Yesterday at a fast-food restaurant with my daughter, I told a group of obnoxiously loud high-schoolers they should watch their language and their bragging about sexual exploits because it was noon on a Sunday and there were children all over the place. I would also like to take this opportunity to invite everyone to get the hell off my lawn. Thank you.
In case you're curious:
Come on - my last post referenced Homer, doesn't that bump me up into at least high school level?
Quiet on the homefront the last couple of days because I've been sick. I'm highly put out by it too, since I was just getting settled into my regime of running and better diet, and feeling all healthy and active for the first time in about two years. Then, enter illness.
Worst of all, I think Elizabeth is now getting sick, too. Elizabeth has a strong constitution, though, and is so far thwarting sickness.
Anyway, for today will be some bits of random observation. Over the weekend, I'll be back-posting Part II and III of the MPAA article for the past Wednesday and Thursday. If you've got the feed, they'll show up, or you can just jump over to the archives Monday and catch up. Or not. Whatever course the stars tell you to take.
I'll also catch up on That's Logic, and hopefully launch a new project blog, one that tries much harder to take a stab at legitimacy than this one does. I'm using WordPress for it, and going through the wonderful, hair-pulling process that is creating my own custom theme. I may give up at any point and resort to Textpattern. Which, oddly enough, is easier to customize for me.
The Saga of My New Favorite Skirt
My energy level and powers of concentration are right about where they would have to be to think composing a tale about an article of clothing is a good idea. So here it is.
Well over a year ago, almost two, I purchased a lovely, calf-length skirt from Gadzooks. (I also bought a cute black shrug that I'm pretty sure the ditz who used to live across the hall from me back in my old apartment building stole from the dryer, but that's neither here nor there. Bitch.) Anyway, this skirt was in that hippie-ish style that was in a couple of seasons ago, which was perfect for me since a) I rarely concern myself with being in current style, and b) it was on clearance. It was also an extra-small and a gorgeous shade of bright turquoise, my favorite color. Very much like this.
So I got it, and took it home. Where I then discovered that the ditz at the store (my status as young woman necessitates much exposure to ditzes, which annoys me) had forgotten to take the security tag off of the skirt. Obviously, their in-store security system is foolproof, considering no alarm went off when I left the store. The tag was one of those super-deadly ink ones, which promises to explode immediately if meddled with and douse said meddler with damning pigment. I determined to take it back the store and have it removed safely.
Which would have worked out fine if this hadn't been shortly after I had given birth. Raising an infant doesn't leave too much time for shopping trips, and I never made it back to the store. The skirt, sadly, ended up at the bottom of a box somewhere, alone and overlooked.
Until recently, when I discovered it while unpacking in my new place. Just in time for spring, a new fabulously-colored skirt! Except it still had the ink tag. And the fact that I had bought it in a store two hours north of my current location didn't matter as much as the fact that the store had since completely gone out of business, ink-tag-removers and all.
So I'm left with the MacGuyver route and trying to jimmy the ink tag into submission on my own. (Or making someone else do it for me, which was just as effective and much easier.) After much internet research, debating on proper techniques, a few paper towels and a couple of hours, the ink was drained and the tag safely popped off. A tiny, imperceptible tear and a minuscule smear of ink remains, but I think it gives the skirt character. I wore it last Tuesday for the first time, to much acclaim. Okay, to a couple of offhand compliments. I like it, anyway.
Morals of the story: 1) Pay attention to ditzes who may not remove ink tags on your clothing; 2) If you have a problem, chances are someone on the internet has not only had it too, but also blogged about it. With pictures.
I guess those aren't really morals. But it's a story about a skirt. What do you expect?
First off, it's the end of the week. I'm not dealing with needy, co-dependent software programs anymore. Adobe, you and I are on a break.
Well, maybe just a little Photoshop. But that's it! I'm not going to let you make me hate myself on the weekend.
In other news, it's warm, sunny, and half the staff in my office seems to have disappeared. I'm sure the former part has nothing to do with the latter. And none of it will have any bearing on how long I stick around today. No siree.
