random rageouts and grandiloquent grievances: shit that sucks

Raging Out At... Bus Driver Trickery

2010-07-07T09:04:00.004-04:00

It has been brought to my attention that the shady renegade vans I take into Manhattan daily are run by thieves and liars. And no, I did not see that coming.

Every morning, I take the renegade van into work instead of taking NJ Transit. The reason for this is three-fold. One, I was once hit by a NJ Transit bus, so screw them, am I right? Two, it costs two dollars with a ticket instead of an unreasonable 4 dollars. And third and most importantly, I am HELPING the economy by providing income to something other than the monopoly that is NJ Transit. Ok, it's mostly the saving 2 dollars thing, but still. I'm a patriot if you think about it.

There is actually a method to these renegade vans. I'm not just hopping on a random piece of public transportation hoping to get where I'm going. I know better than that. (I could end up on this random Peanuts-decor rape van I saw over the weekend. ) Now I am aware there's a language barrier between the driver and I most of the time but I follow the rules, people. Not always my strong suit.

Actual rape van spotted on Manhattan street

All the vans cost 2.50 without a ticket, but if they go to Gate 51 you can buy a ticket for 2 dollars. That dollar a day it saves me is totally helping me save up to buy this. Most of the vans that don't go to Gate 51 will still accept your ticket as they're always desperate to fill up with passengers. Being the responsible consumer that I am, I always ask the drivers before getting on the van. And they ALWAYS say yes.

And then you arrive in Manhattan where the drivers turn into said thieves and liars. This morning (not for the first time, may I add), I hand the driver my discount ticket only to have him inform me that he does not accept tickets and I need to hand over 2.50. Hell no, dude. We already had this discussion. It's practically like an iron-clad written contract. I'm not getting swindled out of 50 cents. You don't get to just corner me and humiliate me in front of the other passengers. I'm not easily embarrassed and plus, who carries cash anymore, anyway?

So instead of starting my day peacefully, it inevitably turns into warfare and I'm not backing down. He threatens to take me all the way back to New Jersey and I tell him to go right ahead. If he does that, he's only wasting space that could be taken up with another passenger he can hoodwink out of their 50 cents. Go right ahead, dude. I don't even want to go to work anyway.

Ultimately, I win the battle but I'm still losing the war. I'm up my 50 cents until this evening's humiliation rolls around. It's only a matter of time before every NJ resident regards me as the miser.

grievance: coffee cups in the media

2010-03-22T15:42:00.002-04:00

I do understand how strange a title this is for a grievance and that it's not altogether clear what the hell I mean by this. Every time you see someone with a cup of coffee, or tea, or what-have-you, depicted in the media... ANY television show, movie, etc., anything which is scripted, for some reason, they don't think to actually put some kind of fluid into the cup.

This may seem like a silly grievance but it really, really bothers me. And it's just SO ubiquitous that I'm enraged pretty much every time I watch TV or see a movie. The reason it just boggles my mind so violently is: SO much time is spent on filming shit. And there are props PEOPLE. And a lot of time, I'm sure, it's difficult to get exactly the precise prop which is desired. So to have it all fucked up over the non-putting of fluid into a coffee cup or mug is just so egregiously offensive.

The reason is because a cup filled with coffee moves on a different trajectory than one which is empty. Try it yourself. I'm sure you'll see. So, people go into coffee shops and buy coffee and then whisk about with this "full," brand new cup of coffee. And even drink from it. I'm fine with the non-drinkage. It's not spatially upsetting.

How do movies like Avatar exist with such precision and detail and then eff it up because they didn't put any water into the damned cup? Pisses me off royally. This one especially since I find Anne Hathaway so damned irritating:

Who holds coffee like that? Not this broad:

-moon

grievance: mercury in retrograde

2010-01-24T16:03:00.002-05:00

I really don't know too much about astrology. I really don't. But I kind of like it. I suppose because it gives some purported larger meaning to things which happen to us. It's a little too flimsy a concept into which for me to buy, however the fact that there are real forces associated with planetary phases (most notably the tides which correspond with phases of our moon) makes me kind of feel "okay" with attributing things which happen in the lives of us insignificant peons on earth to this. But apparently Mercury is in something called "retrograde":

So, now I shall address this: the strangest damned stuff has been happening to me. ALL of it has been incredibly GOOD, save for one unexpected, mild disappointment, so it's not as if I am complaining. (An aside: what the hell is "save for"? From where did that "idiom" (I'm not sure it's really an "idiom," per se) come? As my high school Latin teacher used to say... Thus I digress.)

The point is that I'm just a little baffled by all of this stuff going on. I've become reacquainted with people whom I'd entirely written off... I've had unexpectedly wonderful things happen career-wise... and I've had people start acting in ways altogether antithetical to the ways in which they'd acted a mere few weeks ago. While, again, these have all been pretty amazing things... the reason this is a "grievance" is because it makes me feel wholly helpless as to my life's path, because it's not like I didn't deserve these good things (some more than others), but the simultaneity of it all just... well... as eloquent as it is... FREAKS me out.

Stop moving weirdly, Mercury. Thanks.

-moon

P.S. It's been so long since either stars or I blogged that, happening upon all of the "labels" we have for our blogs, I kind of want to label this one with "being taped to a couch" because I'd forgotten how funny it is. I think I will. Eat it, logic.

grievance: technology making me suck at blogging

2010-01-17T15:11:00.002-05:00

I've been looking through my Twitter and Facebook accounts recently because I need to start being a better human being with regard to splaying my life all over the internet, when it dawned upon me that often times, many of my status updates and tweets are mini grievances. One-line grievances. With no witty, insane digressions. Just my being angry. And I realized that I've become lazy and no longer have the energy to even BLOG. Ridiculous. So, I am vowing to get back to blogging, especially because it has been vocalized to me by some people that they miss the blogs.

Today: What the HELL is George Bush DOING while Obama is speaking? He's like swaying and, I think, trying to get closer to the spotlight. And they just zoomed in ON Obama, I can only surmise, because Bush was being a legit creepo!
1/13/10: 24 Degrees AGAIN?!?!?! Forget this. I can't even. I'm bring my Snuggie to work today. Hideous
12/23/09: New Rule: You're not allowed to say my BlackBerry sucks & your iPhone rules if during that text ya make 5 typos. Seriously ppl GET KEYBOARDS
12/23/09: Eek. I thought that I'd want Zach Braff to be on Scrubs forever, but yeah, no. It's time ta go.
12/16/09: Walking behind a woman smoking a clove cigarette. WHO smokes cloves?!?!?! Ah, smells like being 13.
12/14/09: The elevators in my office building are SO whack. A. They take forever and B. At any given moment, I could fall to my death. Bad news.
12/12/09: The show "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" is SOOO whacked!!! How do you NOT know you're friggin' pregnant?!?!
12/9/09: Crap! How do I look decent for holiday parties tonight with what's going on outside?!?!
12/2/09: Disgusted by the 24-38 vote against Marriage Equality. Only 24 voted for? What is this State?
11/29/09: Ugh hate waking up to a missed call at 3am without a voicemail from a number I don't know. Creepy. Like, what, I can't call back NOW?
11/28/09: "The City" is legit the worst show on television. I took a hiatus from it about a year ago and just tried to watch it. Not even watchable!
11/26/09: Why are cheerleaders dancing to Chris Daughtry? It looks weird as fuck.
11/16/09: "Ftw" makes me rageful. Sorry.
11/14/09: Ok why does my MacBook tell me to update iTunes like every 4 days? Enough, dude.
11/11/09: In case anyone was wondering... Strep Throat can still bite me.
11/10/09: Does anyone else think it's weird that the twins on Girls Next Door wear the same thing every single day and sleep in a bed together?
11/9/09: Why does #gossipgirl think it's okay to portray a 26 year old as having run for and won a Congressional seat? ...in Manhattan? Yeah. Ok.
11/9/09: Why does fkn Facebook keep telling me to "Make Facebook better for him/her!"??? It's not my fkn problem he/she can't keep up on his/her shit
11/6/09: I hate unprofessionalism.
11/3/09: I do NOT understand Stuyvesant Town. Neither does Tim. Seriously. It makes zero sense.
10/29/09: I really can't stand it when I'm standing by the elevator waiting and someone comes up and hits the button. Do you think I didn't already?!
10/11/09: Pee Wee's Big Adventure is insane. And kindof frightening as an adult. Bro is WAY too into his bike.
10/4/09: Life keeps sucking. Just walked into the kitchen to find 2 inches of soap and water covering the entire floor.
9/29/09: Apparently my hair "looks good like this." I know this because my doorman decided to let me know. Awkward.
9/28/09: Walking with my blazer over my head 'cause of rain and a small male child on the street who was doing PIROUETTES just said "hey Lady Ga Ga."
9/22/09: Just saw a young girl on 1st ave and 14th street wearing a bathingsuit. On September 22nd. EVERYTHING fail.
9/20/09: As much as I separate love both Blondie and the French language... Lordy loo. Debbie Harry's French in "Sunday Girl" is trash. Sorry.
8/30/09: Damn you, Time Warner Cable. True Blood is pixelated and un-watchably recorded. Suck it. I hate you.
8/24/09: What happens when you put "irrespective" and "regardless" together? NOT A WORD. See also: "irregardless." Ugh.
8/19/09: I abhor people who whistle. I have bitter, longstanding enmity for them. Gross.

I'll post some more later.

-moon

grievance: being spit on

2009-05-12T17:42:00.005-04:00

So about 2 weeks ago, I was sitting outside of work having a cigarette. Right outside of my office's alcove-y thing/entrance, I turned left and sat on the bench-like thing (colored cyan and circled in red) inside the parking garage. Here I have provided you with a "drawing" so you can understand the physicality of this all:

So there I was, enjoying a mid-day cigarette on a warm, sunny afternoon when someone came around the bend from the weird alcove-y thing and straight around the corner, with a full mouth of water, and as he turned, he decided to spit all of this water out. And it just so happen to land ON me.

He felt really bad and all and tried to wipe me off, because I was legitimately covered in his saliva-laced Poland Spring, but I'd just like to know: A. who gargles on the street? and B. How does one become so unaware of his or her surroundings that he thinks he can whiplash 'round a corner and spit? Ew. I wonder if I have swine flu now.

-moon

Relatedly: I hope this blog gets me some awesome stalkers who love to spit.

grievance: thinking you can go to work after taking a red-eye l.a.-n.y. flight

2009-05-04T13:43:00.006-04:00

What the fuck was I thinking? I must be absolutely insane to think that these events would or could lead to my being able to function this wonderful, rainy Monday morning:

9:15pm L.A.: Get to airport late for a 9:50pm flight;
10:30pm L.A.: Take off from LAX;
11:00pm L.A./2:00am N.Y.: Fall asleep;
11:00pm L.A./2:00am N.Y. - 2:00am L.A./5:00am N.Y.: Sleep really badly due to scary, scary turbulence;
2:15am L.A./5:15am N.Y.: Wake up in rainy, cold, grey New York;
4:15am L.A./7:15am N.Y.: Arrive home;
6:00am L.A./9:00am N.Y.: Get to work and make NO sense whatsoever, i.e. MAJOR SPEAKING FAIL.

So I fell asleep at 11:00pm, woke up after barely sleeping 3 hours and woke up at 5:15am in a different place? I don't know where I am or when I am and I feel like I may possibly be in an episode of Lost.

Help!

Judgment Fail. Itinerary Fail. Travel Fail. Person fail.

-moon

moon's attempt at "raging out at... people thinking alcohol poisoning is a thing"

2009-04-28T13:33:00.005-04:00

This is going to be a “rageout” written on BEHALF of stars but by moon. We have decided that it would be a great experiment to see how well I (moon) can effectively tell a story from stars’ point of view with stars’ voice and tone. She has edited it and all of her additions are italicized and all of her omissions are... well... omitted via strikethrough. Here we go...

- - -

So, the other night I was informed that someone I know whom I already find to be of dubious character got alcohol poisoning. And had to have, and I quote, “an ambulance called on her.” Not even by someone who knew her… nope, nope, nope… by a random. And it dawned on me first that that is the most embarrassing, ridiculous thing ever. What do you even have to DO to get alcohol poisoning? And furthermore, what the hell kind of hijinx were you participating in to force someone to call said ambulance on you? I could give a few examples of my drunken behavior, but I feel the FBI would show up at my door within minutes of posting if I did. Realistically, if you’re drinking that much, the body’s normal reaction is to throw up. I wouldn’t even know how to GET alcohol poisoning because I’ve sure as hell ~~tried.~~ taken my body weight down in vodka and never achieved a state of poisoning.

So then I realized that this is not a thing. Alcohol poisoning is just seriously not a thing! It’s not real and it’s not a damn thing. So stupid. (Here I’d ask you to “allow” me to explain, but I don’t really give a rat’s ass if you’ll allow me anyway [Two points to Moon for acknowledging how little I care]):

There are nights I’ve drank myself into a coma, a legit "how did I wake up with half a pizza on my shoulder?" coma. If alcohol poisoning were a thing, I’d have it biweekly. If I have ~~not gotten it~~ yet to have my stomach pumped, it is ~~not a thing~~ 100% fictitious. If moon has not gotten it, ~~it is not a thing either~~ then it really and truly is not a thing. Surely musical lawyer, who actually coined the phrase "losing time," would have gotten it at LEEEEAST once if it were actually a thing. I mean, realistically there are nights I’ve easily put back 20 drinks. PLUS shots!! And I’ve never gotten alcohol poisoning. Hence... ~~it is~~ not a thing.

I have legitimately seen moon put a way a BOTTLE of Jameson. Did I have to call an ambulance on her? Absolutely not. It did not even enter my mind. And despite how I can often be a questionable friend, I am perfectly willing to call an ambulance on a friend if need be. There are nights where I’ve seen moon drink so much ~~and oh my god,~~ that she could be considered legally blind in most states. ~~she is practically BLIND.~~ No ambulance. All this does is make us want a nice sandwich and an extra large bloody mary for breakfast.

There was a night not too long ago when I left moon on the lower east side and ended up at home (albeit, after several attempts). I had to go to Port Authority to do so and I have legit no recollection of how I got there. I may have walked. I may have taken a cab. You could tell me that I took a goddamned ~~stupid~~ thing with the bikes that guys bicycle you around in with William Baldwin and I’d believe you because I have 100% no idea how I got there. This night was also filled with screaming at a garbage boy, denying my inebriation (the #1 sign that someone is hammer towned), and losing a boot in MY APARTMENT that I still have not managed to locate.

And NOOOOOO one had to call an ambulance on me. Hence, not a thing. Alcohol poisoning = not a thing. Believe me… I’ve been inadvertently TRYING for YEARS. There’s just no way it’s a thing.

It makes me furious that people get this thing that is not a thing. Not. A. Thing.

-stars

- - -

I’d like to add that during the conversation between stars and myself during which these points were made, I said something hilarious which I could not incorporate into a blog from stars’ point of view, so I’m appending it here. It was:

“You know what… I walked into this conversation thinking that it was a thing. Because if people tell you that something is a thing enough, you start to believe it’s a thing. But now I just don’t think it’s a thing.”

-moon

grievance: the economy (the sequel)

2009-04-27T10:28:00.001-04:00

A follow up to raging out at... the economy: I went to this pizza place near my office called "99 Cent Fresh Pizza" to buy 5 pizzas for something at work. Someone in my office had mentioned before that this has turned into a modern day bread line. And she was right. But the worst part about this, which prompted me to take a video, is that there was a dude on line counting CHANGE from his pocket to buy this pizza. Holy shit. This isn't even funny.

Well... I guess it's a little funny that I awkwardly videotaped it on my BlackBerry, hoping for no one to see. Whoops.

-moon

raging out at... looking unassuming

2009-04-26T08:49:00.001-04:00

Why is it that, without fail, no matter how many empty seats there are on a bus, the next person to get on will always sit right next to me? I would always prefer no one sit next to me, but I can live with it on a crowded, rush hour day. But as I write this, there are approximately 20 open seats on the bus and of course some man eating a sandwich and speaking Spanish at 135 decibels on his cell phone is directly next to me squashing me into the window.

Screw off, bastards of public transportation.

-stars

grievance: corn on salads

2009-04-23T12:18:00.003-04:00

I really just don't get it. I don't think that corn belongs on salads. At all. And every time I go get a salad for lunch, there's some asshole in front of me who's getting like the strangest array of shit on his or her salad. And it always involves corn. And it makes me hideously angry. It's an atrocity.

Goddamned atrocity.

