Author: substitute

nope

Good conversation tonight

With bruisedhips, kennfusion, foo2rama, and Nick who seems not to want an LJ. Dammit Nick, I’ll give you a code.

Anyway we talked about: famous interesting people, books, movies, religion, and the incredibly slow and annoying service at the coffee house.

They appear to be trying out some type of psychological experiment or performance art in which coffee is delayed in bizarre and inexplicable ways in order to test our reactions.

Kenn, maybe everyone but you has “I was electrocuted” stories, but I’m the one without “I was arrested” stories myself. How I avoided that, I dunno.

Maybe the next round should be “Bad reactions to psychotropic medications”. That’s always good for a laff riot.

Conversing with eyeteeth later, we decided that a good Quiz/LJ Virus question would be:

When you’re a ghost, what will you constantly be doing, and what will be needed to put you to rest?

My answer is: I’ll be racking a server and putting a boot CD in it and then cursing horribly. Only when you find the Server That Wouldn’t Keep Running and fix it can I sleep happily in my grave. What’s yours?

DEAR

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bandlistmeme

Picking up from halfjack:

Rank the following bands in order, from couldn’t live without to couldn’t care less. To add value to this process, you must also add one band to the list, and remove one band from the list, before passing the list on (including these instructions).

Adding: Joy Division

The Minutemen
The Clash
The Beatles
R.E.M.
XTC
Devo
The Kinks
The Beach Boys
Queen

Removing: Paul Simon

They are SEMINAL!

Hilarious dream last night, mostly about a rock band. They were one of those bands that rock nerds know about. Old guys, had started out in the early sixties. They had a rough, almost metallic sound with lots of surf and a bit of country. They’d survived over the years because a few famous people had covered their songs. Most recently they’d been in a Coen Brothers movie. Everyone who was anyone would go to their shows, which were legendary for their antics. They always wore suits and shaved their heads, and frequently wore white cowboy hats. Everyone knew one song of theirs, the “hit”, but if you were into them you weren’t supposed to like it. During certain songs the audience was supposed to do special things, like sing along to one verse or hold up one hand. There was one guy in the band who could play any instrument.

I woke up giggling. It was a complete Nick Hornby-style sendup of the Legendary Hipster Band that record store clerks like. If you combined NRBQ, the Kinks, Link Wray, and Big Star you’d have them. This is what the Spinal Tap/Folksmen crew should do next, dammit.

The patio was a regular injured list tonight, including: one concussion with neck strain, one sacroiliac separation status post motor vehicle accident, one gastritis patient in recovery. Let’s try to be careful out there, folks.

I had a four-hour nap today. It was pretty much a napgasm. I would wake up for a few minutes in the middle and say “hmm.. yeah… more… NAP!” and go back to sleep. God that felt good.

I need to write another cgh article. It’ll either be about jerkcity, or about the paradox of orange county punk.

I’ve been thinking about going back into therapy, mainly because the fact that I cannot get a date to save my life has been constant for years, and it has to be me and not the Cruelness of the World, and I should try to fix that. But it’s so expensive, and so time-consuming, and it so didn’t work before. I’m resistant, and in fact it makes me angry to think about it, because therapy to me is something you do because other people tell you to, basically in order to make *them* happy. I don’t want to destroy another couple years of my life for a slim chance at improving things. Just the memory of those years of always leaving work early and missing out on interesting things in life, and being poor all the time, and feeling bad all the time, just for some marginal improvements, is enough to make me really angry again at the whole business. But what else am I going to do? Each time the game of musical chairs is played and I’m left standing I get a little more bitter about dating, and I don’t like being bitter; it doesn’t suit me at all.

But another 10 years of being the spacer filler friend for women between boyfriends is not gonna be ok. Nope, nope, nope.

Good MORNING. I am at work. I am at work because, although I can do my job remotely, I have to be here because of peoples’ “comfort level”.

My own comfort level is fucking ZERO because the people who can actually fix things are at home doing bonghits or sleeping and not answering the phone, and I am the “point of contact”. This means that I keep getting harassed/paged/sobbed at by people who can’t use the broken crap that Captain Cannabis and the All-Night Vodka Patrol wrote.

So basically I’m here being a pissed-off secretary for a lot of partying 20somethings who are at home having sex and drugs and ignoring their jobs.

You know, there isn’t any waiting period for shotguns.