« April 2003 | Main | June 2003 »
May 31, 2003
Sinking to Guttenberg
Last night I accidentally overindulged a bit when one of those "well, we were just going to meet friends at a bar for a couple of cold ones, but now there is this party in the offing, want to come?" sorts of situations developed. A couple of signs: 1) Not so much an inability to, as a disinterest in, sitting entirely upright on the subway. 2) Waking up on the couch at 5am in a heap with the equally unconscious Josh, and realizing that I had no memory of even sitting down, let alone "falling asleep."
This morning, while toasting my Redemption Bagel, I remembered something disturbing. During the three hours that I slept in an actual bed, I dreamed that I was at a party and desperately searching for witty conversation to keep things rocking along, and I made up a story about how I had babysat for Steve Guttenberg's kids.
I beg your pardon, Subconscious, but...Steve Guttenberg? That's the best you could do? Let me tell you this: if I am going to have to make up lies about celebrity contact just to make friends, I am going to pick someone a little better than a darling of Disney, a man whose last major studio release was freaking Three Men and a Little Lady, a guy whose signature style is a sort of perplexed tweeness with a dash of overdetermined "Hey, I'm just a Regular Guy, what what!" thrown in. No offense to the Gutster, but heaven help my social life if it needs to ride on his C-list coattails. I mean, really.
Now, if you actually did babysit for Steve's kids, that's a whole different kettle of fish. That's a story you can tell at a party, especially if you got any good dirt on the family, like the kids were really bratty or there was a suspicious quantity of prescription drugs in the house or something. But to make up a story like that? It's so?underachieving. It signals that not only do you have to make up stories to be interesting, but deep down inside, you're convinced that nothing cool will ever happen to you, and that everyone else knows it, so this is the best thing you can get away with. Very sad.
I'm afraid that the only lesson learned from this dream is a sneaking distrust of my psyche. I think it may be trying to scare me straight or something. Well, good luck to it, I say. With those $5 buckets* of Hoegaarden just a bus ride away, it doesn't stand a chance.
*And I do mean bucket. You've got to lift those suckers with both hands. Envy me!
Posted by hilatron at 09:08 AM | Comments (3)
May 29, 2003
Mr. Wizard, where are you?
Can anyone answer this question: When your lightbulb burns out, but you leave the light switch on, are you still using electricity?
Please and thank you.
Posted by hilatron at 07:36 AM | Comments (9)
May 26, 2003
Child of Fortune
Living in New England comes with its unique hazards and hassles. Due to the extremes of weather and the stereotypical-but-true stinginess of local legislators, one of these is sidewalks that exist in an almost comical state of disrepair. The heaving and shifting of ice beneath the cement sidewalk squares has created a surface that only the most dedicated fashionista would traverse in stiletto heels.
However, note: on the way to the grocery store, there are no less than nine places where the edge of the next square has thrust up above the square before it by two inches or more, creating an upward step. On the way back, the number of these upward steps (as the previous steps are now, of course, downward steps) is only two.
Think, then, of me, trundling to the grocery store with my red old-lady cart. On the way there, my cart is empty. It is easy to force the wheels of the light metal cart to leap the accidental hurdles in the sidewalk, all nine of them. On the way home, loaded down with Diet Coke and kitty litter, it is infinitely more difficult to navigate the cart upstairs - but there are only two of these obstacles between me and home.
When I am faced with adversity, when the world seems to be conspiring against my every happiness, I should remember this statistic and take comfort. I tend to notice the trivia only when it annoys me, but here is evidence that I am a chosen child, smiled upon by fate, aided in small ways by nature herself.
How many are so lucky? Surely this is a sign of great things to come, an omen that my path will be smooth.
Posted by hilatron at 02:10 PM | Comments (2)
May 24, 2003
The Names of Murray
It is theorized that cats and dogs "learn" their names by recognizing the syllables and the rhythm of your voice as you repeat them again and again. If this is the case, here is a list of names that Murray could possibly believe are his after living with us for nine months or so:
Mr. Pants
Murray-Pants
Furry-Pants
Mr. Pantalones
Sir Stinkbottom
Fatso Catso
Tubba Love
Magnificent Beast
Old Lumpy-Lumps
Feet Are Not Toys, You Know
Aww, Whosha Cutie? Ish it Ooo? Yesh it Ish!
Get Off There!
You're Hungry Again?!
