I Don’t Like Mondays

by

The following things all happened within two hours of each other.  At first I thought I had entered The Matrix or some alternate universe where Homer Simpson went back in time and stepped on a butterfly.

At lunch, the Mexican guy sitting across from me got a cell phone call.  His ring tone is, naturally, "The Star Spangled Banner.  Either he is very patriotic and thankful to be living here instead of some Third World shithole, or he is the Master of Latino irony. 

The other table had a guy in a suit trying to impress his androgynous looking dining companion, who looked like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby if she were played by a puppet made of popsicle sticks, by bragging about all the spare time he usually has.  Then, as they left, he says to her, "We should try to catch a Titans game while we are here.  I wonder if we can get tickets for the next game?"  That one almost made me violate my Prime Directive of not interjecting into stranger’s conversations.   Instead it made me wish I worked at whatever ticket outlet this dope tries to call to buy football tickets after the season is over.

In the parking lot across from the jobsite, was an attractive young couple getting ready for an evening out.   He was decked out in a "we’re from out of town, so I dressed like a rodeo cowboy" outfit.  She looked stunning in her "I like to fuck rodeo cowboys" ensemble.  What made this so odd were a couple of things.  Looking like a couple of horny country bumpkins downtown isn’t that strange, after all.  But they, and I’m not making this up, had a full length closet mirror they had pulled out of the back of the SUV and had propped up against the back bumper.  She was primping and posing like they were going on a hillbilly reality show in a few minutes.  She did take the time to shoot me a few dirty looks for staring at her making love to her own image.  What made this extra weird was it was 2:30 in the afternoon.  Where the fuck are you two rubes going?  Then it hit me.  The Brass Stables is a nine-iron from that parking lot.  She had her an interview at the titty bar and wanted to look her best.  Good luck, sweetie!  Momma and Daddy will be happy you are working again after taking time out from getting that GED to have a family.

The final straw of today’s weird shit is this goofy law burning up the blogosphere about anonymous people annoying others with their smartass and offensive comments.  You’ll take my nome de plume when you pry it from my cold, dead, fingers.  The only guy I can think of who likes this is the guy who gets all worked up about proper English usage, as well as word origins and derivations.  I’d be outraged about the whole thing, but given the other portents that have manifested themselves so far today, this bullshit train ride of bizarreness hasn’t reached the station yet.

 By the end of the day expect Mephistophocles to lead a revolution of the disgusted and no longer amused to overthrow the government.   Don’t say you weren’t warned.

"Fuck it, Dude, let’s go bowling"  Walter Sobchak

Advertisements

3 Responses to “I Don’t Like Mondays”

  1. Short and Fat Says:

    I ate the lunch buffet at the Brass Stables a few years ago. The lunch crowd at the time was really slow, so I was getting a complementary table dance while I ate. As nice at that was, I was not comfortable with an uncovered and unshaven twat gyrating just above my peas and carrots.I politely asked her to work the other side of the table until I was done eating.Seriously, it’s bad enough when you don’t know where the stray hair in your food came from…

  2. Tim Warner Says:

    Hi,Consider this quote from Web usability expert <a href="http://www.useit.com/alertbox/weblogs.html"Jakob Nielsen</a>:"It’s a simple matter of trust. Anonymous writings have less credence than something that’s signed. And, unless a person’s extraordinarily famous, it’s not enough to simply say that Joe Blogger writes the content. Readers want to know more about Joe. Does he have any credentials or experience in the field he’s commenting on? (Even if you don’t have formal credentials, readers will trust you more if you’re honest about that fact, set forth your informal experience, and explain the reason for your enthusiasm.)"That quote speaks volumes for me. Frankly, I found your blog because you linked to my blog and you showed up on my Technorati profile. Consider: would you attend a university where the professors taught from behind curtains and you could never learn their identities or anything about their credentials? On a more informal note, do you like to sit in a coffeehouse, listen to someone lecture, and leave, or do you prefer intimate, one-on-one conversation with another person? Honestly, I’m not trying to be aggressive here–I’m just attempting to understand. My "thing" (if you want to call it that) is that I find "online chat" and "online communication" rather sterile. If I’m reading someone’s stuff, I’d like to know as much as possible about the author. That’s just me. I don’t have to read your stuff, and you don’t have to read my stuff. We can agree to disagree and be done with it.Kind regards,Tim

  3. Aunt B. Says:

    Tim, I’ve got no dog in this fight, but it seems to me that what it comes down to for you is wanting to have some way to clearly understand by what authority someone is speaking to you. Even as much as wanting to know a person’s real name seems to me to say that you want to know that she or he is real, and at least has that much right to grab your attention.But, while I understand such a compulsion, I think you end up overlooking the invaluable (and frankly fun) performative aspects of online communication. Everyone, potentially, is pretending to be someone they aren’t; those of us who communicate pseudonymously (pseudonyminously?) just make the performance more obvious. In a way, I’d think you’d be more comfortable with people being obviously fake, so that you can say with certainty that you need to take what they say with a grain of salt.Knowing someone’s real name doesn’t guarantee that he’s being straight with you (take the James Frey controversy for example). Knowing them by a nom de plume doesn’t mean that you aren’t getting something good (as with Mark Twain).And, frankly, don’t you find Nielsen slightly insufferable? As if there’s just one right way to use this medium?As for Sarcastro, he’s about the least anonymous anonymous person ever. He makes intellectual property rights claims at the bottom of every screen in his own name and posts pictures of himself (though, sadly, none of them of when he was hot and in uniform). How far does a man have to go?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: