Hey there...

Yeah, so I'm going to try and follow-up on the Family Radio thing either Monday or Tuesday. Unlike evangelical fascist nutjob self-centered all-knowing ignorant brain-dead useful-only-as-unlicensed-solicitors bible-thumping carnies, I HAVE A JOB and it is taking up about all of my time right now.

Just in case, though, I'm drinking a lot of slurpees and keeping the a/c down really low: Hell is hot and forever is a long time.

"Are you Christian?..." Part One

So I'm outside having a smoke during work Saturday and a small Asian woman walks up to me and asks "Are you Christian?".

Anyone who's had this experience before knows what's coming next. For one, I'm sitting on a wall with my feet on the bench under me in the middle of the afternoon having a cig, chances are that no, I'm not Christian. I guess this makes me a 'potential save-ee'.

I politely but firmly reply that no, I am not a Christian. She asks me if I listen to Christian Radio--specifically pointing out 107.9 FM from a list that, judging by the fluency with which it was written, was given to her as a sort of fundamentalist 'Talking Points' memo. Well, not being a Christian, no I don't listen to Christian Radio. I listen to godless heathen music or sports-talk or really it's none of your business.

Actually I just say no I listen to music thank you as she continues to blabber on about how nice the radio station is and salvation and all that as I continue to just say "Stop"and "No". She says ok but she's going to pray for me. Well, on some humanistic Thinking of Others level I can appreciate that and I say so.

I guess since we've shared this moment of polite disagreement and recognition of other ideas, she has to turn around and ruin it by pointing out that smoking is a sin (? News to me...) and the long-term harmful sexual side-effects of it. Wow. That's exactly where she went.

I am proud to say I didn't fully lose my temper ( what is it with the little Asian women anyway?) but that was the point at which I did say something about that being quite enough, that I simply stepped outside while working--which is something you're not doing today I should point out--to catch a few minutes of not busting my ass in a vain attempt to get by in this horrible world, and I appreciate not being bothered by idiot fascist fundamentaldefectives who, unless they can provide some proof that they in fact OWN the bench I'm resting on, have no right to say dick to me beyond a polite "Hello" and "How are you?". I mean really, even panhandlers have a reason to be outside accosting people. Christ.

So basically the conversation ends with me telling her to piss off and her warbling on about salvation and some such bullshit. I go back inside pissed off from my break and go about my business. At some point I look up our WFSI 107.9 FM, based out of Annapolis, which is part of the Family Radio network. Family Radio. God, I don't even want to get started on the whole 'Family' thing. Such fucking buzzword and shield-to-hide-behind bullshit.

Here is some interesting info on Family Radio, it's founder and supporters. Yes, this is what I do when I'm not selling beer and wine to people. I'm almost sorry she took off so soon; when I told my co-worker The Cajun what had happened he was heading outside to cuss her out. But that never gets us anywhere does it? They can go back to their ignorant fearful 'congregation' (if you read the Wiki article you'll get what I mean by that) and talk about turning the other cheek and the yelling barbaric heathens they ran into today. I saw no point in that. I was strong with her, but only after she trashed our peaceful resolution. I saw it in her eyes; she knew we at least had a decent ending and she fucked it up. She gave me reason to tee off on her. Oh well.

Tomorrow, Part Two: I call Family Stations Inc. (corporate name of Family Radio) to do some harassing and 'saving' of my own.

Until then.....

I Want You To Want (To Pay) Me

For all the Cheap Trick fans out there.

So yeah, a few months back I left a job and was out and about having some difficulty finding a new one. I interviewed with one local store (that I would very much like to work for) but the owner didn't have a space for me. He said he'd have something for me in the near future, which I appreciated but that didn't really help me in the moment. I lucked into my current job at a different store (same business, one I was in for almost 3 years) and have become loved and well-regarded by our suppliers and clientèle, if not well-paid. Figures that 3 years of experience at a store 1/10th the size with at least twice the business doesn't earn you decent pay. Gotta love retail.

Anyway, things are going well and for all my bitching I'm making enough money to get by and I haven't been able to say that for a while. People I work with are getting to know and understand my level of experience and knowledge. I have a couple dozen customers that come into my department who know my name and I have no friggin' clue who they are. I have a little space in the world that I directly affect, and I have to say it's very enjoyable.

About a week ago I got an e-mail from the owner of Store X, where I had interviewed before. Basically it says 'Might have something for you, come by'. Immediately I start to think about pay raises and where I'd rather be. My thinking led me to the position that unless X offered me a stupid amount of money to come over, I'd rather stay where I am where there's a pretty good chance I'll be taking over another department when someone leaves (which would be sometime later this year most likely). I was resolved to take less money for the opportunity. Fair enough, right? Good plan.

You know what they say about plans....

I met with the owner of Store X Friday, and he laid out a scenario that sounded an awful lot like all the reasons I wanted to stay at my current job. This was unexpected, but got me (quietly) excited. THIS was a whole new opportunity. All that was missing was the offer, for which I would have to wait over another weekend.

Talked again today. X can't bring me over yet, but I'm first in line. Current store rumors are that I'm due for a raise (no shit) and I think I may take the chance to try and push it farther than it might naturally go. I'm in a position here where I can laugh in the face of my upcoming, substantial pay hike and tell them not to insult me. I've never been big on negotiation as far as why I should have something, get a job instead of someone else, etc. But if I work for you it's pretty simple--fuck you, pay me.

Gergle mentioned last week how nice it must be for me now when I was having so much trouble finding work just a few months ago. And yeah, it's pretty nice. The problem is that now I'm in job limbo. Also, if/when I do jump it kinda fucks with my resume a little, being at one job for such a short time before taking another. I know it would make me come off as kinda mercenary, but hell, in the business I'm in why shouldn't I be? If any of you out there work retail for a living, and I don't mean somewhere part time, I mean real retail, you know how hard it is to get paid reasonably for doing what is the most difficult and essential job in the 'food chain'. I'm at the point where I look in my wallet and my account after I get a paycheck and I know it's time to make a money grab. I'm going for it. One way or another, I'll be making some kind of money soon.

Here's to hoping for the best...

DC101 R.I.P.

Maybe I am becoming an old man already (I do have the grays for it), but Gergle's little rant got me pretty fired up.

At work we have DC101 on all day, and its a pretty sad excuse for a rock station these days. We count how many times we hear 'The Black Parade' every day, and I'm about to start counting that horrid Three Days Grace song (you know, about how he's an animal and out of control 'cause he's so baaaad), American Idol failure Daughtry and fucking goddamn Papa Roach. At least Hinder seems to be out of rotation. This is without even mentioning Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco and the like, which is a whole other rant (then again, it might not be--I just started typing).

Now, I mention Papa Roach with a special fervor. I do this not only because they suck but because they suck in such a specific way. It just seems like they wait a year or two, see what's big and then cut a record that sounds like everything else out there. Remember 'Last Resort'? When they came out they were all not quite rap-rock, with that douche singer doing all that crap 'spoken word' type shit? Trying to be all deep and dark talking about cutting himself. Like he ever fucking was a cutter. I knew cutters. I dated a cutter (who had stopped by that time thankfully), and I found the whole thing just unseemly, as if you could just tell he was trying to sell them something rather than help. I mean, tell someone its going to be better someday. Give us a solution for god's sake. What does he offer as a solution? Oh yeah, suicide. Thanks, dick.

And 'Broken Home'? About, well, you guess....yeah. At least the guitar part (and most of what the band was doing) in that song was kinda interesting. If you don't remember the lyrics, here's a sample:

Broken home/All alone
Broken home/All alone

Jesus...put a hair's worth of effort into it, man. So anyway, there they were in the middle of the shift that saw kids go from Korn to POD to Linkin Park and the rise of...god help me...emocorepowerpunkpopshit. Fast foward seven years (and two or three completely ignored records) annnnnnnnddd they're back. New song, new look. Really, check it out:

Papa Roach ca. 2000

Check 'em out now:

Nice. YouTube! Cuz allth3 kidz r on th youtub3! Rawk! Whatever, can't blame them for adapting to a new environment...but its just so blatant with them. Now singerdouche's new problems aren't cutting or his 'rents, it's relationships and being unable to get deep with groupies he's banging on the road. Really, check it out, from the shit masterpiece 'Forever':

In the brightest hour of my darkest day
I realized what is wrong with me
Can’t get over you can’t get through to you
It’s been a helter-skelter romance from the start
Take these memories that are haunting me
Of a paper man cut into shreds by his own pair of scissors
He’ll never forgive her he’ll never forgive her

Because days come and go but my feelings for you are forever
Because days come and go but my feelings for you are forever

Sitting by a fire on a lonely night
Hanging over from another good time
With another girl little dirty girl
You should listen to this story of her life
You’re my heroin in this moment I’m lonely fulfilling my darkest dreams
All these drugs all these women
I’m never forgiven this broken heart of mine

One last kiss before I go
Dry your tears it is time to let you go
One last kiss before I go
Dry your tears it is time to let you go

Ferlinghetti it ain't. But that's not the point. Dude breaks up with a girl, can't get over it and rather than deal with it fucks groupies (who, by the way, he couldn't have any less respect for as women) while thinking about how fucked up they are and they should listen to him like he's some kind of fucking yogi or something, all the while he's still obsessing over the one girl. What. The. Fuck. Ever. You suck. Tuck them in the file with Nickleback and Hinder and Daughtry and all that shit. Fuck 'em.

But that's what you get on the radio today. That's what rock music is now. You're either some poseur rock star or a fucking eyeliner wearing fop like Pete Wentz or the douche-chill inspiring My Chemical Romance. It's like an eight-hour clusterfuck listening to this shit all day. I've actually removed DC101 from my truck presets. I couldn't take it anymore. I want to rock. I don't want to hear kids whining. I especially don't want to hear dickheads talk shit about girls they're fucking on the road when they should be laughing it up, enjoying the opportunity that most of us never get and thanking god for young, impressionable women. And they should be saving their money, 'cause a lot of us have iPods, and satellite radios, and mammoth cd collections...

We're not abandoning radio; radio abandoned us. I'm gonna go listen to some Tool.

Ok, Ok, I'm Here....

Yes folks, I'm here. I am alive and well (relatively speaking), I do exist, and I am going to be writing more often again. With the moving thing and the adjusting-to-the-new-job thing, I don't know...honestly, I didn't really have much of a care as to whether or not I wrote anything or if anyone read it. I'm still not sure if I do, but I feel some kind of responsibility to the blog, so there you go.

New post later. I'm trying to figure out how to write it and not sound like a bitter has-been-that-never-was or an old man.

Late.

The Bergle Meets The Hammer

Ok,

So I'm at work yesterday minding my own business and getting ready for the busy weekend ahead. It was me, the Boss and The Cajun. The Boss is often running around trying to keep things in line, and The Cajun and I handle different departments but spend a fair amount of time hanging out during the day. One of our part-timers had come by to say hey and hang out and they were doing just that while I was rapping with a couple of customers who were in my 'house' so to speak.

The door opens and out of the corner of my eye I catch a look and say to myself "Gee, self, that guy looks an awful lot like--Wait--it IS Tom Delay!" Now it's a good day at work. I look over as Delay walks through the aisles and the Boss turns to me mouthing "THAT'S TOM DELAY". She's shocked. She never worked at the place in McLean where I grew up running into all kinds of folks. Anyway, we all look at each other as if to silently decide who's going over there. I bow out early, fearing the loss of my job after getting into a shouting match with a former majority leader. The Cajun--I don't think he can really be bothered. Nothing political there. The Boss seemed to want to handle it, so she got to help him out. He wasn't in long, but a couple of thing struck me while he was with us:

1--The smile. You know the one. The one from the mugshot? Hold on, hold on, here you go:


Yeah, that smile. He has that all the time. It's scary. It's like he walks around all the time thinking about how happy he is to be Tom Delay. I hate that. It's such a conservative thing, too. I see others doing it (as I said, I'm from McLean) and they do it as if they're thinking "I'm so happy god gave me this beautiful world and this white skin and all this money because he loves me soooooooo much". Ugh. Makes me sick.

Sorry, I went away for a second there. Where was I?....Oh, yeah:

2--He's short. My god, that shocked me. He can't be more than 5'7", right? All you Hill staffers out there help me out on this one. He's like Keifer Sutherland short. He's The Ball-Peen Hammer, maybe an Everyday Hammer at most, but THE HAMMER? Hardly. Unless Hastert used to actually pick him up and swing him like a hammer. You never know.

3--Slight bald spot in the back. I'm willing to accept the hair color though. There's enough gray in there that the rest seems appropriate. The spot ain't that bad, really. I mean, the man appears to be keeping himself in good shape. And at least he has his hair. I mean, how many men his age lose it all? He's got a little trouble spot but overall the hair was ready for TV and you have to respect that. That and now having all the time in the world to hit the gym since you got run out of your job for being a corrupt petty little megalomaniac. I'm just saying.

That's my story kids. Gotta go get ready for work. Have good weekends and remember to think of your friends who work retail, because for us there is no weekend. Late.

A Case of the Mondays...

Ok,

I'm liking the whole 'I'll throw some vids up' thing for Mondays, so here goes:

-You know you're in Nashville when the whole audience is versed enough in guitar to applaud at all the difficult parts. Ladies and Gentlemen, the incomparable Chet Atkins.

-And another for the pickers out there. Note how perfect that slapback echo is. Sickness.

-God I love the 'net. I was looking for old WB cartoons. Here's someone's editing class homework. One of the best Looney Tunes shorts set to Radiohead.

-New Bionic Woman? From the guy who made Battlestar Galactica cool again. I'm thinking about it, but still not sure. Preview sure is cool, though.

-This weeks athlete worship: Barry Sanders. The flat-out greatest running back I'll ever see. He wasn't a threat in the short passing game (though he could have been), he wasn't specialized as an interior or exterior runner, he just found gaps and juked heads out of their shoes at an astounding rate. The most fun you could have watching football was watching Barry Sanders take it up the middle. Oh, and the old-school L.L. Cool J track is unbelievable with some of the names he drops.


Have a good week kids!

7-11 Update!

Hey all,

Just got off the phone with the local supervisor who oversees the store in question. He told me there is a new manager in place who is looking for ways to improve the store and according to him there has already been some 'turnover'. We talked for a few minutes about what happened; I let him know where the real concern of mine was as opposed to where I was just venting, and he addressed the issue of the so-called "time limit" and how it could've been handled reasonably by the staff on hand.

I will be receiving a gift card in the mail, the amount of which will more than compensate me for the time and trouble. They even made sure the gas I never received wasn't charged to my account. Thanks to Mr. 7-11 for taking the time and following up with me even after I found myself too busy to get back to him quickly.

The card is being sent to me tomorrow. Guess where I'm gonna cash it in?

Falwell, Fall Hard...

Before you see the wonderful tributes and all the forgiving that happens in America when anyone of note passes, here are a few words of wisdom from the now late Rev. Jerry Falwell:


__________________________________________________________________



“Christians, like slaves and soldiers, ask no questions”

“AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals”

“The idea that religion and politics don't mix was invented by the Devil to keep Christians from running their own country”

“If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being”

“I do not believe we can blame genetics for adultery, homosexuality, dishonesty and other character flaws"

“(re: 9/11 attacks) "...throwing God out of the public square, out of the schools, the abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked and when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad...I really believe that the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way, all of them who try to secularize America...I point the thing in their face and say you helped this happen."

"I think the Moslem faith teaches hate."

"If I were president of the United States, I would include Moslems in
my presidency."

"Textbooks are Soviet propaganda."

"There's been a concerted effort to steal Christmas."

"You'll be riding along in an automobile. You'll be the driver perhaps.
You're a Christian. There'll be several people in the automobile with
you, maybe someone who is not a Christian.When the trumpet
sounds you and the other born-again believers in that automobile will
be instantly caught away -- you will disappear, leaving behind only
your clothes and physical things that cannot inherit eternal life. That
unsaved person or persons in the automobile will suddenly be
startled to find the car suddenly somewhere crashes.... Other cars on
the highway driven by believers will suddenly be out of control and
stark pandemonium will occur on ... every highway in the world
where Christians are caught away from the drivers wheel."


_______________________________________________________



Active imagination. I guess I have to give him that. It is a TRUE sin to
rejoice in anyone's suffering, but today I am happy that this sad
excuse of a man has finally left us alone. The old guard is finally
starting to die off. One day you're railing against the gays and the
liberals and the next day you're dead on the floor of your office.

There's your god, Reverend.

Radio Free Lynchburg.

Erin Esurance: Animated Spokesperson or Something More Sinister?

We've all seen them: Someone is involved in an inexplicable situation where they need car insurance immediately. They seem to be the same person every time, which raises questions about the man's driving ability. A dynamic, pink-haired woman comes out of nowhere to save the day by covering the man's ineptitude for less than other companies would.

They've met more than a dozen times, but seem to only rarely converse outside of discussing insurance needs.

They exist through different eras, yet all the while require car insurance.

