Yes, it's true. "Jerry Springer: The Opera" premiered in NY on Tuesday, January 29th at Carnegie Hall. And your humble t-loger was there. In Row C. Seat 14. On the Parquet Level. Having paid more than double for tickets being scalped outside for less than half as much. But still.
L.B. and I went to see the Opera, having to wade through scads of protestors outside, holding vigils for our lost morality & shattered innocence. It was quite a scene, actually. Guess who else was there! Robert Deniro! And other celebrities -- unseen & unnamed.
The NYT did a review of the show. Check it out here.
In other news, we were amused.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
open letter to the highspeed printer on my floor
Dear High-Speed Printer:
I won't waste your time with niceties. I know you have work to do. And I know this firm churns out paper with about the same frequency as I breath. Collectively, we have taken down many forests. And you've been a big part of that.
But H-S-P (do you mind if I call you that?) Today, you vex me. I clear paper jams. I really do. Unlike others on this floor (who shall remain nameless but should hang their heads in shame anyway), I try. I attempt to decipher your language -- turn knob 4c counter-clockwise, lift lever 2b, turn dial 7ca9 clockwise until you hear a click, remove paper -- whatever you throw at me, I catch. I have stuck my entire head inside your bowels (ugh) looking for that scrap of paper 2 mm by 3 mm that is holding up an entire floor's worth of printing. I have been covered in toner so often that several people on the floor think I work for xerox. I think you understand what I'm saying. I do not run away shrieking. I do not cower behind the paper shredder. I look you in the guts and roll up my sleeves.
So today. You were jammed. I cleared 3 jams single-handedly. Two jams at the front door and 1 at the left-hand side. But did that satisfy your wicked sense of humour. Of course not. After wiping the sweat from my brow and the toner from my shirt, I looked up to the screen to see if after tray 3 finished lifting, your steady, comforting hum would start up again, flicking paper out with a delightful whirr. But no. No no no. Oh, there is a misfed sheet at Tray 4. Easy peasy, I think. I open tray 4 thinking I'd see the culprit right there on the top (as with the misfed sheet in Tray 3 a couple of days ago). But no.
There. Is. No. Misfeed. You are toying with me. I looked inside, outside, around the corner, upside down. I looked everywhere. I could not find a misfed sheet. You know why? Because there is no misfed sheet.
In defeat, after trying forever (wasting precious billable time, though I will find a way to bill your vexatiousness), I finally called the xerox techs. I told them that you lie sometimes. I'm coming over to you now, to see what (if anything) comes tearing out of your guts.
You suck. I hate you today.
RM.
I won't waste your time with niceties. I know you have work to do. And I know this firm churns out paper with about the same frequency as I breath. Collectively, we have taken down many forests. And you've been a big part of that.
But H-S-P (do you mind if I call you that?) Today, you vex me. I clear paper jams. I really do. Unlike others on this floor (who shall remain nameless but should hang their heads in shame anyway), I try. I attempt to decipher your language -- turn knob 4c counter-clockwise, lift lever 2b, turn dial 7ca9 clockwise until you hear a click, remove paper -- whatever you throw at me, I catch. I have stuck my entire head inside your bowels (ugh) looking for that scrap of paper 2 mm by 3 mm that is holding up an entire floor's worth of printing. I have been covered in toner so often that several people on the floor think I work for xerox. I think you understand what I'm saying. I do not run away shrieking. I do not cower behind the paper shredder. I look you in the guts and roll up my sleeves.
So today. You were jammed. I cleared 3 jams single-handedly. Two jams at the front door and 1 at the left-hand side. But did that satisfy your wicked sense of humour. Of course not. After wiping the sweat from my brow and the toner from my shirt, I looked up to the screen to see if after tray 3 finished lifting, your steady, comforting hum would start up again, flicking paper out with a delightful whirr. But no. No no no. Oh, there is a misfed sheet at Tray 4. Easy peasy, I think. I open tray 4 thinking I'd see the culprit right there on the top (as with the misfed sheet in Tray 3 a couple of days ago). But no.
There. Is. No. Misfeed. You are toying with me. I looked inside, outside, around the corner, upside down. I looked everywhere. I could not find a misfed sheet. You know why? Because there is no misfed sheet.
In defeat, after trying forever (wasting precious billable time, though I will find a way to bill your vexatiousness), I finally called the xerox techs. I told them that you lie sometimes. I'm coming over to you now, to see what (if anything) comes tearing out of your guts.
You suck. I hate you today.
RM.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
i haven't blogged in so long.
this blogging thing is not going as regularly as i'd like. but then again, neither is my gym attendance.
random thoughts from my commute this morning:
+ i saw a nyc dept. of corrections van when i stepped out of the south ferry subway station. their billing is as "NY's Boldest". Hmmm. Boldest. What's next? Dept. of Sanitation - "NY's Sturdiest"; Parks Dept. - "NY's Greenest"; Dept of Public Works - "NY's shiniest". I dunno. Strange. Then again, the City does invite one to "take a bite of it". Ugh.
+ a what's what to fellow-commuters: if I can hear your ipod, you are going deaf. repeat (louder): you are going deaf.
+ and hey, when I say "thank you", you say "you're welcome" or some variation on that theme. it's not hard. it's actually very easy. most of you are quite good about it, but then there was surly mcrobinsurly this morning who moved over to make room for me to sit, but when i said "thank you" and smiled, gave me a look that would crush satan. crush. satan. it made me want to take back my thanks and say something more like "move it surlystuff". but i said nothing and silently thought about how manners have gone down the crapper.
so, that's about it. the rest of my thoughts are too lurid to put in print and could bar any future political aspirations i have.
oh yes, the democratic run-offs. after having L.B. explain the caucuses / primaries to me, i am still not sure i really get it. and that electoral college. huh. but this whole obama v. clinton is EVERYWHERE. you can't escape it. this morning when i woke from my unsatisfying sleep at 4:30 AM, having left the radio on all-night (increasing my ecological footprint, which is probably already size 70 000) - two very apt topics were being discussed. first was insomnia. truly apt since i woke so early because i am having sleep problems. second was the signage / support for obama in my neighbourhood.
why can't the american public have "presidential idol?" it would solve so many problems - something televised. tv sucks these days. and the best thing to come of this strike is the absence of 7 hour long award shows. so "presidential idol" could fill that gap. and people actually VOTE for american idol, maybe the branding could do something for the presidential election too. call in your vote - better than wingnut voting machines. email it in. text it in. now, i'm not suggesting the votes be collected by paul abdul (err. sic. i meant paula abdul) or that mean british guy. simon. or colin. or something. but a neutral electoral commission made up of people from outside the U.S. and recluses/hermits, who don't care or don't have vested interests in the outcome could tally the votes. would be amazing. who would sing "i will survive". mccain? huckabee?
ok. signing off and officially starting work.
random thoughts from my commute this morning:
+ i saw a nyc dept. of corrections van when i stepped out of the south ferry subway station. their billing is as "NY's Boldest". Hmmm. Boldest. What's next? Dept. of Sanitation - "NY's Sturdiest"; Parks Dept. - "NY's Greenest"; Dept of Public Works - "NY's shiniest". I dunno. Strange. Then again, the City does invite one to "take a bite of it". Ugh.
+ a what's what to fellow-commuters: if I can hear your ipod, you are going deaf. repeat (louder): you are going deaf.
+ and hey, when I say "thank you", you say "you're welcome" or some variation on that theme. it's not hard. it's actually very easy. most of you are quite good about it, but then there was surly mcrobinsurly this morning who moved over to make room for me to sit, but when i said "thank you" and smiled, gave me a look that would crush satan. crush. satan. it made me want to take back my thanks and say something more like "move it surlystuff". but i said nothing and silently thought about how manners have gone down the crapper.
so, that's about it. the rest of my thoughts are too lurid to put in print and could bar any future political aspirations i have.
oh yes, the democratic run-offs. after having L.B. explain the caucuses / primaries to me, i am still not sure i really get it. and that electoral college. huh. but this whole obama v. clinton is EVERYWHERE. you can't escape it. this morning when i woke from my unsatisfying sleep at 4:30 AM, having left the radio on all-night (increasing my ecological footprint, which is probably already size 70 000) - two very apt topics were being discussed. first was insomnia. truly apt since i woke so early because i am having sleep problems. second was the signage / support for obama in my neighbourhood.
why can't the american public have "presidential idol?" it would solve so many problems - something televised. tv sucks these days. and the best thing to come of this strike is the absence of 7 hour long award shows. so "presidential idol" could fill that gap. and people actually VOTE for american idol, maybe the branding could do something for the presidential election too. call in your vote - better than wingnut voting machines. email it in. text it in. now, i'm not suggesting the votes be collected by paul abdul (err. sic. i meant paula abdul) or that mean british guy. simon. or colin. or something. but a neutral electoral commission made up of people from outside the U.S. and recluses/hermits, who don't care or don't have vested interests in the outcome could tally the votes. would be amazing. who would sing "i will survive". mccain? huckabee?
ok. signing off and officially starting work.
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