My lofty goal of publishing thought-provoking Daily articles has taken a sharp downward turn, as it would seem. It's been a long week. Next week, I'll write something obnoxious about that whole MPAA thinks smoking is icky announcement that's been ticking me off today.
So when I was doing the intensive and highly academic research yesterday for my study on the fates of aging 90's alternative rockers, I came across a somewhat amateur list of atheist musicians at the Atheist Alliance. I'm not quite sure what the purpose of this is. Do they think that someone who believes in God will read their page, smack his/her forehead, and exclaim, "You mean my absolute favorite musician and personal hero Barry Manilow is an atheist? Wow, I must be totally off the mark. Time to rethink - from now on, God is dead to me." God probably doesn't want someone that easily swayed (or, if there's any divine justice whatsoever, someone who likes Barry Manilow, period) believing in Him/Her anyway.
Also, I think this atheist musician list includes a few entries whose atheistic stance should probably go without saying. For instance, do you have to point out to me that death metal band Deicide isn't really God's biggest group of fans? And that the Dead Kennedys probably weren't churchgoers? Anyway, I found all that out because previously mentioned, still-hot-even-at-42, Third Eye Blind singer Stephan Jenkins is more or less an atheist. And he must be right, because I'm sure if there were a God, he'd be dating someone like, oh, me, and instead he is dating Vanessa Carlson. What the hell.
So, in one of those long, drawn-out, practically-incomprehensible-to-outsiders chain-of-thoughts, I started thinking yesterday about 90's alternative musicians I used to have a crush on. Which is basically all of them.
You see, I came of age in the proper alternative music era of the 90's. It was an epic time. Roving bands of fashionably long-haired and grungy musicians murmured and/or shouted about heartbreak, apathy, and flannel. Billy Corgan's followers numbered into the thousands. And there was a firm line drawn between "us" and "them," them of course referring to those principles of injustice usually summed up under the heading of "The Man," and generally credited with such travesties as the destruction of Cobain and the Spice Girls.
From this maelstrom of artistic incoherence, there emerged a certain ideal, essentially a re-branding of the classic rock hero, longtime subject of teenage female adulation. This version was adorably scruffy, probably very occasionally stoned, and delightfully slacker-next-door in type. He was the guy in your best friend's brother's garage band that you were always just a little too young/shy/smart to go after. While many members of this once-thriving race most likely ended up pursuing a career in food service and/or petty theft, some parlayed their talents into popular music; and since I was in my teens at the time they did this, I will always have a certain ashamed nostalgia for them. They were kind of tools. But I was stupid at fourteen. And it is this I'm exploiting for the sake of a post by digging up some of my old favorites and making fun of them.
- Stephan Jenkins - I'll start with the one easiest to make fun of. Which is kind of cruel - but, seriously, Third Eye Blind? They're not much in the Annals of Rock but a footnote in the one-hit-wonder category (or maybe two-hit-wonder category, if one exists). But their lead singer was cute. And apparently still is not bad, at 42. (Yes, 42. God, how old am I again?)
- Matthew Sweet - The difference here is that he was actually a great musician. So it's somewhat justified.
- Gavin Rossdale - Representing the British sub-species of 90's alternative rocker guy. Still hot as well, although significant point markdown for marrying Stefani. Bonus, however, for having secret past love-child drama, which is exactly the type of thing I want to read about when I haven't even thought of you in at least six years and decide to Google you one bored afternoon. Thanks for making it not a total loss of five minutes, mate.
- Collectively, Better Than Ezra & the Gin Blossoms - I'm sure there were some others, they're pretty interchangeable. Any one from any one of those type of bands would do, honestly.
- Trent - From Daria, of course. The synthesis of the ideal, if you will.
By the way - oh my, going to that Daria fan site I linked to is awesome. There's Windows 95 themes! Win-Amp skins! Nonfiction essays about Daria fan-fiction! If my own particular trip down the alleyways of 90's alternative culture irritated you, at least take comfort in the fact I didn't offer you any Third Eye Blind Win-Amp skins.