel like it's all changed now. That trust, that camaraderie, it's all gone. And I'm afraid we'll never get it back."
Touched by Tom's vulnerability, I decided there was no way his friend would be able to resist honesty like that.
"Well, Tom," I said, "Have you told your friend exactly that? I mean, JUST like how you're telling us right now?"
"Of course I did," Tom replied earnestly. "I went into his room and told him he was a total F_3$%ing a#$9hole and that I wasn't gonna put up with it anymore."
Right.
The guys in the office are so ghetto, if you cut them gangsta rap comes out.
It got so bad at one point that I really and truly had to excuse myself.
Now, you have to understand, 42nd Floorers, I AM NOT RACIST! My siblings and I were raised with the assistance of a number of ethnic women who lived in our home and taught us that, yes, our skin may be different, but deep down, we're all still regular people.
But sometimes I wish I could use the N word every once in a while. I mean, geeze. THEY get to. I guess the reason I can't is because my ancestors never experienced discrimination. That makes sense.
Street fights (yes, as in this) came up as a topic of conversation. Someone asked me if I had ever been in a street fight. And after my declaration that "You don't F___ with the Fork", I made a 180 and assured them that, no, I had never been in a fight before, with or without hadoukens.
Vance, the 23 year old goth geek who thinks he knows EVERYTHING, found this impossible to believe.
"Fork, at some point in your life, you WILL be forced into a fight with someone on the street."
"No I won't," I said.
"Let me give you a scenario. You're on the subway, minding your own business, when a guy gets on who looks like he's really really pissed. It's really crowded and his feet bump against yours. He looks at you and shouts, 'WHY'D YOU KICK ME, KID?!' What do you do?"
"Uhh...I guess...if he's a big, angry guy, I'd diffuse this potential confrontation by just saying sorry and going back to my book."
"..............You would?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"What?"
"You mean...you wouldn't stand up and tell him that you didn't kick him and that he's an effing psycho who needs to calm down?"
"No. If I did that we'd probably get into a fight."
So that was Vance. Then there's Tom.
Tom is the energetic "idea" guy. He's the one who came from Atlanta two months ago to seek his fortune in the Big City.
Every day he tells us about these fabulous ideas he has to make a million dollars in six months. And most of his ideas, like opening a revolutionary **new** kind of store where you can get whatever you wanted printed on a t-shirt, have been done before or aren't very good.
Last night he was talking to us about how his friend and him came up with this character called Jesus in Santa Monica. The idea behind the character is that if Jesus came back today, he would be a fish out of water. Like when you go to Santa Monica.
....
You know, like, Jesus goes out with some friends to a diner and they skimp on the tip and leave in a hurry. Then the waitress comes by and screams at Jesus because it looks like HE skimped on the tip. And then Jesus says, "I forgive you" and makes the guys he was with throw up blood as punishment.
....
Yeah.
So he's upset because his friend and roommate has taken the idea and turned it into his film project for school. The roommate is even talking about taking the character further and trying to start some kind of franchise based on Jesus in Santa Monica.
Tom was really upset about this. Fights had ensued. Words were had. Their longtime friendship was on the rocks.
But the roommate stealing the idea wasn't his main concern.
"We've been friends for so long. And now we don't talk to each other. I don't even CARE about this stupid character anymore. I just want my friend back. But I feel like it's all changed now. That trust, that camaraderie, it's all gone. And I'm afraid we'll never get it back."
Touched by Tom's vulnerability, I decided there was no way his friend would be able to resist honesty like that.
"Well, Tom," I said, "Have you told your friend exactly that? I mean, JUST like how you're telling us right now?"
"Of course I did," Tom replied earnestly. "I went into his room and told him he was a total F_3$%ing a#$9hole and that I wasn't gonna put up with it anymore."
Right.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Forkulele Friday: Gangsta's Paradise
You asked for it, you got it. Coolio's poetic tribute to the plight of the urban black man--au ukulele. May it never be said I don't give my homies what they want.
This one was quite a challenge. It took three days of work to get to the final recording. The first day was spent just learning to say all those words. Yo.
As the original song was created on a mixer, I felt like it would be okay to simply record about ten passes on the four chord progression, then copying and pasting for the rest of the song. Don't hold it against me. I'm not planning on playing this live. Ever. I don't have health insurance. Or a bullet-proof vest.
Still, who can really hate a Robert Preston-esque spin on this classic? Trouble in River City, indeed.
Happy Friday, my crackaz!
This one was quite a challenge. It took three days of work to get to the final recording. The first day was spent just learning to say all those words. Yo.
As the original song was created on a mixer, I felt like it would be okay to simply record about ten passes on the four chord progression, then copying and pasting for the rest of the song. Don't hold it against me. I'm not planning on playing this live. Ever. I don't have health insurance. Or a bullet-proof vest.
Still, who can really hate a Robert Preston-esque spin on this classic? Trouble in River City, indeed.
Happy Friday, my crackaz!
Click here to go there!
Free Song
Today's Forkulele Friday is turning out to be a lot more challenging than I thought. The chorus has some high notes that I'm not ready to hit. The clock is still on AM and high notes simply do not pour from this throat until at LEAST 12:45--and here I was thinking I could just roll out of bed and pull a Pavarotti.
I need to get some coffee.
Don't worry. I'll be finished today. It's gonna be good...
I need to get some coffee.
