Google+ Followers

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Shout...Shout...Let it All Out...

Okay...I have no fucking idea why the Tears for Fears song is now in my head.  Perhaps it's because I would like to shout extremely loudly, and yet I'm not even angry at anyone.


Yet.


It has been a long, strange weekend and beginning of the week.  It's all kind of morphed into one experience, where nothing happens.


I have heard no word on last week's interview, and I do not expect to hear anything for a while.  Not worried, nor bothered by this; I am also waiting to hear what TrafficTalk has in mind.  The bosses were in Los Angeles last week for meetings, and while they apparently did impress the people they met out there, no one's sure what will happen, or when.


So yeah...now, things are going to change weekend wise at Radio PA.  My erstwhile colleague Rob has asked to scale back his hours because he has a real job.  (Shudder)


I'm sure my intrepid boss has been slamming his head on his desk (I wondered what that divot in the table was under his keyboard) trying to figure out how to replace the guy.


We're gonna have to make arrangement changes, which is fine; this is the radio world, and the real world makes things even more fun at the last minute.


Giving Kaitryth a ride about today for errands...a nice day, warm weather, after the car-washing we got over the past couple days.  Netted me some sun, and lunch at Chipotle (all good).


To backtrack--saw Nor on Monday at the Office, had a good long chat.  We discussed a lot of stuff, especially how the Pagan community, such as it is/was around here has splintered.  Times have changed, and our lives have taken each of us different ways. You can't get that back, no matter what you might hope for.


Speaking of religion, or rather what I call "alleged" religion:  I remember now why I don't particularly like York City.  Driving down through there, I saw numerous closed-up storefronts.  York is headed straight back to Dead City status.


Doesn't help when you have a screaming skinhead standing in the center of the city with a sign proclaiming "THE RAPTURE" is near.


Yeah...right.  The Rapture...the one that William Miller proclaimed would come when the world would be destroyed by fire in the 1840's or whatever...and it didn't happen, but thousands of morons sold their property, their homes, everything, and donned white Ascencion gowns and gathered on hills to await the end of the world.


Miller, of course would be safe...really.  He reportedly built himself a fireproof safe which he'd lock himself inside of and he'd be the only one left alive to meet God.


After it didn't happen, the idiot claimed he'd miscalculated the date and named another, and the fools went through it again.


I remember the stickers, the 8-1/2 by 11 stickers put up all over Boston in the 90's that "The Rapture" was coming on a specific date.


Yeah, right.  This is what the fuck is wrong with religion; it is used for other people's purposes, for money, fame, attention, and power.  People like that thug in the street and the rest of these creatures who think that if they scream loud enough, it'll wipe out all the stupid, bad, illegal and immoral shit they did BEFORE they saw the light.


Dream on, bitches.


I don't recall Christ screaming at people to follow him, but I'm sure someone will say he did.  Yeah, right like you were there, weren't you?


To borrow from Jim Jeffries (Riz has got me into it), there's a lot of people who know that Hell if it exists is a place most people are going because they did enough fucked up shit to put themselves there.


Pennsylvania is a haven for these people who talk the talk, but can't walk the walk.  I have no time for them.  I do know that my "Born Again Pagan" sticker does put the shits up them, badly.  It certainly put that asshole in the SUV with Biblical quotes all over the vehicle in a snit.  He got behind me in traffic today, and after reading that, made sure he got ahead of me so that at the next stop light I could see the propaganda on his vehicle.


Like putting it in big fonts all over your urban assault vehicle is gonna get you to Heaven...dream on.  The louder you scream it, the more we know you're SATAN'S BITCH.


And you know it too...hee...hee...hee.


In case you wonder:  I don't believe in the concept of Hell.  Hell to me is like religion should be, a personal thing.  I think everyone has a concept of what Hell is...the worst, most horrid, pain in the ass thing you could experience, happening over and over again...there's your Hell.


That said...at the Office this evening...it seems like a group of 12 loud, middle aged people are holding a meeting here.  And every other table is filled with people who know someone at the big table, and everyone is getting caught up and talking LOUDLY ACROSS THE CAFE AT ONE ANOTHER.


How loud is too loud in a public place?  I must put this question up on F-Book and see what kind of responses I get.


I have been going, haven't I?  Let's see...I did finish another edit of "Parasite Girls," a novel I've really gotten into over the past few months.  It's...to quote Phillies Manager Charlie Manuel:  "Good...real good."


That's every answer Charlie gives to questions about his team.  "Joe Blanton pitched good...real good!"


I love Charlie; he's actually a very intelligent, engaging dude.


Okay...getting inspired to paint.  Kaitryth bought a bunch of paint to do a room at her house today, and one of the colors is Very Berry.  A little darker than this color; I liked it, and I wonder if I can get up the urge to actually paint one of the rooms in the house again.


The closet needs it; another layer of paint will ensure the walls stay up a little longer.


Best quote about my bathroom comes from Johnny:  "Your bathroom looks like you killed a Smurf in it!"


That one could use it, but I have no idea...creative weirdness, you know.  Anyway, I do aim to return to editing "Out Among the Stars," and I have to hear from the gang in Boston about what is up.


Oh...those wankers at the big table brought up a certain two-bit TV actor's name...who cares?


BY THE WAY, WHO GIVES A RAT'S FUCK ABOUT THE OSCARS? I DON'T!


Nuf said.


Ok, old guy's ranting too much, need to get on with life.



No comments:

Post a Comment