I figured it was highly likely I named a post this very thing in the past, a suspicion confirmed after a minimalist effort of back searching. Of course, I didn't bother to read the content of said post, so this may be an experiment in redundancy. Knowing my own pun penchant, I am sure I either declared Halloween average or some other celebrators of the holiday unkind. This year, neither could be said, as the events surrounding this year's Halloween have been quite enjoyable.
Of course, today is the actual day, yet I found myself surprised to see trick-or-treaters out on the street as I headed out for a bit of a jaunt earlier. Because there is so much build-up, Halloween could have been any number of days ago. And while I considered last night to be the pinnacle of adult celebration of the holiday, not everyone has to work on Monday. In a bold and frightening move, a local bar is putting on one Hell of an event and offering free Four Loko. With all of the press there has been on the dangers of this beverage of late, somebody is bound to get pretty damaged tonight. In a rare intelligent decision, I will not be a potential victim.
One of these days they'll need to go ahead and make this party more than once a year. People love to get dressed up, but tend to feel as if they need an excuse. Why should that excuse be but once a year? I must say as well that the aftermath is quite enjoyable. As I walked the streets this morning half costumed, the responses, positive and negative, were highly enjoyable. One individual decided to apprise me of the fact that my legs are very hairy. These comments are always wonderful to me because, having lived my entire life with me, and other humans, I manage to be quite cognizant of my relative hairiness. This is not to mention this own man's hideous existence.
At this moment I feel as if I had much more to say but, if so, it's eluding me. Should these facts or stories which I wished to relay miraculously appear, I shall make mention. In the meantime, sleep sounds good.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
I Got My Eye on You
So I saw this sign the other day. Not that sign, this other one. Yes, it's signs like that that do make me miss Jersey just a little bit. And when cornball things like that and breaking wind stop being funny to me, I don't know that I want to hang around me anymore.
I'm not gonna lie, my brain is feeling a little warped and drained today but I felt this compulsion to jot a few things down in here. So I have been shouting it out on my meager social network efforts, but if you make it here and my friend's short film "Take Out" has eluded you, you should check it out at that link back there. That reminds me how I was going to investigate creating pop-out links for this here blog, but then realized that you can command/apple-click or right-click to get yourself a new tab. I have become tab reliant. I always have about fifty-thousand open as reminders of articles to read and all that and it generally leads to my browser crashing and some lament that I will, at that point, never read the articles I realistically wasn't going to read anyway.
One thing I did read, though, because it was mostly pictures, was this post on Jailbreak of emo and comic-inspired artwork from a guy named Christopher Uminga. I kind of dug it, although not as much as I did the discovery of tilt-shift photography. There are some really amazing shots in there. My initial interest in the style spawned from this shot of Usain Bolt's Olympic 100m Victory. As you will be able to observe yourself, it makes things appear as scale models. Nifty.
Also nifty, also courtesy of Jailbreak, and also related to comics is this post and associated photos of a chick who turned a Dodge Caravan into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van.
I think that's more than enough at the moment. This post is brought to you by the following song. It's fun to queue that up in iTunes while it plays on youtube, just out of sync, so it makes it sound like a skipping record. Fun if you like feeling slightly insane and inducing a terrible headache.
I'm not gonna lie, my brain is feeling a little warped and drained today but I felt this compulsion to jot a few things down in here. So I have been shouting it out on my meager social network efforts, but if you make it here and my friend's short film "Take Out" has eluded you, you should check it out at that link back there. That reminds me how I was going to investigate creating pop-out links for this here blog, but then realized that you can command/apple-click or right-click to get yourself a new tab. I have become tab reliant. I always have about fifty-thousand open as reminders of articles to read and all that and it generally leads to my browser crashing and some lament that I will, at that point, never read the articles I realistically wasn't going to read anyway.
One thing I did read, though, because it was mostly pictures, was this post on Jailbreak of emo and comic-inspired artwork from a guy named Christopher Uminga. I kind of dug it, although not as much as I did the discovery of tilt-shift photography. There are some really amazing shots in there. My initial interest in the style spawned from this shot of Usain Bolt's Olympic 100m Victory. As you will be able to observe yourself, it makes things appear as scale models. Nifty.
Also nifty, also courtesy of Jailbreak, and also related to comics is this post and associated photos of a chick who turned a Dodge Caravan into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van.
