Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts

Monday, April 14, 2014

Credit Where It's Due

This is a rant. I will not apologize for it though I do hope that if you don't take a lesson from it you're at least mildly entertained for a time. If you don't like rants, running is acceptable.


Credit where it's due. It might seem simple and almost meaningless but this is something that is so important these days on the internet. Where information is travelling faster and faster attribution and credit are sometimes essential to people's livelihood.

Okay, sure those are just words. What am I actually pissed off about?

Stealing. Reposting. Claiming something cool and unique as your own original content when you stole it. When you know you stole it. When no attempt is made at all to find the original creator or source of the information you are peddling as yours.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

I hate you Bruce Scanner

**Warning: This Post contains copious amounts of rage and thus lots of F-bombs. If you're not a fan, well... read the post anyways. If you are, Happy reading!!**


I have finally named my printer/scanner of 8 years and I sure as hell hope it's offended because I'm pissed.

Bruce Scanner was a reliable device until about 2 weeks before I moved. I came across some comics I'd drawn as a child. Well teenager is more accurate and comics is a stretch. More doodles with horrible jokes and commentary on strange things like chicken. All in all it was good fun! I was excited to find them and even more excited to share the insanity of my youth with the world.

It was then Bruce Scanner became involved.

For some HORRIFIC reason he decided to Scanner Hulk out on me and screw up every other scanned page. Out of like 15 (sure, I know it's not that many but COME ON) less than half were salvageable.

Now I had no idea that Bruce Scanner had transformed into the horrible mis-scanning monster of mild intelligence and carelessly did not pack these amazing horrible and questionably tasteless comics in the move. Thus, they are gone.

Forever.

FUCK YOU BRUCE SCANNER!!!


Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Reclaiming the 'Bad-News-Bears'

Let me preface this with I don’t remember the movie. I don’t know where I heard the saying, maybe I saw the Walter Matthau flick when I was a kid. Or the remake with Billy Bob Thorton... Maybe at my Gramma’s house, it would totally be a Gramma’s house kind of movie. A drunk, less than special kids that turned out okay despite the horrible beginnings.
And don’t forget the drunk. Every family has one!

But the term ‘Bad-News’Bears’ has been reclaimed.

By me.

I’ve taken it and changed whatever meaning it hd before to something new and kind of un-related. I don’t think it has to do with the movie, maybe it did in my twisted memory, but it’s not theirs anymore.
Bad-News-Bears belongs to me.

Now, what, you might ask, does it mean?
Think of something that went wrong. Say your friend tipped, spilt their beer (to keep up the alcohol themed post) and stood there looking so very very sad afterwards, lost and broken.

THAT is when you say Bad-News-Bears.

Or when you are realllly drunk, it’s been the end of the night and you are sooo hungry but the local diner/McDonalds/Burger place is closed and you just stand there, staring at the door with puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip.

“That is super Bad-News-Bears. “

Or your friends are over, you’re havin’ a bash and you go to your fridge only to find empty’s instead of full beers. And everyone’s tanked. YOU have to go to the liquor store if you want anything.

“Holy-Bad-News-Bears Batman!!”


It’s that feeling you get when something you depended on, nothing terribly important of course, but something you wanted, like balance, a beer or munchies- and you just can’t have it. Bad-News-Bears events are not the end of the world by any means. They’re just those moments in life you wish didn’t happen but can’t really take back that moment of ‘goddammit This shit is Bad-News-Bears!’


Suzy Pout Face circa
Royal Wedding 2011

And then you pout. That is proper Bad-News-Bears etiquette.
Suzy-Pout-Face Demands it.
Her day was totally Bad-News-Bears.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Royal Wedding 2011: Suzy Pouty-Face

No I didn’t watch it. To be honest I don’t get all the wedding hype. Not like I cared when Mulroony's kid got married. It’s just a goddamn wedding, but people were crying, marching in streets, getting up early. My mother had the tv plastered to it this morning. I asked her why, she said ‘because it’s important’. Eh. I don’t see it.

But anyways this isn’t going to be about how beautiful her dress was (it was though, I’ll give her that) or how ridiculous the hats were. That requires a dedicated education on ridiculous Brit hats I think.

This is all about this one picture.
Wedding Photo's, nabbed but credited to celebuzz.com

That girl. Right there.


That kid will be forever remembered as Suzy Pouty-Face to me. And I know what was going through her head.

