Monday, April 18, 2005
miserable monday
WHY do I have to work today? It is a gorgeous day in Montreal and I KNOW by 2 o'clock the Terasses will be filled with late lunchers/drinkers. I've often wondered what these people do for a living...all of them can't be independantly wealthy. Maybe they all write for The Gazette. Whatever they do I want their job (or their independant wealth).
Friday, April 15, 2005
Mutant children on public transportation
So I'm on the bus on my way to work, when what do I spy but a striped-tied private school kid of about ten with an iPod. The bus is packed, so squished in beside him and his friends I can't help but overhear his conversation.
He leans over to one friend and holds out the little white machine to show him the screen.
"Hey, have you heard this song 'Dueling Banjos'?" the kid says, with an authority that disturbs me. "Yah it's from this movie called 'Deliverance'. Have you ever seen 'Deliverance'?"
The other kid shakes his head and I try not to spit.
Exasperated that his friend hasn't seen the movie, he explains that it is about a bunch of Hillbillies who go on a killing spree with the nonchalance of a prison guard.
I shit you not the kid was ten.
And now I feel completely scared that I might have to raise hellraisers of my own someday. Little brats in suit jackets who watch movies that make ME, uh... squeal.
Maybe I'll get my tubes tied.
He leans over to one friend and holds out the little white machine to show him the screen.
"Hey, have you heard this song 'Dueling Banjos'?" the kid says, with an authority that disturbs me. "Yah it's from this movie called 'Deliverance'. Have you ever seen 'Deliverance'?"
The other kid shakes his head and I try not to spit.
Exasperated that his friend hasn't seen the movie, he explains that it is about a bunch of Hillbillies who go on a killing spree with the nonchalance of a prison guard.
I shit you not the kid was ten.
And now I feel completely scared that I might have to raise hellraisers of my own someday. Little brats in suit jackets who watch movies that make ME, uh... squeal.
Maybe I'll get my tubes tied.
Satiated by fast food evil-doer!
O.k. So I've eaten and I think it may be possible for me to concentrate for more than a nanosecond. Though I'm pretty sure I now have proof that Macdonald's melts your brain, I am going to do my best to explain myself.
Basically, I want attention.
Well, not too much attention...it's not as if I want my friends or family members reading this. After all, I plan on talking about them.
Like the rest of the blog-happy masses, I just want to offer my stories. A little piece of me, speeding along with the rest on this virtual super-highway. I just want to offer my perspective, no matter how kaleidoscoped it may be.
I've felt a strange pull of late to do SOMETHING. Basically I work as a go-fer girl Friday and my literary dreams have been crushed under the weight the banality of this J.O.B brings. But I know I have to do SOMETHING. No matter if my fear of failure barely succeeds in rendering me as deaf and dumb as my fear of success. No matter if I have to hide my name and creep around virtual corners like a thief in the night. No matter if my grey matter requires jumper cables to get it going.
On what I imagine to be a sunny Sunday the 20th of February, my favorite writer shot himself in the head with a rifle in Woody Creek, Colorado.
"There was no point in fighting -- on our side or theirs," he wrote. "We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
Hunter S. Thompson was talking about post 1960's 'Merica. But today I'm taking his words to mean something for me, in my life. Thing is, I haven't found the right wave yet.
Basically, I want attention.
Well, not too much attention...it's not as if I want my friends or family members reading this. After all, I plan on talking about them.
Like the rest of the blog-happy masses, I just want to offer my stories. A little piece of me, speeding along with the rest on this virtual super-highway. I just want to offer my perspective, no matter how kaleidoscoped it may be.
I've felt a strange pull of late to do SOMETHING. Basically I work as a go-fer girl Friday and my literary dreams have been crushed under the weight the banality of this J.O.B brings. But I know I have to do SOMETHING. No matter if my fear of failure barely succeeds in rendering me as deaf and dumb as my fear of success. No matter if I have to hide my name and creep around virtual corners like a thief in the night. No matter if my grey matter requires jumper cables to get it going.
On what I imagine to be a sunny Sunday the 20th of February, my favorite writer shot himself in the head with a rifle in Woody Creek, Colorado.
"There was no point in fighting -- on our side or theirs," he wrote. "We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
Hunter S. Thompson was talking about post 1960's 'Merica. But today I'm taking his words to mean something for me, in my life. Thing is, I haven't found the right wave yet.
crap crappity crap!
Hello. This is your captain speaking. We are headed for a little turbulence...
As I haven't eaten and I keep fucking up this blog, please be patient....I'm such a blog virgin. So these first few will be awkward and unsatifying. Rest assured that you'll be begging, borrowing and stealing for it soon enough, you naughties....
As I haven't eaten and I keep fucking up this blog, please be patient....I'm such a blog virgin. So these first few will be awkward and unsatifying. Rest assured that you'll be begging, borrowing and stealing for it soon enough, you naughties....
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