Don't Tell Lars

Dear Blog:

I decided today that I would actually try buying some music today. I've been a horrible Bittorrent whore lately, contributing the following albums to the "big ipod" at work:

• Adem -- Homesongs
• Echo and the Bunnymen -- Porcupine
• Belle and Sebastian -- If You Are Feeling Sinister
• Bjork -- Medulla
• Neutral Milk Hotel -- In An Aeroplane Over the Sea
• Nelly McKay -- Get Away From Me
• Libertines -- Up the Bracket and Self Titled
• The Fiery Furnaces -- Gallowsbird's Bark
• and probably others

To somewhat atone for stealing so much music, I bought the following:

• Pinback -- Summer In Abbadon
• Guided By Voices -- whatever their last album was called
  
• Menomena
• Walkmen's debut album
  

I also bought a guitar online today. It's an SX SST62 Stratocaster copy. Message boards said it's pretty good for a guitar that's probably made with child labour. Now I just need to find an instructor near me. Most likely, even with instruction I will suck balls.

I'm reminded of my "I Hate The OC" post from a few weeks back. In addition to those previous thoughts, it's making me a complete asshole. Someone I know heard Elliott Smith on the last episode, and asked me when he was planning on recording his next album. I just returned a dirty look, but wanted to say it was either called "I can't sing with a punctured lung" or "Dig me up and I'll play you a tune". I don't know where this bitterness at musical ignorance is coming from, but next person who asks me if I like "Relient K" is going to have a brick tossed in their direction. I make sure to attach a chain to my bricks, so that I can retrieve and throw again in case I miss.

In other news, I've probably gotten 10 hours of sleep since Friday, so I'm cranky. I'm going to IHOP now, and then I'm going to go punish myself at the gym.

I can speel reel good

Dear Blog:

I decided that I want to start spelling certain words the Anglo way. No more American bastardizations of words. From now on it's favOUrite, rumOUrs, colOUrs, and MOUrrissey....

Work has been REALLY dull tonight. I'm not a huge fan of third shift anyways, but I've been averaging only an hours worth of actual work per shift. That leaves a good 8 hours of watching TV, scouring the net for new bands, and reading. It all sounds fine at first, but the lack of a need for motivation and the lack of social interaction is starting to drag me down. My new boss e-mailed me today looking to learn the schedule and perhaps shuffle it around. Maybe I'll get lucky and get moved, who knows. Maybe I'll be able to use some actual job skills as well. I didn't go to college to watch episodes of "24" all night. To remedy my situation a bit, I'm taking another trip up to Kansas City on my days off this upcoming week. I've got an appointment with the good doctor (my best friend Aaron, who is consequently a doctor) to drink a few beers and paint the town yellow. A good time to be had by all.

P.S. The Dears -- No City Left Behind is a pretty good album. It reminds me of old Smith's records.

What Nightmares May Come

Tonight I went out with my sister and Kandra to my favourite hole in the wall bar, Morts. Morts is cool enough to be listed in Cigar Afficiado as one of the happening places in Kansas. The drink specials for a Thursday at Mort's includes $2.50 pints of Guinness, Bass, or Black and Tan (Guinness and Bass mixed together to create this neato parfait effect). I started off drinking Bass, which is perfectly fine by itself. After listening to some smooth jazz and eating several baskets of spicy popcorn, I switched to Guinness. I figured this would be a nice combination and that the loveliness of a Black and Tan would be mixed in my stomach. For the most part, I think this is still correct.

When I got home I was so tired/fatigued that I crashed right away (well almost). That's when the horrible dreams started. I started having traumatic flashbacks to working at Office MAX and dealing with *shudder* customers. The typical Office MAX customer is kind of like Milton from the movie "Office Space". Instead of a stapler fetishist though, most of the time I dealt with pen freaks. Pen freaks are people that want you to sell them a pen as if it were a Cadillac. They require wooing. They need to swoon at the sheer description of a uniball micro pen. Here's a sample of the typical sale:

Brent: Hi, can I help you with something?
Pen freak: I need the Excalibur of pens!
Brent: These uniballs are pretty nice, they are nice and smooth until the last drop of ink.
Pen freak: Can you describe the manufacturing process of a Uniball?
Brent: No
Pen freak: How can you guarantee the quality of your product then?
Brent: It's a pen. If it doesn't write, you can return it I guess.
Pen freak: Will you compensate me for gas on the return trip?
Brent: NO
Pen freak: How are these Bic Click-A-Sticks?
Brent: They write
Pen freak: Is that the best sell you can come up with?
Brent: That army of Post-It's doesn't stand a chance against your well-trained platoon of Bic click pens.
Pen freak: That's better.