 "I’m bored”
“Kissing is gross”
“His face looks funny”
“I hate wearing dresses”
“These shoes hurt my tosies”
“There’s a bee in my flower crown”
“I want a real crown”
“Why can’t I be a princess?”
“I wanna be a princess”
“I’m hungry”
“I’m tired”
“It’s too loud!”
“I’m bored...”

Adorable cute pouty kid things that I remember thinking myself at weddings and other events where you’re put in a dress, told to be cute but quiet (two things that NEVER go hand in hand I think) and these things ALWAYS take longer than they really do as a child.
It sucks.

I feel for you little Suzy Pouty-Face. I really do. But proud all the same.

When you grow up you’ll look back at this photo and people will remember for years. You’ll be like the Coppertone Kid, but instead of your ass hanging out because of a puppy you get to live the rest of your life reliving THAT face. No one to blame but yourself.


Brave little soldier.
I commend you Suzy Pouty-Face for doing the right thing and pouting when EVERYONE is watching.
Everyone in the world.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Why Boys and Sex in the City Don't Mix

I love my boyfriend. This is why:
I’ve just borne witness to about 20 minutes of the second Sex in the City movie (Djuna was watching it while I made myself lunch) and my god, what the fuck is wrong with these people.  Whatsherface, Sara Jessica Parker’s character, is the most self centered passive aggressive bitch I’ve ever seen.  Gives her husband huge fucking guilt trips because he’s not paying constant attention to her and showering her with love and affection while doing things she wants, fuck what he wants, if he wants something he’s boring.  Then she runs off for two days to spend time apart from him to do what she wants in private, he thinks they should do that more often, then she’s like “WHY DO YOU WANT TO DIVORCE ME”, because obviously wanting to do things apart means THAT YOU RELATIONSHIP HAS FAILED, but of course if they have to spend time together they must do what she wants.   Meanwhile she’s leaving to go to the middle east with her slut friend and the other two who aren’t as slutty.  I’m sorry, the middle east?  Where people are thrown in jail for sex outside of marriage?  THE FUCK?!?!?!?
I know all the rage woman have for this show when it plays into sterotypical roles and the writing seems to have been drowned five times before being slapped together, but it's nice to see a man looking at it with an educated and intelligent perspective.

He makes good points.
And it makes me laugh.

I heart you Zach.
And I HATE you Sex in the City.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Rage Time: Chain Letters/Emails

This is something we've ALL seen and all felt some sort of pressure from. The chain Email, that stupid little thing your aunt or your friends, girlfriends, little sister sent you that ‘requires’ you pass it on.

I hate them, we all do, but I feel the need to address a certain kind of chain mail, or at least one, that I appreciate and understand the need for.


Irena Sendler. If you don’t know the name you need to stop, go to Wikipedia, look her up read the ENTIRE article then come back.
I’m serious. This is no joke. Irena Sendler Wiki Page



You back?

Good.


I received an email, or better said a chain letter, talking about Irena Sendler. I almost didn’t read it because I fucking hate chain letters with a passion. I am nearly to the point of wanting to walk down the hall and scream at a co-worker for having sent me one of those things AT WORK.


But this was different. It talked about who she was, what she’s done (no, I’m not telling you so go read the goddamn wiki-page already!), and why she deserved the win the Nobel prize but didn’t.

Of course it’s a tear jerking story but that’s not what I want to talk about.

It’s the importance of messages like this: the ones that actually mean something instead of the crap guarantying luck, money, happiness if you just click ‘Forward’.


I’ve never had a ‘real’ chain letter, just chain emails. And when you think about it, shouldn’t a letter be something so important you have to tell people, take the time to write it down and really think hard? Hell at one time it was something so important you had to pay for people to know?

Why do emails NOT fall under these rules? Sure it’s easier but don’t we all have something better to say to the multitude of people on our contact lists??


Like yesterday there was a woman on the subway. She was a chatty, middle-aged, Asian who had trouble with English but just wanted to talk. I was a few seats away and super tired, but there was a young man sitting in front of her. She started talking and he answered and talked back.
He wasn’t condescending.
He didn’t get up and move when she started to annoying him.
He played a long and indulged her.
Should he have had to? No. But it was nice.


He’s no Irena Sendler, but he was a kind young man, no more than 25 on a subway at 10:30 at night chatting to a strange little woman when he was obviously tired.

