So I was wrong about the whole "switching to paid work" thing. I was on the schedule for Saturday, not Friday. And on Friday, I was up until 5 doing the aformentioned grunt work, after the previous night, which had held little sleep for me. So Saturday from 4-11 was managed with sheer caffiene and willpower. But mostly caffeine. The one saving grace in all of this is that I was pulled from the schedule today because apparently my store was over its man-hour limit. Which sucks for my paycheck, but I'm alive today. And in no pain. I'll just have to deal with getting money into my wallet at a slightly later date.

So, aside from that, there are a couple of issues on the docket for this morning. First off, if you're into melodic guitar riffs, if you like Mogwai or Isis, if you're a prog rocker who digs the Mars Volta, if you're hella metal but looking for something happier, or if you're like me and all four apply, you should definately, definately check out the new album by Pelican, The Fire In Our Throats Will Beckon The Thaw, as reccommended by the higly talented and incredibly indie Jeph Jaques. Its quite the listen. gooooooooooood instrumental indie-metal/rock.

So there is talk of trading Manny Ramirez. Ballocks, I say. He asked for a trade, so the Sox are shopping around, but they're sure as shit not going to pull the trigger unless they get something fantastic in return. He's maybe the best Sox hitter since Ted Williams, and an overall awesome dude (despite his tendancy to be a headcase from time to time). You do NOT break up baseball's greatest ever 1-2 punch when you're in the pennant race unless you have a fucking good reason. And you don't need to worry about him playing poorly because he's unhappy here. He's a professional. He puts his shit on pause when he takes the field.

In other matters, I've just put on my shitstorm diffuser hat. More on this (maybe) as I gain the liberty to reveal it.

Before I begin to rant about this day in stupidity, I would like to thank Alice once again, this time identifying the sudden, jolting pain in my chest that popped up while I was talking with her over AIM as costochonditis, as opposed to any number of things that could be implied by sharp pains on the left side of the chest. Apparently it was this jackass I was playing basketball with who thought it was required to throw his shoulder into my chest repeatedly whenever he was on offense. In any case, thank you again, Alice.

Anyways.

Thanks in part to the aforementioned inconvenience visited upon me last night, I didn't sleep much. So when I was woken by the phone at 10 AM, my chest still shouting at me with pain, I was not in a good mood. As it happened, that was not going to change any when I picked the phone up.

It was some librarian diva from the Malden Public Library, telling me that my brother, who was there to attend a field trip with the rest of the kids in the summer reading program, could not go to the museum because he was an hour behind on his summer reading log. It should be noted that he wasn't behind on the reading itself, just on logging it, which is utter bullshit. But that's not even the point. My parents were at work. For all they knew, I was at work too. The expectation that someone was able to pick him up was ludicrous, especially since I was never listed as a contact. Had no one been contacted, they would have just left him there. I tried explaining this to the librarian, who merely told me that she was just following policy.

That's what really got me.

With a news media that plays for shock and awe and sappy human interest stories over real news, a pop culture mainstream almost completely devoid of merit, and a public education system that has been continually watered down, the library is fast becoming the last bastion for intelligent thought in the public domain. We send our children there in the hopes that it helps them escape the cruel fate of becoming a mindles mouth-breathing automaton. One would think that a librarian would provide a better example than the abject defiance of common sense in favor of written policy.

I tried to explain this to the librarian as well, but she simply said that obviously the policy had worked because I was there. Feeling a circular arguement coming on, and not wishing to teach the children around me any new words, I merely expressed my shame that an institution that I cherish so very much would employ an apparent nihilist. Then I came home and spun the song below, followed by Tool's Aenema, for reasons of obvious poignancy.

Well, as I'm writing this my chest pain is fading, which is good. I have some grunt work to do, followed by some less-grunty work for which I'll actually be paid, so I'm gone for now. I leave you all with these ever-wise words from the late, great Dr. Hunter S Thompson

Don't take any guff from those swine.  Remember, if you have any
trouble you can always drop a line to the right people.

Ciao

by Incubus. (recently covered by Bronson Arroyo... 's good)

Pardon me while I burst.....

A decade ago, I never thought I would be
At twenty three, on the verge of
spontaneous combustion. Woe-is-me. But I
guess that it comes with the territory; an
ominous landscape of
never ending calamity
I need you to hear, I need you to see, that I have
had all I can take and
exploding seems like a definite possibility
to me.
So pardon me while I burst into flames.
I've had enough of the world, and its people's mindless games.
So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame.
Pardon me, pardon me...I’ll never be the same.