Inevitibly when thinking of the customers, I'm always reminded of the boss. My particular boss was named Dick Heineman (pronounced Hiny man). With a name like that, we didn't even bother with a nickname. Dick was the epidemy of the Napoleon complex. He was shorter than me, and had a mean temper. He always had to assert his authority with strange outbursts. My personal favourite is "If you mess up in school, I'll kick your ass just like you were one of my kids". The funny thing is, his son was on a wrestling scholarship at Penn State. I could never imagine this strapping kid crying for mercy as his tiny fat father whipped him with a belt for getting a D in Pottery. Dick Heineman is now a district manager for GNC. Beefcake!

Anyways, I think I've narrowed down the cause of the bad dreams to the following:

• using my stomach to mix the Black and Tan
• too much spicy popcorn
• trying to decipher what the Neutral Milk Hotel's album is really about

I've resorted to looking at my stash of cute kitten photos to ease myself into a sense of slumber, and it's working. Check this one out.



I feel better already.

B.E.A.M.S --> Boredom Eats Away At My Soul

I hate acronyms, yet I am doomed to create and use them. So far nothing amazing has happened, although I remain hopeful. The weeks of waking up when it is dark and sleeping when the sun comes up are wearing me thin. Thankfully I've got the next few days off to fit in some social interaction.... or maybe just a $5 pitcher of wonderful Wichita microbrewed beer. Here's a short list of crap I've been up to/will be up to:

• replaying old Nintendo games.... long live Mike Tyson's Punch Out
• Watching "24" episodes at work. I'm not a TV person, but this should have been called "Crack for your eyes"
• Rediscovering 90's bands I had love affairs with.... ah the beauty of a "Yo La Tengo" album
• I'm going to see a personal trainer tomorrow... it's going to be like that episode of MTV's "Made" where the 98 pound weakling wants to be on the wrestling team.
• Annoying my brothers girlfriend (with the help of brother) can be fun. We decided to yell "whammy!" when anyone got shot in an episode of "24". After about 2 consecutive "Waaaahaaaammy!" yells, my brother got the death look. Sometimes it's nice to be single.
• Putting up interesting pictures around my cube
• Not having as much immature fun as my brother.
• Saturday I'm supposed to go to my cousin's 5th birthday party. Sadly this is the first party I've been to in awhile. I hope I don't get drunk and hit on the single moms... or the married ones.
  

Funny one-liner of the day (courtesy of Mitch Hedberg):
"I bought a parrot because it could talk; it didn't ask me for food though, so it died"

Pessimism, Quotes, and Knife Wielding Monkeys

"A hypocrite is the kind of politician who would cut down a redwood tree, then mount the stump and make a speech for conservation."
--Adlai Stevenson

I wonder what Adlai Stevenson would say today about Bush's inaugural address today? After all, Bush did have the gall to say the following:

"America will not impose our own style of government on the unwilling."

My reaction to this was somewhat violent. I happened to be eating a bowl of generic corn chex at the time (my morning/your afternoon) when my brother gave me the script of his speech with that particular line circled in blue ink. I proceeded in inhale a whole corn chex morsel through my nasal passages, where it was promptly ejected like a wicker chair in a hurricane. My second thought was "That fucking hurt". My first thought was "Is this some sort of joke?"
I honestly thought maybe the teleprompter guys were having a bit of fun at George's expense. I can picture Karl Rove jumping in the teleprompter booth and yelling "You assholes!! You know he'll read anything you put on there!" I don't think I could be more baffled if his speech was about the liberating experience of a monkey knife fight.