Questions arise: Do they really know each other or not? When did they really first meet? How old is Erin Esurance (I swear to god that's her name)? What is her mission, really? And where does Crappy Driver Guy (here to be referred to as CDG) fit in?

These are not easy questions to answer. The truth could be more frightening than anything we could have ever imagined. I will attempt to establish a timeline and motivations for all parties involved, and I believe what you'll read here will shock you.

Part 1--When We First Met.

The first ad. It seems so innocent and meaningless now. A special agent of sorts is being pursued by three opponents, crashes a car dealership and procures a getaway car all the while extolling the virtues of online car insurance. We presume that this is the first meeting of Erin and CDG.

Perhaps we presume too much?

The facts are this: Observe how casual CDG is with Erin throughout. If a pink haired chick crashed through the ceiling of your work and demanded service you'd be a little taken back, wouldn't you? I would. It's almost as if he's been through this before. Almost as if he's expecting just this situation. Hmmm. Also, what happens after she bolts with the car? There are three dangerous people left alone with a civilian. By all logic this guy is as good as dead. But no, he lives on.

While I'm thinking about it, way to totally check out Erin's ass, CDG. Smooth. She totally felt him doing that.

So what can we can gather from this? Erin is an experienced and trained agent of whatever it is that she does. I'll tell you this: My mom is an insurance agent. My mom does not have skills like that. Erin Esurance is NOT an insurance agent. Not even a special insurance agent.

CDG and Erin are acquainted in some way. So when do they first meet? With all of the adventures Erin and CDG have had together (hmmm) what is continuity to them? What is their timeline? Let's take a little look.

The first ad we just saw seems to be the most contemporary. The only other ad that comes closer actually establishes her as having been interviewed by Space Ghost. Space Ghost Coast-To-Coast ran from 1994 to 2004, so this could be fairly recent. Now check the ad out.

Unbelievable. The woman just outed herself! Not only is the Esurance deal a cover (so that ISNT her real name!), but the Top Secret Special Investigations Unit? Wow! That must've pissed her bosses off something fierce. If I was running the show and my best agent went public like that, I don't know what I'd do. Maybe I'd just make them disappear. Maybe I'd bring them in and keep them to train new agents.

Maybe I'd use her to experiment with time travel technology in an effort to alter history to ensure the success and wealth of my dummy insurance corporation (dum Dum DUMMMMMMMMM).

And Esurance isn't the only company with these ideas. Check this out. Erin is used to hunt down and eliminate other insurance companies before they can establish dominance. And who's there to pick her up when the job is done in mid-nineteenth century America? On a motorcycle, no less? Our guy CDG.

Part 2: Who IS Erin Esurance, and How Did She Come to Be?

Maybe she was just another runaway, lost, on the streets. Looking for direction. Maybe she was an upstart special forces servicewoman who got noticed by the right people. Whatever the case, Erin was thrust into a world of orders and missions and danger and insurance.

Where does a young woman learn to move and battle various robots the way she does? Apparently, starting at some point in the 70's (note the old-school ABC style yellow sportsjacket, reminiscent of the late Howard Cosell of Monday Night Football), the TSSIU started her training by forcing her to compete, on her own, in various team sports against large combat trained robots.

This would serve to put Erin in her 30's at least, but consider this: If TSSIU is sending her around in time, it's possible that her training could have been accomplished in a matter of days. That a younger Erin could have gone through 'years' of training and then come back mere seconds later, then sent to the future seconds after that. CDG's calm in the face of danger, his poise and apparent ability all point to being a classic black-ops man. Bouncing through time himself, he could be as old as 60-65 but having 'cut through' most of the past 3-4 decades, could appear to be in his 30's himself.

Also, looking at those commercials, do you notice a pattern here? I don't have video of the 'Basketball' ad, but that is another 70's era example of Erin playing one-on-whatever against killer robots. Every time, CDG is in a different role; play-by-play man, quarterback, coach. But how different of a role is he really playing?

CDG isn't just some dick walking around crashing cars and being clueless about comparing auto coverage...
...he trained Erin for the TSSIU. He's her mentor. Her handler. Her partner.

Her partner? Yes; her partner in the field, and maybe more...

Part 3: The Truth.

The truth is out there. Actually, it's right here. THIS is them in action in their real lives, their TSSIU work. Eliminating world threats and promoting the dummy insurance company all at the same time. His name is Eric! Wow! I wonder what happened to agents Edward, Emily, Eamonn, Elise, and Eldrich. So close in the field, so adept and efficient, I'm sure their bosses are happy. But what about them?

Is their a chance that either of them could live outside of this world in a normal way and be happy? Having gone through everything together, could they just go home, take a shower and call it a day, living a suburban existence like any other young couple? I think so. In fact, I know so.

Shocking, no? Blatantly living out in the open, battling foes in the kitchen with little disregard for neighborhood noise restrictions (or prying eyes, for that matter). Yet she obviously keeps her life a secret from her mom on the phone. Looking back, it could explain the surfing commercial (look at how coy they are with each other) and the skiing incident.

They were on vacation. Huh.

Well, to wrap things up, the life of a secret agent is perilous at best and deadly at worst. For anyone to come through such a career and be able to enjoy their lives says something about that person. To share that life with someone else says something about them as well. From public gaffes to saving the world to making sure her man is covered after his latest fender bender, Erin has had a lot on her plate in her life. Here's to those crazy kids. Good for them.

The only danger is Esurance itself. It has an agenda and dangerous, highly-trained killers at its disposal. The real threat isn't a girl with pink hair, it's here.

Good night, and good luck.

7-11 Steals My Money

Really. They did.

I stop by the local (and I mean local, it's literally right across the street) 7-11 to pump some gas, maybe grab a bite and if they have a spare roll of quarters buy one so I can do my laundry. I've been up since 6 this morning for jury duty and 6 AM is something that I simply do not do...

Ah, screw it. Here is the actual email I sent to 7-11 regarding my visit:

Hello,

I arrived at the aforementioned store to put some gas in my truck and maybe grab something to eat. I walked in to pre-pay and make whatever selections I was going to. When I got to the counter, the gentleman at the register was VERY limited in his communication, but he rang up my purchases including my $15 of gas that I was about to pump and all was well. As I walked out to the pump I remembered that I wanted to ask if there were any spare rolls of quarters available that I might purchase with the $10 bill in my wallet so that I might get my laundry done.

Walking back inside, the registers of both the gentleman and his co-worker were busy, with 3-4 person lines at each. I waited for one of the lines to clear up and asked the man if he had any rolls of quarters. This seemed to be beyond the man's understanding of English, so I asked the Asian woman working with him. She immediately started to complain about my request but seemed to be opening a drawer to get me a roll. I told her if it was a problem for her I could get the roll somewhere else, no big deal. There are plenty of places for me to go in this area. She continued to bitch me out over quarters, saying (from what I could gather) that in the future she could do a dollar or two, but to go to the bank if I wanted a whole roll. As if at this point I wanted to ever come back to this 7-11 and ask for change again. I told her never mind, I would go get them somewhere else and thanks anyway.

I once again headed outside to pump my gas and be on my way, but the pump seems to not have registered my payment. I trekked BACK inside and, showing my receipt asked that the pump be turned on.

The Asian woman jumped down my throat yelling something about(after having heard it about a dozen times) "too long" and "read receipt". I cannot write out phonetically how "read receipt" sounded, but I can tell you I heard it early and often. Apparently, there is a time limit on pre-paid pump usage, and our joyful discussion of quarters took up all of it.

I noted that I came back inside, waited in line instead of being a dick, asked politely about the quarters and then let her off the hook for them, understanding how it can be a pain in the ass (I work retail myself).

"Read receipt"

Ok, but the struggle to have any conversation with you led to this whole thing taking longer than needed.

"Read receipt!"

You can hit a button right now and everyone walks away relatively happy.

"Read receipt!"

I will admit at this point asking in a less than friendly manner for my money back. Not all of it, just the $15 I had now spent on what used to be the gas that now WASN'T in my truck.

You can guess what response that got.

I drove from this 7-11 to an Exxon up the road, spent ANOTHER $20 (thankfully actually receiving gas this time) and then hit a grocery store on the way back for the quarters.

Now, I am not proud of having lost my temper. I am not proud of some of the language I used (the totality of which was limited to "Then give me my fucking money back" and "Fuck this, keep your receipt"). But you have no idea how poor this 7-11 location is. How poor the service is and has always been, how there is NO alcohol on sale at all here. How long waits can be at the counter while employees chat up their friends while ringing up obscene amounts of lottery tickets or just go about doing whatever it is they happen to be doing around the store at the time.