Ow Ow Cut it Out You Sadistic Bastard
The Shedding Machine
My Water! Mine!
What Did You Knock Over This Time?
Good God, What Did You Do In There? (Murray's special "exiting the litterbox" moniker)
Aren't You Just the Best Cat Ever?
Posted by hilatron at 01:57 PM | Comments (2)
May 23, 2003
"I'll just use it to watch movies," yeah right.
So I'm sad enough about the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that I was thinking I really ought to be embarrassed about it, and then I spent part of yesterday looking at fan sites and message boards on the show's finale and I realized that, in fact, I am stunningly well-adjusted. Get a grip people! It was a television show! You would think, from the snarking and the harping, that we were promised that the series finale of Buffy would create a state of instant enlightenment for fans the world over and we would all ascend to a higher plane where our favorite designer-clad superhero would give us fighting lessons and tell us we smelled nice, and [insert preferred cute cast member here] would start looking all dewy-eyed and ask us if we wanted to go for a walk, and even though that means that like 500,000 people would have to share Spike, there would be no jealousy again, nor war nor disease nor bad hair, ever.
I just don't have what it takes to be a part of this. How do you find the energy to keep watching week after week, when your only purpose is to point out each episode's flaws? How can you keep the love alive when you're unsatisfied with every. single. last. detail? I had to end my visit to the land of the SuperFans prematurely, because it was sullying my memory of the entire damn show. Every plot choice sucked. The acting was terrible. The writing was okay, but only in comparison to the rest of the season, which had obviously been penned by angry trolls. Buffy was too mean. Buffy was too wimpy. The wrong people lived. The wrong people died. The effects were terrible. Too much money was spent on effects, when we could have had more returning guest stars instead. On and on and on.
It's clear that I am not a true fan. I was just content that there were vampires, and kung fu fighting, and girls kicking ass, and snappy banter. I've never expected a lot from my television - my standard for a decent show is "doesn't make me groan in pain." This doesn't necessarily mean that I'm not aware of quality issues - for all its charms, I'm aware that the Buffy mythology had enough holes to house every rodent on the planet, that the acting was spotty, etc. But when I watched it I enjoyed myself, and that's really all I ask.
I realize this is all pretty damn funny coming from the girl who cannot utter the sentence "I liked that movie" without appending "but..." But...I just don't approach television the same way. Buffy was what it was, we all had a good time, and thank the Fates that the show ended on a relatively high note rather than slinking into the furtive depths reached by, say, The X-Files.
I'm still sad about the show's demise, though, mostly because it's getting harder and harder to ignore how much television sucks these days. Now that Buffy's gone, there are maybe two shows that I'll actively look forward to watching. And I have few hopes for the fall season: the fall previews are up on All Your TV, with each network debuting 5 to 7 series. The press releases are filled with old ideas, stupid ideas, or gross The War On Terror?-exploiting ideas. The words "edgy," "over-the-top," and "irreverent" are used with disturbing frequency.
And then there is this. "Point of inspiration," my ass. I recently had the pleasure of watching the original Danish series, and it's a damn shame that they're running it through the vast homogenization machine that is ABC/Stephen King, because I haven't seen anything that defiantly weird on American television since Twin Peaks (or maybe Wild Palms, but I never pass up a chance to mention Twin Peaks).
What's worse, however, is the toll it's going to take on my social life. I know what's going to happen: someone will mention The Kingdom, maybe at work, or at a party, and I won't be able to help myself. "Oh, you know that's based on a Danish show," I'll say. They will look at me blankly. "I can't believe they're remaking it ? with Stephen King of all people," I'll continue, as eyes begin to glaze over, and by the time I get to "?really nothing worth watching on the domestic market these days anyway," people will be unobtrusively backing away, and before I know it no one will return my phone calls. If you don't believe me, just ask anyone in my acquaintance about the Ring/Ringu debacle of last fall. Maybe I share more in common with those Buffy fans than I'd like to believe...
Worst of all is the fact that I'll probably watch the sham Kingdom anyway. I watch all the crap. The TV is on in my house for two hours a day minimum, usually much more. I'm often doing stuff at the same time ? I'm on the couch writing this entry in front of an ER rerun ? but I'm still taking it in. The offensive co-opting of worthy work, the ever-more-desperate reality show premises, the hackneyed sitcoms that recycle the same jokes over and over and over ? I sit here for a hours of it every week.
Maybe it's my low expectations that cause me to waste my time like this; maybe if my standards were a little higher I'd get fed up enough to just turn the damned thing off when Fox unleashes yet another assault upon good taste. That's why I have to give a little respect to the Buffy fanatics and their ilk. They don't give up. Their demands may be relentless and unrealistic, but at least they resist the parade of inanities that passes for entertainment on television these days. "Not agonizingly bad" isn't good enough for them, and I kind of wish that this were the case for enough of us that the networks would take notice.
So to fanboys, -girls, and -bots everywhere, I say: kvetch on. Let your voices carry clear across the hills and plains, reminding us all that there is still a place for sensible continuity, decent acting, and good writing on television. Though you may face mockery, eye-rolling, and unflattering caricatures, your cause is noble and your martyrdom will be remembered. You stand between a befuddled public and a flood of broadcast mediocrity. Let no detail, no matter how small, escape your notice, and carp, carp against the dying of the light.
Posted by hilatron at 12:21 AM
May 22, 2003
I might not know what the hell I'm doing, but I've got your back anyway.
Wow. Thanks for all the comments, e-mails, links, and other communications I've received on the last entry. I'm, uh, sorry that I'm glad so many of you are going through similar upheavals. It's reassuring, though, to note that we all have company, don't you think? They can't call us "below average" if we outnumber them!
Anyway, see the comments below for further discussion. We will return you to your regularly scheduled trivia shortly.
Posted by hilatron at 11:15 AM | Comments (2)
May 19, 2003
How to have a midlife crisis at the age of 27
I blame MSN.com.
You see, my web browser has developed this annoying habit of losing my preferences and reverting to the default settings periodically. It's done so enough times that I stopped fixing them, because it is more of a hassle to do so every few days than to just type my entire e-mail address when filling out forms and such. One of the many effects of learning to live with my newly impersonal web browser is that my home page, instead of checking my job search/spam designated Yahoo! mail account, is now set to MSN.
There's a lot to hate about MSN.com: the ugly layout. The Women's Interest "articles" which revolve entirely around shopping, wedding dresses, and ab exercises. The agony of knowing that someone actually gets paid to write 800 words about the most popular pickup lines in bars.
However, the thing that is currently causing my brain to spin around in small circles, whimpering quietly, is the Money section.
The Money section of MSN.com is...not for me. For example, a recent cardiac-inducing piece on the home page was "Why $1 Million is Not Enough To Retire," an article in which the high costs of retirement are described in loving, horrific detail. Apparently, one million dollars might just barely keep you in cat food, but that's about it. Never fear, though! The article kindly explains that even if you're 50 and you've only managed to save $400,000.00, careful money management and investing can save you. More comforting still, they say, is the fact that if you've only got $30K scraped together by the time you're twenty-five, you can make it! Wow, that really makes me feel better considering that I'M TWENTY-SEVEN AND RACKING UP THE CREDIT CARD DEBT LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS! Where, exactly, does this put me on MSN's scale of retirement preparedness? No answer.
This is exemplary of the kind of mind-wrenching financial advice I've been encountering lately: an assessment that you'll need X amount of money (X being a sum I'll never dream of seeing this side of a lottery win) to do Y thing (Y being something I'd really like to do, like stop working someday or live in a nice house with many closets) by Z date (Z being a date far, far removed from the date I'd actually like to do Y by, which is usually, "tomorrow"). Then I am offered "comfort" in the form of "but don't worry if you're a little behind! Why, here is the worst possible scenario we could come up with: [and now we describe a state which is actually much, much better than Hilatron's personal state], and here's how, with much hard work and if possible a trust fund and/or a lucrative investment banking career, you can turn things around!"
The general message I'm getting here is, dude, you're screwed when it comes to financial success, let alone that leisurely jet-set lifestyle you've been planning for. You had better get your shit together RIGHT NOW, girlie, if you don't want to be doomed to a life of misery and struggle. This fearful revelation has resulted in a circular and maddening thought pattern which goes like this:
Step one: I'd really like to have nice things, and go on vacations, and buy pretty clothes and stuff. I know that isn't very bohemian, but I like things. There you go.
Step two: My job is not providing me with the nice things. In fact, it is not even covering the basics and I really need to do something about that, like possibly take a second job. But I'm not very fulfilled now; do I really want to spend another 15-20 hours per week being unchallenged?
Step three: Hmm. Maybe I should think about my "career."
Step four: What do I want to do?