If you believe that the current foreign and domestic policy is about personal liberty, freedom from oppression, and morality, I apologize for offending you in this post. All I can see is thinly veiled imperialism, unchecked capitalism, and de-socialization of our social programs. I figure some who read this may think I'm a Marxist. I can assure you that you are wrong, as I don't think envy and redistribution are good foundations for a government. However, as an economics student, I can also tell you that there is a fine line between too much policy enforcement, and not enough. I think we are stuck in a situation much like in the days of Standard Oil, where the Rockafeller was the "king" and the government's policy his "vassel". The Bush policy on just about everything rubs me the wrong way. From a business standpoint, it sucks. From a international relations standpoint, it blows. If I go into detail here, this will turn into an 80 page thesis, and I already have my degree. So fuck that.

In other news, my friend said I was like the "straight David Sedaris" tonight. I can appreciate that, but I think I'm a little bit more pessimistic than Sedaris. I was perusing my bookshelf the other day and found a gift from my first serious girlfriend (who after a 5 year relationship, ran off with an older gentleman who worked for Sony, marrying him after a few months). This nice little coffeetable book called "I Hate This Place: The Pessimist's Guide To Life". I'll leave you with a nice little quote from this book, then I'll suppress all feelings of growing old and dying alone until I dream tonight of being hunted down by the enforcers from "Logan's Run".

When people say:

"You have that 'retro' look."

They really mean:

"You're really trying hard to look young."


Bis Morgen,

Brent

Age Ain't Nothin' But A Number OR Exploiting the Elderly

Well, it's been a boring past week. So uneventful in fact I have to recount drinking stories from my sister's birthday. My sister is what I would call popular/beautiful and likes the exact same social scene that I work my damndest to avoid, the "clubbing scene". I tend to like hole in the wall bars with great music, cigar tolerance, and Guinness on tap. My sister likes bright flashy lights, dance floors covered in dried beer, crappy techno constisting of 2 sounds (Ooonz OOOnz), watered down drinks, and *GASP* cover charges. So we go to a club with all the above mentioned characteristics on Friday for her birthday called Flashbacks. I've been there once before and was pleasantly surprised by the lack of skanks and presence of 80's memorabilia. I want to steal half that swag, especially the pictures of Molly Ringwald (if I had more Ringwald swag, I would build a Buddhist style shrine to her in my closet) and the rubic's cube disco ball. Friday was much the same as my previous visit, except for the lack of skanks.

This particular night, I felt like I was on a episode of "Carnivale". The first oddity was the woman working the "beer tub". For those of you unfamiliar with the club standard of the "beer tub", it's basically a big washtub filled with ice and longnecks of Coors or Bud. The beer tub is traditionally manned by a girl in a bikini. Well this was the oldest beer tub-bikini girl I had ever seen. It was perhaps the only beer tub- bikini girl that had already experienced menopause. After getting a beer and sitting down at a booth, my friend Kevin remarked how her stretch marks resembled a treasure map (subsequent dialogue involved a possible plot device for a Goonies sequel). My brother had some quip comparing the whole joint to the Arby's 5 Roast Beef Sandwiches for $5.55 special. Clean conversation was pretty non-existant for most of the night. We almost didnt' notice our other friend shout "I teach their kids!" while pointing to another middle aged woman gyrating against two other guys. My guess for all this craziness: Usher/Lil' Jon songs. I think I'm done with clubs for a little while.


"Play me some Crunk music and I'll take my top off"

*edit* It appears the Arby's special is now 5 for $5.95

Red vs. Blue

Why the hell to I care about this webtoon? I don't like Halo, and even played Halo 2 at a friends house for several hours without realizing that I wasn't playing the first Halo. That's how little I care about Halo. However, I'm bored enough right now that I'm watching episode after episode of lame red vs. blue Halo webtoons. My lameness knows no bounds. I hate Halo. If I had access to an NES emulator, I'd be playing Mike Tyson's Punch Out right now.

Peace Out.

Hidden Joys of Speakerphones

Kevin and I have been losing the war on boredom in the past few days, which explains why I haven't posted since then -- lack of motivation and happenings. So inbetween watching episodes of Spaced or DVD screeners (today was "In Good Company"), we've invented a game using our friend, the speakerphone. I used to hate the speakerphone with a passion when I was an intern. It's annoying and the sound quality is usually shite. However, when you want to mess with co-workers, the speakerphone is your bestest friend. Here's a few tips on how to do so:

1. The distance trick-- while you are on the speakerphone, vary your distance from the speaker and change directions. Faking shortness of breath and jogging in place is advisable. If the co-worker asks you what you are doing, get really defensive.

