Saturday, June 21, 2008

Redefining "Between Jobs"

it means going crazy. it doesn't actually mean that you're looking for something else. between jobs is about dancing like a monkey betwixt schedules that are ships in the night. never the twain shall meet. if the two schedule-ships DO meet, then there will be hell to pay. i have too many jobs. i'm always 'between them'. always.

i believe i go from being The Most Employed Person Ever to being The Most Unemployed Person Ever. neither are very good titles to hold.

i'm working at a fancy french restaurant on the weekends. i work across the street at a little middle eastern place, most days. i go to school in the evenings. i write art reviews for Newcity. i barely make enough to get myself where i need to be while affording a home to go to when i need to collapse.

this is wholeheartedly miserable.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

ever wonder where indie-rock comes from?

there is no punk-rock stork that drops off clever lyrics and rockin' music at the doorsteps of some down-on-their-luck indie-rock band wannabes. there is no wishful pondering among the Hipsterati as they try and try to create a new sound that is at once reminiscient of detroit metal, smart prog rock and good old-fashioned fun.

there are none of these things, when it comes to the process of a band, their name and their debut album cover.

here's a meme to prove it.

fun stuff

presto! you are now famous.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

fine. then i'm taking my bomb and going home

apparently WTTW recived a bomb threat on Monday. why? it was in response to an airing of a program entitled, "Proud and Gay in Chicago." god, do i hate people. i hate people that hate. i hate people that hate other people.

jerks. everywhere. and to threaten the lives and safety of WTTW staff AND the students at NEIU (located 500 feet away) is just plain absurd. i wish i had something insightful, witty and appropriately scathing to say, but i am just too angry.

i find myself wondering who on earth would think that a violent threat will EVER get a positive response. were the terrorists hoping that the show would be removed from the network? if so, when do the demands stop?

"We're going to set off a bomb if you continue to air a show about gay culture."
"We're going to set off a bomb if you air a show about any culture."
"We're going to set off a bomb if you don't bring back Booberry Cereal."

seriously. what the hell is WRONG with people? ugh.

mouse in my shower

there was a mouse in my shower, the other day. i don't think it was a rat, but i didn't stop screeching and flailing long enough to discern one from the other. it was a rodent. not a cute top-hat-wearing-singing-dancing-possibly-cooking-French cuisine rodent. it was just plain upsetting.

the timeline of events:

i woke up around 7am and puttered about my apartment for awhile; made breakfast, checked emails, read the news, then decided i ought to shower and start my day. i walked over to my bathroom, pulled aside the shower curtain to turn on the faucet, and...

OGOD. something small, brown and furry was staring directly at me in my birthday suit. and then it began running the length of the tub, unable to climb the surface and get out. back and forth. it ran.

i screamed. then i covered myself, as if i was worried about a rodent seeing me naked. as if i was worried that it was going to run back to all of it's rodent-buddies and talk about how it saw a naked chick. i don't know what i was thinking.

apparently, i was thinking enough to grab my robe and run to the kitchen where i grabbed some TUPPERWARE. yes, tupperware. i wanted to keep the mouse as fresh as possible, after it was done showering.

i ran back to the bathroom and decided i didn't want to touch the curtain, so i climbed from my toilet to the sink and watched the tiny, frightened creature continue to run the length of the tub, until it wore itself out and stopped, panting in a corner. i felt so bad for it. except i didn't. i was scared out of my mind.

i called my building manager.

"Matt. There is a fucking MOUSE. IN. MY. SHOWER." i breathed into the phone, as quietly as possible, because, you see, i didn't want the mouse to know i was talking about it. god, panic will do some strange things to a person.

"What? A mouse? Waitaminute. Who IS this?"

"Ah. Right. Sorry. It's Shama. In 1B. With a mouse. Please come and get it. Soon."

he showed up and walked straight over to the bathroom while i cowered in the kitchen. i found an old shoebox and walked it over just in time to see Matt, framed in the doorway, wearing one shoe on his foot, clutching the other in his hand before he swung downwards. he bludgeoned the poor thing to death. i witnessed a murder.

i ran back into the kitchen, trying to breathe. i had enough wherewithal about me to write a quick email to my editor at "Conscious Choice" about why i was going to be late. as i sent the email, Matt came out, holding the shoebox and giving me a reassuring look.

"It's okay. I think it was some one's pet," he said.

Aw, crap. now i was worried about some kid's pet instead of some random pest. i cried, bleached my tub and went through the rest of my day, completely disturbed and upset.

the was a mouse in my shower. what do you DO with that?