A goddamned atrocity which makes me hideously angry.

-moon

raging out at... buying birthday gifts

2009-04-19T11:27:00.001-04:00

Maybe it's just me, but why is it a million times more difficult to buy a man you're involved with a birthday present? Women are far simpler in at least this one respect. If you've been romantically involved for a long time, you're always safe with diamond earrings. If it's a relatively new relationship or she's a good friend you're hoping for more with, you can always order flowers or some gift basket of lotion and body products. Everywhere practically online delivers these things (in most cases, you can even pay extra if you wait until the actual day you need it). It requires no effort other than having an internet connection and a credit card number.

But not so much for men. Today I'm struggling because every single factor that could come into play to make gift-giving difficult has arisen. I know everyone is beyond excited for me to list all these factors, so please wait no more and allow me.

1. Confusing Ambiguous Relationship Status
I am sure at some point you've attempted to buy a gift for a person you're kinda sorta seeing but is definitely not your boyfriend/girlfriend but has seen you naked and still talks to you so you're not off the hook. Is that sentence confusing? Good, because that embodies exactly how confusing it is to buy this person something. You can't go overboard with the gift because then you look like you're reading more into things than are actually there. But if you're totally thoughtless, you may give off the vibe that you don't care. Fantastic. Does anyone know a website for thoughtful yet nonchalant and breezy gifts?

2. For The Guy/Gal Who Has Everything
It's been said time and again, but truly, what in the holy balls do you buy someone who has everything? Back in the day, it was always relatively simple to buy my broke ass part-time waiter college boyfriend something. There was always some video game or random item he desperately wanted but was too busy spending his 4 dollar paycheck on beer to buy. Not exactly romantic but always much appreciated when I picked it up for him. But as you get older and you start to date not-pothead-waiters, it's much more difficult. If you land yourself a good dude with a great job, you may have hit the life jackpot, but it's the whammy of gift giving - especially if you're anything like me and a good chunk of the American population and are broke as hell. I can see it now. "Hey rich boy, I reached into the depths of my brain and bank account and pulled out this Barnes and Noble gift card for $18.34. No need to thank me, you enjoying 2 and a half magazines is all the thanks I need." Ugh.

3. Not Knowing Someone Quite Well Enough
This actually is only a minor issue, but an issue none the less. Not knowing someone well enough eliminates gag gifts (who knows how they will react?) and tiny gifts that, while inexpensive, are something so perfect for the person that the cost is a non-issue.

4. Birthday On A Sunday
This really sets me off. Inevitably, when you wait until the last minute, you can still have something delivered. Unless, of course, the gift receiver in question's birthday lands on a Sunday. In that case, you're screwed. Nothing says "hey I hope maybe you and I turn into the real deal" better than a box of Snookie's Cookies that arrives a day too late. Outstanding, so now not only does my gift suck but it sucks belatedly.

Well, I should perhaps leave you all with that last one. It is Sunday, after all, and I still haven't bought a gift.

-stars

rageful grievance: quitting... AND THEN BEING FIRED!!! (another moon and stars collaboration)

2009-04-14T19:53:00.006-04:00

Moon/Stars: We have a little story to tell. We will tell it together.

Moon: So about seven and a half months ago, I got fired from my bartending job and was still very much in a place in my life where I NEEDED to have a bartending job to pay my bills. It was shocking and sudden and all of my connections fell through. I ended up getting a job at a smoking bar/hookah lounge on the lower east side via craigslist, whose name I will omit because this blog will indubitably be horrendous. I mean, stars, we do "do" pretty "weird" and "awful," no? Writing this together, our "doing horrendous" will be magnified, I think.
Moon: now you say something lol
Stars: lol sorry was getting a smoke
Moon: lmao that is crucial.
Moon: i'm actually going include that part lmao
Stars: We have absolutely been known to do weird, horrendous and disrespectful more often than not.
Moon: So, in any event, I spent a couple of months working at this bar. Making zero money (even when adjusting for the recession) but loving the crap out of all of my coworkers. Then my bestie, stars, moves back and needs a quick fix for money while scoping out jobs, so I brought her ass in and got her a job. What exactly did you get hired to do, stars?
Stars: Well, the bar in question started out dicey for me. I came in agreeing to do a handful of shifts checking patrons' IDs with the understanding that I would then be moved to cocktail waitress or bartend. The managers swore they just needed help for those few shifts. So despite my résumé making me qualified to have the majority of the staff there working under me, desperate for cash, I agreed.
Moon: So together we worked in this ridiculous place, making close to no money, but compensating for it by getting really ridiculously hammered and being rude to people.
Stars: Yeah, when working for little to no money (often I made barely more than what the commute to the place cost), we compensated by saving the money we would spend on a night out drinking. And were we awful to people? No question. But before anyone jumps to conclusions, the vibe of the place wasn't exactly "the customer is always right."
Moon: And you often punched people, no?
Stars: Yes, sometimes I punched people. In my defense, it was usually an accident... that does not mean I didn't find it hysterical.
Moon: I'm going to an open a bar CALLED "The Customer is Always Wrong."
Stars: I would go there every day because I am always wrong.
Moon: And I will hire you and their first exposure to the place will be you punching them at the door.
Stars: There's actually a bar in Asia where you can beat the holy hell out of the employees. This would be like that in reverse. It would get press.
Moon: I love that you know that. In any event, stars had been getting into several altercations-via-text a week with one of our managers. And he was losing them all.
Stars: Which I find laughable as the boss should never lose an argument, unless they were born without a pair. Is that too mean? Don't answer because I don't care.
Moon: You never care. In any event, they'd been kind of dicking stars around, giving her shifts, taking them back. And well... me... I have no defense. I just have no regard for rules whatsoever. We're not allowed to drink at work. I like to drink. You can see the incumbent conundrum.
Stars: Hey I found the link! http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2006-08/07/content_658196.htm
Moon: You would.
Stars: No, I don't ever care nor did they give me a reason to change my usual behavior. On top of being jerked around for shifts, they also had me come in for unpaid bartending training only to inform me afterward that there were no available shifts. I don't like wasting my time nearly as much as moon likes drinking.
Moon: And I not as much as you. (That's completely extraneous for the story but felt it necessary to use that ridiculous sentence structure 'cause it's funny.)
Stars: I approve of inserting any inane sentence structure at any given moment. Approved.
Moon: Thank you for approval. Not that I care. So, getting back to what happened... a couple of months ago I got a REAL job (don't yell at me, bartenders) using my degree (Political Science) and stuck it out with the bartending for a bit to put a bit of a dent in my accrued college debt. This weekend, I decided I was far too burnt out and "over it," so I put up on Facebook that everyone should come visit me because it'd be one of my last bartending shifts. My manager saw this and pleaded with me to not quit because "everyone loves you" and offered me any shift I wanted, etc. (This is important because [well, I guess you already know due to the title of this] of what ended up happening.) But I essentially gave my "two weeks' notice." Stars, how did you handle giving in your two weeks'?
Stars: Unfortunately, in the case of dueling "notices," the Facebook status update ends up being the classier one.
Moon: Eh... what're ya gonna do?
Stars: This past weekend, I was relegated back to checking IDs after my oh-so-awesome promotion to checking coats. I know, I know, hold your applause. The bouncer I was working with was one I didn't know and a total dick from hell, let's not mince words. He seemed to want to instruct my every move, despite the fact that no one has ever needed a degree in ID Checking. I, of course, complained. My manager begged me to let him think that. I got upset and said I would do no such thing and he could consider this my notice.
Moon: So, while that was going on, I was pretty busy getting HAMMERED and hanging out with my friends... oh yes, that's right about 25 of my (our, actually) friends came in that night to celebrate our friend, Mike's, birthday. So not only was I drinking, and drinking boldly, but I was drinking on camera. And doing a lot of it. And taking a lot of breaks to give relationship counseling to (I swear to God) multiple friends.
Stars: Yes, you did have your hands full that night. I, on the other hand, was trapped in the hallway, missing my friend, Mike's, birthday despite having asked for the night off to enjoy my friend's day.
Moon: So... stars, you're really going to have to take it from here for a little while, because most of the rest of the night is a bit blurry for me. Thanks, Patron. ... and Jagermeister. ... and Jameson. Good ol' Jame-o.
Stars: Well, in all fairness, my sobriety was out the window pretty early on. But long story short, I quit more than once, then was offered moon's Saturday night "money making" shift if I would agree to stay.
Moon: "Money making." (Wry laugh.)
Stars: Seriously. Our post on the economy (raging out at... the economy) was written a day after pulling in cash during one of these big money shifts.
Moon: Touché.
Stars: Regardless, the night ended, though filled with animosity, with both moon and I both having been begged to stay and being promised all kinds of excess if we would not abandon the bar.
Stars: And with both of us having stood firm on our 2 weeks' notices.
Moon: N.B.: I walked out with less than a hundred dollars.
Stars: On a Saturday night?
Moon: On a Satur-goddamned-day night.
Stars: That's pathetic.
Moon: So, on Monday morning, while I was at work, I got a text from a friend who also happens to be one of the managers (however not the aforementioned manger with whom stars was waging war) saying essentially that I'd been FIRED due to drinking at work. FIRED. I'm sorry, but the whole "you can't fire me... I quit" aphorism? Yeah, like, that actually HAPPENED. I immediately shared this news with stars who thought, as did I, it to be the most hilarious thing that had ever happened. Especially because I had acted in no way different on that night than I had for the last seven months and by that I mean, well, ok, umm, I guess, err, I may have a mild drinking problem.
Stars: Ha! Yes, this is a point I hadn't thought of before. Despite our terrible behavior, it was no worse than anything we had done prior. I would even say, without revealing any more, that there were even certain horrible activities that I often partake in that I did not do this past weekend.
Moon: So, no one even technically "fired" me. I had to BBM (Blackberry Messenger message) my "manager" and I swear to the HOLY HEAVENS this is how the conversation went:
--
Moon: Hey, so should we get on with this?
Manager: ?
[Seriously with the question mark? C'mon.]
Moon: Aren't you supposed to, like, "fire" me?
Manager: Lol I kindof am, but I guess you already know that :)
[Seriously? A smiley face?]
--
This was all after he called you, though, no, stars?
Stars: Unbelievable. Yes, it was. The "manager" and I had a talk that went something like this:
--
Stars: Hey "manager," you called? What do you want?
Manager: Just want to let you know we are not going to be doing your shifts this week.
Stars: Great, so I am fired. Fabulous. When can I get my money?
--
I basically had to fire myself.
Moon: I got a good ol' "well, your shifts are covered from now on." I even said "DON'T YOU HAVE TO FIRE ME OR SOMETHING?" Nothing. ANNNNNND I'd already quit. You. CAN. NOT. make. this. shit. up.
Stars: I don't even think my wild imagination could have invented this. I was also told they were unhappy with "some other stuff." No mention of what said stuff was, just... stuff.
Moon: So, in conclusion... I quit and then I got fired. Is that a good summation of what happened to you? ... ON THE SAME DAY? ... FROM THE SAME PLACE?
Stars: Yep, that paragraph can be quoted VERBATIM for me. What the hell is wrong with these people?
Moon: It can't be us. We are way too awesome.

This is a picture of us from that very night with a caption (via stars) about how no one dares to say a word to us:

-moon/stars

grievance: abuse of the english language (english 103 - let's try this one more time)

2009-04-07T22:28:00.009-04:00

I get incredibly overwhelmed when people ask me to write more "English 101" blogs, because I am consistently, on an every-goddamned-day basis furious about people's mispronunciations, misspellings, misuse of grammatical forms, misuse of diction and general misapplication of all things language. So when there is such a multitude of vexations, it's difficult to be exhaustive in enumating them. But alas, here we go...

1. "Vehemently" is not pronounced "vehemenently." It's just not. Like... why would you make that word longer? If you're bright enough to be using that word, why would you commit that travesty?

2. There is no such thing as being at someone's "beck and call." It's "beckon call."

3. I'm all for using slang, even ones which aren't typically recognized, usually in the form of a contraction, e.g. "'though," or "should'nt've." I acknowledge that these are, according to strict standards, not considered proper. However, they do indeed follow normal rules of contracting, especially that of using an apostrophe. However, I cannot, cannot, cannot stand when people go out of their ways to be "slang" and end up making the words more difficult. The best two examples of which I can think for this is "ph" v. "f," as in "phat" v. "fat" (and this extends itself; I swear to God I've seen "phreaky" [gag]), and using initialisms (not acronyms [acronyms and initialisms are the same except that you can say an acronym and for an initialism you speak the letters - AIDS is an acronym; C.I.A. is an initialism) that are just as long as the word itself. And example of this idiocy: G.T.H. (Go To Hell). It takes just as many syllables to say "G.T.H" as it does to say "Go To Hell." So seriously... go to hell.

4. It's "skimmed" milk. Not "skim." And certainly not "skin."

5. Please someone... SOMEONE... learn the differences between "though," "thought," "tough" and "tho'." I can't even explain this because it's so fucking stupid.

6. "Accept" and "except" are not the same thing. "Accept" is a verb which means to receive something (loosely). "Except" is an adverb (or preposition, contingent upon how it's used) meaning EXCLUDING. They're NOT EVEN CLOSE TO IN THE SAME REALM OF PARTS OF SPEECH!!!!!!!

6. (Continued). NOT EVEN CLOSE!!!!!

7. Stop spelling things the way they sound. Look them up. If you want to be taken seriously as an adult, you need to know how to speak your native language.

8. D-E-F-I-N-I-T-E-L-Y. NO "A" ANYWHERE IN THERE. I'm assuming that y'all know how to spell "definite." Add a goddamned "ly." End of story.

9. The world "jewelry" is spelled "jewelry." Oh. Wait. You all seem to know how to spell it. I never see anyone misspell it. So why does everyone insist on pronouncing it "jewlery"? For that matter, "February"? Also pronounced the way it's written. FEB-RU-ARY.

10. "Pronunciate" and "orientated" are not words. Ugh!

11. When there is a conjunction noun, such as "head of state" or "mother in law," you have to pluralize the first part of it, not the second, like so: "heads of state" and "mothers in law," not "head of states" and "mother in laws." Think about it.

12. Holy HELL! Why doesn't anyone know how to spell "ridiculous"?!?!?!? No "e." Cute without the E.

13. "Could of" is nothing. I understand that "of" kind of sounds like "have" when spoken quickly. But let me tell your asses: it's "could have."

14. Please stop using "irregardless." It's another one of these things that people have begun to deem acceptable because people are too stupid to just be told something is wrong and not acknowledge and change their behavior. If you do this, that means that you are combining the words "irrespective" and "regardless." "Ir" MEANS "not" or "void of." If you have "less" at the end of the word AND "ir" at the beginning of it, it essentially means WITH. Negative X negative = positive. Next time you say "irregardless," I will strangle you; you're essentially saying something entirely antithetical to that which you're trying to.

15. "The fact of the matter is... is..."!!!!!!! Holy shit!!!

16. A TRUNCATED AND (HOPEFULLY) EASY GUIDE TO USING "WHOM"
I've had a lot of very educated people with whom I am friends (look ma! I used it right!) tell me in quiet confidence that despite the fact that they try to speak properly and have listened to my (requested) explanations of how to correctly use "whom," they still don't get it, so here, I am going to create a little map in the form of a questionnaire. I'm feeling sassy.
1. Have you ever taken Latin?
No: Proceed to number 2.
Yes: Proceed to number 6.

2. Do you know anything about the parts of speech in English?
No: Proceed to number 3.
Yes: Proceed to number 7.

3. Whenever you are speaking and you use the word "who," try to replace it (in your head) with the proper use of "he"/"him" or "she"/"her". Do you understand what I'm talking about?
No: Proceed to number 4.
Yes: Proceed to 7.

4. The word "he" (let's stick with just "he"; sorry feminists) has several ways of being manifested in English. It is a layover from the way things used to be in Latin, called cases. In Latin, all nouns and adjectives had a case. A "case" is essentially an ending that you'd adhere to a word based on the role the word was playing in the sentence. If it was the subject, it would end a certain way. If it was the direct object (the thing the verb is being done TO, e.g. in "The dog bit the cat," the direct object is the cat), it would have a different ending, and in most cases, it would either be or involved the letter "m" - makes sense for the whole "who"/"whom" bit. Are you following me so far?
No: Proceed to HELL.
Yes: Proceed to number 5.