I think these moments are more important to me than hearing about how I can win 1 BILLION dollars by sending this to 52,000 people in the next 5 minutes.
I WANT people to know about this kind young man who sat there while this woman told him he should get a better coat because his mother might worry about him being cold. I like that people can know that I appreciate moments of kindness like this and that there are good people out there who aren’t so concerned with their own lives.


Kindness. Sadness Compassion. Heart. Soul. Tenderness. Hilarity. Important things belong in emails. Important.Like the drawing my aunt made of her late husband that she wanted to share with the family.
Updates from my father on what his yard looks like this spring.

An email from a friend I haven’t heard from in ages telling me the horrors of her ex and why she was so stupid for dating him in the first place.



Yes there’s all that other stuff we get in the mail. Bills, messages for Facebook, twitter follows and other crap. But they don’t mean what real emails/letters should mean.


So try this. It may sound stupid, and I don’t care what you think right now but just try it and let me know how it goes.

Send someone you like, love, enjoy an email telling them about something you like, love/hate, think is important or enjoy. It can be about another person. It could be a rant even. But send a good, heartfelt, honest email today. Or if you’re super artsy and silly like me send a snail-mail letter, hand written on pretty paper.
You will feel better for having shared something real. You will make someone feel just a little bit more special then they did before.


And so help me if you send a goddamn chain letter with one of those ‘send to five people if you want luck’ I’ll find you and take a pound of flesh for every person you demand the email is forwarded to.

No joke.

I'm that nuts.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Today is


There is a papercut on the tip of my ring finger on my right hand. I can feel it now as I type. It looks like a teeny tiny cavern that gushes when I squeeze it. But this hurts so I don’t do it that much.

How did I acquire such a wound? I'LL TELL YOU!

Today is Thursday. Not nearly as dreadful as Wednesday but close to it. The weekend is but one day away, I am on the declining half of the week which heightens the desire for it to end.  Thursday, or at least this Thursday, feels particularly dull. I have decided (if you stalk my twitter) “today is a tired Day. I shall not be upbeat or energetic. I shall drag my heels and sigh repeatedly because I am #letired“  This of course references 'The End of the World' 
You should watch this as it will shed light on my emotions of the moment. And make you giggle. Unless you suck hardcore, then you’ll probably think ‘this shit is stupid, and poorly drawn. I hate poorly drawn free flashes’. For those people please stop reading my blog.

So it’s Thursday. A sucky one. We’ve gone over this, but I don’t think you quite understand the suck value. It’s not bad in any particular way. That, sometimes, makes it worse. Because there is nothing to induce blind scathing rage I can’t watch the time whisk away while I stomp, storm and fume about the office. I can’t wallow in self pity and sadness because nothing depressing has really happened. Nothing exciting – I might have to guilt my manager into letting me leave early today and next Thursday, but that will constitute the more ‘entertaining’ part of my day.
No this Thursday is nothing day. Until Five Whole Minutes Ago. It deserves capitals because nothing else but the day’s name is capital and goddamn I want some capitalization up in this.
I bet you have already guessed what happened five minutes ago.
Yes.
That’s right.
El Papier SLICE!
My ring finger looks normal, completely fine until you glance closer and see the ‘wafer thin’ line dividing my once perfect print. It cuts my finger symmetrically from the tip for about 4 mm down right across the top of the finger. (Yes I measured. Using my blue mini ruler. Jealous much? )
It hurts. Not an inexplicable pain that drives one into a fit of rage over the state of their pain and suffering. And not a sting either. It’s a dull, ache that becomes more faint when no pressure is placed on my thumb. Nothing to get mad about. I’m actually not even that annoyed.

BUT F$*K DID IT HURT WHEN IT HAPPENED!
 It felt like the stack of papers were ripping into my hand, the sting crawling up my arm forcing a shudder from every inch of my body. I could almost hear it, in the sense that you make a squinty face from the pain and for some reason creates an imaginary audio that isn’t there but you swear when going back you must have heard. That sound. The sound of you almost cursing at the top of your lungs because it’s so fucking annoying, but then you remember you’re at the office and the ‘new’ HR manager discourages swearing and the door to her office is less than 10 feet away from your tiny cubicle, her door open wide open where  you can hear her eating freaking salad long before lunch break has even started.
That and you’re not angry anymore after five seconds. Just a little pissed. And even that goes away. Now I’m having more fun poking it and it’s proved to be at least 500 words of distraction from this nightmare of a job.

Am I happy?
No. It’s Thursday. No one’s happy on Thursday. No one’s anything on Thursday. Besides papercut and le tired.