This location only stays open because of its location. It is convenient to too many people in this area NOT to make money, not matter WHO is working there. I don't need my 7-11 people to be fluent, I don't need to have conversations with them. I just need to be able to say a polite hello, get on with my business and expect reasonable customer service.
I mentioned before I work in retail. I deal with customers every day, some of whom are rude, aggressive, condescending and just plain stupid. I have never treated a customer request in the manner that this woman did with me today. All she had to say was "I can't, sorry". That's all. Instead I'm out $15 ($35 if you count the gas I actually ended up with at the Exxon).

As a long-time consumer at your various locations I am BEGGING you to get rid of every single human being who works at location (7-11 across the street) and make it a pleasant experience for our community for once. I'd also like my $15, but I threw the receipt on the counter on my way out so I'm under no delusions there. Also, if you could bring back the banana Slurpee that would rock, as that was the tastiest of all the Slurpees.

Thank you and please consider firing everyone at location (7-11 across the street).

Then I signed my name.

Really, though. I got robbed by a tiny middle-aged Asian woman. Are you kidding me? This is what I did my civic duty as a juror for? Fuck that. That was some unnecessary bullshit right fucking there. I felt like Michael Douglas in Falling Down; you know, when he gets to McDonalds 5 minutes late for breakfast and they have egg mcmuffins right there and they won't let him order one? Yeah, kinda like that.

Esurance girl tomorrow. I'm not in the mood anymore.

Bergle At the Movies: 29 Palms

G'Day,

So, I was up last night (as always) and I see that Sundance is running 29 Palms. For whatever reason, I remember wanting to see it once upon a time, so I say 'fuck it' and decide I'll stay up a little later than I was planning on. Big mistake....

29 Palms (2003)
Directed by Bruno Dumont
Starring: David Wissak, Katia Golubeva

First and foremost, this is an art film. I say this not to scream from the rafters "Hey everyone, I watch art films!" but to set the context of what I'm about to describe. According to some, 29 Palms is an intense, if empty exploration of life and 'love' in the post 9/11 era. David (David Wissak) is a filmmaker or photographer (we never really find out) who goes to the town of 29 Palms with his Russian girlfriend Katia (Katia Golubeva), who appears to be emotionally unstable and whose French is as incomprehensible as David's is just plain bad.

The movie begins on the highways outside L.A.; David driving his bright, sparkling red H2 while Katia lies in the backseat. David stares intently at maps and takes a cell phone call during this sequence before pulling off the highway to gas up the 'truck'. They continue on, arrive at their hotel, fuck in the pool (violently, I might add; I wasn't sure for a moment if this was a rape scene or not--a thought I would come to regret...) and go to a local chinese restaurant where they split an appetizer and main course, pissing off the owner/waitress.

This was the first 30 minutes of the movie.

To say Dumont's style here is 'paced' is to be very, very kind. Like Mother Theresa kind. The only scene out of the beginning that is redeeming at all, in fact the only scene in the entire movie that rings true and is relateable in any way is between the gas station and the hotel. David, driving along, alternately staring off into the desert and not, is asked by Katia what he is thinking in that way that only girlfriends do. David of course says he isn't thinking about anything (and in his defense I have to say, I was watching and he didn't appear to be thinking about anything during the movie at all) which leads to Katia asking again and again because as a woman she can't believe that and David of course ends up getting angry because she won't let it go. It is so uncomfortable and tense and real and dead on it's scary. Of course the next time we see them they're in the motel pool and he's shoving his cock into her. Nice.

The next 75 minutes is a thrill ride that take us from harsh, barely-above-animalistic sex (not a dealbreaker, mind you) to long walks through the Joshua Tree National Park where David is 'scouting a shoot' to their hotel room. Lather, rinse, repeat. The only moments of anything are David straining under he and Katia's communication problem while they have ice cream, leading to the line of the movie...

David: "You know something? I'd like to have some conversations that have some logic to them, because sometimes you say one thing and then you say another thing and it's completely dysfunctional!"

Right on, brother. I've been waiting for over an hour for something like that. Of course, Katia pauses and then says "J'taime". Like that means anyfuckingthing at this point. The only other moment comes soon after. Katia locks herself in the bathroom (for reasons we never learn--lot of that in this movie) and David, frustrated with living with this potentially bipolar girl throws her out and locks the door behind her. In the resulting scene we see Katia pacing back and forth in front of the motel, the whole time running and hiding every time a car drives by, and not in the normal 'I don't want anyone to see me' way. She seems delusional (schizophrenic?) and when David comes out to bring her back inside, it literally takes them physically fighting in the middle of the street to bring her back to anything resembling a rational human being, and that's still a far way off for her.

That brings us to the conclusion of 29 Palms. The whole movie seems to be a poem about alienation in the modern world, but there's a slow build happening that speeds up dramatically with about 15 minutes left in the film. SPOILER ALERT, EVEN THOUGH IF YOU WANT TO PUT YOURSELF THROUGH THIS MOVIE IN THE FIRST PLACE YOU PROBABLY ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT: On yet another trek through the park, a large pickup truck rams the H2, pushing it to a stop. Three men hop out, dragging David and Katia out, throwing him to the ground and stripping her naked. As one man holds Katia around her neck another beats David with a bat, and the third guy sodomizes him while Katia is forced to watch. The scene ends as Katia, naked and beaten, crawls toward a severely injured and sobbing David over the course of minutes. Back at the motel, Katia insists they call the police to which David says no. Katia goes to pick up food, and when she comes back David bursts from the bathroom with a crudely shaved head and a knife, pins Katia down and stabs her to death in a brutal (and brutally depicted) manner. The movie ends with a police officer finding David dead in the desert mere feet from the ubiquitous H2.

Last night when the movie ended I was in a rage. I'd sat through two hours of the most vapid, boring, go-nowhere cinema I'd ever seen and my reward was the leading man getting fucked in the ass and going on to commit a horrible murder. That's the word actually: horror. This was the most horrible movie I've ever seen in my life. Not necessarily horrible as in bad, but horrible as in 'that's a horrible thing to have happened'. I crawled into bed after taking a moment to take everything in, and told the Gergle that "I just watched the worst movie ever made". I was angry, hurt, a little sick to my stomach even. I felt cheated, insulted, even a little violated (then again, in the face of what happened to poor David, I kept some perspective there). I wanted to write a review right then and there and go nuclear on the whole thing, this whole fucking worthless movie and director and his whole little hijack plan and his minimalist sensibilities. But it was already late and I thought it might do me some good to take the night to 'come down' from the experience. So here goes:

Dumont is a man whose philosophies come down to ideas like "We can fuck and fuck but never merge" and "Sex is death". His two previous movies to 29 Palms were set in remote parts of France, and from what I've heard are much better in terms of character, plot and...well, I guess everything. 29 Palms was Dumont's first time filming in America, and in many ways it shows. The man seems to have such hate for this country, or at least what he perceives this country to be. His character of choice (David) is a disheveled hipster dick who drives a huge gas-guzzling SUV through L.A. and then takes it out to the desert (presumably for the first time) and off-roading (poorly) in this vehicle that in reality only gives the illusion of off-road performance and is simply a Suburban with a different body welded to it. His French is worse than Katia's English (that's saying something) and he seems to have no sense of love outside of throwing himself into whichever of Katia's holes is most convenient and howling like an ape while doing so. I've read some takes on the movie that state that Dumont's point here is an examination of society after 9/11, and what happens after such a devastating event. This is understandable and somewhat provocative, but falls flat in the face of Dumont's complete lack of experience and understanding when it comes to America itself. In fact, his portrayal of Americans and American life serve only to land him directly in his own unfortunate stereotype: the condescending, head-up-his-own-ass, more ennui-than-thou Arty French Guy. Which is sad, since Dumont is obviously an intelligent man with something to say, all of which is wasted with his juvenile obsession with turn-on-a-dime sex and violence.

Looking at it now, however, 29 Palms has a thing or two that work in its favor. The first is the great "What are you thinking?" scene, although anyone who has ever been in a relationship could make that scene happen. The real thing that is great about the movie, and what should be the star, is the desert itself. The cinematography is out of this world beautiful. Dumont's style of directing leads to long shots with the camera not moving at all. There are many such shots in the movie with the H2 approaching from the horizon, or David and Katia walking away through the park. One scene with David and Katia on a rocky cliff is particularly beautiful. Unfortunately it all gets drowned out by the madness happening throughout.