5. Now that you understand that the ending of the word "who" changes based on its function in the sentence, I can let you know which "functions" necessitate the adding of an "m." "M" is added to "who" in these instances: when it is the direct object, the object of the preposition ("with whom," "to whom," "from whom," "against whom,"), the ("Katie threw whom the ball?" "Whom is Katie talking to?") and... well... any other time of which you could think wherein the "who" does not function as either the subject or the predicative nominative. The predicate nominative is the name of the role which is played by "Katie" in the sentence "That is Katie." "That" is the subject but the linking verb "is" makes "Katie" the predicate nominative. It essentially renames or reattributes to the subject. So, the "cheat" to figure out which case you're is just to take the "who" out and put "he" or "him" in. "He" is the equivalent of "who" and "him" is the equivalent of "whom." So if you take any of my examples, you'd easily be able to tell that it would be "with him" (not "with he"), "from him" (not "from he"), "against him" (not "against he"), "Katie threw him the ball?" (not "Katie threw he the ball?"), etc. The only difficult thing is that when you are using "who" or "whom," it is likely that there is a question involved. The easy way around this is to reverse a question into sentence form like so: "Whom is Katie talking to?" --> "Katie is talking to whom" (... to extrapolate: "Katie is talking to him" (not "Katie is talking to he.") Makes perfect sense to me. I hope this helps. Did it?
Yes: Hooray!
No: Proceed to SECOND GRADE.

6. Any time something is in the nominative case, use "who." Any time it's in any other case ([vocative would be silly here] dative, genitive, accusative or ablative), it's "whom." P.S. you're an asshole for needing an explanation of this if you've taken Latin.

7. Any time "who" is used as the subject, it's" who." If you're using it as an indirect object, direct object, or object of the preposition, it's "whom."

C'est tout.

-moon

17. Don't try to use words in foreign languages if you don't know how to use/spell/pronounce them.

raging out at... commuter nightmares

2009-03-19T13:50:00.009-04:00

Yes, living in one of the U.S. metropolises whose residents commute to and from their destinations via public transportation can be considered a luxury. During my years in the sunny metropolis of Los Angeles, I can't tell you how many times I cursed the heavens, begging for a subway as I sat on the 405 picnicking on the hood of my car. Or how often I threw my car insurance bill in the trash and pretended that I instead would be using the PATH train to head on over to the paparazzi haven of Wilshire and Robertson.

Well, I take all those pleadings with God and delusional transportation desires back. Every last one. I've been back in my formerly-beloved NY exactly 3 months today and I'm over it. I would sell all the wondrous pizza and bagels and 4am bar debacles to have my old (often stolen) Nissan Altima back.

In the three months since I've been back, in addition to the pushing and shoving and generally foul body odor of other commuters, I have run into every one of the 5 commuters I despise. (Now here comes the part where I describe each and tell you just why they're a disgrace to humankind.)

#5 The Horrific PDA Couple
Let me state for the record that other than the occasional drunk lapdance I give a friend, I'm generally pretty opposed to PDA on a whole. I can live with your hand-holding and occasional smooching (unless I'm in a tumultuous boyfriend catastrophe of my own... in which case, those people can go to hell), but beyond that is a travesty and a bit of a nightmare. En route to some lower east side dive bar last week, my new roommate C and I were subjected to an absolutely vulgar display. On a very crowded PATH, the girl who may-or-may-not-have-taken-ecstasy was giving her boyfriend/fuck buddy/guy she just met a very blatant handjob. No one wants to see that. And plus, handjobs shouldn't be given over the age of 15. They're embarrassing. They're the Dungeons and Dragons of sexual acts.

#4 Friends Who Elect to Sit a Few Seats Away From Each Other
Now frankly, I don't care if you don't want to sit next to your buddy on the train. I need a break from some of my pain-in-the-ass friends sometimes, too. But do not elect to sit a distance apart when there are seats available next to each other and then scream a conversation about how the girl your brah' screwed last night may or may not have been cross-eyed. I will tell you what. I sat there and stared at said brah' and I can tell you she most definitely had to have been cross-eyed and also unbelievably blackout drunk.

#3 iPod Bastards
Headphones were made for a reason... so everyone else in the world doesn't have to sit and suffer through your playlist of various Miley Cyrus music, gangsta rap and bachata tunes in a language I do not speak. And without fail, I always end up next to these people at an obscene hour. Last week, I was next to bachata girl who was not only blaring the music but shimmying in her seat at 4am when I was hammered and trying my best not to put the remnants of a margarita all over her lap. Or this morning, some charmer listening to all kinds of Ride or Die when I had woken up at the obscene (for me) hour of 7am. I want these people to die.

#2 Psycho Man in Suit Who Is Whacking Off
Let me address the attire anger first by saying I do not enjoy anyone who likes to whack off on a train I am in, regardless of what they happen to be wearing. A few weeks back, in the midst of basically the worst week of my life, I was on a train heading to the fabulous and fun doctor, so clearly I am already joyful. On a moderately crowded train, I notice a man out of the corner of my eye with his hand down his pants. I silently prayed that he was just making a really public reorganization of his package situation. Yeah, not so much. Slowly but surely, this well dressed man unzipped his clearly expensive designer pants and went to FULL ON BUSINESS with his mini designer wang. I almost vomited and definitely teared up a little. And if you're exhibiting this behavior while wearing designer duds, I am definitely sure you are a serial killer. And I don't think I'm alone in not wanting to share a train with a goddamn serial killer.

#1 (And I have just decided these are in no particular order as I hate whackoff man the worst)
Bastards Who Will Not Move When It Is Your Stop
The subway makes multiple stops. This isn't a surprise. Nothing (again, besides whackoff man) angers me more than these people. On many occasions, I have had to forcibly shove people out of the way so I can get off at my goddamn stop . There have even been times when I have missed my stop because of people's inability to get the hell out of my way. I know it pains you greatly to let go of your germ-infested metal pole for even a second, but let me the hell off when it's my turn! I don't want to be around any of you nightmare commuters for one second more than I have to.

In closing... fuck the hell off, subway and PATH train.

-stars

grievance: the series finale of the l word spoiler alert

2009-03-19T11:07:00.003-04:00

Look at this crapola. "i killed jenny."

I'm furious. Absolutely furious. I just spent, what, 6 years of my life watching a show, following plotlines, seeing characters DIE... and then this?! Really, Executive Producer/Creator Ilene Chaiken? Seriously?

Okay... so for those of you who don't know, The L Word was the show which essentially took Queer As Folk's place in terms of being edgy and breaking down walls which previously existed for same-sex relationships being portrayed on television. I watched it live from the very first episode (it's premiere directly followed some big season or series finale, I think). And I thought it was incredibly well done and interesting and entertaining. And I think it did do what it intended to. Because after a while, it seemed really mundane. Which is apparently why it ended. Because it wasn't edgy enough anymore. And for that, I'm really happy, actually. I like gay people. More than most straight people. Topic for another blog.

Anyhow, they set up, from the very beginning of this last season, that one of the main characters, Jenny Schecter, portrayed by the lovely and talented Mia Kirshner, ends up dying. And the first episode is in real-time, during which the police are "investigating" what seems to be her "murder." And the entire last season is spent leading up to those events. Which is incredibly thrilling and exciting. At times, however, it did become annoying. Because up until about mid-way through last season, Jenny Schecter was a pretty loveable character. She had moved to L.A. with her boyfriend and been "seduced" by this woman (whom I don't think is altogether that hot but is supposed to be this sex pot of sorts) and gets in touch with her true sexuality, dumps the boyfriend and then goes through a mess of heartbreaks and emotional problems. The entire last season is her systematically pissing all of the other main characters off, each saying some variation of "I'm gonna kill Jenny Schecter" after the events have transpired.

And every single time, you have this moment, as a viewer, where you think "oh God. Could this have been any more staged? It's almost laughable." But you continue on.

So the series finale comes. And everyone's all raged up. Everyone is ready to "kill Jenny Schecter." And they're all at a party which she's essentially put together as a sort of send-off for main characters Bette (Jennifer Beals) and Tina (Laurel Holloman). And they keep setting characters up to be alone with her. And the other character does something sheisty, like Kit (Pam Grier) closing the drapes, etc. etc., blah blah blah. And the whole time, I'm sitting there rolling my eyes, making bets with my roommate on who's gonna do it. And every 45 seconds, we change our minds. Because they're trying to make it as suspensful as they possibly can.

And then... they leave it entirely open-ended. Like, you could guess. But you could guess SEVERAL different options. And I'm simply NOT DOWN WITH THAT. You might as well have just not ended it. Not even done this season. It's not cute. It's not kitschy. It's not innovative. It's a really creepy thing to do to your audience who has been loyal for so many years.

Go to hell, L Word.

-moon

grievance: subtitles

2009-03-15T17:29:00.016-04:00

I just got into the show Lost. And it's a major, major problem in my life. Especially because I'd just started a new job when I started watching the show. So I basically have no life whatsoever because when I'm not doing work or at work, I'm watching Lost. Oh well. I guess there are worse things than a TV show to which I could be addicted. And let me tell you: it really has become an addiction. (I started watching on Saturday, March 7th and today, on Sunday, March 15th, I'm in the middle of season 2. Kind of problematic.)

With that said, this is not "Grievance: My Inability to Stop Watching Lost." It is, as is titularly expressed, a grievance for subtitles, grammatically speaking. And I'm so upset that it had to be brought to my attention via my new favorite show, but so it has.

Today watching an episode, an entire portion of the dialogue was spoken in Korean and subtitled into English. And not once, but TWICE, did the subtitlers (?) make a grammatical mistake. And the same one. Hey, I guess they're at least consistently stupid.

Of course, I got up on my high horse and decided to not only take a screen-freeze of both (which may get me in trouble for some kind of copyright replication violation or something - oh well) but to also take a veritable "red pen" to this "paper." Ugh...

I've laid this point out in excruciating detail in "grievance: abuse of the english language part deux (english 102)." ("5. Commas ALWAYS go inside quotation marks. As do periods. It doesn't make sense. But you HAVE to do it that way. Tough shit.") And I am, as Tommy would say, "comfortable with" the fact that no one acknowledges or cares about grammar. But the thing "with" which I am not "comfortable" is that this is, like, the most expensive television show EVER. And they don't have ONE single person on staff who understands the rules of grammar? Especially the people who are DOING the subtitles? I would assume that if you're going to pour THAT much money into a television show that you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself with something as easily-caught as this.

And it's kind of insulting to the American people that no one over at Lost cared enough to hire someone who was, I don't know, able to write properly? That no one there thought it salient enough an issue? That no one thought "hey, tons of people are watching this. Let's not further sully the utter conflagration that is the English language?"

That's all.

-moon

grievance: people not being able to handle daylight savings time

2009-03-10T13:33:00.006-04:00

This is not going to be long, but it's been a full 24 hours since I became annoyed/upset by this and I'm still annoyed/upset by this. Yesterday I received an absolute INFLUX of friends messaging me about how they were "wah, so tired," and annoyed that they'd lost an hour of sleep due to setting the clocks an hour forward.

I bartended Saturday night and THAT is in fact when the clocks were turned forward. I lost an hour of work, so I know. And I also work during the days Monday-Friday, so I'm also concerned with my circadian rhythm. But I'm sorry... D.S.T. has been observed for as long as... well, I don't know, but I'm sure you can "wikipedia" it. And it IS what it freakin' IS.

The reason I'm so annoyed is because it's one hour of sleep. One night. And it's not even on Sunday night. It's technically on Saturday night/Sunday morning. So while you may be a little disconbobulated on Sunday day, there's no way that you're actually losing an hour of sleep on Sunday night. And the reason it's so abhorrent that people complain about this is because having it get dark at night at 5:00 pm is INCREDIBLY depressing. Leaving your office and not being able to see daylight is not good for the soul. It's one of the things that makes winter so damned depressing.

When this starts, it's also the sign the spring and summer are coming. And that is so WONDERFUL. Especially with the depressive states everyone has been in all year due to economic recession/depression/awfulness. Are people so far gone into depression land that they can't just deal with one hour's loss? So annoying. Be an adult, crybabies. Unless it's "your party." Then you can "cry if [you] want to." Ahhh... the 80s.

-moon

P.S. To all my friends who complained to me: if you read this, I don't care if you're offended. At all.

grievance: cab drivers who talk too much

2009-02-19T22:40:00.003-05:00

I got into a cab the other day and I was so hungover that I was pretty much still hammered until about 8 o' clock (Post Meridian) the next day. So naturally, I was already absurdly nauseated.

So the insane driving nature which seems to be a prerequisite to being a cab driver was already making me close my eyes, open the window and pray to not hurl everywhere. 3 blocks later, my cab driver decides to (attempt to) enter into a discourse with my inebriated ass. About complete and utter inanity. And was also not really even paying attention to what I was saying but kind of just enjoyed hearing himself speak.

As an aside, I'd like to say that I empathize with cab drivers. A LOT. They have an incredibly difficult job and are entirely under-appreciated. With that said, I had no use for this man at all. I was polite but also quite obvious in my lack of desire to communicate. I hate small talk as a general tenet. But he also got off on the wrong foot because he had music blaring when I got into the cab and didn't turn it down when I received a phone call. This also quite exacerbated my horrendous hangover (from) hell. ("From" is obviously used parenthetically in order to engender alliteration. ...Obviously.)

In any event... On top of this... My cab ride was 15 dollars from 38th and 2nd to 61st and Lexington due to this dude being a total moron. I was so angry by the time I got there.

And then I paid.

And... (this is the kicker) TIPPED HIM FIVE DOLLARS. For being "nice." For being "friendly." Because I felt odd giving an appropriate tip after having gotten to know a little about this annoying, annoying man. I never ever ever want to talk to people I don't know. And when I get forced to, such as how I was here, I'm angry about it. And then I apparently "reward" this dude by giving him more money?

How is this acceptable?

I realize now that this grievance should really be entitled "Grievance: My Stupid Ass."

-moon

raging out at... unexpected marriages

2009-02-17T11:36:00.007-05:00

This affliction is a particularly nasty one. I myself experienced it about a year ago, but in light of it affecting 3 of my friends in the past few months (2 in the last 24 hours!), I feel compelled to speak out against it.

There are a few different things I will categorize as unexpected marriages and different degrees to which they cause pain. I'd like to present mine and my beautiful (and all single) ladies' dealings to show you all the four different types. All names and identities have been altered to protect the heartbroken.

Code Green: The Loss of a Killer Fuck Buddy
Code Green is the demon that I had to face. You may remember a gentleman from "raging out at... inappropriate ways of finding out information," the man who was a random guest speaker in the class I TAed. We will call him the Sexual Predator, or SP for short.

SP and I had a relationship of sorts over the course of a few years. I could always count on him to hook me up with tickets, be around when I was single and lonely or angry and wanting revenge on a cheating boyfriend, and to basically traumatize me in the best way possible with his complete and utter sexual deviance. (Or perhaps he traumatized me in the worst way possible, as all subsequent boyfriends have looked upon ME as the deviant. C'est la vie.)

Regardless of the fact that I never had any real feelings towards SP other than gratitude and horror, when I found out he had gotten married, it stung. And the worst part of it was the news was delivered by a particular cheating ex-boyfriend whom I had needed SP to work through. Double goddamn whammy and a loss that left a gaping hole in my need to be absolutely vile in the boudoir.

Code Orange: The Loss of Your First Time
One of my favorite ladies, Vanessa, lost her virginity a little later in life than most of my other slutty friends. She finally gave it up to a British man named Thomas. Tommy and V were never officially a couple but they carried on their affair on the regular for over a year. Then one day Tommy met Pigerella (her real name- Scout's honor!) and it was a wrap for V and Tommy. V, like your pal Stars, never had any kind of deep-rooted feelings for Tommy so she plowed past that one pretty quickly. Frankly, I think if Thomas hadn't been her first, it may not have affected her at all. But he was and so it did.

And so yesterday she gets a phone call from a friend who works in Tommy's office, telling her that the rumor around the water cooler is that Tommy and V are in Hawaii and he's planning to propose on Valentine's Day. As if Valentine's Day isn't crummy enough, did V need to deal with that? And to add insult to injury, this tattletale friend of hers isn't exactly her favorite person on Earth and the kinda friend who likes to think that every single person is jealous of her relationship. Awesome times.

Code Red: The Ex-Boyfriend Who Marries Someone New 2 Weeks After Breakup
This is where we start to get into some really hairy territory. My gal Lauren suffered one of those particularly devastating heartbreaks recently. She and Alex hadn't dated for a very long time, but it was one of those intense relationships that moves fast and furious. It ended far before Lauren was ready for it to be over. When the news of his marriage broke, she was still in the crying and screaming and plotting to get him back stage of the breakup.

