I know I've been blogging occasionally about what's going on in the house. I won't bore you with all the details, but in the last year, we've painted every room but the bathroom and kitchen (including the hall), torn out the old carpet and all the wainscoting, re-surfaced the walls where the wainscoting was, laid down about 850 sq ft of laminate flooring and all the trim, and done a BUNCH of smaller projects, like having fans installed, replacing light fixtures, hanging curtain rods, etc. Well, this week, I went a step further. I messed with electricity! Twice!
First, some outlets in the living room had blown -- two of the three had stopped working at the same time, then one started working again, so we were doing the ever-so-white-trash extention cord to the entertainment center deal. Then the other one briefly started working and quit again. Then the working one quit, too. I discussed it with my mom, and she said it sounded like a short. I bought new outlets for both, then, under her supervision, took out the old ones and replaced them. They WORKED!!!!! I fixed electrical outlets!
Using my newfound powers (and feeling enormous pressure to clean up my office, which was littered, in part, by a box containing a light fixture kit), I decided to install the light fixture kit on the ceiling fan in there. The directions were pretty clear, but I didn't have the "handy-snap" wires or whatever they're called in the fan, so I had to strip the casing off the light kit wires and use those yellow things to connect them. It totally worked! So now, instead of coming in to the office every evening to put my purse down, flipping the light switch (for a nice breeze and total darkness), and thinking "Gawd, how many times am I going to do that?!?!" I will flip the switch and simply have light. In fact, it's on right now just so I can celebrate.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Saturday, August 27, 2005
And, much to my surprise, a really decent reply.
"Dear Countess,
I provided an e-mail precisely to find out what people think. I was told by the "experts" that everyone would be wildly happy to have any comments at all on their blogs. I wanted to find out if they were right. Anyway, I didn't feel comfortable being anonymous with such a process, because I don't feel marketing should be anonymous. As you might expect, the comments I've received back haven't been that enthusiastic--though yours is certainly the most forceful. I've stopped the process already, and my money for the software has been refunded. I know you won't believe me when I say it, but I'm glad for the feedback, because I'm really not that kind of guy, and I don't want to become one.
I've already had a pretty shitty day, and I think I might be in for a couple more as people read through their comments. I suppose I deserve it. Tell your friends I'm sorry.
And, by the way, what I'm doing is not total quackery. Just thought I'd defend that part, at least.
Craig"
*And just FYI, I did e-mail him back and apologize, taking back my shitty day wish.
I provided an e-mail precisely to find out what people think. I was told by the "experts" that everyone would be wildly happy to have any comments at all on their blogs. I wanted to find out if they were right. Anyway, I didn't feel comfortable being anonymous with such a process, because I don't feel marketing should be anonymous. As you might expect, the comments I've received back haven't been that enthusiastic--though yours is certainly the most forceful. I've stopped the process already, and my money for the software has been refunded. I know you won't believe me when I say it, but I'm glad for the feedback, because I'm really not that kind of guy, and I don't want to become one.
I've already had a pretty shitty day, and I think I might be in for a couple more as people read through their comments. I suppose I deserve it. Tell your friends I'm sorry.
And, by the way, what I'm doing is not total quackery. Just thought I'd defend that part, at least.
Craig"
*And just FYI, I did e-mail him back and apologize, taking back my shitty day wish.
Actual e-mail I sent to a spammer
Hey Craig,
I noticed that comments like yours have been popping up all over my friends' blog comments pages. I find it really irritating, and I know you have no intention of stopping, that in fact, it isn't even really you, but rather a spambot, but I still thought I'd like to have my say. I think you are making the world a little worse by inserting advertising (for total quackery, by the way) into the middle of actual interpersonal communications between friends. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that you are probably an asshole in other ways, too, standing in subways with your armpit in peoples' faces, or likely taking up a seat when an elderly person has to stand, and pretending you don't notice because you're talking on your cell phone loudly. You probably don't signal when you change lanes, and I'm certain you're a tailgater. I blame you, Craig. You suck. Are other people doing it too? Sure, but they didn't provide an e-mail. You did. So, since I can't say it to them, I'm saying it to you: Tally up the good you add to the world with the bad, and I think you'll find yourself overwhelmingly in the "Oh my god, I AM an asshole" column.
Thank you and have a shitty day,
Count Mockula
(Although I actually signed my real name.)
I noticed that comments like yours have been popping up all over my friends' blog comments pages. I find it really irritating, and I know you have no intention of stopping, that in fact, it isn't even really you, but rather a spambot, but I still thought I'd like to have my say. I think you are making the world a little worse by inserting advertising (for total quackery, by the way) into the middle of actual interpersonal communications between friends. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that you are probably an asshole in other ways, too, standing in subways with your armpit in peoples' faces, or likely taking up a seat when an elderly person has to stand, and pretending you don't notice because you're talking on your cell phone loudly. You probably don't signal when you change lanes, and I'm certain you're a tailgater. I blame you, Craig. You suck. Are other people doing it too? Sure, but they didn't provide an e-mail. You did. So, since I can't say it to them, I'm saying it to you: Tally up the good you add to the world with the bad, and I think you'll find yourself overwhelmingly in the "Oh my god, I AM an asshole" column.
Thank you and have a shitty day,
Count Mockula
(Although I actually signed my real name.)
Friday, August 26, 2005
Dreams, Ugly Photo Contest, Old Friends, Bad Mexican
I had a dream that I saw my grandfather -- it was my and Piggs' wedding day, and we were greeting our families outside. Grandpa arrived, and I went right to him and gave him a long hug. He was sad because he had fallen and gotten dirty and Grandma was mad at him, but I was just happy he was there. I know I'm stupid, but in a way it felt a little like actually having Grandpa there on my wedding day. I know he would have approved. He loved me spectacularly, and would have loved anyone who treats me so well.