Step five: Well, I could see myself doing approximately five thousand different things (writer! movie critic! Super-8 auteur! costume designer! drug dealer ha ha just kidding!). But, gee, they all require me to a) work hard; b) go to lots more school; c) develop alien skills like networking and marketing; and/or d) buy a suit. Furthermore, in order to be successful at one of them, I'd have to, like, make some sort of decision about my life. Ow!
Step six: Furthermore, the chance of making any money at most of the possible things is nearly non-existent.
Step seven: I mean, I guess I could do without the nice things, if I really loved what I was doing, and as long as I could pay the bills and such.
Step eight: But, what can I see myself doing, for the rest of my life, with the kind of dedication that makes most careers successful and fulfilling?
Step nine: What I need here is a calling. Hello? Calling? Anyone out there?
Step ten: Well dammit, if I'm not going to have some sort of revelation about What I Want To Do With My Life, then I at least want some nice things. (Return to Step one, rinse, repeat, bang head against wall.)
I keep trying to tell myself that all this woohaw is a sign that A Process is taking place deep within my psyche, that surely an answer will surface after the requisite amount of agony, that certainly I will see a path laid before me sometime soon. This mantra is doing little to keep back the tides of panic and obsession, though. Instead of having a song stuck in my head, I walk around of late to the beat of "what DO i want to DO? what DO i want to DO?"
I am posting this here because it needs to go somewhere, and also because I am a little disappointed in this blog lately, and I think this helps explain why that is. In general, I would like to provide you with more fun and less rumination. I mean, goodness, you can hardly go anywhere on the web without someone ruminating on and on at you, and I want to do something different, if only for the false sense of superiority that can be gained thereby. I can't help it though - I'm feeling ruminaty and there just doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. Hopefully my Process will reach its end soon, for my sanity and for the sake of my three remaining readers, who surely did not sign up for this.
In the meantime, shoot me an e-mail if you know of any freelance work, writing or desktop publishing-wise - Mama's contacts prescription is two years out of date, and Mama SO doesn't want to work at Starbucks.
Posted by hilatron at 11:59 AM | Comments (19)
May 17, 2003
Best Search Ever
Blogatron ranks #2 on an AOL search for "when you see sin and you fail to correct it."
C'mon, people. Just a little more sinning, and a little less fixing, and we could be Number One! I'm counting on you.
My sin this week is gluttony. For example, did my healthy soy-cheese/olive/pepper pizza require the accompaniment of half a bag of Lays? It did not. But I'm trying to do my part here.
Posted by hilatron at 01:56 PM | Comments (4)
May 14, 2003
The Karaoke, It Gave Me the Flashbacks
Last night found me at Mary Mary's All-Star Karaoke drinking silly rum-based cocktails, listening to hits of the 80s sung with wildly varying skill levels, and accidentally robbing the cradle.* A snippet of awkward small talk with Eric, while slow-dancing to Courtney's fabulous rendition of "Purple Rain:"
Eric: So, where do you go to school?
Hilatron: I'm out of school.
[Pause, as Eric took a more careful look at his dance partner]
Eric: ...How old are you?
Hilatron: Uh, twenty-seven?
Eric [with a touch of panic]: Twenty-seven?!? You don't look twenty-seven!
Hilatron: It's the pigtails!
It was a great night, and I can't say enough nice things about the karaoke, the hilarity of the karaoke fanatics regulars, or the retro appeal of the Milky Way Lounge and Lanes where it all goes down. However, I've been thinking about why I didn't want to perform. I don't have a great voice, but I can carry a passable tune and I have a near-endless collection of vintage clothing from which I could cull an ensemble to suit almost any song in the book. Yet the thought of singing in front of people fills me with terror. I believe this feeling can be traced to a single demonic source.
During my sophomore year of high school, I decided to take voice lessons. My school had a posh music program which provided weekly private lessons as part of the curriculum, and it seemed like a fun thing to do.
I'm sure it would have been, had I not pulled Mrs. Annie Devlin-Nagel** as my voice teacher.
Mrs. D-N was...odd. Fashion-wise, she favored frizzy, overpermed hair in a messy half-updo, giant glasses with pastel frames, and brightly colored silk dresses with poufy shoulders and little belts, reminiscent of Tootsie. Upon first meeting her, one got the impression of a slightly scattered, effervescently friendly woman with a high, piercing voice. She gave weird compliments, made statements which in no way related to the topic at hand, and was touchy-feely in that way some people have where they are almost violent: hugging too hard, grabbing with fingernails instead of touching with fingertips. Nonetheless, you would have assumed that she couldn't hurt a fly, unless it's possible to non-sequitur a fly to death.