And what was truly rubbing salt in the wound of this catastrophe (as if doing it a mere 14 days post breakup wasn't bad enough!) was that he married a brand new girl... not an old friend or a rekindled ex. A BRAND NEW GIRL.

And how, you might ask, did Lauren find out about the nuptials? Via the internet. Via the goddamn internet. I would certainly hope if I were going to do something like that to that unbelievably recent of an ex, I would have the balls to let them know and not let them find out in some roundabout way. 'Though I suppose if you are classless enough to pull a stunt like that, the proper social etiquettes are probably far beyond your realm of understanding anyway.

Code Blue: Loss of the Man You Dated For 9 Years
And this one may sting worst of all. I think at this point, we can all agree that the news of a former flame getting married is never a pleasant experience. Sure, sometimes it's more annoying than painful, but it is never fabulous news to hear, especially when you have not yet taken the plunge. And sometimes it is just the worst news of all.

My friend Violet dated Andrew for 9 long years. Their relationship was one of the most tumultuous I have ever witnessed (albeit second hand), but they loved each other. Andrew was the kind of guy who would buy Violet dresses for their unborn (and not even yet conceived) daughter. They had a tendency to make up and break up a lot, but Violet always assumed that when she one day walked down the aisle, it would be Andrew waiting for her at the other end.

When Violet found out the news, she and Andrew had been apart for about a year and a half. Long enough for her to have moved on and found a new boyfriend, but Violet, being the old romantic that she is, had still never fully given up hope on Andrew. Maybe that's her fault, but that's just who she is.

In a play from the Stars playbook, Violet stumbled across their wedding website while Googling Andrew's name. On top of the news, she was also subjected to photos, the proposal story and a million other details no one should ever have to live with. I think we all hate the internet.

The point is, this sucks. People get married and people move on from their past relationships. If we never moved on, I would still be pining over a dude who is now a semi-professional wrestler with GREEN HAIR. (Man, I have dated some real gems.) So we will all take the bad of this and hope that someday, we do the same to crappy exes of ours. Moral of the story here is perhaps a little courtesy would be nice. If we broke up two weeks ago, dated for 9 years, had sex within the last 2 months or if I am just gonna hear about it anyway, it would be a lot better coming from your mouth. Or maybe there is no moral and I am grumpy and bitter.

- stars

grievance: the city

2009-02-16T09:03:00.005-05:00

~~The Hills' spin-off The City is just a complete and utter waste of time.~~
The Hills and its spin-off The City are just complete and utter wastes of time.

~~With that said, The Hills at least had some entertainment value and actually kept me tuning in each week.~~
With that said, The Hills placed a spell on me and I kept watching it despite the fact that every single episode made me dumber and dumber.

The main distinction between the two shows, besides the obvious locale change, is that the primary show wasn't OFFENSIVE. The City's Olivia Palermo actually makes me want to move away from New York City and pretend I never went to private school on the Upper West Side. And it's actually making Whitney (formerly the most likeable and normal, unjaded character of The Hills) look like a fucktard for listening to her spout her elitist garbage.

Paraphrased Transcript of a Scene From Last Week's Episode:
Whitney: I think we should really go now (to The Cutting Room) to see Jay's (her boyfriend) show.
Olivia: No. I need to try on the same exact Diane Von Furstenberg blazer as I have on in ALL black, because I'm such an spoiled brat I think that the only way I can go to a "rock show" is by wearing all black.
Whitney's Nondescript, Inconsequential Friend Whose Name I Don't Remember... Probably Because She's Brunette: Umm... you don't have to wear all black to go to a rock show.
Olivia: Whatever. I love my life. Let's drink champagne and make fun of other people. So does this exact same blazer in black look exactly the same as the white one but more rock? I wouldn't want to offend all of your stupid, low-life hipster friends and boyfriend, Whitney.
Whitney: Yeah... it's classic. But can we go now? Seriously. The show is already starting and we're nowhere near it.
Olivia: Oh PLEASE. Can't we take like 45 more minutes to look through my glorious closet? It's not like they're going to start the show without us. They'll stall 'til we get there.
Whitney: Umm... is this your disgusting cousin's sock lying around?

All I'm saying is that this show sucks. Whitney... girl... why'd you turn into a crapbag?

-moon

raging out at... the economy

2009-02-13T13:10:00.005-05:00

No, this is not going to be an extensive blog about the dismal state of affairs of our current economic climate. You all know, you're all probably living it. I really just want to share the conversation that moon and I just had.

Moon: Dude, I just bought a drink in quarters. Cool economy.
Stars: Dude, I just had half a Chunky for lunch. Outstanding economy.
Moon: Thank god I have 3 more dollars on my Metrocard. Hooray! I can get home! Dodged a bullet there.
Stars: Mine has $1.75.

Ok what the hell is that? And how is that conversation not even been subjected to the usual stars' exaggeration and still looks like that?

I may be licking my Chunky wrapper for dinner.

-stars

grievance: people's distaste/scaredness of google maps "latitude"

2009-02-13T13:03:00.004-05:00

This new technology by Google is absolutely amazing. And the fact that everyone is freaked out by it is both silly and annoying. And is ruining its potential. For those of you who don't know...

Google Maps has created an add-on called Latitude which essentially allows you to connect to friends on Google Maps and see where they are at any given moment.

If ONE more person says "That's so Big Brother" to me, I will punch him or her in the eye.

It's not at ALL Big Brother-esque. You have to individually request each person. It's not as if you enter into this contract with the devil and then every single person you've ever met can track you down at every single moment. As you can see, I only have a handful of friends who are technologically savvy enough to be on it as well. And some of them, like my roommate (who is currently at work, I can see), were completely unlikely candidates to embrace such technology. But she has. And it's been incredibly fun! "Hey... I see you're about a block away. Are you at D'Agostino's? Can you pleeeeease pick up some butter?" And I was. And I did. And she made a scrumptious dinner.

Now to calm some nerves and address some concerns, I will outline some of the magnificent aspects of this amazing program so that hopefully everyone will CHILL THE HELL OUT and embrace it.

1. (As stated above...) You have to individually request each person. If you want one person to be able to see you and are scared of some other person seeing your whereabouts, you don't have to be "friends" with them.
2. You can turn it off and sign out whenever you'd like and will no longer appear on anyone's map.
3. (And best of all...) You can LIE. You can set your location to a fixed place and say you're in Chicago if you so choose. Although I'm not a fan of Chicago and wouldn't do that.

I saw today that my friend was in Atlanta. And after asking him if he was LYING and was really in New York, thought it was so cool that I knew that he was on a business trip to Atlanta. And we discussed the weather and the like (all via BBM: another wonderful technology) and truth be told, as much as I love this person, I probably would never have had that conversation at all. And it's all due to Google Latitude. ...Bringing Us All a Little Closer Together.

So cut the shit. No one is going to stalk you. If you're going to write about your every damned move on (note: these are all links to MY pages 'cause I'm a technology junkie and self-aggrandizing fool) Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Tumblr, your blog, your AOL Instant Messenger away message, your Google Chat status message, your LinkedIn, your BBM status (mypin: 31be47d2) and for fuck's sake, maybe even your now-defunct Friendster account (I don't even have one of those anymore)... chill the hell out with the "That's so Big Brother" bullshit.

-moon

grievance: facebook statuses' grammar

2009-02-11T17:41:00.002-05:00

I am shocked to my very core that Facebook actually took down the "is" as part of its status template and now leaves it there for optional use.

By what I am even more shocked is that despite this, people continually use it... and use it WRONG. And what I mean by this is the statuses' predication upon a particular kind of sentence format, namely a person speaking about him or herself in the third person.

Now I'm not knocking people who outwardly go against this sentence structure by either eliminating the "is" after their names or writing something after the "is" which is clearly supposed to go against the structure, like a song lyric or simply a noun, e.g. "Jenn DOUGHNUTS!" or "Jenn is Barack Obama is the shit." I am okay with this kind of erratic grammar solely because it is purposely crafted to be so.

My problem is with people who are too dumb to realize that when they start a sentence about themselves in the third person, they must continue to do so throughout the sentence. The following hypothetical statuses do NOT make sense:

"Jenn is so tired I think I'm going to take a bubble bath and go to bed."
Should be: "Jenn is so tired she thinks she's going to take a bubble bath and go to bed."
"Jenn is studying for a PoliSci exam. OMG I'm soooo gonna fail."
Should be: "Jenn is studying for a PoliSci exam and is sooo gonna fail."

I'm assuming that this makes sense and needs not more examples. All I'm saying is that it's ABOVE infuriating to see this kind of crap on my status update page because it is a blatant offense on the structure of modern English. I understand that my rules for speaking are far more stringent than those for others... but casualisms and slangitudes are really what deteriorate language... and our language already sounds like untrained colloquial drivel.

I'm all about technology, but before Facebook... at least people could maintain the same pronoun and subsequent verb form. At least 'til the next SENTENCE began! Pish posh.

-moon

grievance: bar etiquette (2)

2009-01-20T14:46:00.002-05:00

As my bartending days seem to be coming to a very (welcomed) end, I thought it best to address this very small grievance. It is, of course, for the greater good of humanity to understand that this behavior about which I am about to rage is NOT acceptable.

A patron walks into the bar and asks the bartender "what kind of beers do you have on draught?" Already pretty damned annoying seeing as the draught beers are inherently on display. They are IN FRONT of you, patron. But fine. So the bartender either points (if he or she is in a bad mood) or spells it out and lists every single one there is.

"Sam Adams... Stella... Blue Moon... Guinness... Brooklyn Lager... Amstel...."

Herein lies the idiocy:

"Do you have Newcastle?"

And then the bartender goes into a J.D.-from-Scrubs-like-daydream in which he or she jumps across the bar and strangles the person to death.

If you asked me what was on draught and I told you, why would you ask me if I have something else? WHY? Do you think that I'm telepathic and I know exactly which beer it is that you would like and am trying to torture you by hiding the fact that I have exactly what you want?

I seriously think these people should be knocked over the head with a pint glass.

-moon

grievance: baby taxi accidents

2008-12-30T16:53:00.003-05:00

Getting into baby taxi accidents is quite possibly one of the most awkward things ever.

"What are 'baby taxi accidents'?" one might ask... oneself.

"Are they accidents involving a taxi cab hitting a baby carriage?" one might continue to sub-question... oneself.

"... Maybe it involves two very small taxis (thus "babies" in the taxi cab "community") hitting one another."

Or maybe none of such self-interrogation will occur because this matter is of no interest to anyone else but me.

So, I shall tell you. "Baby taxi accidents" are accidents when you are in a taxi, as a passenger, and a small accident occurs in which absolutely no one is hurt and there is very minimal damage to anyone's vehicles. The reason I choose "baby" to modify the magnitude of the accident is solely because if I say "woah! I just got into a small accident!" people immediately think I am injured.

All right, now that I've made it exactly clear (with absolutely NO digressions into silliness) to what I'm referring, I think it best to explain why this deserves to be addressed.

When you are in the back seat of a cab and there is contact between that cab and another vehicle, immediately the cab driver goes inSANE and jumps out of the car and you are rendered incapable of making a decision. Do you stay in the cab with the meter running? Do you get out and get another cab? And if so, do you pay for the metered fare thus far? Do you get out and try to help?

It is entirely the most awkward situation in which a human can be. If you're in your car or a friend's car, it's pretty clear that you're not getting out and leaving your friend stranded. But with cabs, you do NOT know this human being.

The other night, I got into a cab and was exhausted from work and just really needed to be at home. And my cab driver was successful in permeating through my callous and cranky disposition with conversational pleasantries. So when a car hit him, I was paralyzed by indecision. Thank the Gods of the Taxi and Limousine Commission that he had the decency to ask me politely if it would be okay if he dealt with the situation and I took another cab and then wished me a Happy Holidays.

Can someone please let me know what the protocol is for how to deal with this awkwardness when the cab driver simply walks away and screams at the other driver? Man!

Geez, I really have a TON of beef with cabs ("grievance: taxitv")! Maybe I should use public transportation more frequently. Oh wait, I have a ton of beef with the MTA too ("grievance: the mta")!

(Sigh.)

-moon

grievance: gravity (part 2)

2008-12-23T15:48:00.009-05:00

This is actually remarkable. Not THREE days after I fell down the stairs (and only ONE day after I wrote about it in "grievance: gravity") did my stupid ass fall AGAIN. And just to prove that my outline of reasons for falling was, in fact valid, I took the time to, after I'd picked my sorry ass up off the ground, take a picture.

Exhibit A: Converse sneakers.

Exhibit B: ICE! Look at the friggin' sidewalk. Okay. If I'd fallen on the icy snow on the right edge of the photo, fine. But the sidewalk just looks WET. How is this fair?! I thought we had salt for this purpose.

This one was bad too. I managed to somehow knee myself in the chest/stomach so I knocked the wind out of myself with my OWN body. And was light-headed for about an hour afterwards. But I was also so irate due to this being the second time in ONE solid week that I'd fallen that I started yelling and cursing as I got myself up "MOTHERFUCKER, COCKSUCKER! YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!!!"

And yes. Of course. I was alone.

I need to start wearing a bubble.

-injured, angry, klutzy moon

grievance: asking for "no" or "little" ice

2008-12-21T22:54:00.005-05:00

As you may know from one of my earlier blogs ("grievance: bar etiquette [silly cocktails]"), I spend some of my weekend nights slingin' drinks behind a bar. And I've already reprimanded some people for ordering particular (embarrassing) drinks. However, I think an entirely different aspect of cocktail-ordering needs to be addressed...

I swear to GOD if you ask me for "no" or "very little" ice, I will take the 1-inch long baby knife on my wine key intended for cutting foil off of the tops of wine bottles and slit your piece-of-shit throat.

Maybe you don't understand. Bartenders pour as they pour. End of story. And I actually happen to have a pretty heavy hand because... Well, let's call a spade a spade, I'm an alcoholic myself. But asking for this limiting of ice makes me so irate that I actually will end up giving you less liquor than I would, were I not assaulted by such a blasphemous insult.

Would you like to know why this SO pisses off bartenders and why you ought not ask for this? Because it says, very implicitly, "I'm CHEAP. I want as much alcohol as I can possible acquire based on the size of that glass." How does that translate into bartender-ese? "I will not be tipping you." Hence, you will not be obtaining any extra liquor at ALL. Not to mention, it's kind of an insult to a bartender's capacity to do his/her job. It's not your place. And you're going to end up with less that way.

I almost become UNCOMFORTABLE when people do that because I'm embarrassed for such fucking parsimony.

New rule (to the tune of Bill Maher's awesomeness): accept what a bartender has to pour. You'll get fucked over and embarrassed if you request otherwise.

New rule: Not tipping? Not acceptable. Oh wait. That's kind of an old rule. Ugh.

-moon

grievance: gravity

2008-12-20T11:25:00.005-05:00

I'm pretty cool with gravity generally speaking, you know with its magical capacity to hold things down to the earth and not go flying through the air. And I'm pretty thankful for that. Especially because that means that I don't randomly go flying through the air.

Except that I apparently do.

Falling fucking BLOWS. And the only thing that could possibly make falling any worse is falling ALONE.

I have to admit that this really isn't much of gravity's fault but really more of my own assisted by one of the following:
1. Walking while typing on my Blackberry;
2. Stilettos (usually coupled with a flight of stairs);
3. Converse sneakers (NB: if you wear the same pair of sneakers since you were 16, you're likely to have no traction);
4. Wearing ill-suited foot attire for ill-fated weather (namely 2-inch platform Rocket Dog flipflops, with toe-socks);
5. Being an idiot;
6. Drinking three quarters of a bottle of Jameson.

I think number six will probably take the cake for likelihood of occurrence. However, the thing that really set me off happened Thursday morning. Running for the 4/5 downtown subway, I tumbled ("tumble" is a cute enough euphemism) down about 6 or 7 stairs, thanks to a pair of 23-inch stilettos. This particular incidence was markedly significant for two reasons: I managed to hurt so many different places that I have a new awareness of bones in my body existing; I was alone.

As if falling doesn't BLOW enough. You fall- OW- you have to pick yourself up- MORE OW- and then you have to look around at random pedestrians who saw this who are "concerned" and play it like you're as cool as Danny Zucco in Grease. I mean... at least if you are with someone, you can laugh it off and people don't rush in to be "concerned" because you have someone to "take care" of you should you so need care to be taken.

I was going to write this blog about a year ago when, wearing stupid Converse (#3) in wet weather (#4), I slipped and "tumbled" down an entire flight of stairs while my roommate watched and giggled. I didn't think it was enough fodder at the time for a rageout. But FUCK, did it hurt.

So with time, so other occurrences have... well... occurred (that's what occurrences do, no?). This spring, I was rushing to get to Penn Station wearing.... you betcha... stiletto boots. I jumped out of a cab at the intersection of 34th Street and 7th Avenue, which is a mangled mess of TWO four-laned streets, with 34th going both east and west. My cabby was stopped in the inside lane of 34th street. I was rushing for a train, so I jumped out, took two RUNNING steps toward the south side of 34th, i.e. into ONCOMING traffic and BOOM. Face-goddamned first. A lotta people rushing to my aid. And man, did it hurt. And no one to giggle with. But hey, I got the train.

About three months ago, I got drunk (#6). Very drunk. And was wandering from one Lower East Side shit hole to another. So, PERFECT time to start lookin' through my BlackBerry (#1) and start messaging people. And I was wearing REAL sneakers! Stepped of a curb. Fell. No explanation. No one with me. No skin on my left elbow. Pretty terrific, I'd say.

All I'm saying is that Isaac Newton can suck it.

And that I am an IDIOT (#5).

-moon

P.S. Please buy me some shoes that don't want to kill me.

grievance: 2008

2008-11-28T13:28:00.003-05:00

What the fuck is going on with 2008? Not one fucking person I speak to claims to have had a "kickass" year by any value scale. Everyone's year seems to be plagued with job quitting, firings, hellacious break-ups, family sicknesses and deaths, financial problems, quarter- and mid-life crises and a general, lingering malaise. So, I'd like to know... what the FUCK is going on?

Okay... so we're in a recession. Well.. I'd say depression. Nonetheless, there is no way that that can procure ALL of the horrendous things that have happened. Really, that only explains the economic hardship in which some of us have been soaked.

Why is everyone I know fucking miserable? I mean, methinks I need not explain my own ennui as I have entire BLOG solely for the purpose of bitching things out: it's pretty clear that I'm pretty irritable and irritated. But I, myself, have been touched by essentially all of the tribulations I formerly enumerated.

I can't even have fucking fun anymore. "Hey friend whose face I have not seen in a year! How are you? Let's meet up for cocktails and a night of fun!" Yeah... that never happens. Instead, I end up in my apartment with a bottle of vino "bitching one out" as I so eloquently put it. Gosh! I remember the good ol' days of one of my friends having one problem and inviting them over to do that. But now it's like, ALL of my friends and the conversation's not just topic-dependent. One horrific turmoil segues to another without so much as a blink of an eye.

And oftentimes there's crying. A lot.

I hate to be so morose, but I just think it ought to be addressed at the advent of the end of the year. Even the holidays... I look at my Facebook status updates and it's all like "Magellan is Fuck off turkeys! I hope you die in hell!" "Christopher Columbus is I hate holidays!" "Amerigo Vespucci is I'd rather eat my own arm and swallow a bottle of aspirin and vodka than spend time with my family!" (I insisted on using random explorers' names so I wouldn't incriminate any of my friends to their sheer misery but felt it necessary to include the inanity of the "is" in status updates.)

My only hope is that in reading this blog, some of you saturnine messes will embrace the feeling of a synergy with all the other miserable people in the world. Smile! You are not alone! Here's to 2009 being just as horrific.

-moon

raging out at... passwords

2008-11-24T14:17:00.007-05:00

Well, well, well.. welcome back to my own blog, ladies and gentlemen! My deepest apologies for the prolonged absence. My time away from you all had nothing to do with a lack of things to rage about (I can always find something!), but rather with the launching of a new site. So of course, the self-promoter that I am, I urge you to go check out Ladies' Locker Room when you're done absorbing everything over here.

The reason I bring up my other site and how terribly busy and important I am (besides the face that I am shameless) is that it led me to today's topic: Passwords. I understand the importance and need for passwords, I do. But sometimes they make my life just a little more difficult.

It all started simply enough. About 12 years ago, when my family first got America Online (saying I didn't have internet 'til I was a teenager is going to age me badly one day). I used the same password for everything. As the years passed, I began to accumulate more and more sites and programs that required a password. Eventually this led to everyone on the planet knowing the information to access virtually anything of mine. My mom, my brother, my friends, random people I've met once... even now I am sure 9 out of 10 people who have ever met me could tell you how to log onto my Facebook. This is not in my best interest.

So over the last year or two, I have been using a variety of passwords. It still amounts to about 3 different passwords, which equals out to about 7 out of 10 people who know me can log on to everything I have. Still no problem there. Perhaps I should stop giving people my account information.

The problem now becomes my inability to remember what passwords I used where and if I invented a new one for any specific reason. This problem is made exponentially worse by the wonderful browser feature that allows your computer to remember your passwords. Of course, I use this function, regardless of the fact that I will let anyone in the world use my computer... my brand spanking new pink laptop, that comes to me courtesy of one of my favorite people on earth.

This weekend, as I decided that the Internet Explorer that the computer comes pre-programmed with is a low-class piece of shit, I decided to download Firefox. Fantastic. All my passwords are stored in IE. I decide to log on and write a rageout about Betty White (I will treat you all to that later). Turns out I have virtually no idea what my password is. I hadn't typed it in so long thanks to these password memory programs that it took me SEVENTEEN TRIES to log in. SEVENTEEN.

Brutal.

You would think I learned my lesson but as soon as Firefox asked me if I would like them to remember the password, I of course accepted their assistance. Some things never change.

-stars

grievance: my appliances

2008-11-23T19:44:00.002-05:00

Dear Shower,

Stop arbitrarily choosing a time to raise your temperature 10 fold. Unfortunately, you oft do it while I am washing my face and it really, really hurts.

I don't know what I did to you to receive this kind of bipolar treatment. I also have to file a complaint regarding your desire to drop the temperature 10 fold as well.

I think you should be punched in the face immediately.

Love,
Scalded Moon

----------

Dear Refrigerator/Freezer,

I'm at a loss for words. All summer long when I desired chilled drinks and the capability to make frozen cocktails, you refused to make ice and, instead, gave me crunchy water.

Now it is winter time and I have no such desire. And not only do you engender ice for me quite willingly but you also freeze bottles of soda and cartons of juice in my refrigerator.

Furthermore, a couple weeks ago you randomly started to leak and now my white tiled floor looks like crap no matter how often I mop it. What's the effin' deal?

I hope you rot in hell.

Love,
Parched Moon

----------

Dear Cable Box,

I understand that you are all kinds of high-tech but we've had you replaced once already and you continue to manifest severely pixelated images and act weird when I use your DVR functions.

Why won't you let me watch Intervention, asshole?

Love,
Aggravated Moon

----------

Dear Stove,

When you making clicking noises to let me know to turn you down, the frequency connects in some way with my stereo in my room and makes a reverberating clicking noise all over my room through 8 speakers.

Stop fucking doing that!!!! It makes me feel weird!

Love,
Aurally-Freaked-Out Moon

----------

Dear Shower Drain,

I DO understand that two women produce a lot of hair. But I find it surreptitious that I need to use an entire BOTTLE of Drain-O on you once a month.
Why are you doing this to me? It makes my shower so gross and I think the cashiers at Duane Reade think I'm cooking some kind of weird drugs.

Love,
Dead Moon ('Cause She Slipped On Soap Scum Due To Improper Draining)

----------

Ugh. Why can't life be easier?

-moon

grievance: starbucks

2008-11-21T15:58:00.002-05:00

At the risk of sounding like Jerry Seinfeld, what is the deal with Starbucks?!

Every single time I go in there, there is some kind of hassle that makes me irate... And I used to really rely on Starbucks to be consistent and take care of shit. But 'tis not so these days, unfortunately. Shame on you, overpriced coffee chain.

Therein lies my biggest problem. Everything is so gratuitously overpriced that none of my grievances should hold any water because there ought not be anything about which to have such. But lemme tell ya. Starbucks blows.

1. Why do they never have soy milk when I want it?

2. How do you not have sleeves for hot drinks? Every time they are out of sleeves, they "double-cup." So I understand that if you run out an hour before closing, you make do with what you have. But there are some stores that go DAYS without sleeves. What a fucking waste! Shouldn't somebody be looking after inventory?

3. (Somewhat connected to number 3) STOP making baristas with tattoos on their wrists wear SLEEVES.
A. You are wasting sleeves;
B. They don't even properly cover anything as they slide around;
C. It looks fucking ridiculous. How can wearing cardboard around your wrists look more professional than a picture of a star?
i. I paraphrase and repeat: cardboard! Wrists! Professional?! Ah!

4. How are you "out of" venti? How is ANY retailer ever OUT of a size of CUP? I had to order a grande and a tall. And they didn't even charge me venti price. It was like 45 dollars for my morning coffee. Fuck that shit.

5. Stop selling that "food." Pastries are fine. But egg sandwiches? Really? Go to Dunkin Donuts. That shit is gross and arrives in boxes. Bleh.

6. Stop selling gift cards when it's always too busy to actually be able to buy one. I just saw the new Starbucks Gold card which actually rewards you for purchasing (yick! This economy is bad) by giving you 10% off. And I actually want to buy that. But the people at the registers are so flummoxed when you ask for one that I actually would feel guilty doing so.

7. Stop trying to sell me music. And newspapers. Coffee shop. Not mall.

I hate you Starbucks! I wish you didn't have such wonderful coffee cocktails and soul-warming drinks like chai lattes and eggnog lattes. Go back to Seattle.

-moon

raging out at... my own arrogance

2008-07-22T10:12:00.005-04:00

Driving to work today, I was a bigger hazard to the road than usual thanks to my uber-strained biceps, bruised left hand and scraped up fingers. And why, might you ask, do I currently have the upper body of a refugee? Simply put, I refuse to concede defeat.

When I was younger, like most people with brothers and sisters, I engaged in what was generally normal sibling rivalry. However in the Stars household, instead of this causing world war level fights, it created something much different. It caused both my brother and I to become completely convinced we were absolutely awesome at everything. And I mean EVERYTHING.

I remember being a kid and the America's Cup being on T.V. After a brief discussion, Brother Stars and I figured we could man a boat just the two of us and victory would be inevitable. Papa Stars tried to explain the concept of teamwork and how we would need a team. We were not having any of that. Why would we need a lesser boat racing talent to bring us down? Keep in mind, neither of us had ever even been on a sailboat. That apparently made no difference. It still doesn't. I remain firmly rooted in the belief that, even now, if there's something I'm not good at, it's because I haven't tried. The instant I have even one attempt, I will become the greatest golfer/comedian/cross-stitcher the world has ever seen.

Which brings me to the reason for today’s debilitating injury. It was brought on by stupidity times 3 – sprinkled with equal parts Arrogance, Ineptitude, and Stars Loves JD. My Googled God was around last week for 4 days of amazingness. It was a week filled with dinners and movies and hand holding and all sorts of wonderful "gheyness" that still has Stars in a good mood. (No simple feat considering how easily enraged I am!) It was a pile of whipped perfection, minus one small argument that has now escalated to epic proportions.

I think I can hit a JD fastball. Even writing this now, after standing in the batters' box against him for hours and not hitting so much as a foul ball, I am still positive I can rope him right over the fence. Major league regulation distance. Despite my not only not being able to hit the ball, but it being an accomplishment when I would even remain in the batters' box, JD has agreed to a rematch. He feels pretty certain that my method of swinging the bat as I run away will pretty much assure I never make contact with the ball.

So I spent waaaaayyy too much time at the batting cages yesterday perfecting my swing. The gentlemen at the cages thought I was insane when I asked to be put in a cage against 90 MPH baseball throws. But I did it. And I only ran away a few (hundred) times. And of course in the process, I managed to greatly injure myself between sore muscles from holding the bat too long, bruises from getting hit by the ball, and a bunch of scrapes from running into the fence as I scampered away from pitch after pitch.

I was with myself against JD and again in the batting cages. I saw the extent of my non-accomplishments and yet I am still convinced I am going to crush pitch after pitch the next time he throws to me. I have no problem with self-assuredness and a great confidence, but perhaps it becomes a problem when it starts getting you hurt. One day I am going to try to race in America’s Cup by myself and end up awash on a deserted island. And I will still think I am the best sailer this world has ever seen.

-stars

grievance: ass-biting

2008-07-21T11:18:00.009-04:00

I feel like this is probably something that would happen to Stars... or maybe even that Stars would do... but for what it's worth, when this happened, Stars was present. I'm assuming that her being there is the reason that this happened. It must be.

After a lovely dinner and a few pitchers of margaritas, Stars and I ventured to a bar on the Lower East Side, for the purposes of getting (more) hammered and playing Skee-Ball, because really, who doesn't love a good game of drunk Skee-Ball?

After securing BOTH of the two lanes and getting some cocktails, our drunk asses (I'd like to shout out the bartender at MaryAnn's for making the bad judgment call to think Stars and I to be good candidates for free shots) decided to have a Skee-Ball competition:

Moon: What's your best Skee-Ball score of all time?
Stars: I don't know... Probably perfect, I would imagine.

Okay, so that quotation has little-to-no significance for this story. Nothing to do with the story actually. Nothing at all. It was just funny. But what does have to do with the story which I've failed to mention is that I'd decided to wear some pretty ridiculous "pants" that evening (the word pants being in quotations because they look like they're painted on):

Thanks, Stars, by the way, for being too lazy to upload photos from a couple of months ago, so I have to pull a picture of some random bitch off of American Apparel's website. You're lucky you had a funny moment that night so I'm not so mad at you.

In any event, back to Stars and my Olivia-Newton-John-At-The-End-Of-Grease-looking self at this bar, "tell me about it, stud." I'm very intensely competing with Stars in Skee-Ball, when my ass gets slapped. I turn around and see a gentleman (a.k.a. douchebag) and ask him if he had, in fact, slapped my ass. He said "your friend made me do it," which is, let's call a spade a spade, something which I (or any reasonable person) would believe could be true of Stars. So I snarled and continued my game.

A few moments later, all of a sudden, I feel teeth on my ass.

TEETH ON MY ASS.

"I'm sorry... what did you just say?"

TEETH ON MY FUCKING ASS.

So I turn around and ask this fine, young chap if he had, in fact, BITTEN MY ASS. His response? "It had to be done." Okay... what? WHAT! I don't even know what kind of a defense that is supposed to be. I looked at him, looked at his friend, looked at Stars and then said "ummm, no it really didn't."

So, for the first time in my entire life, I went to the bouncer and actually had someone ejected from a bar. The only problem was that by the time I had explained (several times, because the concept of a stranger biting me on the ass was so outlandish that it didn't really get through to the bouncer) what had happened and brought the bouncer back to the Skee-Ball area to get him, I'd entirely forgotten what the douchebag looked like. Thank goodness for Stars who pointed him out. As a result of the whole ordeal, we got more free shots. Never a good idea.

When I asked Stars later if she had in fact told the young man to slap me on the ass, like he'd said she'd done, she said "fuck no! I told him to give you money for Skee-Ball."

I think it's pretty safe to say the message of this post is "if you're NOT already biting people on the ass in bars, keep doin' what you're doing. If you are... ummmmmmm... uhhhhhhh... you should probably be locked in a room forever."

-moon

raging out at... obligations

2008-07-18T19:20:00.003-04:00

Do you remember when you were in high school and you HAD to read Great Expectations? And you hated it because it was obligatory? But you picked it up on your own later and realized it was a beautiful story that you unfairly judged then started to sob hysterically in fear that you would turn into Miss Havisham except you probably wouldn't even have an Estella to take care of you and you'd rot to pieces in that old, never-used-for-its-purpose wedding dress? Okay, maybe the last part is just me, but I think it's a universal truth that no one likes doing something because they have to. Obligations suck and can ruin what should otherwise be a good thing.

Case in point: my new side project promoting a night at a bar in Hollywood. How can I possibly make this bad? Well I can and I have. Promoting requires creative night planning, going out to meet new people and begging your friends to come hang out. I'm a self-ordained creative girl who enjoys new people and her current friends (usually). So my job is essentially to get people out, having a good time, to drink for free and to get paid for it. And I hate doing it. Telling me I have to go out multiple nights a week and I have to be in party mode every Monday night is tantamount to torture for me. The second you tell me I have to go out and have a good time, the only thing in the world I want to do is stay home and be miserable. (And maybe watch cheesy movies but that's another issue altogether.)