Well, the Ugly Photo contest has been a RAGING disappointment. Only two people voted, so it was a landslide of 2 in favor of the gothic dancing photo. My husband recused himself because he says I'm always beautiful, and it would seem my mom has done the same. I kind of thought some of Piggs' friends would have stopped by, but apparently not. Oh well. Look for Gothic Insane Clown Posse Mockula on MySpace. Oh, and an unintended consequence has been that the photos have been widely viewed on Flickr and rated as "interesting."
I had coffee with an old friend yesterday, and it was a little sad -- here's someone I met when I was 13, but have never really sat down and had a long conversation with. But we had so much in common, and she was really easy to talk to. And she's moving away. I really hope her new home and new plans work out, and further that we stay in touch as we said we would. Sometimes you can just see how an opportunity for friendship hung around, parallel to your path, for, oh, 16 years, and you never picked it up.
Dude, I had two separate endorsements from friends I trust that Pancho's Mexican Restaurant on Broadway was good. I am going to look at them sideways next time I see them, because that place BLEW! Their tortillas were freshly made and good. The salsa and chips weren't bad. But here is my interpretation of the recipes for my combo platter and Piggs' tamale:
CHILI RELLENO
egg,
poblano chili (shave into a thin fillet, so that pepper is nearly nonexistent)
1/2 cup government cheese
red stuff
Lackadaisically assemble the egg, pepper, and cheese, and cook until cheese melts and egg sets. Put red stuff on top. Let stand for 30 minutes. Soak in water and serve.
ENCHILADA
1 tortilla
1 brick government cheese
Wrap brick in tortilla. Heat to melting. Let stand 30 minutes, until cheese has congealed. Pour 1 can chicken broth over whole meal and serve.
BEEF TAMALE (according to Piggs)
Corn masa
Pat corn masa into a rectangle. Wave beef over it. Serve.
It was DISGUSTING. It put us BOTH off Mexican food. I barely even touched my dinner, and I won't lie, I can put away a combo platter. I wondered how they got it out to us so fast -- like, within 2 minutes of when we ordered. The answer is apparently that they make it all at 6 am and let it sit back there until it's ordered. I won't say it made me ill, but I did have way more reflux than usual, including burping up little chunks of food, which used to happen all the time, but rarely happens anymore. Blech. No Pancho's! I can't believe they thought it was better than Los Jarritos. I think they're loco in la cabeza.
Well, the Ugly Photo contest has been a RAGING disappointment. Only two people voted, so it was a landslide of 2 in favor of the gothic dancing photo. My husband recused himself because he says I'm always beautiful, and it would seem my mom has done the same. I kind of thought some of Piggs' friends would have stopped by, but apparently not. Oh well. Look for Gothic Insane Clown Posse Mockula on MySpace. Oh, and an unintended consequence has been that the photos have been widely viewed on Flickr and rated as "interesting."
I had coffee with an old friend yesterday, and it was a little sad -- here's someone I met when I was 13, but have never really sat down and had a long conversation with. But we had so much in common, and she was really easy to talk to. And she's moving away. I really hope her new home and new plans work out, and further that we stay in touch as we said we would. Sometimes you can just see how an opportunity for friendship hung around, parallel to your path, for, oh, 16 years, and you never picked it up.
Dude, I had two separate endorsements from friends I trust that Pancho's Mexican Restaurant on Broadway was good. I am going to look at them sideways next time I see them, because that place BLEW! Their tortillas were freshly made and good. The salsa and chips weren't bad. But here is my interpretation of the recipes for my combo platter and Piggs' tamale:
CHILI RELLENO
egg,
poblano chili (shave into a thin fillet, so that pepper is nearly nonexistent)
1/2 cup government cheese
red stuff
Lackadaisically assemble the egg, pepper, and cheese, and cook until cheese melts and egg sets. Put red stuff on top. Let stand for 30 minutes. Soak in water and serve.
ENCHILADA
1 tortilla
1 brick government cheese
Wrap brick in tortilla. Heat to melting. Let stand 30 minutes, until cheese has congealed. Pour 1 can chicken broth over whole meal and serve.
BEEF TAMALE (according to Piggs)
Corn masa
Pat corn masa into a rectangle. Wave beef over it. Serve.
It was DISGUSTING. It put us BOTH off Mexican food. I barely even touched my dinner, and I won't lie, I can put away a combo platter. I wondered how they got it out to us so fast -- like, within 2 minutes of when we ordered. The answer is apparently that they make it all at 6 am and let it sit back there until it's ordered. I won't say it made me ill, but I did have way more reflux than usual, including burping up little chunks of food, which used to happen all the time, but rarely happens anymore. Blech. No Pancho's! I can't believe they thought it was better than Los Jarritos. I think they're loco in la cabeza.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Not that I've played ANYTHING in god knows how many years.
You scored as Storyteller. You're more inclined toward the role playing side of the equation and less interested in numbers or experience points. You're quick to compromise if you can help move the story forward, and get bored when the game slows down for a long planning session. You want to play out a story that moves like it's orchestrated by a skilled novelist or film director.
Law's Game Style created with QuizFarm.com |
uglynapoleonsgrandma
Duh, sorry, this one already has one vote. I accidentally deleted it in a fit of stupidity.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Ugly Photo Contest!
Okay, here's the rules.
Vote for no more than three photos by commenting on them and saying something like "I vote for this one!" You can comment on the others if you want without making it an official vote.
I'll tally the comments after a couple days, and the winner will become my new MySpace profile photo for ONE WEEK. The second and third place winners might become the profile photos after that.
Have fun!