I think that's more than enough at the moment. This post is brought to you by the following song. It's fun to queue that up in iTunes while it plays on youtube, just out of sync, so it makes it sound like a skipping record. Fun if you like feeling slightly insane and inducing a terrible headache.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Traveling Through Time
I am in a coffee shop that I will not give a name and I am eavesdropping as I am wont to do when I am not completely plugged into whatever it is I am working on. It's a welcome break from the editing I was doing in some ways and it's funny that I am going to pronounce these people vapid assholes as I am being an asshole of a sort by typing feet away from them and discussing them. Not sure that it makes me vapid though. I note, and this is not just in their conversation, that there is a very excessive use of the term literally. I use it on occasion myself, and we pretty much all use it incorrectly. After a time, incorrect word usage becomes acceptable and just sort of glossed over, but once I become aware of such things, I try to remedy them in myself. This is not merely to avoid hypocrisy, though I am certain it plays some role. For a good comic representation of misuse you can literally go there or get the longer read on it from Slate.
So dingus in his hat and black hoodie, with a jean jacket on top and his legs crossed is scrolling through his iPhone (which might actually be just an iPod touch) and complaining about how stupid a specific band line-up sounds. What's excellent is it comes on the heels of him complaining about the cost of a hot chocolate in this establishment. There are many other establishments that bear some similarity to this one, so he has other options. And you know, part of the reason their costs are high is because you are paying to be in this space and, in part, they need to recoup some cost for people like this guy and his female friend, who occupy space and do not purchase products. They both really like Jamison. First positive thing they have said after each complained about their roommates, former and current. I wonder how their roommates might feel about them? He doesn't mix his whiskey. I generally do not either, but is it wrong of me to say it sounds more pretentious coming from him? For her it depends.
I do find it amusing as well that they are both consulting their phones rather than actually interacting with one another. Of course, they do interact with one another, in conversations that are based around what is happening on their phones. Honestly, I wouldn't have even begun judging if the one girl had not swiped my seat when I rose temporarily (I think were I to rise permanently, my legs — or some other appendage — might get rather tired) to refill my beverage. I mean, my stuff was largely in the vicinity, but hey when you are so concerned and focused on being negative about everything, it's easy not to take note of other humans who might be sitting in places. It's really okay though, as it gave my buttocks a different surface to use, and gave me what I see as justification for judging their judging. People even pass judgement on the spelling of judgment. Can't we all just get along?
As it happens, beauty isn't even skin deep for these two. And though this borders on being negative, I'm smiling, because it reminds me how much I like certain other humans, and how lucky I am to know them. Contrast has its benefits, and it's not just boosting the effectiveness of MRI's. Later on folks.
So dingus in his hat and black hoodie, with a jean jacket on top and his legs crossed is scrolling through his iPhone (which might actually be just an iPod touch) and complaining about how stupid a specific band line-up sounds. What's excellent is it comes on the heels of him complaining about the cost of a hot chocolate in this establishment. There are many other establishments that bear some similarity to this one, so he has other options. And you know, part of the reason their costs are high is because you are paying to be in this space and, in part, they need to recoup some cost for people like this guy and his female friend, who occupy space and do not purchase products. They both really like Jamison. First positive thing they have said after each complained about their roommates, former and current. I wonder how their roommates might feel about them? He doesn't mix his whiskey. I generally do not either, but is it wrong of me to say it sounds more pretentious coming from him? For her it depends.
I do find it amusing as well that they are both consulting their phones rather than actually interacting with one another. Of course, they do interact with one another, in conversations that are based around what is happening on their phones. Honestly, I wouldn't have even begun judging if the one girl had not swiped my seat when I rose temporarily (I think were I to rise permanently, my legs — or some other appendage — might get rather tired) to refill my beverage. I mean, my stuff was largely in the vicinity, but hey when you are so concerned and focused on being negative about everything, it's easy not to take note of other humans who might be sitting in places. It's really okay though, as it gave my buttocks a different surface to use, and gave me what I see as justification for judging their judging. People even pass judgement on the spelling of judgment. Can't we all just get along?
As it happens, beauty isn't even skin deep for these two. And though this borders on being negative, I'm smiling, because it reminds me how much I like certain other humans, and how lucky I am to know them. Contrast has its benefits, and it's not just boosting the effectiveness of MRI's. Later on folks.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
How I Want To Apply to Jobs
Recently I was going through a shit-ton of my old emails in order to consolidate things as I have used an astonishing amount of the free space gmail provides to you, and I discovered something completely inane saved in a draft, as I am wont to do. This particular draft contained a job posting for a Freelance Copy Editor for an unnamed book publisher. I've only included a segment of it for the sake of space, with my favorite bit in bold.
In addition to reviewing text for typos and grammatical errors, the copy editor is responsible for:
+Making sure that all text follows house style.
+Checking that images align.
+Assuring that formatting is consistent.
+Making sure that the text wraps do not look awkward and are applied consistently.
+Eliminating orphans and widows.