Dumont's real vision with 29 Palms seems to be that of a deconstructed horror film, stripping away everything that isn't essential and leaving behind only characters, tension, dread and horror itself. It is an interesting idea but in this case seems to be too high a climb for the view. It struck me last night almost as if I'd ordered a deconstructed omelette only to realize too late that I was getting two scrambled eggs, a slice of cheese, a slice of bacon and being charged $30 for the privilege of the experience.

I've now come down from the initial shock of 29 Palms and have decided that it's not the worst movie I've ever seen, and the cinematography alone keeps it far from being the worst movie ever made. The concept and structure are interesting ideas, and the visceral experiences affect you as they are intended. Any movie that can bring out the range of emotions that this did must have hit its mark on some level. But I think that might be the problem: for all of Dumont's reasoning, for all of his effort to make his directing 'transparent' in the end it doesn't mean much of anything. The star of 29 Palms is the experience itself. The empty, meaningless experience. It is only a movie in the strictest sense, with flaws as basic as having poor characters with no history, reference, hopes or personalities to care about. There is no story to speak of. It is almost painful to watch even before the terrible events of the last 15 minutes.

As an experiment 29 Palms finds its only chance at redemption. In fact, the only way it can really be viewed is as an experiment in filmmaking. The minimalist, deconstructionist style on display here does not allow for real character development or plot movement. It does not allow for any of the things you expect from every other horror film you've ever seen. It only allows for the banality of life between two not particularly likeable people before something terrible happens to them for no goddamn reason at all. Dumont needs to stop justifying 29 Palms as a study of America post-9/11. If he wants to study that event and its effects, he can watch the fucking news footage from that day and then go fuck himself. We (I mean us in DC, NY and PA) saw it first-hand and don't need anyone reminding us of those feelings. We were there Bruno, thanks anyway. Dumont also needs to keeps his views of 29 Palms as a study of human aggression and natural inclination toward violence to rich-people artiste-chic party discussions. A view of humanity so coldly, horribly cynical with no room for compassion or caring only serves to take away from the pure experiment in horror that his movie is.

I guess that's the point. 29 Palms is as bad a movie as it is a good experiment in boiling down a genre of film and presenting its vital elements in all their pulsating, bloody glory. I abhor Dumont's justifications and explanations for making this 'story', for there is no story. But I readily admit that I can think of no one else who could direct such a movie without succumbing to the temptation to make a character sympathetic, to punch up a scene, to make David and Katia have a truly heartfelt conversation over dinner. His desire to make himself transparent as a director allowed him to make a film of pure horror without even an ounce of any unnecessary element.

I cannot in any way recommend that anybody see this movie. Then again, I can't really stop you can I? If you do decide to watch it, give yourself time to recover--you will need it. Try not to watch it as you would any other movie, because it is not. If you have two hours to waste on 29 Palms, you will probably either hate it with a passion, find some meaning in it, or come to accept it as I have as a very well shot piece of experimental film. For the rest of us I recommend Hitchcock's Rear Window with Jimmy Stewart and the beautiful Grace Kelly, which is everything a horror movie should be.

Coming tomorrow--My expose on the Esurance girl. Be there!

Monday Pick-Me-Ups

Hey kids,

I HATE the beginning of the week. It's funny, we should really hate the end of a week, but anyway...I usually need to find something to give me a smile and get me going, and I've got a good one for you this Monday.

A little Wolfman Jack, some Jerry Reed, and--classic.

A little more Jerry Reed; this time with Chet Atkins.

Since Primus covered Amos Moses, I figure a little Tommy wouldn't hurt either.


Coming soon:
-My Wonky Finger

-The E-surance Girl--What the Fuck? A Full Investigation

See you soon.

Everything Old is Really Old Now...

This used to be right up there with my Favorite Times of the Year. In high school I was a huge hockey fan, one of maybe a dozen or so in my school. Also having been fortunate enough to grow up during the end of the Magic/Bird Era and the beginning of the Jordan Era, I was a huge Basketball fan. Through the formative years of my life I was lucky enough to watch the Lakers/Celtics series's, the Bad Boy Pistons shutting young MJ down, Dino, Donny Beaupre and Rod Langway with the Caps, Gretsky pre-LA, the unstoppable Jordan Bulls teams (the Phoenix series, the Knicks games, the Starks dunk) Shaq entering the League, A.I. at Georgetown (I knew he was leaving but it still broke my heart when he went pro) and countless other moments.

After the Super Bowl every year I feel relieved that I still have the NBA and NHL to lean on, and as they both go into their playoffs around the same time I would endure a full-on Sports Nerdgasm until both Finals were over. Then came the ugly hangover of nothing but Baseball for months until the NFL started up again. Dark days, indeed.

So here we are, playoffs are a go. Yet I haven't managed to catch more than a quarter or two of any game so far, and even less of the Stanley Cup games. I mean, I caught the Detroit game after it went into the 12th overtime or something like that, but that's only because they were talking about it on Sportscenter. I guess my point is that I have so far failed to enjoy this glorious time of year. I do have a bit of a crush on Golden State right now. I hope they smoke Dallas. I have nothing against Dallas; I actually kinda like them and was rooting for them last year, but good for the Warriors.

Getting back to my point: It seems like with any Basketball or Hockey game I can tune in to the last 5 minutes and see everything I need to see. ALERT: POTENTIAL OLD-GUY RANT STARTS........NOW Basketball these days isn't the showcase it was when I was coming up. Salary caps and trades and so many freakin' teams means that talent is so spread out that it's tough for any one team to create an identity for itself, let alone anything really new or exciting. That the Suns are what they are is such an anomaly that I can't help but love watching them. Hockey is much the same with the talent dispersion, except much worse. I mean, Colombus Ohio has a team. Come on. All it takes are one or two above-average players to make any team a contender. The Lakers went 42-40 this year (same as Golden State, mind you, but they're Golden State) and CLINCHED a playoff berth. With what? Kobe and Lamar Odom. In fairness, I love watching me some Kobe. He's as sick as it gets. Still, my Bullets (I will not call them the Wizards until they win something) went .500 and got in. Guess who else did? The Nets. The friggin' NJ Nets. Kidd, Vince and Jefferson and they go .500.

With the possible exceptions of Phoenix (7 seconds or less) and San Antonio (Tim Duncan and grinding people out in the most restrained and common-sense way possible) can you name any team that isn't interchangeable with any other? The difference between the Bullets and the Pistons is that our two main guys are hurt. You take Chauncy Billups and Sheed out of that lineup and see what happens. It's brutal.

The old Lakers were Showtime. The Bad Boy Pistons. The angry chip on their shoulder Knicks. Hell, the old Suns team that never broke through with Barkley and Kevin Johnson and Dan Thunder Marjele! These were teams with identities and when you looked ahead in the playoffs you got giddy thinking about potential matchups.

No more. We watch one or two teams and wait for them to meet up in the Finals, which are slow and plodding and uneventful because someone threw a drink at Ron Artest a couple years ago and god forbid anyone plays with passion. Defense as a rule is almost illegal now so everyone takes every open shot they can. I mean, why bother playing a true team game, why go in and take the hits if you don't have to? I could gather a group of my friends and coach a team into the second round solely by telling them to shoot if they can and if they can't to run the lane and draw fouls off people. It's that easy. It's not right. It's not Basketball. Today, Scottie Pippen dunking over Ewing would get Pippen suspended for a game or two during a series. Not to mention Longley's steal attempt at the beginning would probably be called so the dunk would never have happened. This was only back in '94.

It wasn't that long ago. To me, it seems like a lifetime. I think that's the point. All of the things I loved, that got me through school days I dreaded, that bored me to tears, are long ago and now perverted, stagnant, dull. Basketball, Hockey, music.

At least I still have comics. And this. Time to crack a beer and find a game.

Late Night Love

The following takes place a little after 3 am this morning: I have rolled over while trying to sleep and the Gergle has stirred somewhat awake...

Gergle: "I have to pee."

Me: Well, don't do it here.

"Shut up."

So Gergle goes to the bathroom and comes back to bed...

"What the hell are you doing up at 3 in the morning anyway?"

Can't sleep

"Clowns will get you?"

What like that Simpsons episode?

"No, the Shining. You know, the kid?"

Ok. I thought you were talking about the Simpsons where Bart and Lisa live with the Flanders' and Bart's stuck in this old scary looking clown bed and can't sleep and keeps saying 'Can't sleep. Clown will eat me'.

"You haven't seen the Shining?"

Of course I've seen the Shining. I'm surprised you have.

"Well someone told me I had to see it. I've seen 'IT' also."

End scene.

Wow. That's love people. That part at the end where she mentioned the movie IT since we were on a Stephen King riff was gold. Everyone who's thinking about taking their relationship to the next level (whatever the fuck that means), be prepared for many conversations like this one in the middle of the night. I find them entertaining. But then again I am awake at 3 AM for no reason.

