Today at work, I thought of what seemed to me a brilliant idea that's beyond grim. In essence, it is this: A website dedicated to showcasing people bitching about first world problems, with text of their complaints superimposed over pictures of actual shit you should lose your shit about (war atrocities, z.B.)
I can't think of a way that it'd work without being disgustingly exploitative of human suffering, though.
In other news, I'm going camping for my weekend with some family folk. Am excited. Might be getting sick though, which would kinda put the kibosh on sleeping outside in the cold. Which would be a bummer, but, well, see above.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Snowpocalypse 2012 and Other News
I think it's now safe to announce that I have officially survived the first (and probably only) Seattle snowpocalypse of 2012. This one was a rather significant disappointment, as it got me out of only about 15 minutes of work, and then totally fucked up the city on my days off. (Look at me, pretending I have enough money to go out like a real adult... how cute.)
Mostly, Seattle snowpocalypse made me miss Vermont. Vermont may have been all kinds of goofy in any number of ways, but at least they could handle snow like a boss there. Eighteen inches in a day? Whatever, we'll just send out the plows for 36 hours straight, and salt the roads till they glitter.
(Seriously, sometimes I think they mistook roads for the fields of Carthage.)
Seattle? Five inches--and I feel I'm being generous--and shut the shit down. Hide your kids, hide your wives, stockpile food and water and euthanize your pets as gently as you can, so they don't have to suffer (and for the protein, of course). In fairness to the city gubmint, there are better things to spend tax dollars on than infrastructure for snowstorms that come once every few years, and I suppose it's a good thing they don't spray a bunch of salt or worse on the roads to fuck up the sound even more than its present state of fucked-uppedness. I'm not sure what all the sand is for, though. Does that really help? Mostly I feel like it just makes shit dirty after the fact.
Work continues to suck. As if this is news. I thought up some atrociously bitter thing to say about customers. It involved their premature deaths and their children forgetting their faces. I forget what all exactly. Seemed too harsh to me. The biggest problem is that, at the end of the day, I just don't care, and I'm not sure who could. We sell [redacted]. Who gives a shit? It's not insulin for diabetic orphans or antivirals for HIV sufferers in the Democratic Republic of Congo. [redacted] shit. [redacted], [redacted]--[redacted]! It's not important and it's not interesting and I just don't give a fuck, other than that I need the money because everyone needs money.
Ugh. I want to write about it to get it out, but when I write about it, I mostly just depress myself.
My bird is running around the table chewing on every cable she can find. I wonder if she can sense the electrical currents, and is somehow attracted to them? Either that, or she does it to piss me off, because it requires constant attention to prevent her from electrocuting herself. There, now she's chewing on a mouse pad. Yeah, bird, fuck up that mouse pad. Do it. Do it.
That is all.
Mostly, Seattle snowpocalypse made me miss Vermont. Vermont may have been all kinds of goofy in any number of ways, but at least they could handle snow like a boss there. Eighteen inches in a day? Whatever, we'll just send out the plows for 36 hours straight, and salt the roads till they glitter.
(Seriously, sometimes I think they mistook roads for the fields of Carthage.)
Seattle? Five inches--and I feel I'm being generous--and shut the shit down. Hide your kids, hide your wives, stockpile food and water and euthanize your pets as gently as you can, so they don't have to suffer (and for the protein, of course). In fairness to the city gubmint, there are better things to spend tax dollars on than infrastructure for snowstorms that come once every few years, and I suppose it's a good thing they don't spray a bunch of salt or worse on the roads to fuck up the sound even more than its present state of fucked-uppedness. I'm not sure what all the sand is for, though. Does that really help? Mostly I feel like it just makes shit dirty after the fact.
Work continues to suck. As if this is news. I thought up some atrociously bitter thing to say about customers. It involved their premature deaths and their children forgetting their faces. I forget what all exactly. Seemed too harsh to me. The biggest problem is that, at the end of the day, I just don't care, and I'm not sure who could. We sell [redacted]. Who gives a shit? It's not insulin for diabetic orphans or antivirals for HIV sufferers in the Democratic Republic of Congo. [redacted] shit. [redacted], [redacted]--[redacted]! It's not important and it's not interesting and I just don't give a fuck, other than that I need the money because everyone needs money.
Ugh. I want to write about it to get it out, but when I write about it, I mostly just depress myself.
My bird is running around the table chewing on every cable she can find. I wonder if she can sense the electrical currents, and is somehow attracted to them? Either that, or she does it to piss me off, because it requires constant attention to prevent her from electrocuting herself. There, now she's chewing on a mouse pad. Yeah, bird, fuck up that mouse pad. Do it. Do it.
That is all.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Adventures in Customer Service: Where I've Been
I've been busy the last couple of months. The holidays are, of course, the busiest time of year for customer servants like myself. I can't say that I'm sorry they're over, which is kind of fucked, because Christmastime is generally my favorite time of year.
"Busy" is something of an understatement. My bosses had us doing fifty-hour weeks for the two weeks preceding Christmas. I was pretty surprised to see how quickly my work deteriorated after my eighth hour. Especially in the second week. Holy shit, I was tired. I'm still recovering, honestly. I could have done without that.
Now, work is back to normal, except now everyone who calls seems to want to be a physical incarnation of all that's wrong with humanity. To hell with them all. I just wish they weren't breeding. Or voting.
Speaking of voting, it's that time of year, and I'm completely apathetic. I can't tell if this means I'm depressed or if I just gave up. I rather hope it's the latter. I have a sneaking suspicion that whoever wins the election, rich people will keep getting richer at the expense of the rest of us, and we'll probably be bombing someone new within the next 5-10 years. Except we'll be doing it with progressively shittier technology as we run out of money.
No, I take that back; I'm not completely apathetic. I actively hope Ron Paul doesn't win. I don't care if I agree with him completely on the subject of American empire, or that he has a lot of good ideas about taking the corruption out of government. Dude wants to outlaw the Department of Education. He's what the internet might call "ax crazy."
(An aside: I'm listening to the soundtrack to the first Godzilla movie as I write this, which lends the activity an emotional intensity that's hard to describe. Godzilla had some intense goddamn music. Ifukube Akira is legend.)
I haven't been writing hardly at all, especially since the overtime business, and it's really kind of bumming me out. Half the reason I'm writing this blog post right now is to warm up and get the juices flowing. If I'm stuck in a dead-end job, I might as well work on some writing. That'll get me feeling better.
You know, speaking of Godzilla, I finally got around to figuring out how to get back my best ringtone ever, the old-school Godzilla theme music. Hells to the yeah.
Anyway, this post is kind of Eeyore-ish, and, well, I feel Eeyore-ish right now. I fucking hate my job and since that's more than half of my waking life, that kind of takes precedence. In general, though, life's not so terrible. I went and saw Streetlight Manifesto and Reel Big Fish in concert a few weeks ago, and they kicked all kinds of ass. The 24 hours I got to go home for Christmas were pretty sweet. Always good to see people. I'm still really enjoying living in Seattle, though I wish I had money to actually do shit. And now I have my Godzilla ringtone back. There. Happy ending.
Okay, now I'm gonna go write something crappy about fictional war criminals on Mars that I sympathize with more than the dumb fucking southerners who call in every day. That says a great deal about either me or them. Or maybe both.
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