Not two days ago, I was having a look in a book and I saw a picture of a
guy
fried up above his knees
I said, "I can relate," ‘cause lately I've been thinking of combustication
as a welcomed vacation from
the burdens of the planet earth.
Like gravity, hypocrisy, and the perils of being in 3-D...
and thinking so much differently.
So pardon me while I burst into flames.
I've had enough of the world and its people's mindless games.
So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame.
Pardon me, pardon me...I’ll never be the same.

Never Be the same

Pardon me while I burst into flames.
Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me.

So pardon me while I burst into flames.
I've had enough of the world and its people's mindless games.
So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame.
Pardon me, pardon me... I’ll never be the same.
Pardon me, (I’ll) never be the same, yeah...

There is, as some of you are aware, a chant that has been associated with Red Sox fans, and their contempt for a certain team for New York. It was never really all that classy, though I can't claim to be innocent of joining in. In fact, back in the day I was shouting just as loud as everyone else. But even in the heyday of the whole "Red Sox finish second to the Yankees. always" era (even if the Yankees win the division this year I consider said era to have come to a close with the World Series victory) there was use of it that I found annoying. Like if the Red Sox were, to give an example, trailing the Royals and the crowd wanted something to shout about. Sitting in the bleachers at Fenway three years ago I found that more annoying than having paid to watch my team lose to the Royals.

Midway during last year's run, I grew tired of the chanting. In fact, I recognized it as the blunted Parthian shot it was. But then, something changed. It was the eighth inning of the seventh game of the ALCS, and the Red Sox fans in the crowd, with the strength of a commanding lead behind them, began to drown out the New York crowd. But amid the chants of "Let's Go, Red Sox," there was a less audible yet easily distingushable shout of "Red Sox Suck." For me, that was the instant that the Curse was broken. Now, we are the dominators. Now, we suck. We no longer needed to claim superiority, we had proven it. So when I heard the familiar chant once again at the Fourth of July fireworks, in Boston, I greeted it with a disappointed sigh. Today, I was disgusted.

Tampa Bay is a city where the Red Sox fans are for most of the time louder than the Devil Rays fans. Chant's of, "Let's Go Red Sox" are more powerful and prevalent than whatever the hell it is the Devil Rays fans chant (I mean there's not much to go on. The name isn't really right for chanting and the team hardly gives the fans reason to chant.) Tonight, for one inning, there was an unmistakable "Yankees Suck" drifting out from the Sox fans in Tampa, while the score was tied.

Unnacceptable.

The Red Sox are not trailing the Yankees in the standings. They were not playing against the Yankees. The Yankees weren't playing at all tonight. They were in Tampa Bay, where no one really gives a shit about the Yankees unless they're there. They were out there, in enemy territory, proving that Red Sox Nation still has a victim complex.

If any of you fuckers who were in the stands chanting are reading this, I want all of your names. You're fired.

The following is not a retraction, but a clarification. In the rant below, it may appear that I bear hostility towards those who refuse to use "foul" language. Such would be childish, and above all ignorant. However, reading it over, I can see how there could be a misunderstanding.

I have nothing else to report at the moment, though I should have something soonish... Not that I'm expecting anything specific. Its just that I'll have to do something interesting eventually.

Oh right. System of a Down and The Mars Volta are going on tour in August. But they don't stop in Boston, or anyplace nearer than Philly. I am not pleased with this development.

This was something that I was going to address earlier, but for some reason have been putting off.

But first, I'll put it off a bit further by giving Candi a warm welcome back to the blogosphere.

An English teacher once told me that use of profanity was evidence of lack of vocabulary; that it meant, or suggested, that you were too ignorant to use "proper" English. In high school I was caught by a teacher saying, "you need to attack the guy whose got the fucking Wumpus!" (which will make no sense to anyone unfamiliar with Magic: the Gathering) He told me to write fifty ways to say the same thing without swearing. I guess the point of the exercise was supposed to teach me that there were better ways of saying these things. What I learned was that there were fifty other ways of saying it that didn't get the point across nearly as well.

Of course, that's not the last I'd heard of it, but it came up as a topic in a blog I frequent (I actually can't for the life of me remember which, but its one of you) and at once it brought back years of me hearing those mantras and disagreeing and never quite being able to argue my point eloquently enough. Let me note here that in the blogpost it wasn't at all dismissive of those who do use foul language, but it got me thinking that maybe now was the time to finally speak my mind on the subject.

