(C) 2010 Stan Spire
[Note to clueless roobs: "Stan Spire" is a character, an altered ego, that cranky ghost in your computer.]
Is it over? All that winter Olympian bullshit?
NBC TeeVee make me sick of the games before they started. It kept running promos 24/7 with that long-haired puke, Shaun White. That plastic hippie kept going on about all of the support he got from his mother. What about all the corporate $upport for shilling in ads? Mom, apple pie, and capitalism. That'll get me to tune in.
Even though I tuned out the games, I still couldn't get away from them, stories leaked through my mental barrier like shit osmosis. Like that scandal with how the Canadian women's hockey team celebrated their big win. So what if some tough women drank beer and smoked cigars? They have rights just like their heterosexual he-man counterparts.
Some of NENYland's brightest think those women hockey players eat cardboard boxes to show how tough they are. I just nod my head and say, "I think they do it for the fiber."
Apparently some clown from a NENYland jerkwater called Vermontville won a medal or something. That's nice. Have you ever been to Vermontville? If you visit there, don't forget your toothpicks and spittoon.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Insufferable Saturday
© 2010 Stan Spire
The public bus is like a combination county jail and mental hospital on wheels. You don’t rub elbows with polite high society.
Minimizing the amount of time spent riding on it is crucial to my sense of well-being. During the week the shuttle only takes 15 minutes to get me to the mall.
But on Saturday the service is down to just one bus covering two routes. The mall trip is prolonged to 45 minutes or longer. That means longer exposure to four-letter words, bad jokes, and such erudite discussions as the minimum length a man’s penis must be to satisfy a woman.
There’s the cackling crone who thinks rock and roll music is “shit kicking.” And the hirsute burn-out going on about how he needs a beer.
Don’t forget strange smells, AKA the bodily miasma of the great unwashed. Malodor that hangs in the air after the emitters have long departed.
If walking was an option, I would pick it.
The public bus is like a combination county jail and mental hospital on wheels. You don’t rub elbows with polite high society.
Minimizing the amount of time spent riding on it is crucial to my sense of well-being. During the week the shuttle only takes 15 minutes to get me to the mall.
But on Saturday the service is down to just one bus covering two routes. The mall trip is prolonged to 45 minutes or longer. That means longer exposure to four-letter words, bad jokes, and such erudite discussions as the minimum length a man’s penis must be to satisfy a woman.
There’s the cackling crone who thinks rock and roll music is “shit kicking.” And the hirsute burn-out going on about how he needs a beer.
Don’t forget strange smells, AKA the bodily miasma of the great unwashed. Malodor that hangs in the air after the emitters have long departed.
If walking was an option, I would pick it.
God’s Bullshit
© 2010 Stan Spire
Sitting at a coffeehouse.
Your options: Read the book God’s Debris by Scott Adams or mindlessly stare out the front window.
Pick the window.
Sitting at a coffeehouse.
Your options: Read the book God’s Debris by Scott Adams or mindlessly stare out the front window.
Pick the window.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Killer Combo
© 2010 Stan Spire
Today is Super Bowl Sunday. It's become another national holiday. Everyone has to join in, gather with others and watch overpaid steroidal simpletons chase after a vagina-shaped hunk of pigskin.
Next Sunday is Valentine's Day. A holiday to make sad single people feel even more dejected.
Next year Super Bowl Sunday should be combined with Valentine's Day. That should kill off both stupid holidays, especially after the sudden rise in domestic violence and divorces.
"My husband wouldn't take me out for dinner. He wanted to stay home and watch the game while I prepared and served snacks to him and his buddies."
"I tried to get romantic with my boyfriend during the half-time show but he told me to take a cold shower. He didn't want to distracted and miss any moment of the big game. That's why I hit him in the head with the lamp."
It's all a matter of priorities, ain't it? Following the crowd's actions instead of having an independent mind.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday. It's become another national holiday. Everyone has to join in, gather with others and watch overpaid steroidal simpletons chase after a vagina-shaped hunk of pigskin.
Next Sunday is Valentine's Day. A holiday to make sad single people feel even more dejected.
Next year Super Bowl Sunday should be combined with Valentine's Day. That should kill off both stupid holidays, especially after the sudden rise in domestic violence and divorces.
"My husband wouldn't take me out for dinner. He wanted to stay home and watch the game while I prepared and served snacks to him and his buddies."
"I tried to get romantic with my boyfriend during the half-time show but he told me to take a cold shower. He didn't want to distracted and miss any moment of the big game. That's why I hit him in the head with the lamp."
It's all a matter of priorities, ain't it? Following the crowd's actions instead of having an independent mind.
VY Energy Drink
© 2010 Stan Spire
Made in Vermont! VY Energy Drink! Right from the test wells during a spike in readings. Contains that miracle ingredient, Tritium. Glug a can and feel atomic power!
* * *
With all these experts on TeeVee who say tritium isn't that bad, I would like one of them to drink some of the test water from the Vermont Yankee nuke power plant and then see what happens in a few years.
Made in Vermont! VY Energy Drink! Right from the test wells during a spike in readings. Contains that miracle ingredient, Tritium. Glug a can and feel atomic power!
* * *
With all these experts on TeeVee who say tritium isn't that bad, I would like one of them to drink some of the test water from the Vermont Yankee nuke power plant and then see what happens in a few years.
Pulitzer Prizes Lost
© 2010 Stan Spire
Over at newsosaur.blogspot.com Alan Mutter writes:
"Endless newspaper layoffs have cost readers 'tens of thousands of years of community knowledge,' says media sage Ken Doctor in an important new book.
"As if the loss of community wisdom and lore were not bad enough, it is unclear where local news will come from in the future, warns Doctor in 'Newsonomics'...”
Really. So an old fart reporter is replaced by a young kid who works for cheap and all that local knowledge is completely gone, flushed right down the memory hole? What about local experts like reference librarians and historians? Even a podunk like Plattsburgh has a few books about the history of the area that could get a neophyte up to speed.
Centuries of community knowledge lost forever? How did Doctor calculate that one? Numbers and statistics can be tricky. Let's say a small company boasts that its staff has "over 50 years of knowledge." One old timer has worked there for 49 years and two kids have been there for a year each, part-time. It adds up to over 50 years of knowledge even though two-thirds of the staff are inexperienced.
Statements can be misleading. I'm an international traveler. Does that mean I've been on a commercial airline, that I've visited Europe? No, I've never left North America. I've been to Canada a few times by car, never by plane. Montreal is only 60 miles away. I don't think I'm much of a world traveler with that background.
So let me come up with my own stupid statement about journalistic loss.
If the market for journalists wasn't so competitive, I could've landed a job at a big newspaper and ended up writing an article that won a Pulitzer Prize. There has to be at least a million other people like me who could've won a Pulitzer in the same situation.
Due to the tight job market, there has been at least a million Pulitzers for journalism never awarded!
Over at newsosaur.blogspot.com Alan Mutter writes:
"Endless newspaper layoffs have cost readers 'tens of thousands of years of community knowledge,' says media sage Ken Doctor in an important new book.
"As if the loss of community wisdom and lore were not bad enough, it is unclear where local news will come from in the future, warns Doctor in 'Newsonomics'...”
Really. So an old fart reporter is replaced by a young kid who works for cheap and all that local knowledge is completely gone, flushed right down the memory hole? What about local experts like reference librarians and historians? Even a podunk like Plattsburgh has a few books about the history of the area that could get a neophyte up to speed.
Centuries of community knowledge lost forever? How did Doctor calculate that one? Numbers and statistics can be tricky. Let's say a small company boasts that its staff has "over 50 years of knowledge." One old timer has worked there for 49 years and two kids have been there for a year each, part-time. It adds up to over 50 years of knowledge even though two-thirds of the staff are inexperienced.
Statements can be misleading. I'm an international traveler. Does that mean I've been on a commercial airline, that I've visited Europe? No, I've never left North America. I've been to Canada a few times by car, never by plane. Montreal is only 60 miles away. I don't think I'm much of a world traveler with that background.
So let me come up with my own stupid statement about journalistic loss.
If the market for journalists wasn't so competitive, I could've landed a job at a big newspaper and ended up writing an article that won a Pulitzer Prize. There has to be at least a million other people like me who could've won a Pulitzer in the same situation.
Due to the tight job market, there has been at least a million Pulitzers for journalism never awarded!
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