I like when an otherwise serious job post has a sense of humor. The shitty thing is, half the time I might read this thinking, "what a great little joke they stuck in," and the other half of the time I'm thinking, "really?" It's all in how you read it...
But that job posting and description has nothing on the letter of interest the late Hunter S. Thompson presented to Jack Scott, editor of the Vancouver Sun. The man may have been somewhat insane, but you gotta admire his no bullshit attitude. At least when you're someone who smiles and takes a lot of shit.
The other night I also had the pleasure of interacting with a large volume of individuals from South Bend, Indiana. Now I had been there all of once, and stayed in something akin to a Motel 6. This was in that year 2005. But I really didn't see much of the town or interact with any of its inhabitants and was content to go on my way. Well this past Saturday I met a good number of folks from that area and they were all remarkably solid. They may not all have hailed from there initially, but they settled there and had a good vibe permeating them. So many people I run into are such absolute dingleberries that it makes it refreshing to kick it with chill folk.
The vibe continued when I headed to an establishment one might commonly refer to as a club. I will not give this club a name but will describe it as a warehouse type setting. Inside were not the individuals I expected. I don't go to clubs as a general rule, but I've wandered in here and there, and what I found could fit most stereotypical representations of clubs. The clientele here, instead, ran the gamut, and again everyone was just there to have a good time; no one was being a total dickhead. Now, in a mean-spirited vein, I could have done without a few of the creatures who had flung themselves into the throngs on the dance floor, but hey, hideous people have to party too.
You know what's way worse than a couple of creatures in a bar? When people talk shit about you and don't think you know it. It's not just that they don't think you're clever enough to realize, it's that they think you honestly could give a damn what their opinion of you is. Newsflash: I think you're a piece of shit, so that you don't like me is rather commensurate with my own opinion of you. Again, sometimes it might not hurt to be a little more Hunter S. Thompson. I feel as if this is not the first time I have raised this very thing in this here blog. And of course, by addressing that as I just did, it does imply that I give a bit of a damn what they think, but it's really the associated sentiment drawn from the actions. Semantics, posturing. Anyway, it's rather early in the morning and I have to be up rather early in the morning so I'm taking this opportunity to expire.
In addition to reviewing text for typos and grammatical errors, the copy editor is responsible for:
+Making sure that all text follows house style.
+Checking that images align.
+Assuring that formatting is consistent.
+Making sure that the text wraps do not look awkward and are applied consistently.
+Eliminating orphans and widows.
I like when an otherwise serious job post has a sense of humor. The shitty thing is, half the time I might read this thinking, "what a great little joke they stuck in," and the other half of the time I'm thinking, "really?" It's all in how you read it...
But that job posting and description has nothing on the letter of interest the late Hunter S. Thompson presented to Jack Scott, editor of the Vancouver Sun. The man may have been somewhat insane, but you gotta admire his no bullshit attitude. At least when you're someone who smiles and takes a lot of shit.
The other night I also had the pleasure of interacting with a large volume of individuals from South Bend, Indiana. Now I had been there all of once, and stayed in something akin to a Motel 6. This was in that year 2005. But I really didn't see much of the town or interact with any of its inhabitants and was content to go on my way. Well this past Saturday I met a good number of folks from that area and they were all remarkably solid. They may not all have hailed from there initially, but they settled there and had a good vibe permeating them. So many people I run into are such absolute dingleberries that it makes it refreshing to kick it with chill folk.
The vibe continued when I headed to an establishment one might commonly refer to as a club. I will not give this club a name but will describe it as a warehouse type setting. Inside were not the individuals I expected. I don't go to clubs as a general rule, but I've wandered in here and there, and what I found could fit most stereotypical representations of clubs. The clientele here, instead, ran the gamut, and again everyone was just there to have a good time; no one was being a total dickhead. Now, in a mean-spirited vein, I could have done without a few of the creatures who had flung themselves into the throngs on the dance floor, but hey, hideous people have to party too.
You know what's way worse than a couple of creatures in a bar? When people talk shit about you and don't think you know it. It's not just that they don't think you're clever enough to realize, it's that they think you honestly could give a damn what their opinion of you is. Newsflash: I think you're a piece of shit, so that you don't like me is rather commensurate with my own opinion of you. Again, sometimes it might not hurt to be a little more Hunter S. Thompson. I feel as if this is not the first time I have raised this very thing in this here blog. And of course, by addressing that as I just did, it does imply that I give a bit of a damn what they think, but it's really the associated sentiment drawn from the actions. Semantics, posturing. Anyway, it's rather early in the morning and I have to be up rather early in the morning so I'm taking this opportunity to expire.
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