There are, of course, people who curse, and do so like idiots. Those people are below my mention. I've already done them too much undue honor by making reference to them.

Lets take a look at where this all started. It dates back to the days of the Roman Empire, which tore the world a new one, and spread Latin wherever they went. And so it came to pass, as Latin was incorporated into all of these languages, that words from the native languages came to be known as vulgaris: language spoken by the common people. One such word was fokken, an Anglo Saxon word meaning "to thrust" or "to plant," whose current incarnation may be the most versatile word in the English language.

I'm just making the point here that looking down upon foul language began as a form of oppression.

That having been said, I understand that it is tactless to in polite company shout something like, "sic semper, biatch!" or, "don't fucking castigate me!" I am resigned to finding other ways of expressing myself in such cases. Not better ways, just other ways.

What I attempt to do in writing is be a musician of the English language. To write in a way that flows. Profanity just works so goddamned well with it, (or so I find) that to part with it would be sacrilige. It would be like a chef never using peanut oil because some people are allergic. You just use it with discretion is all.

What I'm trying to put forth is that profanity is a way in which intelligent people can communicate. Try it, its fun. Mixing 3+ syllable words with four-letter words is one of my favorite things to do with language.

In short, those who would impugn my vocabulary or my taste due to the fact that I like to swear (and I don't mean any of you... or at least I'm pretty sure I don't) can go fuck themselves.

As I'm playing catch-up at the moment, now here is a blogpost about a set of stimuli that I experienced on Friday.

First off, on Friday, I went into town to interview for the Blockbuster Video on Mass Ave in Boston and was hired on the spot. This is a good thing.

Next, I went with my good friend Matt Porter to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

I knew that it was going to be enjoyable. Tim Burton can do no wrong (we do not speak of Planet of the Apes), and Johnny Depp? He's just fantastic, and always is such.

I was blown away. Every single part was in this movie cast better than in the 1971 version with Gene Wilder. And yes, that includes Depp. You can make an arguement about whose character is more entertaining, and I'd frown somewhat less upon you, but Gene Wilder wasn't Willy Wonka. Johnny Depp was. This may be due to my being out of practice writing, but I am having a tough time describing his performance with words. Perhaps I'll be able to put some in later.

And you know what? If Gene Wilder can't come to grips with that, he can go fuck himself. Tim Burton didn't bitch and moan when Christopher Nolan wiped out his Batman continuity.

ahem. Anyways, Danny Elfman's compositions were excellent as usual. And he used the original poems written by Roald Dhal for the lyrics to the Oompa Loompa songs. A hippie jam, a funk groove, and a heavy metal thrash? All included. In fact, on the whole, the movie was extremely faithful to the original book, retaining its wackiness and its dark undertones. Visually, all that can be said to put it to justice is that it was made by Tim Burton, and is therefore brilliant. A sideplot with Christopher Lee as Willy's father was added, but it fits.

This follows along with a general rule when it comes to adaptations: the more faithful movie will be better. Witness this: the best comic book movie, Sin City, was a shot-for-shot adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novels. The worst by far, Catwoman, even changed the name of Catwoman's alter ego.

So yeah. See Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Also, until the Sox lose another game, I'm going to end each post with:

Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Red Sox, you are the only, only, only

There are many things to report. And still more things that I should likely be rendering my opinion on, because I'm just that kinda guy. But I'm going to do this in multiple posts, beginning with my beloved Red Sox of Boston.

They are hurting. And as Saije has pointed out, have been doing so since my blogging habits reached a pause. This is not cool. Baseball is the one thing that I have superstition about. I don't even have superstition in theater, and fucking everyone there does.

Three games lost to the Yankees, a series we had no business losing. Now a loss at the hands of the Devil Rays. The fucking Devil Rays. This is inexcusable.

And the thing is, the only thing I can think of is that we need to find a permanent replacement for Bellhorn. other than that, they just haven't been getting the job done.

When the Red Sox lost the ALCS in 2003 in a gutwrenching Game 7 collapse, I came into my Economics class to see that the blackboard read, in large letters, "They Will Always Break Your Heart."

This proved untrue in 2004. But they certainly do jerk you about. Violently By your heartstrings.

And its worth it.

Anyways, Sox fans get used to the slumps. All that can be said is this

Tessie is the Royal Rooters rally cry
Tessie is the song they always sung
Tessie echoed April through October nights
After serenading Stahl, Dineen and Young
Tessie is a maiden with the sparkling eyes
Tessie is a maiden with the love
She doesn't know the meaning of her sight
She's got a comment full of love
And sometimes when the game is on the line
Tessie always carried them away
Up the road from Third Base to Huntington
The boys will always sing and sway

Two! Three! Four!

