Thursday, April 26, 2007
Arrested for assault. He kicked a photographer several times and threw a container of beans at him (which is hysterical, but beside the point). They're quoting the photographer talking about the incident, claiming that he verbally attacked his kids and saying that Hugh was out of line.
Now, does this dumb fucking photographer actually expect anyone to feel bad for him?
He was out of line? You're the fucking asshole who showed up in front of his private residence and started snapping pictures of him, asking him to smile like the royal cock bag you are.
I'd say that paparazzi are scum, but that's insulting to scum. Seriously. That was what I had typed first, "Paparazzi are scum" and the phone rang. It was a lawyer with a cease and desist order, saying that what I had written was slander and defamation. I asked how the paparazzi had found out what I'd written so quickly. He said no, he was defending the scum.
These assholes stalk people and harass them everytime they step out of their houses. Oh yeah, that's right. Celebrities are people. Real, live, people. If any one of you had some crazy asshole following your every move and harassing you where ever you went, you'd go to the fucking police. But some how these cock suckers justify what they're doing with the old "it's just part of being famous".
Fuck you. Because someone is famous doesn't mean you own them. It doesn't give you the right to treat them like they're a fucking exhibit at the fucking zoo (actually, I don't think you're allowed to treat animals at the zoo that badly).
I can't blame Hugh or anyone else, for that matter, who finally snap and kick some paparazzi ass. More people should do it. It shouldn't just be legal, it should be encouraged. I'd kick your fucking ass too. You better believe I'd throw something a lot harder than a container of beans too and you'd be luck to get away with just a couple of kicks.
People wonder why celebrities are so crazy. If I had to live my life in that kind of fishbowl I'd be bat shit crazy too. And it's really fucking easy to make someone look crazy when you're snapping pictures of them every second of every day.
Oh, and is this guy fucking serious? He told Hugh Grant he has two kids and Hugh attacked them?
Why the fuck would he tell him he has two kids? Like that's the first thing you should when some one kicks you? Because that justifies you being a fucking douche bag? Because that's going to make his stop and go "Oh well, in that case, please continue fucking with my morning by snapping my picture without taking the time to consider my privacy, feelings, rights or whatever. People with two kids get to take all the pictures they like. What are their names by the way? Tell them I say hi. In fact, when are their birthdays? I'll be sure to send them a nice card."? Fuckwad.
I hate it, but no matter how hard I try I can't stop that feeling. So right now, I'm feeling sick, panicky and guilty.
Why? Because someone assumed something that was completely wrong, didn't check with me, was subsequently set straight (by me) and now I'm the asshole because they screwed up. It's going to be a really bad week. And everything had been going so well. *sigh*
I think I'm going to throw up.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Being hungry and lazy I just grabbed the first knife I saw to start cutting up potatoes. It was the one and only steak knife I own. It's a piece of crap and really the worst knife I could have picked to cut baby potatoes with. This was made painfully (very, very painfully) clear when the knife stuck in one of the potatoes (of course it had to be the last one I was cutting up) and I forced the knife through. Apparently I used a little too much force, as the knife sliced through not only the potato, but my finger as well.
It caught my index finger just above the top knuckle and cut through the tip. At first it was oddly numb, so I stuck the wounded appendage in my mouth and headed for the washroom. It wasn't bleeding much, so I ran it under some cold water.
Another bad idea.
This brought the feeling rushing back and started the blood gushing. Since I was
dripping everywhere, I wrapped it in some paper towel. Four to be exact. I bled through them all. After a few minutes of cursing and bleeding I managed to wrap my finger in several band-aids. I spent the rest of the night in pain and cursing every steak knife ever made. I also decided that I didn't need to go to the hospital.
Yesterday I changed the band-aid at my mother's suggestion. It was a pretty bad
idea, in that it started my finger bleeding again, me cursing and my finger hurting. But it did give me a chance to get a better look at it.
Without the gushing blood I could see that my previous asessment was incorrect. I really should have gotten stitches. It was also obvious why my fingernail had hurt so damned much (I wasn't even aware your fingernails could hurt), the knife cut right through to the underside of my nail.
At this point though, it's way too late to bother going to a doctor. My finger still hurts like a sonofabitch. The potatoes weren't bad, but not worth that much pain. And I think I'm going to throw that damned knife away.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
I bitch a lot about stupid patrons at work, but sometimes I have trouble finding the right words to correctly express myself.
This Freakazoid clip (one of the best cartoons ever) clearly illustrates the way most patrons make me feel and what every ounce of will power I have is fighting to keep me from doing.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
According to Yahoo News, the Pope has cancelled Limbo. Cancelled.