Don't worry. I'll be finished today. It's gonna be good...
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Video Gamez
Work has become mind-numbingly tedious.
I mean, tedious in a good way.
Meh?
'Metal Soldier Disaster Squad DS' is an old school 2D run and gun arcade-style shooter. It's so difficult, one of the testers observed, "Dude, yo, beating this game would mean, like, you could beat anything else for the rest of your life. And I'm not just talkin' video games. I'm talkin', like, every test you ever take, or anything that's hard. It's like, 'Yeah, that was hard. But it wasn't as hard as Metal Soldier Disaster Squad' knowwhatIsayyn?"
One of the guys at work is this gaunt little guy who just turned 23. And like most 23 year olds, he speaks with authority on all subjects and thinks he's much wiser than he really is.
And he's also a goth kid.
So he's mad at the government and religion for enslaving humanity.
He's also offended by broad stereotypes.
I wanted to hold up a full-length mirror to him at that point and say, "Everything you're wearing was purchased at Hot Topic. Get a clue."
He's also an athiest.
And a self-taught demonologist. Oh, I'm sorry. Daemonologist. Forgot the silent A there.
Yeah. The kid is a walking contradiction. But he likes me because when he says things like, "The Bible is full of errors", I respond with, "The Bible is easily the most carefully preserved text in history". Then HE responds with, "Well, I don't believe it anyway," to which I respond (in an uncharacteristically civil tone), "Then what difference does your previous statement make? Why attempt to defend your stance on Biblical inaccuracies if the whole thing is just a humbug?"
So yeah. There's him.
And then there's Skateboarding Charlie.
He's a whole nuther topic of conversation. He's the guy from Atlanta who moved here two months ago. And since he moved here, I don't think he's stopped talking for five minutes.
My "temp work" employer's wife had a baby last night. That's exciting, isn't it? My "boss", however, was really kind of dispassionate about the whole thing. He's a really quiet sort who doesn't get excited easily. I would ask if he wanted a boy or a girl (they hadn't checked) and he kinda just said, "Meh. Whatever." I asked about names. "Meh, I don't really like any names." I asked about Christmas. "Meh, I don't really like holidays. They're so commercial."
I'm really in need of that check from ol' Georgie Bush. If I don't play Grand Theft Schmauto 4, my remaining toenails may just pop off and go play it without me. But in order to play the game, I have to upgrade. Yes. That's right. I'll probably go the Blu-Ray route, even though I have very little interest in that particular piece of expensive technology. I mean, geeze. Just when you get comfortable building up a collection of DVDs, they switch formats on you.
Okay. Time to get to work on this week's Forkulele Friday song. It may take a while.
I mean, tedious in a good way.
Meh?
'Metal Soldier Disaster Squad DS' is an old school 2D run and gun arcade-style shooter. It's so difficult, one of the testers observed, "Dude, yo, beating this game would mean, like, you could beat anything else for the rest of your life. And I'm not just talkin' video games. I'm talkin', like, every test you ever take, or anything that's hard. It's like, 'Yeah, that was hard. But it wasn't as hard as Metal Soldier Disaster Squad' knowwhatIsayyn?"
One of the guys at work is this gaunt little guy who just turned 23. And like most 23 year olds, he speaks with authority on all subjects and thinks he's much wiser than he really is.
And he's also a goth kid.
So he's mad at the government and religion for enslaving humanity.
He's also offended by broad stereotypes.
I wanted to hold up a full-length mirror to him at that point and say, "Everything you're wearing was purchased at Hot Topic. Get a clue."
He's also an athiest.
And a self-taught demonologist. Oh, I'm sorry. Daemonologist. Forgot the silent A there.
Yeah. The kid is a walking contradiction. But he likes me because when he says things like, "The Bible is full of errors", I respond with, "The Bible is easily the most carefully preserved text in history". Then HE responds with, "Well, I don't believe it anyway," to which I respond (in an uncharacteristically civil tone), "Then what difference does your previous statement make? Why attempt to defend your stance on Biblical inaccuracies if the whole thing is just a humbug?"
So yeah. There's him.
And then there's Skateboarding Charlie.
He's a whole nuther topic of conversation. He's the guy from Atlanta who moved here two months ago. And since he moved here, I don't think he's stopped talking for five minutes.
My "temp work" employer's wife had a baby last night. That's exciting, isn't it? My "boss", however, was really kind of dispassionate about the whole thing. He's a really quiet sort who doesn't get excited easily. I would ask if he wanted a boy or a girl (they hadn't checked) and he kinda just said, "Meh. Whatever." I asked about names. "Meh, I don't really like any names." I asked about Christmas. "Meh, I don't really like holidays. They're so commercial."
I'm really in need of that check from ol' Georgie Bush. If I don't play Grand Theft Schmauto 4, my remaining toenails may just pop off and go play it without me. But in order to play the game, I have to upgrade. Yes. That's right. I'll probably go the Blu-Ray route, even though I have very little interest in that particular piece of expensive technology. I mean, geeze. Just when you get comfortable building up a collection of DVDs, they switch formats on you.
Okay. Time to get to work on this week's Forkulele Friday song. It may take a while.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Any Requests?
Missed this Forkulele Friday thanks to the craaaaazy new job eating into my free time. As I was trying to think of which song I would do if I DID have the time to make a recording of one, I got to thinking...are there any songs you guys just gotta hear on the ukulele? I'm taking requests!
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