Tessie, Nuff Ced McGreevy shouted
We're not here to mess around
Boston, you know we love you madly
Hear the crowd roar to your sound
Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Tessie, you are the only, only, only

The Rooters showed up at the Grounds one day
They found their seats had all been sold
McGreevy led the charge into the park
Stormed the gates and put the game on hold
The Rooters gave the other team a dreadful fright
Boston's tenth man could not be wrong
Up from Third Base to Huntington
They sang another victory song

Two! Three! Four!

Tessie, Nuff Ced McGreevy shouted
We're not here to mess around
Boston, you know we love you madly
Hear the crowd roar to your sound
Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Tessie, you are the only, only, only

The Rooters gave the other team a dreadful fright
Boston's tenth man could not be wrong
Up from Third Base to Huntington
They sang another victory song

Two! Three! Four!

Tessie, Nuff Ced McGreevy shouted
We're not here to mess around
Boston, you know we love you madly
Hear the crowd roar to your sound
Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Boston, you are the only, only, only

Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Red Sox, you are the only, only, only

In a conversation I had with the wise and lovely Alice, the topic of sarcasm in text form was discussed. Its a discussion I've had with many people, and probably a few of you lot. However, what was unique about this conversation is that it ended with the two of us agreeing on a standard. At her suggestion, and my endorsement, it is now put forth that sarcasm in text form other than narrative shall be underlined.

To give a couple of examples

You're really hot looking today, Karl Rove.

Yes Ann Coulter, I was listening to what you had to say and not just staring at your chest.

I'm not just casting you because you have star power, Tom Cruise, I respect you as an actor and a human being.

Show your support for this initiative by commenting below

So I've been MIA for a while. There is, in the heart and core of the universe, a reason. There's also one that wouldn't require holistic quantum theory.

The fact of the matter is that I spent the weekend with an old friend (insamuch as that phrase has any meaning when I say it) , and a friend of his from college whom I now count amongst my own. It was, suffice to say, good times. Banter, philosophisizing, and general chillness were at premium levels, and also we got to see an old man who was strung out on heroin run down a city street in his briefs at 3 am.

So... I guess I should have something else to say... hold on just a tick... there. Got it

And Yes, I've spoken about this before.

The Senate is poised to pass another budget cut to the corporation for public broadcasting.

I'm scared. Every time the Republicans accuse the CPB of being too liberal they install more of their ilk into the leadership. There is no telling what could come of this. I'll say this much though. If Ann Coulter is ever a guest on Sesame Street, I'm going to exact bloody retribution, because exposing young children to Ann is almost certainly a violation of the Geneva convention

More later. As in, I will post again X hours from now, where X can be any number.

One- I should have done this a while ago, but all welcome Crys to the sidebar.

Two- my facebook profile is here in the event that anyone should be interested about such information. Seeing the photo you see here blown up to full size made me realize that I need to get a new one

Back with more later... probably

Once again I find myself making assurances that I'm not dead. Honestly, I've had nothing to say. Or at least, when I had things to say, I didn't have a good way to put it into blog form.

I just staked my claim on Facebook. I hope that it won't draw away from my already dwindling blogging habits, but I've been hassled by too many friends about it not to join. Searching for all of the people I know took a while.

Also, If you like scifi, then there are two revamped series that you need to check out. They are Doctor Who and Battlestar Galactica. Both have exceptional acting, writing, and effects, and are through with their first new season. Check it out sometime.

Hopefully I'll have more to say tommorrow, but at the moment I need to sack out. Sorry for my absence.

Later all

Thought I'd share a story. Not a recent one by any measure, but a true one.

The phone rang in my kitchen. Caller ID tells me its a telemarketer. I pause for a sec and figure out what gag I'm going to use, then pick up the phone. Its a travel agent.

My gag was fucked.

She's offering me an all expenses paid trip to Las Vegas. I love it when an excellent line just falls into my lap.

Me: Fuck that. Vegas just cold gouges my budget. I mean you say all expenses paid, but I know you don't cover all of the necessities

Her: Like what?

Me: Everyone knows that if you go to Vegas you need two bags of grass, 75 pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half-full of cocaine, a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, and laughers, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen Amyls. That's just too much money to spend on one trip, you know?

Her: Well would you consider Orlando?