Is he allowed to do that? I mean, I know (based on this picture) that he probably eats the souls of the unbaptised*. But is he allowed to just say "Screw it, I'm tired of this Limbo shit. Go tell everyone I said it's a load of crap. We changed our minds."?
I was always pretty certain that you aren't allowed to just "change" a long standing belief and teaching within a religion whenever it doesn't work for you. But then I suppose they changed it to Limbo from "all unbaptised children go to HELL". Wasn't that sweet of them? I love when a group can play to the audience like that.
But seriously, this isn't just like them going back on "no meat on Friday", this is a big fucking back pedal because basically what they've changed is the "born with sin" idea. Now the Pope's decided that everyone is born clean.
I'm completely miffed by all of this and it's not even my religion. I've got to say this move certainly isn't instilling a great deal of confidence in the stability of the vatican's teachings and belief system. And remember, this is a religion that people have died for, killed for, gone to war for. This is religion that people build their whole lives around and it can change so drastically at the drop of a hat? You'll excuse me when I say that it sounds like a whole big steamy pile of bullshit to me.
*Seriously, in a club of fairly scary looking guys, to be know as the scariest you've got to be down right terrifying. This guy scares the hell out of me (no pun intended). There is nothing redeaming about him at all. Even when he smiles he looks like he's grimacing.
I mean I know he's german, but even that doesn't account for his mug. For years I thought my grandmother had cornered the market on the german scowl, but this puts her to shame.
Did they elect this guy in the hopes that he'd be able to scare everyone in to repenting? I'm sure the number of people going to confession, just out of fear of pissing him off, doubled at least.
I keep expecting him to sprout horns and breathing fire while begining to feast on the souls of the living.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
I don't think it's even almost possible to express in words how much I want a pair of these incredible steampunk-licious specks. They are so awesome I could cry, you know, if I were human and did that sort of thing.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Like I said earlier, it was crazy busy at work. It actually got worse as the day wore on. The holds took forever and the stream of trolleys was pretty much constant. It got to the point that the clerks would flinch and cower in fear every time they had another trolley to bring back.
Then I got to spend the evening with a person who seems to think that having children my age translates into her having seniority at work. Sorry, Sweet heart. I don't fucking think so. Please stop talking to me like I'm a ten year old who need to wear a helmet and rides the special bus to school before I toss you off the mezz. My own mother doesn't even talk to me like that. She knows better. And I know how much "We need to start pick-up" sounds like "Could you start putting away the paperbacks, because we have all fucking night", but I'll try to speak more clearly in future. Sorry for the confusion.
And the patrons. Oh, the patrons. When will beating these people be made legal? Although I have to admit that I'm constantly amazed that people who obviously can't read or count and have the attention span of a three year old on speed still manage to get themselves up, dressed (sort of) and make their way down to the library in the first place.
Nothing warms my heart more than watching someone pulling random things off the shelves and shoving them back in where ever and then having them ask me where a certain item is, because... wait for it... it's not where the computer said it would be. It takes every ounce of will power not to finally snap "Oh, it's not!? Well, some asshole probably decided that our system of organisation didn't work for them and stuck the fucking book on some random shelf somewhere, because as a patron that's their fucking right!"
But to be fair the Dewey Decimal Classification has only been around since 1876 and it does require that you know how to count, you know, to ten. Fuckwit.
As our patrons clearly can't count, I obviously can't expect them to be able to tell time. That's fine. That's why, in addition to our posting of library hours, we also provide a nifty little service. We announce fifteen minutes before closing that you need to start clearing out. Then again ten minutes before closing. And five minutes before. And finally right at closing. Seems simple enough. Not so.
As I'm trying desperately to finish cleaning up for the night, (because everything upstairs should be put away by 9pm and to be honest, I don't get paid for staying late) I encounter two of my very favourite people. Bling Bling and Last Minute Larry. Both are terrible for taking stacks of newspapers, from every conceivable folder and refusing to relinquish them until the very last possible second. Tonight was no exception. I wasn't even going to consider fighting them for their papers. I hit my "fuck it" point, which would have been all well and good had I not looked over just as the announcement that we were closed was made to see some stupid fuck digging through the magazines and taking more out! GAH!
Don't worry. It's okay. We all love to stay after hours and clean up after you. Oh, and we all get paid until you fuck off. We actually all live in the library basement. It's our home, our whole lives in fact. We have no friends and family outside the walls of our beloved library. So please, stay as long as you like. You fucking cock.