Vote for no more than three photos by commenting on them and saying something like "I vote for this one!" You can comment on the others if you want without making it an official vote.
I'll tally the comments after a couple days, and the winner will become my new MySpace profile photo for ONE WEEK. The second and third place winners might become the profile photos after that.
Have fun!
uglynapoleonsgrandma
Okay, this was taken the same weekend as the 23rd birthday one, and also by Monkeygirl. My friend Stacey thinks I look just like Napoleon Dynamite's grandma in this. It was a candid, just-coming-out-of-the-bathroom jammies and bedhead picture. I think it's got a shot at the win.
uglyteen
I was uncomfortable with the attentions of a fellow 15 year old at Becky Schroeder's house. I cropped him, but not Robert Smith.
uglyjuniorprom
Okay, we were getting ready for junior prom, and I ended up looking really cute later, but this candid shot shows the overalls and pigtails look that I sported A LOT in my teens. Looks like the before shot on What Not to Wear.
uglyjugband
Okay this one was a sad cowboy party (hence the tear, boots, hat . . .) And the people who've been cropped from the photo to protect the innocent were playing the spoons and the harmonica, respectively.
uglynewyear
One of the only photos I had to FORCE myself to post. This is a champion. The saddest part is, I think I thought I really looked hot.
uglygothic2
Here's me gothic dancing at the Cattle Club. Do you think my makeup matches my skin tone?
uglyin88
It was 1988. Pay special attention to the belly, cute, huh? I was also experimenting with feathered hair and red lipstick.
ugly1
We took this picture because I'd just gotten my hair done. No, I didn't notice that my giant dress was gaping open at the bust. The stain is on the photo, not the dress. Not that it helps.
ugly23rdbirthday
I was overcome with emotion that SOMEBODY did something for my birthday.
Thanks Monkeygirl.
Thanks Monkeygirl.
uglycircusperformer
There were extenuating circumstances: I was in a ballet recital and we were ALL dressed like that.
uglygothic
Where to begin? The Columbia eye makeup? The fact that I needed a lot more shirt? Why was I barefoot (I can guess that it's my predilection for sexy but uncomfortable shoes)? The BOOBAGE! By the way, this pic was taken by my friend Shannon on her birthday, and it was at a gothic/industrial club. It doesn't excuse it, it just helps explain it.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
German, Manual Transmission, Blooping, Thoughts on Vanity
I was reading Piggs' shampoo (yep, his hair is 1/4 inch long, but he shampoos) and the German translation of "for all hair types" is "fur all haartypen" or something like that. Dude, I could have made up German. I installen sum flooren yesterdai. Tonacht wee had ein curry. *To mien readeren: I knau English is ein Deutschlandic languager, und that I shud not maaken judjmenteers, but it is fuun. Especially since my band now has a Man-Gyna in Germany. Or, should I say, Mann-Gyna.
Manual transmission question: All right, listen, I know it's a long shot, and that if I had a question about, say on which planet the stormtroopers originated, or just what is the physics principle that allows Dr. Who's phone booth to be bigger inside, my friends would be the folks to turn to, but I'm trying anyway. I was reading Click and Clack (the car guys, I always do), and there was a question about whether it was okay to shift into Neutral when coming to a stop. They said no, that it's really hard on your transmission to completely shift out of gear and then back in. But I'm wondering, was that for automatics only? Because I swear I remember reading that it WAS okay. And while my memory is not great, and my understanding of mechanics even worse, it would seem to me that when you engage the clutch, you are basically putting it in Neutral, in that you are disengaging the gears. And to stop, you HAVE to engage the clutch to work the brake. So why would it make a difference to go from, say, 3rd, to not-in-gear, to 1st (but not really in gear because you've got the clutch and brake engaged) instead of 3rd to not-in-gear, stopping, then going into 1st? Seriously, is there a good reason to downshift when coming to a stop, especially when just driving in town? I mean, even though it's a bit of a pain to re-train myself, I'll be happy to do it if I've been harming my precious Jellyfish. Somebody tell me! (By the way, out of ALL my friends, including my many guy friends, my money would be on my mom being able to accurately answer this, but we'll see.)
I was Blooping today. I just made that up. It's Blog-snooping. I was following speculative Harry Potter comments on my bro's blog, and realized that one of his commentors was someone I used to know long ago. Then I was looking at HER friends page, and saw a recipe that looked intriguing posted by another user, so I poked around HER blog, and found ANOTHER old friend. Then I went back to the original page (bro's) to snoop on my little bro, and from there on to his ex-girlfriend. And from her, on to Big Bro's ex-girlfriend, who's now married, and on to her husband (whom I've always disliked). Tra la la. It was fun.
Okay, so I had this idea earlier that I should find some of my ugliest, least flattering photos of myself and put them on my profile on MySpace. And it's a little scary, which makes it really tempting. See, I like to challenge my vision of myself once in a while: Am I vain? Sure, I must be, otherwise I wouldn't have scanned my, like all-time cutest picture on there. Could I deal with having the one that's been compared to Napoleon Dymnamite's Grandma up there instead? Maybe. I try hard not to be vain, but sometimes I'm like "Yeah, I look good today!" The flip side is, I try not to be too self-critical, but I also end up going "Oh my god, look at my fat belly." When I was growing up, I was always told what a cutie I was, but if I would specifically ask "am I pretty?" my mom's answer was always to emphasize how smart and talented and creative and funny I was. Which, yeah, worked the same way it does on a blind date. ("Is she hot?" "She's so funny!") But I'm glad she wasn't like "Hell yeah, you're the prettiest girl in the west!" Because then I might have ended up one of those fat, squinty, snaggletoothed girls on Ricki Lake who are like "You know I look goooood!" I assume their mommies told them they were the prettiest little things. Or maybe they just learned it from their demi-god, Courtney Love. But I digress.