You would have been horribly, horribly wrong.
The first sign of trouble came quickly. Mrs. D-N had me sing a song for her at our first lesson, and quickly declared me a mezzo-soprano. This was curious, as high notes didn't seem to be my forte and I had often been asked to fill in the tenor section in an informal choral group I'd joined. However, she was the expert. I resolved to try.
And try I did, straining my vocal cords to reach notes that just wouldn't materialize. Although my vocal range seemed unable to expand upward, the lower registers proved more malleable - I gradually realized that I was losing my low notes due to disuse. By talking to her other students, I learned that by some miracle, all of Mrs. D-N's randomly assigned students were either sopranos, if female, or tenors, if male. How lucky for her that all of her students had upper-register voices - especially considering that Mrs. D-N herself was a soprano! How curious! What are the odds on that? It was also lucky for her poor students, many of whom had, like me, ignorantly believed that we were altos and basses until she came along to straighten things out. We were indeed blessed.
As I stumbled my way through each week's lesson, squeaking and sputtering out the impossible notes, Mrs. D-N began to drop a comment here and there. "You know, Hilatron, choirs always need...filler voices." "I'm surprised that you take German...your pronunciation here is so - unique." "It's so good that you don't feel a need to compete for the spotlight when you're singing. What self-confidence you must have that you're content to stay in the background!" Every time I opened my mouth to sing, another gem of helpful advice was waiting for me.
Sometimes, Mrs. D-N would stop the regular lesson to "have some fun." "Having fun" meant that we would sing together. Her theory was that if there was someone to take over the spotlight I so clearly dreaded, I could relax and really get into my mezzo-soprano identity. Mrs. D-N certainly had no trouble hitting the notes I struggled with; she belted them out in a sharp, piercing soprano that reverberated in the tiny practice room and made me wince in pain. Sometimes, "having fun" took up most of the lesson. Sometimes, I would just stop singing altogether. It wasn't like either of us could hear my squeak over that knife-like voice anyway.
One day, as I struggled with a ghastly scales exercise that made dogs howl all over the neighborhood, Mrs. D-N reached out and pinched my side, hard. I stopped singing and stared at her. "No, you're supposed to keep singing!" she cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation at my obtuseness. "I was just trying to surprise you into letting your voice free," she explained. "I had a voice teacher when I was a girl who used to poke us with a pin when we weren't projecting enough. That certainly got us to sing out." She gazed wistfully into the distance, remembering the good old days. I backed away, eyeing her nervously and looking out for any sharp objects.
It took just one school year of the Mrs. D-N treatment to convince me that not only should I not quit my day job, it would be a service to humanity if I were to avoid ever singing in public again.
Karaoke, however, has opened my eyes. Singing is not just for the Mrs. D-Ns of the world. There is room for the imperfect, for the off-key, even for the non-soprano. We may not be destined for a record deal, but that's never what I wanted anyway. I just want to do a silly dance and carry a tune while I do it, preferably in front of a crowd of supportive, if drunken, fellow revelers.
In retrospect, I'd also like to note that Mrs. D-N was a poorly-dressed, worse-socialized, passive-aggressive washout with a transference complex, an upper register that could cut glass, and a vibrato you could drive a truck through. Not that I'm hating. I just wanted to offer a little helpful feedback.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be off polishing my rendition of "Suspicious Minds." Anyone want to sing backup?
*Please note that I am not on the prowl, as it were, having the charming Josh as a more than satisfactory companion, thank you very much. However, it is my belief that when a gentleman asks a lady to dance, it is that lady's right to accept, no matter her dating status, as restitution for years of hugging the wall at high school dances, college parties, and the like.
**Names changed to protect the loopy, but carefully chosen to reproduce the appropriate verbal rhythm.
Posted by hilatron at 10:32 PM | Comments (2)
May 12, 2003
Two Dreams
Note: it is believed by many that posting about your dreams on your blog is boring and passe. Let's shake our heads indulgently and pretend I don't know any better, shall we?