2. Fun with numbers-- whenever you have to recite a number over the phone, especially an long id number such as a product#, have your cubicle neighbor interject random numbers, letters, and dashes while you are trying to talk. If the co-worker gets miffed, feign anger at cubicle neighbor

3. Dumb and Dumber(er)-- call up one of your friends on speakerphone with cube neighbor on standby. Barage friend with alternating calls of "Mock---Yeah!" "Ing---Yeah!" "Bird---Yeah!"
Hanging up quickly thereafter is advised.

4. Bullhorn-- Print out an random e-mail and roll it into a makeshift megaphone. Call up same friend on speakerphone and spill out jibberish.

5. Just be an A-hole-- I tend to pick on my favorite third shift engineer for this one. Assign her a case out of order (if she is supposed to get a case last, give it to her first). When she complains, just say something to the effect of "I don't want to give it to *other female engineer here*, she's too pretty". Telling a woman that she is getting a heavier workload because the other female employee is prettier is kind of a dick move, make sure you apologize later. This situation can be customized to any business.

Why I Hate "The OC"

Mini-rant time. I really hate "the OC", but not for the usual reasons of it being a crappy teenage drama. I can forgive that. I was young and stupid once. I used to like "Beverly Hills 90210" during junior high and high school. I know the value of a little teen angst, hell I even grew sideburns to be more like Luke Perry. The reason I hate "the OC" is more subtle: the saturation of good indie bands. More and more recent Tiger Beat graduates are discovering lovely bands like the Walkmen, Death Cab for Cutie, Elefant, and Modest Mouse without ever having to pay their dues. Yes, dues. Now teeny-boppers can buy tracks from these bands on convenient mix cd's at Walmart. If you look at the reviews of the OC Mix 2 at Amazon and you'll see that these kiddos are spouting on about Interpol, Nada Surf, and Jeff Buckley. It doesn't really bother me that much that the bands have sold out to be on the show. I can understand they might want to make a few dollars after years of being starving artists. What bothers me is the easy access the pre-teens have to this stuff. Half the pleasure in indie music is having to dig up info on new bands by scouring through the web, press, and word of mouth. There's no effort in the discovery any more. That's why I propose a new law that in order to purchase the OC mix cd's, you must prove that you have adequate knowledge of the following bands:

• Echo and the Bunnymen
• Pavement
• The Cure
• Blur
• The Pixies
• name of influential band here

I may sound like a bitter asshole (because I am), but to really appreciate some of these new indie acts, it helps to know where the music came from.

this is how i spend most evenings at work 

across the street from the bar 

Neat light reflections off the Loft150 sign. Loft150 had $2 black and tans that night....SCHWEET 

taken in a park overlooking the Hotel Oldtown 

Icecicles dangling from powerlines 

Bottles and Cans; Just Clap Your Hands

Well, I wish I could say I enjoyed this little non-voluntary 3 day sabbatical from blogging, but it's been lame. Wichita (redneck pronunciation: wi-cheetah) was hit by a pretty nice ice-storm on Tuesday that left most of the city in a blackout. With no power, my activities have been limited to:

• growing facial hair and reading about SAS survival tactics
• spooning (for warmth) with brother
• drinking
• taking photos of ice coated trees (after drinking)
• wrestling bears, although it might have been a really big racoon

Power even went out at my workplace. Our entire international support group was reduced to a webmail account and a Call Notes box. I ended up going to Jolly's house and watching Pulp Fiction for most of my shift while the disaster recovery was doing their part. All in all, it's been a fucking odd week. Pictures should be posted by tomorrow, as I'm at work now and the firewall HATES me.

Am I Bitter? Why Yes, Yes I Am.