Oh and the exception I mentioned. The one person who didn't aggrivate the shit out of me this evening was actually a patron. He must have stumbled in to the library by accident. He was much to intelligent to be one of our patrons. He commented on my having to put things away and that it seemed like less fun activity while I was shelving CDs and I was polite (I don't mind when people are civil to me). He then asked if the CDs were in any actual order. I pointed out that they are in alphabetical order. Or at least they should be. Patrons like to make a mess of our order. He suggested that they were lazy or illiterate, I agreed. He then promised to be very careful and not to make a mess of the CDs and then managed to stay completely out of my way while I was working. I honestly don't care what his reasons for doing so were. I'm just glad that at least one person managed to behave like a civilized human being for once.
Yeah, I know, it's a long ass post that no one but myself is interested in. But it's my blog and I can do what I like. So there.
I had a bad day, leave me alone.
It's the first day back after the long weekend, which means it's crazy-go-nuts at work. Things pile up when the library is closed for three days, but this is insane.
Right now there are thirteen trolleys out on the floor (on a normal day there's usually about four) and six more waiting in the back (usually there are maybe two or three). On top of that there are three hundred and eight holds (on a bad day we would have two hundred, and even that is unusual). And then to make things really exciting, all but two of us called in sick. One person agreed to come in for an extra four hours later on, but until then it's just us.
The person who would normally check in the holds isn't here so the job falls to me. Looking at the three trolleys I have to deal with is making me feel sick.
It's going to be a very, very long night.
I think I'm going to cry.
Fucking stupid everything.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
See, I'm broke. I have been for a long time and that's fine. I get by and I'm not starving or anything, so whatever. I also like to do things for people. Which is where the problem comes in. My friends and family know I don't have a lot of money, but don't seem to understand that I know that I don't have a lot of money. So every time I try to do something nice for someone or buy them something it turns into an argument.
"You shouldn't have done that! You can't afford it!" or "Let me pay you back!"
"No, that's okay. My treat."
"But you can't afford that."
"Oh, can't I? Here I thought I was a million-fucking-aire! Silly me!"
Honestly, I know I'm fucking broke. I know it better than anyone, that's kind of the thing about being broke. So I really don't need everyone pointing it out to me every fucking time I do anything. I understand you're trying to help me out, but you're really just making me feel like a bigger loser.
I don't know how I can make this any clearer but when I do have some extra cash, it makes me feel like I have that much more by being able to give things to the people I care about. I get more out of the things that I get for others than I ever get out of the things I get for me. And it just sends me crashing back down when I have it thrown back in may face.
It's a gift. Say thank you and take it for what it is. I don't need your pity and I don't need your damned charity.
My favourite part of the article I found this new is was this:
When asked if it's safe to have blood in the sewers, the (Metropolitan) Council said it is no more harmful than most other wastes in the sewer.
Actual loss of teeth suggests a disease that has been ongoing for some 15, 20 years without being detected," Professor Birgitta Soder, one of the study's authors, told the Goteborgs-Posten newspaper.
I love happy news in the morning...
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
James Doohan was the man. He was one of the biggest reasons I love Star Trek: TOS and it was a sad day when the world lost our beloved Scotty.
But wait. His story doesn't end there. No, sir. The man who was Scotty is headed back to the stars, back to space, back to where no man has ever gone before. James Doohan's cremated remains are going to be shot in to space on April 28th. (Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)
Along with James Doohan’s cremated remains will also travel the ashes of one of NASA’s first space travelers, Mercury astronaut Gordon Cooper, aboard a privately-built rocket set to launch from New Mexico this month.
The launch of a SpaceLoft XL rocket built by the private firm UP Aerospace is scheduled for April 28. SL-2, as it has been dubbed, will lift off from Spaceport America, a state-funded launch site near Upham, New Mexico and about 45 miles (72 kilometers) north of the city of Las Cruces.
Two to beam up, I guess.
In a recent interview he had this to say:
"The strangest thing I've tried to snort?" the Sun quoted Richards as saying in its early Wednesday edition. "My father. I snorted my father. He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn't have cared. It went down pretty well and I'm still alive."
Now as mind boggling as that is, I have to admit I'm impressed he said anything. Anything the interviewer could understand anyway. Is it just me, or is he even trying to speak english any more? I'm pretty sure it's just a series of mumbles, grunts and his disgusting raspy smoker's laugh.
*update* Though I'm not surprised to hear that this is a joke (remember that I said I was impressed he had said, you know, words... that people could understand...) I'm still pretty sure Keith Richards is not human.