Anyway, as I was thinking about the Ugly Photo Project earlier, it also occurred to me how many times lately I've said things like "I'm a genius!" Usually it's about some minor problem-solving challenged I've managed. I have no compunction about bragging about my smarts, talents, etc. At least in my head anyway, I don't go out in the world talking about how smart I am. But I don't feel weirdly guilty or suspicious about my pride in my brain, either, like I do with my looks. And I sometimes even glamorize my failings in that area -- I'll NEVER wear a middy t-shirt and be like "Yeah, check my love handles!" But I'll happily tell people that I failed two science classes in college. Anyway, I didn't come to any conclusions, I just was having thoughts. But keep your eye out for the Napoleon Dynamite photo.
Manual transmission question: All right, listen, I know it's a long shot, and that if I had a question about, say on which planet the stormtroopers originated, or just what is the physics principle that allows Dr. Who's phone booth to be bigger inside, my friends would be the folks to turn to, but I'm trying anyway. I was reading Click and Clack (the car guys, I always do), and there was a question about whether it was okay to shift into Neutral when coming to a stop. They said no, that it's really hard on your transmission to completely shift out of gear and then back in. But I'm wondering, was that for automatics only? Because I swear I remember reading that it WAS okay. And while my memory is not great, and my understanding of mechanics even worse, it would seem to me that when you engage the clutch, you are basically putting it in Neutral, in that you are disengaging the gears. And to stop, you HAVE to engage the clutch to work the brake. So why would it make a difference to go from, say, 3rd, to not-in-gear, to 1st (but not really in gear because you've got the clutch and brake engaged) instead of 3rd to not-in-gear, stopping, then going into 1st? Seriously, is there a good reason to downshift when coming to a stop, especially when just driving in town? I mean, even though it's a bit of a pain to re-train myself, I'll be happy to do it if I've been harming my precious Jellyfish. Somebody tell me! (By the way, out of ALL my friends, including my many guy friends, my money would be on my mom being able to accurately answer this, but we'll see.)
I was Blooping today. I just made that up. It's Blog-snooping. I was following speculative Harry Potter comments on my bro's blog, and realized that one of his commentors was someone I used to know long ago. Then I was looking at HER friends page, and saw a recipe that looked intriguing posted by another user, so I poked around HER blog, and found ANOTHER old friend. Then I went back to the original page (bro's) to snoop on my little bro, and from there on to his ex-girlfriend. And from her, on to Big Bro's ex-girlfriend, who's now married, and on to her husband (whom I've always disliked). Tra la la. It was fun.
Okay, so I had this idea earlier that I should find some of my ugliest, least flattering photos of myself and put them on my profile on MySpace. And it's a little scary, which makes it really tempting. See, I like to challenge my vision of myself once in a while: Am I vain? Sure, I must be, otherwise I wouldn't have scanned my, like all-time cutest picture on there. Could I deal with having the one that's been compared to Napoleon Dymnamite's Grandma up there instead? Maybe. I try hard not to be vain, but sometimes I'm like "Yeah, I look good today!" The flip side is, I try not to be too self-critical, but I also end up going "Oh my god, look at my fat belly." When I was growing up, I was always told what a cutie I was, but if I would specifically ask "am I pretty?" my mom's answer was always to emphasize how smart and talented and creative and funny I was. Which, yeah, worked the same way it does on a blind date. ("Is she hot?" "She's so funny!") But I'm glad she wasn't like "Hell yeah, you're the prettiest girl in the west!" Because then I might have ended up one of those fat, squinty, snaggletoothed girls on Ricki Lake who are like "You know I look goooood!" I assume their mommies told them they were the prettiest little things. Or maybe they just learned it from their demi-god, Courtney Love. But I digress.
Anyway, as I was thinking about the Ugly Photo Project earlier, it also occurred to me how many times lately I've said things like "I'm a genius!" Usually it's about some minor problem-solving challenged I've managed. I have no compunction about bragging about my smarts, talents, etc. At least in my head anyway, I don't go out in the world talking about how smart I am. But I don't feel weirdly guilty or suspicious about my pride in my brain, either, like I do with my looks. And I sometimes even glamorize my failings in that area -- I'll NEVER wear a middy t-shirt and be like "Yeah, check my love handles!" But I'll happily tell people that I failed two science classes in college. Anyway, I didn't come to any conclusions, I just was having thoughts. But keep your eye out for the Napoleon Dynamite photo.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Stuff and stuff
Well, I've been busy -- Mom and I laid the last plank of floor today . . . almost. Well, we did. We finished the living room, which means that, in total, we've floored three bedrooms, the hall, and the living room/dining room combo. But then we started looking at the cartons we had left over. There were seven plus two planks. And we were like "Huh. I wonder how much square footage that would cover." So we did some math. It would cover about 140 square feet. And then we were like "Huh. I wonder how many square feet the added-on room is." So I idly wandered over there with a tape measure and figured that it was about 120, give or take. "Huh," we thought.
Anyway, so we will probably end up doing that room too.
On Thursday I'll have someone pick up my NEW OLD STOVE. I was offered a vintage O'Keefe and Merrit stove in working order, FOR FREE! In which case, the ~$150 to move it seems like a bargain.
We still have a lot to do around here -- the trim, quite a but of touch up painting, one more entire room (and all its cabinets) to paint, and I'm sure I won't run out of projects anytime soon. In fact, I want to get somebody out here to help me hook up my washer/dryer in the garage, a project which, like everything in this house, has turned out to be more complicated and in need of jury-rigging than you'd expect.