Tech

This world can just break your heart sometimes.

All day yesterday (the store's closed Mondays) I was watching this and hoping against hope for some kind of mistake. I mean, the numbers went from 1 dead to 22 dead to 32 dead and I was just irrationally hoping for some kind of correction, the kind that only comes on election night apparently.

I'm pretty sure everyone I know who went to Tech is no longer there. Thankfully I haven't gotten any calls about someone I know being involved. But not too long ago most of the people I consider good friends were going to Tech or living in Blacksburg. I can't imagine what the families and friends are going through right now trying to sort this out and make sense of this madness.

There is something in the air more dangerous than carbon; in the water more dangerous than toxic chemicals and waste. There is an anger in this world at this time that is driving people past sanity and basic human consideration. We see it every day and don't know what we can do about it except hope for the best. But every once in a while we are forced to look it in the face. School shootings, workplace shootings, random violence, the riot as sports victory celebration, Torture Porn (Saw, Turistas, all that crap), all of it symptoms and results of this overwhelming anger. And this anger is the result of something fundamentally wrong with our society.

I don't know where to start. I don't know where to find it or how to fix it. All I know is that capable people are deciding that their lives are over and the way to end it is to take as many others with them as possible. When Columbine happened it was chilling because I was a bad influence or two away from being one of those kids myself once upon a time. I'd daydream about scenarios eerily similar to what ended up happening to those poor people 8 years ago. I was 11 at the time. I was having a rough go of it. And I could kick my 11-year old self for not having written down what it was that brought me out of it because something did. What got me thinking straight again? I watch what happens on a day like yesterday and I wish I had it. That lightning in a bottle, a clue to something that might help us all, might make us all a little safer, a little better to ourselves and each other. All those families and friends didn't deserve to suffer because someone's girlfriend dumped them, or because someone merely wanted to kill themselves. Think about the gall, the lack of humanity it takes to make the leap from suicide to what happened yesterday. I have. Of course all of my best wishes and condolences to the families and friends of those who died and were injured yesterday.

This world just breaks your heart sometimes.

I Read Your Bumper Stickers

And sometimes they make me laugh. Seen today heading into McLean:

"Welcome to Northern VA
Expect Delays"

Good for a chuckle.

Dear Georgetown:

I'm sorry. I mean it. I sat down and watched a whole basketball game start to finish, and when I do that things go wrong. I should have grabbed the remote the second Hibbert picked up that first foul. I felt it coming, but I was selfish and wanted to watch a game, so I did and now we have to sit through OSU/Florida.

I am willing to accept this as my fault and if you, the loyal Hoya fans of the world, can find it in your hearts to forgive me, I promise to only watch future important games in a bar setting, or drunk at home (paying half-attention to everything), or ignore the game all together.

Thank you.

D.C. Time

Ok,

So someone went to the Blogger happy hour last night and ended up needing a ride to work this morning. The Gergle wanted to be out the door by 9, and I found myself sitting in the living room tapping my feet at 8:55. When asked about this I said that in D.C. time, out the door by 9 means at least a quarter 'till.

I'm from here; she's all but from here. Is that all the difference it takes? Sure, we didn't have far to go, but don't you always schedule a half hour or so as contingency for all the manners of bullshit that this area can provide? Am I the only one who runs on D.C. time? I don't think I am, but I'd like an established, etched-in-stone definition of D.C. time.

My initial proposal is this: D.C. time is the allotment of 15-30 minutes (depending on time of day, could be stretched out to 45-60 if you're going far) on top of normal travel time to your destination. I think we can work together to make this happen.



Other stuff going on this week:

-Favorite thing about having a beard: I go to bed much later than my girlfriend, who is a legendary blanket and space hog. Usually, when I come to bed I have to work my way onto the actual bed, clawing for every inch of space until I'm on enough to sleep. Then the fight for cover begins. But now that I've got the beard out, I've discovered that I can just kind of nuzzle Gergle's arm with the ol' whiskers and she moves over without waking up. I may never shave.

-If you don't have Sirius, get it now. I'm a huge Stern fan, and the show's been great since he arrived.

-The band search is frustrating. Every angry kid grew up around here listening to Fugazi and Minor Threat and every other kid grew up wanting to be like those kids. I got no problem with that sound. There's a DC sound, and it's loud angry hardcore. Cool. That's fine. But I'm a feeling a little bit like a blue Peep in a package of yellow Peeps.
This is me ready to rock

This is every room I walk into

So that could be going better.

-Final Four tomorrow. I'm not sure what to do. I'm thinking about going out of my way to be able to watch the game, meaning finding a buddy's house or even my mom's place; as the Gergle has managed to remind me every time I've turned a game on this month that she doesn't care about college basketball, which is her way of saying "Maryland's out of it therefore turn that off so I can watch What Not to Wear". I can't stand Maryland fans. I like the team fine, but you guys are ingrates. Anyway, I'm excited for the games and making an effort to be able to watch them, which ensures that either 1) Both games will suck big time, or 2) Something(s) will happen to keep me from watching the two best games ever. This is my life.

-Vote Sanjaya. Really. I'm not officially on the bandwagon yet, but this week might be the week.

Ok, I'm off. Late.

Sprung

So you sit and think and try to
Answer but draw a blank. You
Walk out into the Winter air
Ashamed for not knowing
What is wrong or what to do.

The chill flattens the fields
And ranges of the heart; seals
The ground tough as a callous
Until every step is the same and
The world has you well-heeled.

Ice drips and sloughs off, snows melt
And faces turn to see if how you felt
Has changed; as if you've got a
New shirt, a haircut, new pants
That hold to your waist with a new leather belt.

But you haven't changed. You're still
The same. You know they've had their fill
Of asking and walking away without
Answers you've never had; that you're
Afraid to admit you might never will.

So you find yourself alone there
Typing, windows open to the warming air
When it arrives--the smell of the first
Spring rain crawling its way into the room.
Your eyes well up and you can't leave your chair

Because this is it. The answer is the smell
Of rain, of impending clouds, of the hell
Of anxieties you had when you were small.
The sweet and the rot and the day you knew
You were not, nor would you ever be, well.

But no one who loves you can share
The moment. None of them are there
For you to finally explain to and hope
At last what it means so they can find
A reason not to give up. An excuse to care.

It isn't about hurt. It's not about pain
Or keying a lock or bleaching a stain:
If you need to know what or how or why,
Just crack a window or step outside and
Lose yourself in the smell of the spring's first rain.





Sorry I haven't been writing lately. I'm going to try to get a little better about it. Have a good weekend. Go Hoyas.

What's in a Name?

Ok, let's get a couple things straight:

One: I don't remember all of this "argument". I was pretty hammered at the time.

Two: All of my life, I had been told that you refer to an unmarried woman as "Ms." and a married woman as "Mrs." with Ms. being the short form of "Miss". Then, I have a couple drinks with my girlfriend and all of a sudden she's telling me that's wrong? I don't know how they handle it in other languages and countries, but here in the good ol' US of A we have Ms and Mrs.

The whole point with the ring thing is that it doesn't matter if she wears one or not, she's hot and guys will always hit on hot girls. I take little issue with that; I don't think she's going anywhere with anyone else, I'm not worried. I'm just trying to let her know that there are ways to let a man know that "Hey, I'm married, piss off". The ring might work, going by Mrs might work, it might not. No matter what, at some point you're going to have to tell a man that you're taken and not interested.

My entire point is that here in America, as I understand it, Ms is for a single woman and Mrs refers to a married woman. I want her to keep her name. It's much cooler than mine. In fact, I'd rather change my name if somebody's going to have to change anything.

Mrs is a title. Wear it with pride. That's all I'm saying. Thank you and goodnight.

Happy Hour

Hey,

It was nice to meet everyone last night. Sorry I wasn't more social, but I was tired and really not in much of a mood to be out in the first place. That and I'm not very social. Not anti-social, mind you, just social-resistant.

Anyway, it was cool to meet some of you guys and hopefully there'll be another chance to grab some beers with you.

Guitar Hero, our place, you name the time. You know who you are.

Late.

Everyone, I Have an Idea...

Ok,

So I have been told often throughout my life that I am, and I quote; "A fountain of useless information". I have come to accept that, even if that makes me the obnoxious guy who plays Jeopardy! along with the TV or if it gets me banned from every game of Trivial Pursuit within a 100 miles radius (which it has).