Dream 1: In the midst of a complex and ever-evolving plot boasting a cast of dozens, I realize that I've been shot in the shoulder. The perpetrators are long gone, but we're all certain that it's an accident; no hard feelings, right? I am very tough as I climb into the back of the minivan, which is piloted by a co-worker. My only concern is that the seatbelt will dig into my wound. We have several errands to do, and I insist that we get those out of the way first, before going to the hospital. After all, we will probably have a long wait in the emergency room, and the stores will be closed by the time I'm patched up. Our first stop is a movie theater, but we are not there to watch a movie. I wake up thinking, "I don't want to be any bother."
Dream 2: I am back at school (a nebulous dream school, not my real school). I am planning to start my own business at the school, one of those ghost tours, based on local tales drawn from various parts of my past, like the smoking ghost from the high school gym and the woman in the bathtub from freshman year of college. I will wear a tuxedo to give the tours, and I have planned a little dance to do at the end, with a special bow. I will take my tours around in a miniature car to which I plan to add a second level, like a teeny tiny makeshift version of a double-decker bus. I am walking around the school at night, planning out my route. I come to a dark, hilly area that I know from having gone to the school before, but I also know that it's changed and I have to be careful. There are cliffs in this area and because the landscape has shifted, I could fall and hurt myself. I lie on my stomach on the wet, cold, grass, my feet dangling over a precipice, trying to figure out how far the drop is. I wake up thinking, "How am I going to get the tiny car over this terrain?"
Posted by hilatron at 12:11 AM | Comments (2)
May 10, 2003
The TardyTron 5000 FAQ
Thank you for visiting the Leisure Industries Product Development Department. There's been a lot of buzz about our latest product, the TardyTron 5000. We're really amazed by the stir it's created! There have been so many inquiries we decided to post the answers to some of the most frequently asked questions here. Please contact our sales department if there is any other information you're looking for.
Why do I need the TardyTron 5000?
As a busy, hard-working executive, you are well aware that the grind of day-to-day business can get you down. To relieve the stress of your go-get-em lifestyle, it's important to take a break from the ordinary once in a while.
That's where the TardyTron 5000 comes in! If you "hire" the TardyTron 5000, you can rest assured that you'll get the thrill of the new, the injection of uncertainty that makes life exciting.
What does the TardyTron 5000 do?
The TardyTron 5000 is a cutting-edge employment innovation. Designed to replicate a perfectly normal, competent, even above-average employee in every way, it sports one very special difference: the TardyTron 5000 shakes things up by adding a creative twist to each day's schedule. Our lifetime guarantee insures that you'll never know quite when the TardyTron 5000 will show up for work in the morning, giving your day that much-needed element of chance.
But I can't risk a subversive employee corrupting the rest of my staff!
Never fear! Because of our patented Chaos Engineering, the TardyTron 5000 is never intentionally late for work. Whether it is a shaving mishap in the shower, or a dream that that beeping noise is not the alarm but a truck backing up to drop off the new trampoline at her mansion, the TardyTron 5000 is always delayed by honest mistakes. You can rest assured that every single night, the TardyTron 5000 will vow that the next morning will find her at work right at starting time.
Due to this specialized programming, the TardyTron 5000 is forever apologetic about her tardiness, and will make up for it with feverish work and short lunches, so that you gain rather than lose productivity. You may just find that the TardyTron 5000 is an inspiration, rather than a detriment, to your other employees!
Won't it get predictable if the TardyTron 5000 is always late?
Chaos Engineering saves the day again! You'll find that the TardyTron 5000 follows no schedule in terms of her tardiness. Sometimes she'll be five minutes late; sometimes she'll call at 9:15 to tell you that "my cat escaped, I just caught him, and I'm on my way in now," and sometimes, just to keep you on your toes, she'll show up ten minutes early with perfectly coiffed hair and a fetching ensemble. We're so confident in our product that if you ever tire of the TardyTron 5000, we'll refund your purchase price in full!
What different types of TardyTron 5000 do you offer?
The TardyTron 5000 is currently available only in administrative models. Please contact us to discuss our Administrative Assistant and Office Manager options. Soon we hope to offer custom models as well, so that everyone who needs a TardyTron 5000 can have access to this exciting new technology. Talk to us about your TardyTron 5000 today!
Also, make sure to look into our other Executive Amusement Models, such as the Emotobot (creates catharsis with its inappropriate histrionics, thus relieving employee tension) and the SpeedyTron (gets all the work done in half the time, spends the rest of the day surfing the web for interesting and humorous tidbits to improve employee morale). We offer discounts on combination models!