I heard from an old friend, which led to a Dharma and Greg-type conversation earlier. "Un, hey sweetie, could 5 people from LA crash here Saturday night on the way to Burning Man?" Keepin' it real.
Eh, I guess I could think of more to say, but I just don't feel like it. There's ice cream to be eaten.
Anyway, so we will probably end up doing that room too.
On Thursday I'll have someone pick up my NEW OLD STOVE. I was offered a vintage O'Keefe and Merrit stove in working order, FOR FREE! In which case, the ~$150 to move it seems like a bargain.
We still have a lot to do around here -- the trim, quite a but of touch up painting, one more entire room (and all its cabinets) to paint, and I'm sure I won't run out of projects anytime soon. In fact, I want to get somebody out here to help me hook up my washer/dryer in the garage, a project which, like everything in this house, has turned out to be more complicated and in need of jury-rigging than you'd expect.
I heard from an old friend, which led to a Dharma and Greg-type conversation earlier. "Un, hey sweetie, could 5 people from LA crash here Saturday night on the way to Burning Man?" Keepin' it real.
Eh, I guess I could think of more to say, but I just don't feel like it. There's ice cream to be eaten.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
How I got my panties in a twist
Some 21 year old on MySpace came to my band's page, apparently listened to the songs, and left a rude comment about one of the band members' technical skills, indicating that we should replace that member. Initially, I was just curious to know about this person, so I went over to her page, noticed that about half of her comments were by other bands, and that they ranged from things like "Huh? Well, sorry you didn't like it." to "Screw you hippy." I quickly realized that this chick just goes around leaving mean comments on other people's pages for attention, and, in so many words (and a couple more), I told her so. I also deleted her as a "friend," deleted her comment, and thought that was the end of it. I also fumed a little. But then I found out that she'd messaged us again indicating that we "needed to learn how to take criticism." Unfortunately, the band member that the "criticism" was initially aimed at had gotten the message and sort of figured out what happened. I fessed up. But I also fumed all day. Here's why.
1. When you attack a band member, you're not just attacking someone I play music with, you're attacking a friend, in this case a friend of almost ten years.
2. We don't need to learn to take criticism. Sounds childish, maybe, but it's true -- nobody thinks we're going to get a major label to sign us or anything, and we didn't send this chick a CD for her to criticize. The music is for fans, friends, and maybe more than anyone, for us. We have fun. That's what it is.
3. Furthermore, if we DID receive a bad review from, say, an ACTUAL CRITIC, we'd have to be respectful about it. I get that. But this chick's not a real critic. Real critics have a responsibility to be honest, even if that means saying that a band isn't that good. If they pulled their punches, they'd lose respect because their readers wouldn't be able to trust them. So when Christian Keifer gets around to reviewing one of our shows, we'll take it like Gynas. But not random MySpace girl. We have no obligation to take criticism from her.
4. Furthermore, if Christian Keifer were to give us a bad review, it wouldn't be "You suck, get a new bassist." It would probably be couched in more respectful terms like "The Gynas' fun stage presence and clever lyrics are somewhat undercut by their technical skills." And you know what -- probably true. Won't be adding it to the ol' quote sheet, but we'd accept it.
5. She's 21. What does she know?
6. Not to defend, but those songs were from a live show that we didn't know was being recorded, two of the songs were brand new and we'd never played them in public, and we broke a string in the middle of one.
7. I used to be in her position -- sort of. I ran a site called "Your Mama's Scene," and I "reviewed" plenty of bands. Now, mostly I went to shows I knew or suspected I was going to like, so the reviews were overwhelmingly positive, but I was honest when I didn't enjoy a show, too. However, I didn't then cut and paste my review and send it to the band. "Hey, you guys stink!" In fact, the one time that a bad review of mine got to the band (to Warren Bishop, for the record), and I met him later at Skip's and found out he'd disagreed and his wife had been angered by it, I apologized and admitted that it wasn't really my kind of music, and that's why I probably hadn't gotten it.
8. I stand by my original assessment that she needs therapy. What does it mean that she appears to spend HOURS on MySpace, berating people for not sending her messages and sending bands negative comments about their music (I looked several of them up)? That she's an attention whore and doesn't mind if it's negative as long as she gets it.
9. To even SUGGEST that the Gynas replace a member is antithetical to the idea of the Gynas. We're not just a band, we're a trio, we're friends, we're co-conspiritors. If a member leaves and the two other members end up playing with another musician, it may be a band, but it won't be the Gynas.
10. She says she only hears about 6 chords: Allow me to quote our song "Monkey," "You say we don't enunciate, you say we don't articulate. Hey isn't that only three chords? F---- you and your monkey." Yeah, we kinda know it, but self-deprecation should be somewhat of a defense, shouldn't it?
11. It was just mean. If I went on her site, basically uninvited, looked at her pictures and left a comment like "Say, I've been looking at your pictures, and to be brutally honest, you're pretty homely. Have you considered plastic surgery?" Everyone would admit that was mean and uncalled for. Well, that's what she did about our music. And even though it's fun and lighthearted, we do care about our music, and it's hurtful for people to randomly attack it.
On a completely different note, one of our neighbors has gotten a rooster. It crows in the morning, and has kind of a strange crow -- which explains why I woke up from a dream that a retard was singing Danzig's "Mother."
1. When you attack a band member, you're not just attacking someone I play music with, you're attacking a friend, in this case a friend of almost ten years.
2. We don't need to learn to take criticism. Sounds childish, maybe, but it's true -- nobody thinks we're going to get a major label to sign us or anything, and we didn't send this chick a CD for her to criticize. The music is for fans, friends, and maybe more than anyone, for us. We have fun. That's what it is.
