Borrowing from Colbert
In my quest to be entirely unoriginal, I thought I’d steal the concept of “On Notice” and “Dead to Me” ala Stephen Colbert and The Colbert Report. From time to time I roll my eyes or get truly irritated and fed up with things. (Okay, who are we kidding? I do this the bulk of my day.) I also like pretty graphics and images so what better way to combine the two and express my displeasure?
On Notice!
This seems to be a trend with the inexperienced Flickr fauxtographers. I understand that everyone needs to learn at some point but horizons at forty five degree angles are wrong. They disturb me and are hard to look at. Yes, I know that someone out there will think I’m full of poop and claim it’s avant garde and breaking rules meant to be broken but it’s not. It looks bad so stop it. Thanks. Twitter
Twitter is something I don’t understand. You see, I participate but I don’t know why. I tell people what I am doing at different points during the day but I’m not sure why anyone should care. Conversely, do I really care what others are doing/thinking/seeing at the exact moment they do/think/see it? I mean, don’t get me wrong — I love my friends but do we as a society need to share what we’re doing via IM, text, Facebook, MySpace and the web all connected to this system that funnels this up-to-the-minute, 140 character limit blurb update? It’s like blogging except on a micro level and I suppose that’s the appeal. Isn’t my blog the same thing only on a much grander scale? Maybe it just seems like too much already — information overload except on a personal scale. Or maybe it’s that I turned 38 today and misplaced my colostomy bag somewhere (my apologies if I’ve offended anyone with colonic issues in my attempt at humor as it involves aging). I do know that I’ve misplaced my keys and would appreciate any help anyone could provide as to their whereabouts. My budget
Oh yes, budget, I’m watching you. Maybe I shouldn’t call you budget — you look more like “keeping close tabs but not yet turned into Quicken-itemized-minutia” at this point. Either way, I’m keeping close tabs on you and if you stray again I’ll do something drastic like force myself to cut open tubes of toothpaste so I can save up 12 months of income and become the cheapest, most pompous ass on the block. We can live together in moderation, right? So far so good but it’s just you and me now. No more thinking of others, okay? We can make this work. You don’t want to have to go to counseling do you? Phantom smells
Yes, as a matter of fact I am still complaining about that. Yes, I know that I should call and make an appointment but that’s a pain in the ass and certainly not as much fun as blogging about it instead. It’s gotten a lot better actually but I think what’s wrong needs antibiotics and eventually surgery. I still don’t like you, phantom smells. Go away smelly smells that smell bad. Bifidus Regularis
Huh? I’ve been told it’s great stuff, I should try it for fourteen days and if Canadian TV commercials are indeed reality, it should make me break into a gyrating dance after I ingest it. Still, really? You sound silly — go away. My Bluetooth headset
Why the hell can’t I find you? You, along with my keys, are really pissing me off. You especially piss me off because you seem to be the one who most easily slips away. I love you, Bluetooth. You make my life so much easier. I can talk on the phone if I have to while doing other things. I can walk around the house and use both hands to actually be productive. No longer do I risk the threat of serious cervical spine injury merely attempting to multi-task on the mobile. I can drive, use both hands and pay attention as if I were having a conversation in the vehicle. But no, you have to disappear. Knock it off already. I know you and my keys are off in some dark place, rubbing up against each other in various ways but could you do a girl a favor and come out now? I need you, I want you, I have to use you. Photoshopped celebrities
The blog Jezebel has it right when it comes to Photoshopped celebrities — stop the fucking madness. It’s not enough to be beautiful but now you also have to look disturbing when you’re on the cover of a magazine. Why? Who thought this was a good idea? Start to take a look around at the covers of womens’ magazines and look closely. Pretty soon you’ll notice all sorts of odd, even disturbing “fixes” that begin to stand out. Follow the curves of arms or naval placement and you’ll start to wonder how our eyes now accept some of those images as plausible. No one has skin that good. No one. Real people do not look that plastic. Yes, most celebrities and models are a type of look most of us will never come close to but what does it say when even that isn’t good enough? No wonder so many in the spotlight are sickly thin these days. Knock it off already. Un-retouched celebrities are just fine and the rest of us are just fine, too. Country music
It annoys me. If I have to explain why, you’ll never get it.
I’m 38 today. Jeff bought me flowers and a card before work and brought them back to the house so they’d be there when I got up (awww). Very sweet. Most of the day was business as usual except that the kids are on break. The girls held me a birthday concert complete with fake microphones. After dinner I was treated to a lovely slice of tiramisu from the local coffee joint and then another birthday serenade by all three kids. There was no fancy dinner or shower of gifts but I didn’t want that. It’s more important to me to get our lives back on track and move on than dinners that disappear into a digestive memory (only to reappear in a form I abhor) or material things. I know, very deep. Is this where I wane philosophical with quotes from Kant? Please say no. I’d rather drink antifreeze.
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