I just got the strangest e-mail today from my ex-girlfriend. It was the type of e-mail that my clairvoyant co-worker, Kevin, swore months ago that I'd be getting. Anyways, without further ado, let the needless drama unfold. (names reduced to first names for anonymity's sake)

---

Brent,
>I hope you don't have that Staind song in your head now that I used
>the lyrics for the subject. Ha. I fuckin' hate staind. Or is it
>stained..? Anyway, it has been a while since I've heard from you. I
>still haven't found your cd, but I'm still looking, no worries.
>Have you seen The Life Aquatic yet? I really liked it. I'm listening
>to the soundtrack right now.
>I just got back from vacation in San Diego. I went with my mom and
>sister. You can imagine how that was. My mom is a nut, and my sister
>is pissy. Check it, I got to pet a dolphin. "I'm sick of these
>dolphins." haha.
>So I was wondering if you would want to talk or something. If you
>don't, that's cool, but if you do, I would like to attempt to keep in
>touch. You are an important part of me.
>Truly,
>AA
>
>
>
Andrea,

First off, it is Staind. Secondly, if it's been awhile, that is your
fault. I'm not going to bother to call you when you've never shown an
interest in returning calls. I tried very hard to maintain a friendly
relationship with you, and you didn't give me any quarter. Since we
broke up, you haven't even given me a solid hour of your time. Besides,
I can't help but wonder the reason you decided to contact me now. I
know you are involved with Brian, which totally discredits the "I don't
need to be dating anyone right now" reason/theory behind our break-up.
I haven't even heard from you in over a month.... more than that if
you discount the lame "so do you like Halo 2" call I got back before
Thanksgiving. So honestly, why are you trying now? You say I am an
important part of you, but I can't help but picture a dog trapped in a
bear trap, gnawing off its leg to escape, and thinking in hindsight
that it was a bad idea. If you want to talk, you have my phone number.
You've had my phone number for a very long time. If you want more from
me, you'll simply need the courage to call it.

Regards,

Brent

PS. I would like my Pavement CD back, it's an original pressing and
sadly out of print.

---

The Day After Yesterday OR In My Box of Carpeted Sorrow

Anyone who has seen or read "Sideways" will appreciate how utterly lame and unoriginal this title is. Today is basically a repeat of yesterday, aka the most second most boring work day of the year. Those of you who only wish they had the "Office Space" zen job of doing nothing, have absolutely no idea of what a curse that is. Okay, I'm bullshitting you. Most of the time it's perfectly okay.

I've managed to keep myself somewhat busy this evening listening to cd's and reading my new book. My new book ("Microserfs" by Douglas Coupland) is awesome, but I've already gone through most of the cd's that I've brought with me today. This leaves me with our group's mp3 collection, cleverly hidden on the storage array we refer to as "The BIG I-pod". Browsing through the literally thousands of albums on this thing is sometimes a scary task. Normally, one should choose to remain in the dark about co-workers' lack of musical taste, but I'm going to enlighten you anyways. Here are a few complaints I have about the contents of the BIG I-pod:

• Folder upon folders of pop flunkies like Sum-41 and Chingy
• Lame audiobooks (Left Behind Series, Bill O'Reilly tells a few more lies)
• Barry Fucking Manilow
• Some weird folder naming flame-war involving 70's rock group "Rush". We've got empty folders named "Rush is yer daddy" and it's witty retort "Rush molesests Colies" (horrible mispellings intact for authenticity's sake).
• Folders of mp3's I would LIKE to listen to, but are sadly empty (I won't forgive whoever deleted Beck-- Mutations).

I'm going to stop this post now for the moot reason that I don't want my blog to sound like I am drifting deeper towards insanity with each new post.

My New Year's Activities OR The Severe Lack Of An Apocalypse

"Get out your hankerchiefs.... Let's Party"
--Steven Malkmus

Another New Year's has past without Ben Affleck being forced to save us from impending doom. I for one, am underwhelmed. I was at work for most of the evening, except for dinner-time, through-out which I engorged myself on an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet. I got a whopping 2 e-mails at work last night, therefore making this shift a tie for "Least Productive Shift Ever". My sister spent the course of the evening at a club with her friends, most of which are probably camped out it my basement as we speak. I suppose these drunk motherfuckers
are going to want pancakes when I come home too. All I know, is I'm going to go sleepy soon. If said drunk mo'fo's wake me up with their hang over complaints, it's going to get messy.