3. Furthermore, if we DID receive a bad review from, say, an ACTUAL CRITIC, we'd have to be respectful about it. I get that. But this chick's not a real critic. Real critics have a responsibility to be honest, even if that means saying that a band isn't that good. If they pulled their punches, they'd lose respect because their readers wouldn't be able to trust them. So when Christian Keifer gets around to reviewing one of our shows, we'll take it like Gynas. But not random MySpace girl. We have no obligation to take criticism from her.
4. Furthermore, if Christian Keifer were to give us a bad review, it wouldn't be "You suck, get a new bassist." It would probably be couched in more respectful terms like "The Gynas' fun stage presence and clever lyrics are somewhat undercut by their technical skills." And you know what -- probably true. Won't be adding it to the ol' quote sheet, but we'd accept it.
5. She's 21. What does she know?
6. Not to defend, but those songs were from a live show that we didn't know was being recorded, two of the songs were brand new and we'd never played them in public, and we broke a string in the middle of one.
7. I used to be in her position -- sort of. I ran a site called "Your Mama's Scene," and I "reviewed" plenty of bands. Now, mostly I went to shows I knew or suspected I was going to like, so the reviews were overwhelmingly positive, but I was honest when I didn't enjoy a show, too. However, I didn't then cut and paste my review and send it to the band. "Hey, you guys stink!" In fact, the one time that a bad review of mine got to the band (to Warren Bishop, for the record), and I met him later at Skip's and found out he'd disagreed and his wife had been angered by it, I apologized and admitted that it wasn't really my kind of music, and that's why I probably hadn't gotten it.
8. I stand by my original assessment that she needs therapy. What does it mean that she appears to spend HOURS on MySpace, berating people for not sending her messages and sending bands negative comments about their music (I looked several of them up)? That she's an attention whore and doesn't mind if it's negative as long as she gets it.
9. To even SUGGEST that the Gynas replace a member is antithetical to the idea of the Gynas. We're not just a band, we're a trio, we're friends, we're co-conspiritors. If a member leaves and the two other members end up playing with another musician, it may be a band, but it won't be the Gynas.
10. She says she only hears about 6 chords: Allow me to quote our song "Monkey," "You say we don't enunciate, you say we don't articulate. Hey isn't that only three chords? F---- you and your monkey." Yeah, we kinda know it, but self-deprecation should be somewhat of a defense, shouldn't it?
11. It was just mean. If I went on her site, basically uninvited, looked at her pictures and left a comment like "Say, I've been looking at your pictures, and to be brutally honest, you're pretty homely. Have you considered plastic surgery?" Everyone would admit that was mean and uncalled for. Well, that's what she did about our music. And even though it's fun and lighthearted, we do care about our music, and it's hurtful for people to randomly attack it.
On a completely different note, one of our neighbors has gotten a rooster. It crows in the morning, and has kind of a strange crow -- which explains why I woke up from a dream that a retard was singing Danzig's "Mother."
Friday, August 12, 2005
Bloggin' from bed
So, I haven't updated all week, mainly because it's been a really busy week. On Monday I worked ALL DAY. In fact, I worked so hard (painting, sanding, priming, removing cabinet doors and hardware . . .) that I totally forgot I was supposed to meet Monkeygirl to go see the Violent Femmes. And normally if someone called me and I'd forgotten something I'd slap my forehead the instant I heard their voice. Not this time. Nope, we had a nice conversation along the lines of "What are you up to? Did you forget something? . . ." Anyway, I'm glad she called, because we still had plenty of time to get to the show (with lawyergirl whose Monkeygirl-appointed blog nickname I've forgotten), and it was AWESOME! Dude, I had the most fun ever. Brian Ritchie, the bassist, is AMAZING, and I was standing within three people of the very front, I made eye contact with him bunches of times, and I even caught a pick he threw (well, "caught" in the sense of "scrambled around on the floor for it"). I also held my own in the mini-mosh-pit-lite. It wasn't much of anything, just a bunch of bozos either A: thinking it would be good fun to push people around or B: thinking they could push me out of the way to get in front of me. Little did they know . . . I even threw an elbow, which I haven't had to do in a long time. Kept my place, though. The Femmes played all my favorite songs, including several from the Hallowed Ground album, and getting to watch Ritchie work up close was just brilliant. He played the acoustic bass, the electric bass, the basstick, several other things I didn't know the name of but that generally had one string and the tone was changed by either stretching it or "fretting" it, although the stick thing was fretless, the xylophone, and the Japanese bamboo flute. There may have been more. I was dazed by the end. What struck me as funny is that although I like the Femmes, I've never, like, had posters of them or anything, so I didn't know what they looked like, I just kind of assumed they'd look cool. Let's put it this way: Gordon Gano is the lead singer, and he looks JUST LIKE someone who would be named Gordon.
Okay, then Tuesday I ran errands with Mom and went to ballet --- low impact, but still on the move from about 12 to 8:30.
Wednesday I went to an orientation for the kids at school and met quite a few of them. They seem bright and motivated, and I'm looking forward to working with them. I then made peanut butter cookies, did some stuff around the house, picked up Sweetie and his new Mac, then the veggies, came home, made dinner, and went to ballet.
Thursday I spent the entire day painting while the air conditioner guys were here. I made pretty significant progress on the cabinetry, which had to be sanded and primed.
Today Pigglestein and I went to SF, shopped around Union Square and Chinatown*, then went to the ferry building, which I still consider new even though they did it in 2003. It was really nice -- I kind of wish we had needed to eat, since there were about 5 places that looked equally yummy, not to mention all the good produce and stuff. I got two little Scharffenberger truffles, and they were heavenly.
Then we went back to Berkeley, and to the game store (amazingly briefly), then The Craftsman Home, a store which rivalled the intensity of my love for it only with the exorbitancy of its prices (tell me if that doesn't make sense, I'm tired), and Dark Carnival, a cool bookstore. Then a quick Ikea run for a replacement frame for one that broke Thursday, and we were off to dinner at P.F. Chang's. Sweetie told me later that taking me there was an effort to disabuse me of the notion that it's a good place to eat, and his dastardly plan worked. I agree with his assessment that it's like Chinese Applebee's. I mean, not a bad dinner, but nothing we couldn't get at a hundred cheap Chinese places in town. Although it was almost worth it for our sincere waiter, Dan, who mixed "P.F. Chang's special sauce" right at our table, explaining "now this is Chinese mustard, which is hot, like wasabi or horseradish, and this is a chili paste . . . this is soy sauce, which gives it a salty flavor . . ." Dan, no need to give us the rundown on the Chinese condiments, yo, we can handle it. Okay, that's about it. I'm celebrating the air conditioning by lying in bed with the sheets on and the comforter actually on my lower legs.
* In Chinatown, we saw a giant wooden phallus with a bow on it. I took a picture with my cameraphone, so we'll see if there's any way to get the picture off the phone and here on the web.
Good night, take care, I'm off camping tomorrow, so I probably won't update again for a while.
CM
Okay, then Tuesday I ran errands with Mom and went to ballet --- low impact, but still on the move from about 12 to 8:30.
Wednesday I went to an orientation for the kids at school and met quite a few of them. They seem bright and motivated, and I'm looking forward to working with them. I then made peanut butter cookies, did some stuff around the house, picked up Sweetie and his new Mac, then the veggies, came home, made dinner, and went to ballet.
Thursday I spent the entire day painting while the air conditioner guys were here. I made pretty significant progress on the cabinetry, which had to be sanded and primed.
Today Pigglestein and I went to SF, shopped around Union Square and Chinatown*, then went to the ferry building, which I still consider new even though they did it in 2003. It was really nice -- I kind of wish we had needed to eat, since there were about 5 places that looked equally yummy, not to mention all the good produce and stuff. I got two little Scharffenberger truffles, and they were heavenly.
Then we went back to Berkeley, and to the game store (amazingly briefly), then The Craftsman Home, a store which rivalled the intensity of my love for it only with the exorbitancy of its prices (tell me if that doesn't make sense, I'm tired), and Dark Carnival, a cool bookstore. Then a quick Ikea run for a replacement frame for one that broke Thursday, and we were off to dinner at P.F. Chang's. Sweetie told me later that taking me there was an effort to disabuse me of the notion that it's a good place to eat, and his dastardly plan worked. I agree with his assessment that it's like Chinese Applebee's. I mean, not a bad dinner, but nothing we couldn't get at a hundred cheap Chinese places in town. Although it was almost worth it for our sincere waiter, Dan, who mixed "P.F. Chang's special sauce" right at our table, explaining "now this is Chinese mustard, which is hot, like wasabi or horseradish, and this is a chili paste . . . this is soy sauce, which gives it a salty flavor . . ." Dan, no need to give us the rundown on the Chinese condiments, yo, we can handle it. Okay, that's about it. I'm celebrating the air conditioning by lying in bed with the sheets on and the comforter actually on my lower legs.
* In Chinatown, we saw a giant wooden phallus with a bow on it. I took a picture with my cameraphone, so we'll see if there's any way to get the picture off the phone and here on the web.
Good night, take care, I'm off camping tomorrow, so I probably won't update again for a while.
CM
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
gynas crazydancers
Okay, so here's the show I was describing, including a pic of the all-denim-all-the-time crazy alcoholic. Yay! Rockin' Pistol Pete's.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Show, house, Francois Fly
We had a show last night with Kymera -- I really liked them, they were "funk rock reggae" and I'm probably one of the few people show actually does like all three genres. They were also all INCREDIBLY TALENTED. Most of the songwriting was good, too. Only one complaint, really, and that was the Phish-like nature of some of the 20 minute rock opuses. Like, there was one song that I swear the guy was singing "how many times?!" with real feeling when we started a conversation, one of us got up for a drink, we made some fun of the sexy dancers*, I went to the bathroom, we had a long conversation . . . and he ws still singing it like half an hour later. I kept thinking maybe they had transitioned into a new song, but then no, he'd start singing the same lyrics again.
On the other hand, EEE ELLL Eightyfour (I'm spelling it funky in case they Google themselves) was terrible. They probably would have rocked the socks off of 1987, but it sounded really dated and, well, masturbatory. In fact, I coined a new phrase last night -- "drumsterbation." Basically where you're just fiddling around on the drums to please yourself, but it doesn't do anything for anyone else. You could be quite good at it, but it's a little embarassing to take public . . . Plus, the guitarist took off his shirt after, like, one song, and was skinny and hairy with a baseball-hat mullet and TOTALLY believed he was Steve Vai.
*Sexy dancers; first of all, I'd likek to point out that there is was a woman there who caused monkeygirl to say "Oh look, the New Jersey contingent has arrived." She had big Peggy Bundy hair, leopard print halter top and tight leopard print pants. Then there was the woman who was actually pretty well-preserved and dressed, if not tastefully, then at least not hideously. She and her man had had just a few too many drinks to dance and maintain their dignity, so they chose dancing over dignity and went ALL-OUT. Yeah, she was shakin' it, grindin' it, hands in the air, "come hither" hand gestures . . . his idea of dancing was basically to have a seizure and walk in circles at the same time. For good measure he reached out and grabbed at her every once in a while. Oh. My. God.
There was also crazy all-denim-all-the-time drunk guy, who, if he had been in all black and about 40 years younger would have definitely been described as gothic dancing. There was a lot of posturing, striding, arm-waving. He LOVED us, dude.