Posted by hilatron at 12:01 PM | Comments (2)
May 06, 2003
Jet-Setting, But Without the Jet
This weekend I:
-Almost hugged a Greyhound bus driver (hey, he was a Noo Yawker, I was excited to be going back, I got a little carried away).
-Intensified my belief that cell phones are inappropriate bus entertainment. Buy. A. Magazine!
-Got to stay in a posh East Village location, courtesy of a lovely and hospitable friend.
-Found out how dangerous it is to be so close to all the Tiki bars.
-Got my socialization on with the Captain, Caya, Wesley, Fraulein Miller, and Liz and Dave waaaay at the other end of the bar.
-Drank enough rum to make a frat boy start hugging his friends and saying "I love you, dude."
-Played Playboy Pinball.
-Was painfully disappointed in the dress selection at Daffy's.
-Discovered to my delight that the pointy-toe phenomenon that has held the shoe world in a stranglehold seems to be gradually giving way to this really nice 30s-40s round toe thing.
-Almost walked into a peep show instead of the independent theater that was right next door, much to the amusement of the bouncer of the one and doorman of the other, especially when I said "Oh, maybe later."
-Saw some fine theater, particularly that directed by the destined-for-fame Ms. Ambush.
-Went on my first "business trip."
-Worried more than is customary about my outfit.
-Saw the Waldorf Astoria Hotel for the first time.
-Sold things to the ridiculously rich.
-Noted that the rich do not, as advertised, dress all that well.
-Ate lunch twenty feet away from Hillary Clinton.
-Tried and failed to refuse the big greasy chicken leg that the waiter wanted to give me.
-Got funny looks from rich ladies.
-Was unable to produce appropriate small talk.
-Lunched on side dishes and dessert.
-Got real dinner comped by work later.
-Got real tired of the bus.
Posted by hilatron at 07:46 PM | Comments (6)
May 02, 2003
Please Show Me All Your Ver-Sah-Chees
In case you are facing, say, an upcoming college reunion, and you need a dress that will make you look particularly fabulous, successful, and ever so "Damn, why didn't I pay more attention to Hilatron...er, I mean, that person, while I had the chance," let me give you the rundown on the styles that can be found at the likes of Filene's Basement, Marshall's, and TJ Maxx this season.
-The "Vegas Hooker" look
-The "Prom Princess" look
-The "Vegas Hooker goes to the Prom" look
-The "I Can See Your Dirty Pillows!" look (aka The Most Popular Girl at the Prom)
-The "Peasant Girl at the Cocktail Party" look*
-The "Preppie Girl at the Beach Party" look
-The "Metal Girl in the Back of the Van" look (aka Animal Prints Do, Too, Look Good On Eveningwear. And In Purple.)
-The "I've Always Wanted to Be Wallpaper" look (aka the Little Black [Yawn] Dress)
-The "My! What Daring Wallpaper!" look (aka the Little Black Dress with a White Floral Pattern)
-The "Ha Ha, Very Funny, No I Am Not the Mother of the Bride" look
-The "Dear God, Why Did You Let Titantic-Era Celine Dion Design Your Dress!?" look (aka Vision in Chiffon)
-The "No, But See, These Sequins Are Tasteful. Really" look
-The "Rayon is Totally Worth $150, Don't Worry About a Thing" look
*Does anyone want to wear the peasant look, at all, anymore? If so, please raise your hand - the better for me to SHOOT YOU, so we can PUT AN END TO THIS FASHION MENACE FOR GOOD AND ALL.
Posted by hilatron at 10:01 PM | Comments (4)
May 01, 2003
I'll take the big phallic symbol every time.
Oh please, Mr. Bush. "I ask all Americans to join me in this day of celebration and in reaffirming our allegiance to our Nation..." Well, at least he's still pretending to ask. Plus, um, when did 'nation' become a proper noun? Oh, right, it was when we started being the worldwide enforcers of "democracy." Sorry, "Democracy." What was I thinking? (Via Metafilter)
Anyway, I don't think this one's going to work out. May 1st is taken, boys. That must be irksome, those pesky workers celebrating and stuff. Not to mention the pagans. No wonder you want to replace Mayday! But you're going to have to try a little harder. I mean hell, when the Christians decided to convert the pagans, they were at least smart enough to keep the tree. Your vague yammerings about flying flags and learning history do not sound nearly so much fun. Please play again!
Posted by hilatron at 09:09 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack