Overheard (In Chicago)

"That's why I was always such a bitch--because my pants were too tight."

I can't imagine that I'll post again this week. So savor these posts like a fine wine or down them like a Jagerbomb. I don't really care.
Have fun!

I believe I commented recently in a public setting (public for me meaning that someone other than myself was in the room at the time) that my employer did not provide me with basic office supplies. Well, a funny thing happened yesterday. We got clipboards.

Not just any clipboards, mind you. These were a lovely white molded plastic with the corporate logo emblazoned on the top. They have important phone numbers, pay codes and various other useful--actually, mostly useless information printed on front and back and an embedded calculator. They actually made me sign for it before I could get one.

New fancy clipboard hotness.




Bitches.

If I were the Vice President and I shot a guy in the face (accidentally of course), immediately after the ambulance that hovers within 100 feet of me at all times speeds away with the victim of my carelessness, I put in a call to the office and I say, "Umm... you're going to need to put out a press release." What I wouldn't do is pretend like nothing happened and make indifference toward a simple accident look like a deliberate cover-up of a nefarious deed.

But hey, I'm not the shadowy overlord of the empire, so I guess my point of view is just a little different.

What's even stranger is the way the VP's office has stonewalled the White House. I actually feel sympathy for Scott McClellan. He's been thrown under the bus by the guy who's supposed to be a subordinate to his boss.

Choose your weapon:

The Gay Games are coming to Chicago in July. But, considering that the Winter Olympics are going on right now, the Gay Games just seem... I don't know, redundant. After all, the winter olympics brings us such sports as the two man luge:



and men's figure skating:


I ask you, what could be more gay?

Of course, Johnny Weir did look stunning in that sequined evening gown last night. But, nevertheless I do find figure skating, men's or women's, to be problematic.

Now, I'm an aesthete from way back and a great skating performance is beautiful to watch, but that's exactly the problem. It's a performance. A performance with overt feats of athleticism attempted at irregular intervals in order to give the impression that a sporting event is taking place.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not one to say that figure skating should be driven into the sea. But, why do we pay so much attention to it when we could indulge ourselves in art that is overtly art. Or otherwise, sport that is overtly sport, rather than this bastardization of both. Put a ballet on once in a while. Give Bill T. Jones a network Tv special.

Oh well. It's still amusing when they fall.

I refuse to recognize the present Olympics. Henceforth, no Olympic Games will be official unless the opening ceremonies feature an appearance by Björk.



Um...
Did Michelle Kwan die or something? What the hell is going on?

First Impressions/Día a Día

Well, I'm waiting for The Strokes to finish downloading and my Ruben Blades cd to import into iTunes and then I'm going to play my creaky MacOS9 version of Master of Orion II while listening to Ruben Blades and The Strokes.
What? Hey, I'm only 50% weird.

Since I'm within proximity of the topic, rarely do I have the opportunity to discuss this, Ruben Blades is something of a hero of mine. In these present times when I'm facing a new kind of existential crisis with respect to my career, namely, if I don't want this then what do I want--I am reminded that what I really want in life, after all, is to be like Ruben Blades.

"Día a día la nostalgia me impulsa a continuar
Día a día la distancia me aconseja olvidar"

Qué verdád, Ruben, qué verdád.

Coretta Scott King Remembered in Six-Hour Funeral

When I die, and I'm not sure exactly to whom I'm addressing this message, but let's keep the memorial service to a maximum of 120 minutes. Just enough time for 3 acts, a restorative conclusion and perhaps a denoument. Oh, and find a way to work Mahler's 9th Symphony into the soundtrack.

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

Alright, so here's my prediction for Super Bowl Sunday. Get a pen, you're going to want to make a note of this.

I predict: 4 hours of inane pregame coverage.

Oh, You're So Silent [acb]

Maybe I am, maybe I am.

Maybe I need to rebuild this blog; make it the blog it really should be:
A chocolate blog!