I had a good time, and it was a nice stage and great sound system. I decided to pull out all the performance stops (which for me basically means humping gynagirl's leg and crawling around on the floor.
The house -- we're taking a break on the floor because some of the flooring was defective and we need to get it replaced, which has been delayed somewhat. Instead, I'm starting the kitchen/dining room project. First is the walls (yellow), then the cabinets (white). I already painted the fridge (it was beige, and now it's white to match all the other appliances). Then I'm trying to get the washer/dryer hookups moved into the garage. Then the floor (laminate again, I think). Also, I'm taking this fussy moulding down and painting the inside of the cabinets, as well as putting new contact paper down. And I'm going to ask my dad if he can help me build a hidey-hole for the garbage and recycling.
I saw local demi-celebrity Francois Fly (or perhaps it was Keith Lowell Jensen -- sometimes I get them confused) get out of a car while I was waiting to get gas the other day, walk across the street with another guy with a camera, and talk at length to a woman with a "Homeless, please help" sign at the corner of 16th and W, where the freeway offramp is. I'm curious as to what the project is.
It's hot. I'm finally getting air conditioning, but not until the end of this week. Sigh.
On the other hand, EEE ELLL Eightyfour (I'm spelling it funky in case they Google themselves) was terrible. They probably would have rocked the socks off of 1987, but it sounded really dated and, well, masturbatory. In fact, I coined a new phrase last night -- "drumsterbation." Basically where you're just fiddling around on the drums to please yourself, but it doesn't do anything for anyone else. You could be quite good at it, but it's a little embarassing to take public . . . Plus, the guitarist took off his shirt after, like, one song, and was skinny and hairy with a baseball-hat mullet and TOTALLY believed he was Steve Vai.
*Sexy dancers; first of all, I'd likek to point out that there is was a woman there who caused monkeygirl to say "Oh look, the New Jersey contingent has arrived." She had big Peggy Bundy hair, leopard print halter top and tight leopard print pants. Then there was the woman who was actually pretty well-preserved and dressed, if not tastefully, then at least not hideously. She and her man had had just a few too many drinks to dance and maintain their dignity, so they chose dancing over dignity and went ALL-OUT. Yeah, she was shakin' it, grindin' it, hands in the air, "come hither" hand gestures . . . his idea of dancing was basically to have a seizure and walk in circles at the same time. For good measure he reached out and grabbed at her every once in a while. Oh. My. God.
There was also crazy all-denim-all-the-time drunk guy, who, if he had been in all black and about 40 years younger would have definitely been described as gothic dancing. There was a lot of posturing, striding, arm-waving. He LOVED us, dude.
I had a good time, and it was a nice stage and great sound system. I decided to pull out all the performance stops (which for me basically means humping gynagirl's leg and crawling around on the floor.
The house -- we're taking a break on the floor because some of the flooring was defective and we need to get it replaced, which has been delayed somewhat. Instead, I'm starting the kitchen/dining room project. First is the walls (yellow), then the cabinets (white). I already painted the fridge (it was beige, and now it's white to match all the other appliances). Then I'm trying to get the washer/dryer hookups moved into the garage. Then the floor (laminate again, I think). Also, I'm taking this fussy moulding down and painting the inside of the cabinets, as well as putting new contact paper down. And I'm going to ask my dad if he can help me build a hidey-hole for the garbage and recycling.
I saw local demi-celebrity Francois Fly (or perhaps it was Keith Lowell Jensen -- sometimes I get them confused) get out of a car while I was waiting to get gas the other day, walk across the street with another guy with a camera, and talk at length to a woman with a "Homeless, please help" sign at the corner of 16th and W, where the freeway offramp is. I'm curious as to what the project is.
It's hot. I'm finally getting air conditioning, but not until the end of this week. Sigh.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Frankly, I'm kind of disappointed I'm not a soy latte
| You are a Black Coffee |
 At your best, you are: low maintenance, friendly, and adaptable At your worst, you are: cheap and angsty You drink coffee when: you can get your hands on it Your caffeine addiction level: high |
Coupla things
Well, summer school's over, can you believe it? It hasn't been a very restful summer, but it has been a good one. I taught summer school (yay, money), laid most of the laminate flooring in the house (just one room to go), painted a couple rooms, went for training on the new program I'll be involved in at the new school, went rafting, went to Harbin (going again in a week), and best of all, got married. Of course, now that we're planning a reception, there's still a lot of stuff to do on that front, too.
I'm cutting back on caffeine, so we've been drinking half-caf. No big deal, really, only a couple minor headaches. But now I find that after my first cup, I really would like a second.
My fake syndrome has been giving me some trouble again lately. I thought of a good analogy (it's a little long, so bear with me): When I was about 8, I used to empty my grandma's junk drawer of all its pens, take each of them apart, down to the very springs and washers, and then put them back together. But sometimes there'd be a piece left over, or a spring on upside down, or something that didn't thread correctly . . . I feel a little like that -- that I was taken apart and put back together by an eight year old who just hid the leftover bits in the couch.
Guess that's it . . . bye.
I'm cutting back on caffeine, so we've been drinking half-caf. No big deal, really, only a couple minor headaches. But now I find that after my first cup, I really would like a second.
My fake syndrome has been giving me some trouble again lately. I thought of a good analogy (it's a little long, so bear with me): When I was about 8, I used to empty my grandma's junk drawer of all its pens, take each of them apart, down to the very springs and washers, and then put them back together. But sometimes there'd be a piece left over, or a spring on upside down, or something that didn't thread correctly . . . I feel a little like that -- that I was taken apart and put back together by an eight year old who just hid the leftover bits in the couch.
Guess that's it . . . bye.
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