One of the things I love to do is answer questions I have no clue how to answer, and basically just pull information out of my ass. I don't know why, I think I get a kick out of feeling ignorant and just going with whatever dumbass thing comes out of my head (I'm pretty sure there are some unresolved issues there too, but who has time for that?).

SO, in that spirit, I am opening the ol' email box for questions that will eventually become the very first installment of Ask the Bergle. Anything you've ever wanted to know, I will tell you.

I don't want to push the questions into any specific area, but I love relationship questions and give excellent relationship advice. Send 'em in (bergle79@gmail.com) and I'll post my answers when I have a few to put up.

Toodles!

Oscars!!!...No, not really.

Hey,

Was going to do the Oscar recap this year but:

1. I just woke up from falling asleep during the show.
2. Didn't have enough alcohol to get into the right mindset for note-taking, etc.

Really, that show just sucked. So long, so boring, so what. I've got batter fish to fry. I'm job hunting, trying to get back into the habit of working out again, looking for musicians to start a group with and yesterday my truck gets rejected for inspection. So here I am with a loaner Ford Fusion (not a bad car by the way, not awesome but a step up for the boring everyday car) waiting for the call to come get my truck and typing to kill time.

Drives well, but I want to fall asleep looking at it....


Do you ever catch yourself daydreaming? I do. Often. I think that's how I spent most of high school, actually. These days, though, I find myself lost in thoughts like "What do I want my next car to be?" or the big one lately "What (insert item of guitar gear) do I need?". Then you have the two halves of your brain yelling at each other like the girls on America's Next Top Model (yes, the Gergle is making me watch this drivel again, but the good news is we already have nude pics of one of them--and it's one of the ones I like!) with the one side dreaming and the other horribly grounded in reality. I have family, and they're wonderful, but it seems like no one wants to even pretend to help out. My mom offers to pay for school (or a personal trainer since I'm working out again) but if I ask for help getting a new guitar (which I kinda do need) or related stuff it just hits a wall.

Now, my mom is amazing and has always been there for me and I know she always will be there. It just strikes me how anyone with ambitions 'outside' of what people normally do get put through the ringer. I mean, I'm looking for a job. This job, whatever it is, will take a ton of time away from me that I could be spending playing, getting better, and getting recognized. But if I got that job, I'd get that help that I actually need now. I'm really trying to keep this out of ranty, whiny territory, but it just seems like if you don't want to be an accountant or work for some government contractor or something you have to become that in spite of those around you. Even in spite of those who love you and say they'll always be there for you.

I don't know, just some stuff I've been thinking about.

Who do I Have to Fuck....?

Maybe soon to become a regular feature here at The Point. I'm giving it a go and we'll see what happens....

Who do I have to fuck....

-To get a decent glass of beer around here? I know where, I'm just asking for one that doesn't make my wallet vomit in its mouth (which is a little too close to my ass for my comfort).

-To find a job listing that actually explains what the job is? I may have applied for a cabinet-level position this week and not known it. Then again, I may have applied to be the 'mop guy' at a friggin' peep show place. That's my point: I can't tell.

-To find a guitar that's half good, not custom, not tricked out at all, for under $1500? Just one.

-To shorten commercial breaks on terrestrial radio? If provided a name, this is the one I'd most likely be willing to go through with. More on this in the next week or so, as I'm a pretty heavy radiophile. Thank god I have Sirius/XM/whatever-the-hell-it-is this week.

-To snap MSNBC out of its Anna Nicole obsession? They're making all non-right-wingers look bad with this crap. Jesus, you're just giving them a gun and asking "Please Sir, please shoot me?".

-To get Van Halen to go on tour anyway? God, I was so ready for this. The kid in the band? Dave with his shot voice trying to sing Fair Warning stuff? This was gonna be a clusterfuck of epic proportions. You owe us Eddie. You owe us at least that much.

-To make the NBA interesting again? I grew up with the greatest talent pool ever playing their asses off making it happen every night. Now I can barely sit through a quarter of a Mavs/Suns game, and I like both of those teams. A lot. It's like when after Tyson lost the title and every champ after did his best to simply not lose the belt. Man, I have a whole thing under the surface with the NBA that I didn't know was there, but that will be coming out soon. Oh yes, it will.

-To find a bottle of Cherry Smash? If you remember what that is, congrats--you're not only old, you're half a hick. Take a number, I'm still waiting.

-To kill half the shows on Adult Swim? I'm looking at you, 12oz Mouse, Tom Goes to the Mayor, Awesome show, Bleach, Trinity Blood and Squidbillies (so close). It should be the big shows (Family Guy and Futurama), Aqua Teen, Robot Chicken, Moral Orel, Venture Bros., Space Ghost (make new ones, rerun old ones, I don't really give much of a shit), Brak, and Frisky Dingo (with some Sealab reruns thrown in). And Aqua Teen, come here: You're pushing it. You know I love you most of all, but you're really pushing it. I don't know if it's the movie distracting you or what, but you need to get it in gear. Ok, sport? Ok. I love you.

-To make sure I never see Fitness Personality John Basedow on my TV ever again?

-To put Tyra Banks and Rachel Ray on the same one hour talk show? I mean, let's just condense the crap if we're not going to get rid of it.

-To outlaw quarter-taking community washer and dryer rooms from apartment buildings? We're already paying rent; now we get to pay for crappy appliances that don't work as often as they do and when they are are being completely occupied by the same family's 12 loads of laundry? Fuck off.

Ok, this is long enough, I think. I gotta save up that anger, you know. I think we'll be seeing this again. I find it cathartic. Of course, if you have your own, add them as comments or e-mail me and I'll include them in a future 'Who do I Have to Fuck...?'

Email bergle79@gmail.com

Peering Up From the Handbasket

Hey there,
I was all ready to go fire and brimstone today watching the coverage of the Anna Nicole/Britney madness. Hours of newstime used up by pics of a bald nutjob and a clusterfuck hearing that supposedly was to determine custody of another nutjob's body? I was thinking about the Post's Walter Reed story this weekend, about all the injured and those who are being injured and killed every moment while we try to turn our heads and look at the shiny things...

...but then something hit me.

The name of the judge at the Anna Nicole hearing rung a bell...I thought maybe he was Judge Judy's husband. For reals. Alas, it turned out not to be the case, just a coincidence where their names are similar. BUT, it also turns out that he wants his own TV show!!!

I'm going to say something here that I'm not proud of and I wish I wasn't able to say: This guy is gold. I was sucked into the proceedings and could not look away despite myself, and he had a lot to do with that. God help me, I want this war to end, I want all of our brothers and sisters to come home and I want the idiot appointed president gone tomorrow but for a good hour or so this afternoon I had me a fine distraction, and his name was Judge Larry Seidlin.

The dude was all over the place, from crushing the attorneys (calling one whom I assume was representing Anna's mom 'Texas' as if he didn't have a name) to telling them what questions to ask to ASKING THE QUESTIONS HIMSELF!!! Unbelievable!! Standouts for me were Judge Seidlin questioning Howard K. Stern presumably to show all these lawyers how its done, and the Moment of the Day: Taking a call while on the bench from the M.E., letting it out over the air and letting it go on for a good minute and a half before asking "Doc, should we take this off the air?"!!

Fantastic stuff, an immediate first-ballot entry for the Jagoff Hall of Fame. Oh my god, I'm just thinking about it and its still stunning. I think this guy topped everything that ever happened on L.A. Law, Perry Mason and The Practice in one afternoon--and I'm pretty sure there was a Practice episode where Cameron Mannheim ate a dude during cross-examination. The only courtroom film I can think of that still holds up is Witness for the Prosecution, and that merely squeaks by due to Marlene Dietrich's performance as The Accent That Walked Like a Woman.

I'm not sure where I was supposed to be going with all this, but I think it was this:

With the world as it is today, with all of the dangers and threats and stupidity (plus the stuff that happens outside the White House), where everything is serious (especially what you laugh at) and none of us have any future unless we have the right name or fuck the right person(s), where the possibility of waking up to major landmarks burning is too real and too probable, it's ok to find comfort and release in something stupid for a little while. So watch the hearing solely to gauge Howard K. Stern's creep factor. Photoshop Britney with different wigs (or a Smurf cap, I'm still waiting to see that), read some gossip. Just don't do it for long. We used to do it all the time, remember? Look what happened.

Opposite Day

I've been trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me today. I woke up at an unusual hour for me, went to a job interview that I was really excited about and left deflated and soured on another job that I almost took yesterday. More than that, everything feels wrong. Something wasn't just wrong with me; I wasn't thinking big enough.

Today is an opposite day. Everything that was good and right had been flipped on its head and was showing me its ugly, diseased ass (except, of course, for my girlfriend). Everything that was going my way had slammed on its brakes and decided to just go on home.