There's nothing like being obligated to do something to assure that it's the last thing in the world you'd ever want to do. I think if I were Ryan Gosling's personal masseuse, I would still dread going to work every day. That's just not okay. Why is it that I can't separate the actual body of work/event/fill-in-the-blank from the fact that it's a requirement?

And now that I know I have to finish writing this blog, I don't wanna.

-stars

grievance: lottery tickets

2008-07-15T11:33:00.007-04:00

I'm not even that pissed at the lottery.

If someone is going to throw money away in the hopes of some fantastical amount of cash coming his or her way, by all means, Lottery (or anyone else for that matter), take that shit. (Indeed, I just apostrophized "the Lottery," because surely the blatant scarcity of poetic devices à la John Donne on this blog is utterly blasphemous. O Fortuna! O Romeo! O Lottery! I am clearly among the genius ranks of Carl Orff and William Shakespeare. Actually... I don't even really like Carl Orff.)

Ok, so now that I've apparently and inadvertantly set the stage for a play... the plot of which consists of a poor peasant buying lottery tickets, losing and thus, in desperation, evoking the great dieties:

O Nickel, you loathsome God of Scratch-Off Tickets!
O Ping-Pong-Looking-Ball, you are filled with avarice, you God of Pick-10!
O Giant Machine Which Takes Up A Large Portion of Counters At Newspaper Stores, you shall rue the day you... you... umm... did something, God of Weird Vending Machines at Bars!

Somewhere along the way... it's pretty clear that my hatred for lottery tickets has spun me into another plane of rage. But it's not even the lottery tickets themselves (as I've made blatantly clear). It's that every SINGLE time, every goddamned SINGLE time I'm in a rush, there is always an asshole in front of me buying LOTTO tickets. And it's hardly even a contest... there is a disparity as widely gaping as a temporal Grand Canyon between how much time I need to hand the kind gentleman my money and receive change and goods in return, and how long it takes YOU, yes YOU MOTHERFUCKER, to pick out what kinds of crappy, shiney, bullshit pipe-dream you're going to gamble on today. Just hurry it up.

I'm just saying, have some etiquette about it. If you know I'm gonna be in and out of there, there's no reason to give me dirty looks when I start to look like a child who is going to pee in her pants. I'm not allowed to smoke anywhere anymore. And now you're ruining the process of purchasing cigarettes for me too? Your vice is allowed to annoy me and I have to curtail my "vice" around you LOTTO-fiends? You know what? New rule: if I can't smoke, you can't buy LOTTO tickets.

And what's with the stupid grey stuff on scratch-offs? What the hell is that stuff made out of?

-moon

raging out at... drunken behavior

2008-07-11T13:05:00.005-04:00

If you've been paying attention, it is pretty apparent that I enjoy a good cocktail. I even enjoy a mediocre cocktail that's a little watered down from the ice melting in it. Hell, I doubt I would turn down a bad cocktail if the mood struck and it was the only thing available. I don't mind when others drink around me if I'm not drinking, but factor in ridiculous drunken behavior and I'm fit to be tied.

Now ridiculous drunken behavior doesn't encompass being silly or getting a little rowdy or even when your vocals get above a decibel I care to listen to them at. That's par for the course and while I don't necessarily enjoy all that behavior, I can live with it. What does burn me up is the "Did you actually just do/say/think about that" kind of behavior. And I apparently am just surrounded by friends who have the most deplorable conduct imaginable when their BAC rises just the slightest; people whom it would serve well to maybe lay off the sauce for a bit.

So if you want to spend any time around me and grab a drink with me, may I present to you "Stars DOs and ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO NOTs of Drinking."

DO... Be mindful of your own tolerance. No one who is above the average American college age should be throwing up in the street or blacking out or falling all over themselves. I accept this behavior early on in your drinking years, but come on. How many times do you have to vomit on the club's bouncer before it clicks that maybe 16 gin and tonics is more than you can handle?

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO NOT... Ask me for money when you are drunk. It is not my responsibility to fund your extracurricular activities. Unless I choose to buy you a drink or I owe you money, my cash stays in my wallet. You are not entitled to it because you are drunk and out of cash. Not my problem. And ESPECIALLY do not ask me for money if:
1)You paid for parking when I said I would walk: too bad for your lazy butt; or
2) You need it to buy marijuana which I am not going to smoke: just don't ask.

DO... Put your cell phone away before you do something you will regret with it. It's your life and for the most part, what you choose to do with it does not affect me. However, when you drunkenly call your ex-boyfriend or text a friend to tell her off, I have to hear about it all day the next day. I am not interested. Don't be stupid. Perhaps this DO should be amended to: If you're going to use your cell phone while inebriated, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO NOT talk to me about what you did the next day. I will never in life have any sympathy for it. Suck my non-existent balls.

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO NOT... Tell people things I have told you in confidence and then either attribute it to your intoxication or claim to not remember. You did it to be "funny and cool" at the time. So being disloyal and a shitty friend makes you cool... hope whomever you told likes you now, because I don't anymore.

DO... feel free to go home when you've had enough. I would never look down on you for not making it out to last call. I only look down on you when you act like a Grade-A Jackass.

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO NOT... ever come near me if you're one of THOSE drunk people.

Writing this blog has made me realize my new found respect for straight edge folks... and not for their willpower to not get themselves tanked, but for their remarkable ability to put up with the rest of us stupid drunk idiots whilst sober. Hats off to you, Straight Edgers of America - I am contemplating moving over to your ranks.

-stars

raging out at... internet findings

2008-07-08T13:07:00.009-04:00

So I'm in love. Again. Just for this week. Or for all time. I have no idea. The only thing I truly know is that Google is severely impairing my ability to have any semblance of a "normal" relationship with "normal" progression. Not that normalcy has been my strong suit historically. I'm babbling. Allow me to rewind.

So being single and with the nonsense of past relationships behind me for now, I've been fully ready to move on and perhaps find that elusive nice guy for once. So bored one night and admittedly on a MySpace binge, I happen upon the older brother of my adorable buddy Pierre (names have been changed to protect the innocent who don't want their business on blast on the internet.) JD, Pierre's brother, is, not to mince words, smoking hot. In the immortal words of Moon, he is just "holy bananas." So being the crazed, freshly recovered single gal that I am, I shoot him a message to the super smooth and charming effect of “Hey, I’m a buddy of Pierre’s so I thought I would shoot you a message. Sweet pictures.” Yeah, I’m good, I know. What man wouldn’t be falling at his feet with such delicately placed words?

So, many exchanged e-mails, texts, and a few phone calls later, I am fully hooked on JD… despite having never met him. Ahh, the age of the internet, where love matches are made based on a few pictures taken at our best angles and a handful of well-worded emails that frankly could have been penned by the entire writing staff of 30 Rock for all we know. But we want to believe and so we do. And sometimes everything we hope for turns out to be true. But none of that risk-taking with potential for meeting a frog you thought was a Prince Charming bothers me. What I am pissed at is my ability to Google anyone.

Now JD is a special case as he is probably a little more publicly profiled than your average internet love affair. He certainly isn't some giant celebrity, but suffice it to say when you're a professional athlete, even one of the lowest common denominator, there's a lot of information about you on the internet. So now only mere days into the beginnings of my new found love and never having met the boy, what do I know about him? I could tell you his height, his weight, how much money he makes, what the inside of his apartment looks like, his Guitar Hero ranking (I am completely mortified about knowing that one), and most importantly, what he looks like shirtless.

Okay, what?? How in the hell am I supposed to progress normally and slowly when I already have a good 4 months of relationship information in my head? Some of my best friends I have known for YEARS probably couldn't tell you all that information about me. I certainly don't know Moon's Guitar Hero ranking. Or if she even has one. But once I set off on an innocent Google of JD, I couldn't stop myself. And now I know too much. And now it's making things awkward.

Example 1:
JD:
"Man, I had a rough day. You would win the day if you came to give me a massage."
Stars Internal Monologue Dilemma:
"Poor baby, his team lost today. He did have a trying day. Wait, shit, how do I answer that? If I acknowledge I know why he had a bad day, am I a stalker for checking box scores? I can pretend I didn't go to ESPN.com. But then do I look like I don't care enough to even see how his team did? Or like I'm not a sports fan and maybe that's a turn-off. Dear God, help me!!!"
Stars' Final Answer:
"Aww, honey. I wish you weren't so far or I would. Too bad phone massage doesn't have quite the same effect as phone sex."
Crisis averted. Stars' sanity moves just out of her range of vision.

Example 2:
Stars is sitting around, eating leftover pancakes and singing loudly to AFI. Phone rings.
Stars:
"Oh Jesus, JD!"
Minor and brief panic attack ensue. Composure regained. Opens up phone.
Stars:
"Hi love, what's going on?"
JD:
"Hi beautiful girl. Are you listening to AFI?"
Major panic attack sets in.
Stars Internal Monologue Dilemma:
"Crap, fuck, crap, fuck hell! (My internal monologue indeed does have Tourette's.) Shit!!! I know one of his favorite bands is AFI. Did he tell me that or did I read that? I most likely read it. Is he going to think I'm listening to it because he likes it? Is the jig up? He's going to know I Googled him! This is a nightmare. Why, oh why, did I have to be listening to AFI? I do like other bands! This is so not a big deal, who cares, right? Oh no, it's been way too long since I've said anything."
JD:
"Stars? You there?"
Stars:
"Yeah, sorry. Was turning the music down. Having an iPod Shuffle of a night."
Crisis again averted, although why couldn't I just acknowledge I was listening to one of my favorite bands? He doesn't own them. Now I'm mad at JD for my own stupidity. Calm down, crazy girl.

Example 3:
This is not so much an example as my deep burning desire to point something out. JD has pictures of himself on the internet where he is deeply and meaningfully shirtless. Some dudes should never go without a shirt and some guys I don't mind if they do. JD, in his professional athlete glory, does the world a great injustice when he puts a shirt on. To put it in perspective... we all know my love of Sawyer from Lost. If I could only enjoy one shirtless man for the rest of my life, I wouldn't hesitate to choose JD over Sawyer every day of the week. It's that good.
Actually now that I think about it, this is an example. Knowing the hotness that lurks there, I am infinitely more nervous talking to him than I would be without that information. Generally, I'm not ogling a man I am dating in all his shirtless glory until he is allowed to see me shirtless as well. And usually by the time that happens, I am largely past the point of being fully nervous around him. This is simply not fair.

Example 4:
Google search? Check!
YouTube search? Check!
Scouring through MySpace comments? Check!
Drooling over shirtless pictures? Check, check, and dear God, check again!

So, in conclusion (and thanks to all of you for trudging through this post and making it this far with me... Stars in love is a crazy Stars indeed!), I am never ever looking anything up on the internet again. I don't need that much information until it is presented to me. I don't need to make myself more nervous and more psycho than I obviously already am. Hopefully, I can meditate on this and reach an inner peace and calm before I screw this whole thing up. If not, I wonder if I can sue the entire internet for destroying my relationship?

-stars

grievance: pomegranates

2008-06-10T12:28:00.009-04:00

Never thought you'd see ire aimed at pomegranates, or any fruit for that matter... I know. And certainly not expressed in writing, but pomegranates are pissing me off in so many different ways.

For starters, I really, really, really, really hate when people pronounce the word "pom-ie-granate." I'm not even sure why because people mispronounce things all over the damned place and it doesn't infuriate me so much. I have an inkling that it's because "pomiegranates" sounds fucking awful and actually makes me feel uncomfortable. It's creepy. Like you're talking to me in "mother-ease" like I'm a baby. "Does my little muffin want a pomiegranate"? Ick, ick, ick. I want to wipe the ick off. And I can't, because of the second reason I want to punch pomegranates in the face...

THEY'RE FUUUUUUCKING EVERYWHERE.

And not of their own volition. It's not like there was a big pomegranate meeting and they decided to branch out and try new things so to speak. (Although I suppose I can't rule that out... Milk did some pretty serious marketing for itself with the "Got Milk?" Campaigns. I'm still not really clear on that.)

I was fine with POM juice. See, the thing that really pisses me off is that I actually like pomegranates. But do I feel it should be conquering the globe? Certainly not. It's a fruit. And as soon as you slap on the idea of high antioxidants onto something, it's like the elixir of life. Maybe we should stop putting... errr... oxidants... into our bodies. What's wrong with oxidants anyway? It would seem to have oxygen in it... n'est-ce pas? I could be wrong. And I don't care to put in the time researching it.

But what I did put time into "researching" was these wily little fruits themselves. So while I do like the taste of pomegranates, I do not want these things which a Google "shopping" search yielded this ridiculous array of what I will call POMEGRANIA (golf claps: aren't I so clever?):

I do not want... to smell like pomegranates.

I do not want... to read about pomegranates. (Yes. If you'll note, this link is purple, because I actually went there because even my disenchanted-by-pomegranates-ass couldn't believe that there was a novel named "Pomegranate Seeds" so I needed to check it out.)

I do not want... to replenish my lips with the oil of pomegranates. They never seemed like particularly oily fruits to begin with. Is Burt's Bees torturing pomegranates?

I do not want... my apartment to smell like pomegranates. Nor do I need pink candles. Or candles that have no flames.

I do not want... to take PILLS OF POMEGRANATE-NESS. What the fuck?

I do not want... to listen to songs about pomegranates (or their seeds). Again, a purple link because I couldn't believe this. Plus, the cover art is kind of creepy.

I do not want... to eat things which taste like pomegranates but are, in fact, not pomegranates.

I do not want... "pomegranate" to be considered a color.

I do not want... pomegranate-themed/flavored/hued things to exist which I don't even understand. What the fuck is this?

I do not want... to succor a cold with pomegranate-flavoring.

I do not want... I repeat... to smell like fucking pomegranates.

I do not want... to drink pomegranate cocktails.

I do not want... pomegranates anywhere near my wine.

I do not want... even a little bit... to hang pomegranates in a wreath anywhere my eyes will float. And if I did... faux pomegranates?? Really?

I do not want... to eat pomegranates at this point. Their ubiquity has simply inundated me with these asshole fruits everywhere I go and I'm sick and tired of it.

The only plus side to this...? Grapefruits have been neglected so now I can enjoy them.

Pomegranate is the new black. Literally. It's a fucking color. Fucking bullshit, pomegranates.

-moon

grievance: young, drunk girls in murray hill

2008-05-31T20:09:00.003-04:00

Premise A: "I am a girl."
Premise B: "I live in Murray Hill."

Conclusion A: "I am an annoying slutface hobag who gets hammered and screams nonsense on the streets."

Introducing... Premise C: "I have a brain."

Conclusion B: (The obvious is "I am not marked by attributes described in Conclusion A due to the having-a-brain-ness," but instead, I will use this time to aver an emphatic: "GO FUCK YOURSELVES MURRAY HILL SLUTS."

For those of you who don't know, Murray Hill is a section of Manhattan, the exact boundaries of which I do not even know but will approximate to be around 25th to 40th streets on the East Side. It's probably the most reasonably priced area of Manhattan below 120th street, so it'd be expected that a lot of young people would live in that area, but when I moved there from a really, REALLY quiet area of Manhattan, I had no idea what I'd find.

Young, annoying girls. Trendy restaurants. Young, annoying girls. Men in business suits. Young, annoying girls. Bars. Young, annoying girls. Young, annoying girls. Young, annoying girls. Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Every single night (not just weekends) hoards of women in their 20s prance around in their best people-tell-me-I'm-like-Carrie-Bradshaw outfits in packs of 3s, 4s, whatever, on the prowl for... Love.

Scratch that.

... On the prowl for... SEX.

And a free meal.

By all means, people are allowed to do whatever they'd like with themselves (despite the fact that I'll STILL definitely be judging them [ya can't win 'em all]) but these women are offensive to the quality of life of those around whom they prey on men.

This is how: they get fucking hammered sloppyfaced drunk and then spill out of the bars looking like a blonde celebrity (they all do it at this point; take your pick) emerging from a vehicle, i.e. clothes falling off, hair tattered, make-up smudged.

So now they're on the street, sloshed, at 4, 5, 6 A.M.; I am in no way exaggerating either. And they look like SHIT, and the 30 Cosmopolitans they've had have apparently rendered them incapable of assessing the brilliant volume at which they are speaking... And saying the most dumbing shit I've ever heard in my life...

"Oh my GAD! Do you think he'll call?! I gave him my number!"... Said she as she fell into the tree potter/walked into oncoming traffic/walked down the sidewalk barefoot with her stilettos in her hands/dropped her Louis Vuitton bag/walked into a wall/puked on her friend/self/phone/hair/fill in any inane drunk-girl activity here. (Note, "she" is of course the universal "she." I did not in fact see one idiot perform all of these behaviors simultaneously. If I saw THAT, I'd actually be kind of impressed.)

