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Pre-Holiday Blues
Nov. 13th, 2009 11:18 amMost people get them following the holidays, I think I get them leading up to the holidays, where people tire me by their mix of forced good cheer, faux-goodwill, and barely concealed self-obsession. Speaking as a self-obsessed narcissist myself, I can understand how that behaviour can get irritating very quickly. However, it leaves me in two basic states; unmotivated about anything to do with more than a handful of people, and kind of disliking this large and nebulous cloud of friends, associations, and hangers-on that develops on-line.
I have been told that flouncing off is a bad thing, and frankly, I can't muster the emo self-cutting wank needed for that kind of pitiful passive aggressive behaviour. At the same time, a mass e-mail titled 'You're All A Bunch of Tossers and Here's Why: A Look Into My Intertubes' seems less likely to generate a useful response either. It would be more like tossing a hand grenade into a room full of kittens right before ushering in a group of kindergarten students and a PETA board meeting. The tears and the self-righteous anger would be amusing, as always, but you'd still have to clean up at the end of the day.
Explosives and kittens. Deck the halls with parts of Fluffy this Christmas.
This could all be a function of the new computer. A 23" monitor makes friends a lot less interesting than curbstomping red dragons and sticking a sword up a twisted elf mage's colon. Mind you, my main utilization of these burning hot graphical abilities has been to play hours of chess. Of which my skills have certainly declined. Seriously, to the point that to win an intermediate game, I need to bribe an opposing rook to switch sides at the right time.
Funny story; Cnut the Great once had an Earl assassinated after the noble complained that Cnut's habit of moving and capturing pieces while ignoring the actual rules for the pieces might be a touch unfair. The Earl, Ulf, angrily knocked over the board and stormed out. Later, Cnut's assassin stuck a dagger in his bowels, proving that the game isn't over until the king is dead.
Cnut's legacy was further tarnished when people pointed out his name looked like a typo.
Venezuela destroyed some 30,000 guns today. NRA released a statement decrying the death of innocent firearms. All had apparently only been meant for self-defense, target shooting, hunting, and gardening.
I have entered the Void, that point that exists following the World Series until Spring Training. When people like me refresh blogs every six minutes hoping for any bit of baseball news. Fortunately, I have decided to ease the pain by hunting out books on baseball from used book shops, a kind of methadone treatment for post-season withdrawl. George Will would no doubt disapprove of the association, but he's a Cubs fan, so fuck him.
Randomly, did you know the Church of Scientology claims that methadone was originally named 'Dolphamine' by the inventors, after Adolf Hitler? No doubt when future races find Trementina Base, with the incised glyphs of Scientology symbols visual only from the air on the surrounding countryside, and discover the knowledge of L.Ron Hubbard etched into stainless steel plates and encased in titanium capsules deep in the earth, Hitler will be regarded as an inordinately popular pharmacist of the 20th Century.
Right, the vomit of consciousness is starting to even bore me.
EDIT: Oh, for the love of-- if you think this entry is about you, you're wrong. It's about me. So stop being a frickin' four year old and actually, you know, e-mail me directly if you think I'm singling you out or something, as opposed to running to ask other people what they think my secret, hidden unspoken meaning is.
I have been told that flouncing off is a bad thing, and frankly, I can't muster the emo self-cutting wank needed for that kind of pitiful passive aggressive behaviour. At the same time, a mass e-mail titled 'You're All A Bunch of Tossers and Here's Why: A Look Into My Intertubes' seems less likely to generate a useful response either. It would be more like tossing a hand grenade into a room full of kittens right before ushering in a group of kindergarten students and a PETA board meeting. The tears and the self-righteous anger would be amusing, as always, but you'd still have to clean up at the end of the day.
Explosives and kittens. Deck the halls with parts of Fluffy this Christmas.
This could all be a function of the new computer. A 23" monitor makes friends a lot less interesting than curbstomping red dragons and sticking a sword up a twisted elf mage's colon. Mind you, my main utilization of these burning hot graphical abilities has been to play hours of chess. Of which my skills have certainly declined. Seriously, to the point that to win an intermediate game, I need to bribe an opposing rook to switch sides at the right time.
Funny story; Cnut the Great once had an Earl assassinated after the noble complained that Cnut's habit of moving and capturing pieces while ignoring the actual rules for the pieces might be a touch unfair. The Earl, Ulf, angrily knocked over the board and stormed out. Later, Cnut's assassin stuck a dagger in his bowels, proving that the game isn't over until the king is dead.
Cnut's legacy was further tarnished when people pointed out his name looked like a typo.
Venezuela destroyed some 30,000 guns today. NRA released a statement decrying the death of innocent firearms. All had apparently only been meant for self-defense, target shooting, hunting, and gardening.
I have entered the Void, that point that exists following the World Series until Spring Training. When people like me refresh blogs every six minutes hoping for any bit of baseball news. Fortunately, I have decided to ease the pain by hunting out books on baseball from used book shops, a kind of methadone treatment for post-season withdrawl. George Will would no doubt disapprove of the association, but he's a Cubs fan, so fuck him.
Randomly, did you know the Church of Scientology claims that methadone was originally named 'Dolphamine' by the inventors, after Adolf Hitler? No doubt when future races find Trementina Base, with the incised glyphs of Scientology symbols visual only from the air on the surrounding countryside, and discover the knowledge of L.Ron Hubbard etched into stainless steel plates and encased in titanium capsules deep in the earth, Hitler will be regarded as an inordinately popular pharmacist of the 20th Century.
Right, the vomit of consciousness is starting to even bore me.
EDIT: Oh, for the love of-- if you think this entry is about you, you're wrong. It's about me. So stop being a frickin' four year old and actually, you know, e-mail me directly if you think I'm singling you out or something, as opposed to running to ask other people what they think my secret, hidden unspoken meaning is.