Unfortunately the thing that hasn't changed is DC driving habits and abilities. Word of advice: If you own a small two-door thing that couldn't drive through three inches of snow if your life depended on it please do not try to climb up an iced-over hill with it. Especially if I am sitting RIGHT BEHIND YOU. It's not worth it. There are other exits, downhill-facing ones even! Christ, I know that this area is full of people from all over the world, so whenever we get any kind of weather some percentage of the population has no idea what the hell to do. I get that. It's ok, even. But just a thimbleful of friggin common sense! Not much, just enough to not get me killed.

And I'm just so sick of everything today. I know I'm not the cheeriest bear in the cave but I usually have some perspective. Not today. Everything makes me want to throw my hands in the air and toss them about as if I had little to no regard for those around me. I checked my email for a message that should be there, and when it wasn't I kicked a Kermit the Frog doll that was on the floor. I love Kermit. Rainbow Connection and shit.

It seems like everywhere I turn there are problems; not all of them huge but all of them adding up--like drinking Tequila or Liquid Cocaine shooters. While I'm at it--I think any booze with the letter 'Q' in it should be approached with caution. Good life rule, that. Anyway, I see the laundry I don't have the money to do ($10 for a roll of quarters is a big deal right now), the streaks I can't get out of the coffee table, the jobs I can't get or shouldn't take, and it all snowballs until I'm thinking about what I want to do with my life. Then the TV starts with the "I'm going to lose all sound now for no reason" thing and I'm fixin to pop. If I have to go out again for any reason, god help us all.

I think I may need a vacation.

Random Thoughts

Hey there,

Had about three things I wanted to write about and never got to so I'm going to just throw some stuff out there.

--I'm so going to the Police show. That made me so happy when I saw them playing together.

--Beauty and the Geek rules. I can't believe that I got sucked into watching crap like this but man does that show payoff. Nate essentially tanking his team because his partner is cunty is maybe the highlight of the television year. God I need to go out more so I don't find myself reduced to blogging about reality shows.

--I'm on a job hunt right now, and I have to say it's a frustrating thing. You find one job that you're not really into, but the pay seems to be good and the hours are livable. On the other hand, you find a job that you might actually enjoy but it means never seeing anyone you know ever again. And forget about any other interests you have. If I could combine the hours of one with the other I'd be pretty well off. Oh well.

I guess that's all I wanted to talk about. More later when I'm not so distracted.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

So I hop out to run a couple errands, and when I come into our building, I see something posted on the inside of the door. It's a print-out of a web page review one of the tenants wrote about our building. A scathing review, I might add, but entertaining nonetheless. Here it is in all of its glory:

"This place is a God-forsaken dump! Every week there seems to be a plumbing leak somewhere. The A/C doesn't seem to work during da summer time. There's plenty of heat all da time, though. If you live under somebody, you'll hear 'em mf'rs loud and clear bcuz of da stellar hardwood floors. And da people bellow you will hear ya too. Da carpets are old, the paint job in da halls is sh@#$y, and maintenance, what maintenance!!!! The new mgmt co., what a joke!!! The thing that irritates me most is that some tenants like to cook that smelly-ass fish & they stink up the halls. Yes, the demographics here is too diverse! Viva La Migra! And no, Im not white, Im asian."

This is a fascinating piece of writing. The writer is Asian and throws out just about every kind of slang in one paragraph as they can. It's actually an achievement. The writer's also dead-on regarding this building. He/She fails to mention the roaches (I've seen them, thankfully the Gergle hasn't or there'd be a blog about a 25-year-old woman having a coronary), which are VERY large. Or the mice. I'm assuming mice, because we've only seen one, but there have to be more.

The noise is not so bad for us, but we have no upstairs neighbors and carpeting, so no big shock there. The hallway noise is surprising, though. We don't hear a lot of our next-door neighbors, but the Indian family (I'm assuming Indian; they're not Arab) at the end of the hall is noisy. But only in the hellway. Yes, that was a typo but I'm leaving it.

I've lived in this area all my life. I went to school with kids from 100 countries. But it took me 27 years and this building to discover that Indians don't whisper. They have no low conversational voice. This family walks by speaking at a volume that is appropriate for a busy Starbucks or a bar with medium volume music on. It doesn't matter if it's just the husband and his wife, or the whole lot (and there are a whole lot--how many I can't say for sure).

They're nice enough and I don't mean to say I don't want them as neighbors. I just want them to pipe the fuck down when they're walking through the hallway. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, right on, Asian guy. But you forgot the pool that wasn't open last year (spent the money trying to fix the a/c), the ONE elevator that makes moving in or out a bitch, the noisy roof (I can overlook you missing this one) and the overall shitty condition of this place. Then again, in five years this place will probably be a parking garage or a new office building, or the parking garage for a new office building, so who gives a shit really.

Would you be my--fuck--COULD you be my neighbor?

Cunty?

Ok, so my lady wrote about the things that she hates about D.C. I have to say I agree with all of these, but there's one aspect of her little rant that I feel a need to focus on. Here's what she had to say:


"The Bergle came up with this one and I agree wholeheartedly: why are there so many “cunty” women in DC? I grew up in northern VA and I went to school with some of these girls with their houses in McLean and Potomac and very rich mommies and daddies. I can spot them a mile away (Tiffany jewelry is usually a dead giveaway). Their ultimate goal in life is to have the upper hand, be it through condescension, the “I smell something icky” look, and of course their signature the “Oh my, this apartment is so quaint” backhanded compliments. Go f*ck a congressman."


Now, I was going to delve into why these girls are the way they are, and I spent a good chunk of time thinking it over. I was going to talk about the void of suburban life and the status wars that ensue; I was going to be nice. But I can't have that on my conscience.


Gergle works in D.C. and has a point, but she grew up in Vienna. I'm from McLean. If you just shuddered or felt a chill up your spine, then you know what's up. The richest, the elite, the ginormous homes, all of it. Just as background, my family moved to town when I was 4, parents broke up when I was 6, mom and I moved to Vienna with her mom but she kept me in McLean schools so I'd be with my friends. This kept up until Junior High, when we moved back to McLean as a single mom and her kid. She busted her ass for the sake of me not losing one more thing after her and dad split.


I got to see and hear it all from these little girls with their rich parents. I got the stares when I revealed that we didn't have cable. I actually had to explain to people that my mom didn't go to college, doesn't make a lot of money and neither does my dad, and even if he did he's got another family now and doesn't really bother to help out so NO I'M NOT GOING SKIING THIS YEAR.


Not every girl was like this. Not every girl was a spoiled cunty brat. But even the ones who weren't aspired to that level. I knew smart girls; personable, funny, gifted, beautiful girls who tried to fit in because their friend was cunty, or their friend's friend's. It was inescapable, like the Borg.


There was one girl in particular that I remember: She was smart, beautiful, funny, all of it. We ended up in one class together every year and every year I had just the most horrible puppy dog crush on her. Of course she didn't know this and I had no plans on telling her, but she was just about everything I could ever ask for. She wasn't a 'popular' girl per se, but she had a couple friends. Over the years those friends got in with the In Crowd and by proxy she orbited the fringes--dressing a little more 'upscale', telling tales of the weekend parties, etc. The girl I knew was still there, but you could hear and see that she was a little drunk with her new standing. I could see her questioning herself before laughing at something I said when once she just laughed.


I ran into her out one night with a couple little cunty girls. It seemed like we were happy to see each other, but the un-interrupted walking of her 'friends' drew her out into the sea of BeamersBenz's. To paraphrase Robert Smith, I found myself alone above the sea that stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me. In fact, I always thought the Cure sucked ass up until that moment, but then I got it. Now I love that damn song.


But I digress. It's not girls being cunty that makes this area suck: It's the damage left in their wake. It's everyone that they make feel small, or poor, or worthless. I personally didn't let it get to me too much; my mom raised me well enough to be able to say "Fuck the world" when I needed to. But it was situations like the one with this girl that pissed me off. I saw good people around me hurt everyday because they weren't some spoiled brat's idea of Good Enough.


With that having been said: If you're a cunty girl, Fuck you. Fuck you all day long. But IF you are, and you happen to be reading this, please send this to your mummy and daddy. I have something to say to them:


Ahem...


You fucked up. Your children were born to privilege, and you taught them to squander it. They are going to run this world someday and they are going to fuck it all up because you couldn't be bothered. On behalf of 'the rest of us' and all of our children that we're going to have someday, thanks. Thanks a bunch.


This ended up more serious than I though. I'll bring the funny next time. Promise.

Bergle