But seriously: (directed to the lovely ladies) WHY ARE YOU YELLING? ALL THE TIME? Don't you have a home?

I just don't want these shitbags doing this anymore because
A. It's really putrid noise pollution to me personally; and
B. It's embarrassing to women in general.

Somebody put a fuckin' leash on these predators.

And an alcohol-moderating ankle-bracelet.

And for fuck's sake, a chastity belt.

-moon

grievance: bamboozle edition

2008-05-29T02:16:00.014-04:00

Maybe I should subsume Orion's shit that sucks: nightclub clusterfuck sxsw edition, Stars' raging out at... the coachella edition and this into "A Shitty Rageout Grievance: Outdoor Concert Festivals," n'est-ce pas? Seriously... when has anyone enjoyed him/herself at one of these? I'd have to say never.

Historically speaking, Bamboozle blows. Its predecessor, Skate and Surf, also... blew.

Viz... Skate and Surf 2003:

(Yeah... that's me IN a merch box, trying to hide/sleep due to severe unhappiness. Also... I do understand that black hair does not look good on me. Ohhhhhh to be 18 again.)

Skate and Surf 2004:

(The middle finger = always a telling sign that one is having fun. Also a telling sign? Stars eating pull-and-peel Twizzlers AT a show.)

Bamboozle 2005:

(In short: what a miserable-looking group of people.)

Bamboozle 2006/2007:

(Absent picture. Why? Because I didn't go. After those three years... no thanks.)

Okay... so this year, my friend asked me if I would "sell merch" for a band with whom she is friends, thinking she would be in L.A. So I agreed. Why not? I'd spent two years away from this abomination. Plus... my favorite band since I was 14 years old, Jimmy Eat World, was playing.

WORST.

EXPERIENCE.

OF MY LIFE.

The way the "merch" was set up was under this tent against the periphery of the concert "dwelling" (if you will). The weather: freezing, raining.

"Merch" check-in spot was a vast distance from the actual booth, so I had to wait alone, in the freezing rain for about an hour trying to get a freakin' golf cart to bring my shit over to the place I'd be spending the next 9 hours shivering. Not to mention, this began at 9:00 A.M., after having bartended until 5:30 A.M. the night before.

Back to my whole periphery-based merch. The day was cold... I was wearing the following:

1. A tube top;

2. A wool turtle-neck;

3. A cardigan;

4. A blazer;

5. A jacket with a hood.

Still.

Freezing.

As the day warmed up, the only thing which did NOT warm up was the "merch" area, because the wind was coming from behind us and we (my dumb ass and the other "merch"-purveyors) were the "things" blocking the wind from the rest of the concert area. So I realized that there was legitimately a 7 degree difference between the merch area and 3 steps forward from it. I spent the day shivering with a hood on, stapled to this table, starving, exhausted and cranky.

And then I had to watch Sebastian Bach's flabby armpit fat flap around as he relived his glory-days.

I did however get to redeem this atrocious work by getting to see Jimmy Eat World from backstage. And I did get a picture with the lead singer, Jim, which essentially made me pee my pants. But of course as soon as J.E.W. started playing, it started raining. So my picture with Jim looks like a picture of Jim and a swollen, pissed off, wet rat:

Don't even get me started on Warped Tour...

-moon

raging out at... un-hilarious money

2008-05-28T17:00:00.010-04:00

Ok, Ok, I know this blog is supposed to about things we are mad at, but today I discovered something so beautiful and joyous that I had to share the glory that is... "chucklebucks."

It all began with this...

An assault on Abe Lincoln. You may remember from a previous post that I wish to kick Abe in his long deceased gonads. So that was a victorious beginning for "chucklebucks," which are simply, as the name states, currency that makes me laugh.

So I then began to hunt around for other most hilarious bills. Here is what I found:

Now this isn't really that funny minus the fact that not only did some idiot give my old friend AJ (I am cool with him as opposed to Abe) Romanesque gear but felt the need to label it Sparta. The artist made certain I couldn't pretend it's Andrew Jackson masquerading as Mr. T so now I hate him. (You knew I had to put a wee bit o' rage somewhere in here.)

I used to think origami people were taking part in a useless hobby until today when I saw that majestic dollar bill folded into a stingray. Winner.

Classic Schrute buck. 'Nuff said.

I have no idea who this jerk on this bill is but he is actually so horrifying to me that his mere existence qualifies him as a "chucklebuck."

Ok, I know there's no funny drawing or clever saying and this is a run of the mill 50 dollar bill. Just wanted to point out Ulysses' beard. I hate it.

Apparently the marketing for the new Batman movie has run so rampant that they've even managed to reissue Joker Washington dollar bills. (My joke was not funny. I do not care. In your face, reader.)

And finally...

Just pointing out that when one googles hilarious drawings on money, you are treated to this old classic friend.

Feel free to submit your favorite "chucklebucks" in the comments.

-stars

grievance: television-advertised cd compilations

2008-05-14T01:19:00.004-04:00

I was just watching True Life: I'm Addicted to OxyContin (why do people insist on pronouncing this drug "Oxy Cotton"?) and a commercial came on which depressed me even more than the episode. It was for a CD compilation (early-90s style) called "BuzzCuts." I'm not really sure why it's called BuzzCuts. I think it's supposed to be some kind of clever pun, but I can't quite make the leap from music to hair.

It claimed to be a compilation of the "biggest and best alternative rock hits"... "OF ALL TIME." So I'd like to share with you the songs (and my bitchy commentary on such) considered to be the best... of ALL TIME. Because I can't quite understand how someone allowed this to go to press:

Disc 1
"Kryptonite," by Three Doors Down: how can a song be considered one of the best of all time when the lead singer is that annoying? Especially when they had a single which directly followed this ("Loser") which absolutely ruled. This song just blows. Wasn't there like a dude dressed as Superman in the video? Tackity tack tacky.

"Fat Lip," by Sum 41: I love when bands rip off Green Day. (Rolls eyes.)

"I Miss You," by Blink 182: I may be biased by the fact that this is the worst live band I've ever seen. I saw them at Irving Plaza and then again unwillingly at Claus Fest a couple of years ago and had to hide in the bathroom with my fingers in my ears. With that said, pretty stellar studio band. But "of all time"? Really?

"Blurry," by Puddle of Mudd: the gratuitous "d" vexed me so much that this had no chance.

"I'd Do Anything," by Simple Plan: not only is the lead singer Pierre the whiniest bitch ever, but he's also a huge asshole. Annnnnnnnd... this song says NOTHING.

"Celebrity Skin," by Hole: this is a real rock song. It's shirking in embarrassment to be on this compilation. I think they needed it for some street cred and edginess points.

"Sour Girl," by Stone Temple Pilots: my favorite thing about this is how the video clip looked ridiculously awful next to the other songs, quality-wise. If Scott Weiland were sober enough, I think he'd be pretty embarrassed that this is on here too... hmmm... same goes for Courtney Love.

"Running Away," by Hoobastank: how can you put an Incubus-rip off band on here and not Incubus?

"Hanging Around," Counting Crows: what?!

"Lakini's Juice," by Live: how do you not put something from "Throwing Copper" on here?!

"Hanging By A Moment," by Lifehouse: this band just confuses me. They're the predecessors to Nickelback in their ability to make all of their songs sound exactly, drearily the same.

"The Way," by Fastball: "alternative"??? Great tune, though.

"What It Is To Burn," by Finch: you're telling me anyone else in the WORLD knows this song but me? Ugh. Now I hate it.

"The Chemicals Between Us," by Bush: I don't even know this song. Probably because despite his hotness, Gavin Rossdale hasn't put out anything mildly resembling influence since... well... hmmm... "Machine Head" was decent.

"Smooth Criminal," by Alien Ant Farm: a band I absolutely adore, and also a band whose drummer peed on my foot in a hotel room in Texas. But c'mon! A Michael Jackson cover gets on the list for best of all time?

Disc 2
"Higher," by Creed: Oh. My. God. I'm gagging.

"Meant to Live," by Switchfoot: apparently "alternative" means "pop" now.

"Butterfly," by Crazytown: I love that a song by a castmember of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew is a one-hit wonder considered to be one of the best "of all time." (I can't get past the superlativity [yeah... that's not a word] of "of all time. Like, at all.)

"Hemorrhage (In My Hands)," by Fuel: I like this song. But the lyrics kind of scare the shit out of me.

"My Own Worst Enemy," by Lit: oh c'mon! You can't put the song with the video of a giant Pamela Anderson and a tiny band playing on her ass? That's way more rock 'n' roll. Also: from what I remember, this guy has some pretty intense sideburns. Kudos, sideburn man.

"I Will Buy You A New Life," by Everclear: another band whose songs all sound EXACTLY the same. But hey... unlike Nickelback, the one song is pretty good.

"Amber," by 311: oh lord. I love 311. And I love "Amber." But how typical.

"Somewhere Out There," by Our Lady Peace: good-band-does-rock-ballad-silliness. Blah!

"I Hate Everything About You," by Three Days Grace: ew, ew, ew, ew, ew. Ew.

... ew!

"Inside Out," Eve 6: was this commercial from 1999? I'm confused. Eve 6 is awesome, but... are we in a time-warp?

"Send the Pain Below," by Chevelle: see "I Hate Everything About You," by Three Days Grace. (Fine... just one more: "ew!")

"Wherever You Will Go," by The Calling: he's very blonde.

"Fly," by Sugar Ray: dude hosts Access Hollywood or one of those absurdist gossip shows. How "alternative" is that.

In summation, this CD sucks beyond measure. And I have no idea why anyone would buy this. Especially since anyone who is watching MTV2 at 1:00 Ante Meridiem probably downloaded all of these songs on Napster on dial-up at age 14.

... pshh. I know I did. (Hides from the hypocrisy.)

-moon

raging out at... the coachella edition

2008-04-28T19:09:00.007-04:00

Before I begin my usual rant on the finer points of suckage, I will first concede that Coachella is amazing. People are friendly; they just invite you to crash in their giant mansions upon meeting you. There are so many amazing and really strange things to see (and I'm not even talking about the bands). There's great music and tasty snacks. What's not to love? Well, you can always count on your old pal stars to find something to be pissed about. Or truth be told, some things.

1) The Impossibility of Finding Anyone
I haven't seen my friend Chris in over a year. He's back on the east coast and we seem to keep missing each other every time I'm back. We spent an entire weekend just a few hundred yards from each other and still couldn't manage to hook up. And it actually took nearly a full 24 hours for me to find my friend Erica who* I was STAYING with. Although I did get the consolation prize of the century with a David Hasselhoff sighting.

2) Shoddy Cell Phone Service
I am absolutely one of those people that is useless as a human when I'm without a cell phone. Seeing the evil "X" or no bars on my phone makes me want to spit venom especially when I am trying to meet up with someone, a la point numero uno. But the cell phone service at Coachella has an even more annoying factor to it. All weekend, my phone lied to me and told me I had full coverage but somehow just couldn't send or receive texts without some absurd multi-hour delay.

3) Pass "Situations" and Rude Security Guards
Much like Orion hates security guards who wield power just because they can, I too have a vendetta against evil, power-hungry security. Can someone explain to me why my sidestage pass that would allow me to actually go onstage would not let me into the VIP tent where approximately 2,500 people were allowed? Yeah, I can't either. According to the good folks at Coachella, I had permission to go backup dance during Prince's set, but could not share in the VIP beer? Height of rudeness.

4) Annoying Security Gripe Part Deux
They like to make you walk certain paths where there is all sorts of human pileup. Why? I don't know. Allowing people to use the whole road instead of a fenced in dustbowl would probably create less congestion. But what do I know?

5) VIP Parking
In an attempt to not come off as elitist, preferred parking is hard to come by unless you are actually handicapped. My lovely and wonderful Amanda took care of special parking for me. However, this special parking was actually farther away than the general public parking. I saw press people carrying 25 pound cameras and crazy amounts of equipment the half mile to the venue. I appreciate the idea of being able to park close when you are physically incapable of walking far (although if you are incapable of walking that far to the venue, you honestly probably shouldn't be at Coachella where everything is a solid quarter mile away from everything else in the first place) and I do understand that maybe I am a spoiled brat about being able to park where I want, but these press people were seriously fucked. So much for being VIP.

6) My Pink Hair
Okay, this is perhaps not a Coachella problem, but it certainly came to light in the drug-friendly environment that Coachella has come to be. My hair is currently a shockingly bright shade of pink and this somehow apparently screams to crazies that I am a drug dealer. For the record... I do NOT have ecstasy on me nor can I sell you some meth. And honestly wouldn't any drug dealer at a festival like that try to carry themselves with a little more discretion and maybe not have glow-in-the-dark hair? Just a thought.

7) Prince
He is overrated and garbage.

Sorry, Coachella, for making you the subject of my rageout. I truly had a lovely time and fully appreciate the tan you provided me! Until next year...

-stars

*whom

grievance: excessive air conditioning

2008-04-24T16:40:00.005-04:00

I will preface this by saying that I am always cold. Or at least on the cold side of the spectrum. As a result, I am angry and sullen during New York winters, which are pretty intolerable with wind tunnels through the streets because of buildings. I acknowledge that I probably like the climate to be a bit warmer than most (I tend to sit out in blaring heat and sun because it feels nice [I think I'm a cat] and have no problem with humidity [I was blessed with good hair]), however I assume that most people in New York welcome spring and summer when they come.

Apparently I'm fucking wrong.

The entire motherfuckin' city apparently desires it to be 39 degrees at all times. From where do I make this deduction? From the fact that the temperature of every fucking place a human being can control is pumped senseless with air conditioning.

Today is the first really warm day (76 degrees... girls wearing dresses and everything) and sure enough, I get on the bus, and the A/C is on so high that I'm shivering and I'm having difficulty hearing myself think from the "rrrrrrrrrrrr" of the system. Listen, on a 95 degree day, I'm as happy to enjoy a little conditioned air as much as the next guy, but 76 degrees? And the first day of nice weather? Aren't we jumping the gun a little bit?

Furthermore, everywhere I look, people are trying to invest in green campaigns to try to use the least amount of... well... anything we used to use. So why are we bangin' the A/C control up to the thick blue line, all the time? I don't need to feel a gust of FREEZING air every time I walk by a shop and someone is walking out of it. Seriously? We're using so much air conditioning that we're conditioning the air out-of-doors?

It's summer. I want to wear summer clothes. I don't want to carry around a fucking PARKA with me all day so I can wear it when I go inside these places. Enough is enough.

Plus, air conditioning feels weird. It feels creepy. I don't like it. Get a fan. And go fuck yourself.

-moon

raging out at... the puppy store

2008-03-30T00:48:00.004-04:00

Rewind: Christmas Eve 2005 (Or: My Sweetest Mistake).

At about noon on Christmas Eve, a little over two and a half years ago, my brother and I decided it was probably due time for us to begin (and finish) our holiday shopping. My mother wasn't what you would call. pleased with us, as our day of marathon shopping meant we wouldn't be around to help her with, or really get in the way of, Christmas preparations. Matt and I swore up and down that we had made a finely. tuned list as to what we needed and where we needed to procure it. After my brother swore he wouldn't again let me punch anyone whilst. fighting through an overly packed crowd of last minute shoppers, my. mother had no choice but to relent.

So off we went.

Our first stop was at the pet store to pick up gifts for all the extended family pets. (The Stars Family has a tendency to overdo it. Shocking.. While picking out a variety of toys, I spied the rowdiest Jack Russell Terrier with the sweetest face. Way too much money later, we had an addition to the Stars Family and a debacle of a Christmas shopping nightmare. All worth it.

Fast Forward: Yesterday.

I was strolling along Melrose in L.A. with a few of my favorite boys. (If there's anyone reading who has yet to check out Lights Resolve, do it). We stopped in The Puppy Store before the fantastic fun of haircut appointments was to begin. I spotted an amazing miniature French Bulldog and felt that another Christmas '05 moment was upon me.
I can't resist a sweet puppy face. I asked the Dr. Spock lookalike if I could please see the pup. Well, ladies and gentlemen, apparently Pretty Woman was based on fact and I was Julia Roberts. "Spock" gave me the attitude of the century and told me he would only take the dog out for customers who were serious.

Ok, what? I do not look like a homeless vagabond nor do the boys whom I was there with. despite their "rock band" status; I would gladly let any one of them babysit my child (if I had one). They look clean and respectable. And I have never once received money for sexual favors. (And NO, jerk, if you're reading this... cab fare and a t-shirt does not count.) So why the attitude?

I'm sorry that this blog has to again come crashing down on servicelology(thanks for the term, moon), but this was pure and total garbage. We
live in a world where "new money" is rampant. People like the dudes
from Jackass and thugged out looking rappers and porn stars can buy most of us out ten times over, so who is some Star Trek lookalike to assume
I'm not serious about a purchase? And, I live in LOS ANGELES where
there's an exponentially greater chance that any random on the street is some big-time movie producer's kid than in, say, Kenosha, Wisconsin.

Point is, though I'm none of those things, everyone deserves to be treated with a little bit of respect and not have assumptions made based on physical appearance. And I know if that was me wielding the very minimal power of being able to TAKE PUPPIES OUT OF THE CAGE (cool job, by the way, "Spock"), every time I busted an attitude, I'd be afraid I was pissing off Spielberg's daughter.

-stars

grievance: the worst airplane ride ever

2008-03-28T13:35:00.004-04:00

Okay. I admit that part of the cause for what culminated in "the worst flight" in aviation history had something to do with me. I realized, the day before I was supposed to go to Puerto Rico for a much-needed respite from the world, that the looming paper deadline on the horizon was actually due the day after we were supposed to get back to NYC... at 9:45 A.M. And our flight was getting in at 1 A.M. So, I'd spent a bunch of "beach time" reading JSTOR articles about fallacious, semicompetitive village elections in China. (And had to spend FORTY THREE dollars on printing some of these out at the business center of our hotel. Meh.)

So... When I got on the plane to come back home, I was all kinds of prepared to just bang out this paper. And then the flight-from-hell began. The young man in front of me felt it was acceptable and appropriate to wail his arms about and yell in my face to get my attention (I was on my computer and had earplugs in so as to preempt any kind of vexing behavior by other jetBlue patrons).

"Yo, you gots a credit card?"

Bewildered and bemused, I told him that I did, in fact, have one.

"My buddy ain't got one and they not takin' cash and he wants-a get a drink. You put it on your card and he cu pay you back?"

Okay. This dude had already banged the hell out of his seat (which slammed into my computer on the tray table every time) and had been yelling like he was in a bar. But I thought "hey, this would be a nice thing to do." So I did.

Then the entire thing caused such a commotion that all of the flight attendants were in the aisle, trying to figure out this stupid situation. When I asked her for another tomato juice, she smiled and said "would you like some vodka with that?" I really would have. But the fuckin' China democratization paper. Ugh.

Then these fucking bastards essentially start jumping up and down like monkeys, laughing, banging seats. Acting like real classy characters. So I went to sit by the window.

Still fucking distracted as hell by the three d-bags, now there was also a woman in front of me sitting on her knees somewhat turned to her boyfriend, massaging him, and essentially staring at me. At first it was annoying. Then it was severely disturbing and creepy.

So, after all of these frustrations and only 2 pages of writing done, even with earplugs, I decided to take a mini nap and finish up later.

I woke up when they made the announcement that we'd be making our descent into New York.

The three d-bags were still acting like d-bags, so THAT was awesome.

I looked out the window and tried to calm down. After all, I'd just had an amazing and relaxing vacation: so relaxing a vacation was it that the only complaints I could think of (and I tried hard) were:
1. Grievance: The Terribly Annoying Noise of the Ocean Waves Crashing on the Beach
2. Grievance: Warm, Beautiful 85 Degree Weather in March
3. Grievance: Pina Coladas Melting Too Quickly in the Sun
4. Grievance: Having a Balcony
5. Grievance: Outlet Stores Closing Too Early
6. Grievance: Accidentally Falling Asleep Because You're Too Relaxed
So that's just a few. Not my best work, I concede. It's hard to be prickly in paradise.

In any event, just when I'm starting to calm down from the annoyance, there's some turbulence. I love turbulence. It's like a rollercoaster. I've never had a bad flying experience in my life, so I don't take it too seriously. But this went on for about 3 minutes and then got worse. And then it got really bad. And I looked over at one of the d-bags and he was praying. And I laughed. And then it got REALLY bad. And REALLY scary. And then I looked out at the wing and it looked like it was battling a fucking enemy. And it was pouring. I actually seriously thought the plane was going down and we were going to die.

I was sweating and shaking and about to start crying. When we finally landed, I was unbelievably nauseated. But I was also in some weird shock and was so anxiety-ridden that I couldn't even speak or look at lights. It was horrifying.

I was still in shock when we got home. So I started drinking Bacardi out of the bottle to loosen up to write the rest of the damned paper. I got myself to bed at 5A.M.

I have no recollection of what I put into the second part of that paper, so that should be interesting to say the least.

I regret I do not have pictures or video of the three d-bags, because I was so stunned by the experience I couldn't make it happen. I do however have a picture that will make you all, including myself now that I'm back in dreary New York, quite jealous.

From now on, I think I'm going to have to be one of those CRAZY bitches who pop a Xanax before they fly. Here's to unnecessary pharmaceuticals!

-caribbean moon

grievance: "you'll see me again!"

2008-03-21T01:05:00.011-04:00

My response: "what if I don't want to see you again? What if I never wanted to see you in the first place? What if you're not talented enough to be 'seen again'? What if you're as ugly as the lead singer of New Found Glory and the idea of seeing your face again makes me nauseated?"

Rewind. To what is this my hypothetical response? Mother effin' people on reality TV shows who get voted off and say "You'll see me again!"/"This isn't the last you'll be seein' of me, America!"/"This is only the beginning for me; I'll be seein' you, America!" Enough. When has anyone EVER been voted off of a reality TV contest and been seen again EVER? For that matter, when has anyone who's ever WON a reality TV contest ever been seen again? Rephrase: ...ever gone on to do respectable things in their career? Join in with me, everyone, "NEVER!"

I was originally put off by this whole practice (it's become the reality TV show version of "I'd like to thank Jesus") when I saw David Hernandez get kicked off of American Idol last week. (Go to 2:45 to see this hubris-filled declaration.)

Okay. Great. You're consoling yourself on national television by giving false hope to yourself that this ain't the end of the journey (despite the atrocious The-End-Has-Cometh music Ruben Studdard has recorded for this season [note: Ruben Studdard: perfect example of NEVER SEEING SOMEONE AGAIN]). We will NEVER see you again. I will not even know your name in a week. Sorry.

Another wondrous consolation to the American people that we shall not be forgetting the visage of yet another "loser": go to 4:45 to watch Rami lose on Project Runway.

Apparently this has truly become protocol for "how to lose a worthless television show": promise to come back! Dude, you were nothing before this show. You will be nothing after. It's almost like a line from the Great Gatsby. Except the dude from Survivor is NOT Gatsby. And America is NOT Daisy. And it doesn't even matter, 'cause Daisy ends up killing someone and being a miserable fuck. And Gatsby dies. Actually... you know what, reality loser? Be Gatsby. Die. Or no. Don't die. Just shut the fuck up and lose gracefully.

The most astounding thing, however, is that now reality WINNERS are actually promising to show their faces again. Go to 6:20 to see Christian win Project Runway. WHY are you promising to be around again? You WON. Isn't that enough?

FIERCE!

-moon

raging out at... the shape of teeth

2008-03-17T21:17:00.005-04:00

I don't think dentists should hang up giant teeth replicas in their offices. They resemble too greatly the ghosts from PacMan and the receptionists have too great an attitude when you inquire as to why they would hang up Inky. Then a bigger attitude when you apologize and say, "or perhaps it is Clyde."

-stars

grievance: annoying humans

2008-03-17T01:35:00.009-04:00

I have been taciturn with respect to this issue, because honestly, how do you broach as large a complaint as essentially "Grievance: The Human Race"? Plus, it makes me sound incredibly prickly and cranky to be hating on everyone in the world.

But after having stood on line at Duane Reade a few days ago with 6 of the most obnoxious teenaged girls in the world, screaming about what candy they were buying to one another, and walking away from the experience wanting to punch a baby in the ear, I've decided that I generally don't like human beings.

This is a blog. I like to write. But there is nothing better to sum up my irritation with the general public than this video by Jed Davis' band, the Hanslick Rebellion. It happens to be hysterical and a great song, but it is also informational. It is called "You Are Boring the Shit Out Of Me" and truthfully, people, you most likely are boring the shit out of me. As Chris Rock asks in his "Bigger and Blacker" comedy special, [paraphrase] "why don't ya go out and have somethin' happen to ya? Why don't ya get kidnapped or some shit?"

"You Are Boring The Shit Out Of Me"

Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck off.

Truth be told, I probably bore the shit out of you too.

-moon

shit that sucks: nightclub clusterfuck sxsw edition

2008-03-15T18:39:00.003-04:00

Born and raised in New York, I was taught that there is nothing cool enough to wait on line for. Thus I learned the ability to talk my way "in" anywhere at anytime. And in New York you can do that.

As this is the SXSW edition of my occasional contribution to the now officialy domained site, I am in Austin, Texas at a festival where everyone is of the same thought process as I and thus everyone feels entitled to walk right in everywhere. Even the Playboy party.

Yes that's right readers of my-occasional-posts - I know I should blog more but I watched "The Secret" and am trying to be more positive -- I attended my first Playboy party.

"Rock the Rabbit" occurred on the second night of the festival and turnout was absurd. The party was set up to hold 800 people and the list was comprised of over 3,000 names. Catch is: I actually belonged there, as an artist I worked with was playing... No one seemed to care though.

After insisitng over and over that I hadn't the time to wait online and was needed inside I was told that the artist could "still play the instruments without my being present" and thus again was told to wait on line.

After arguing some more, the door guy who looked like Real World/Road Rules Challenge frat boy reject told me he knew what he was doing as he'd been doing it for the last five years.

Really?? Is that so?? You are so good at your dead-end job that after five years you know how to deny people entry to a place they need to be? Awesome.

I explained that it was clearly the first time in his five years of emploie that he had gotten to work an event that anyone would care to attend and thus got to have his first occupational powertrip. A proverbial rush of blood to his head.

Long story short, I got in, and aforementioned artist killed it. I didn't mind seeing Pete Townsend either, or the numerous Playboy Bunnies in attendance.

Signing off for this year's SXSW.

-orion's belt buckle

grievance: the mta

2008-03-13T23:48:00.009-04:00

FUCK the MTA. Yes, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. Seriously. I suppose that I have to address the "fare hike" here despite the fact that this isn't why I'm raging out at the MTA. The problem I have with the fare hike isn't that I can't deal with paying 5 more dollars on a monthly unlimited MetroCard. The problem is in that if you do NOT buy a monthly and get a 20- or 40-dollar card, you end up with a random-ass balance on your card which you need to put extra money on to validate its existence. You get less of a discount. So you end up with 10 rides, and a dollar-fifty left or something like that. (Details of inanities be not my forte.) Fuck off. I'm not loading 50 goddamned cents onto my card. Bunch of bullshit.

I'm not going to delve into an intricate explanation and divertissement of the fact that this fare hike is a bunch of bullshit because it's going to maintain the current debt situation of the MTA, not to help ameliorate the transit system. Because that's a whole different can o' worms. Although, come to think of it, if you paid your "staff" better, MTA, my problem never would have happened...

On the way to work Saturday eve', I was on the M15 which, for those of you who do not live in New York City, or are of the breed who "doesn't do buses" despite using subways, runs up First and down Second Avenues. Directly after the bus left the Delancey Street "station," I hit the "button." (I like using quotation marks.) And the stupid asshole voice came on saying "Stop Requested," akin in ennui level to "Stand Clear of the Closing Doors Please." A block before Grand Street, I got up to get off the bus, and saw a co-worker, who I did not know was on the bus as well, getting up too. And then all of a sudden, I see him hit the strip again.

And we go zooming past Grand Street. We're on the CUSP of being late for work, so when we stop at the next light, which is before the next stop, i.e. Canal Street, I go up to the bus driver and explain that I had IN FACT hit the strip, and asked politely if we could get off while we were stopped since we were trying to get to work on time.

We were STOPPED. It's not as if I was asking him to do me a favor. He NEGLECTED to stop after I had requested the stop. And I was just asking him to OPEN the doors where we were. Also, important: NOT ONE OTHER SOUL ON THE BUS besides my coworker and me.

That was just MEAN.

Furthermore, yesterday I waited for the very same bus line up on 67th Street and Second Avenue for TWENTY-TWO MINUTES. The bus panel said "every 6 or 7 minutes" for my time arena. It was freezing. I finally, after waiting in the cold, had to pay 10 bucks for a cab ride in a straight line along the bus route.

And with what was I greeted? STUPID TAXITV.

-moon

raging out at... "appointments"

2008-03-11T16:14:00.005-04:00

As I sit here fanning the flames of someone else's rage, I'm finding myself getting increasingly worked up over an issue that hasn't presented itself to me in quite some time. This particular issue, however, is so infuriating that even if it's been 12 years since you've encountered it, it is likely to cause a surge of anger so great that you render yourself immobile.

I'm talking of course about doctors' office "appointments." Right now (and probably for the next 17 days), my friend Riana is sitting in the doctors' office waiting for an appointment that was scheduled for approximately last Tuesday. Why is it that the concept of appointments is just a far-fetched ideal for doctors? And has anyone ever been taken in at the time they were scheduled for? I've even gone so far as to make the first brutal 7am appointment of the day and somehow they're still backed up. How?? I'm the only one in the office!

I'm so pissed. Post your thoughts and prayers for Riana in the comments section.

-stars

raging out at... "fix-it" tickets

2008-03-06T17:20:00.006-05:00

Somehow it seems whenever I am minding my own business and trying to have a nice day, the police take that as a sign to bust me for absolutely no reason. It's rude. I don't interfere with them trying to enjoy a nice time and I would really appreciate the same respect.

The other day I was driving back from my old boss, and current business partner, Laura's house in Santa Monica. The weather was L.A.-perfect. We held our meetings as we walked along the beach in early March. I, being a born and bred Northeasterner, still can't get over mid-January ocean romps and walking to the store in shorts mid-winter. I love everything about it.

So yeah, the day was bright and beautiful. I was filled with good news and fresh hope on new plans. So why wouldn't the stupid Los Angeles 5-0 pull me over to burst my shiny little bubble? And so the fiasco begins...

Enter Officer Yu and his flashing lights. It took me about 3 blocks to even pull over because as I was doing NOTHING wrong, I assumed they were trying to get around me. I finally pull to the side of the road after their loudspeaker blares out, "Miss, in the silver Nissan, we are flashing at you. Stop driving like we are going to forget. Pull over!" I, of course, glanced around for other women in silver Nissans and when I found none, pulled my car to the side of the road.

Par for the Stars course, I don't have my license, registration or non-existent insurance in my car. So Officer Yu takes pity on me and doesn't impound my car but gives me 3 different "fix-it" tickets.

"Fix-it" tickets are total trash. He sat there in his stupid little squad ensuring that I did in fact have a valid driver's license and a valid registration. But now I have to go to court and show them the actual paperwork and the tickets will be considered null and void. Now, if the state isn't going to make any money on these tickets once I can prove I'm valid, why waste the taxpayers' money and my time by sending me to court? I'm so mad.

-stars

shit that sucks: lost addiction

2008-03-05T00:28:00.009-05:00

This blog is often used to vent and complain and discuss frivolous everyday miscellany. Tonight, however, I would like to do a very special episode. An after-school special if you will, and discuss something serious.

For years I've been hearing how great Lost is. A while back, on a shitty rainy night, I went out and bought season one on DVD. I watched the first two discs, and liked it, but for some reason never finished.

So, all of a sudden, as a result of the writers' strike, there is nothing on television other than painful reality shows. Shit that sucks: the Real Housewives of New York edition coming tomorrow - so I decide I need to take up a new series.

ABC, unlike every other network, got the right idea, and put the COMPLETE series up for streaming in HD for free on their site. Put it this way: I started watching about five days ago, and I've just finished season 2. That's forty four episodes. Forty four hours of television in five days watched on a laptop.

I would write more about how much this addiction is taking over my life, but I have to begin season 3 now.

-orion's belt buckle

raging out at... 5am

2008-03-02T07:07:00.002-05:00

5AM can officially blow my ass. It is never a pleasant experience, no matter from which side I hit it. 5 AM either means I'm exhausted or a few short hours away from a fierce hangover.

Today's 5AM is particularly evil. What's so particularly vile about this early morning terror? Well, let's take into account the fact that I moved 2 days ago so my sleep has been infrequent at best. (Especially when you add the facts that I consistently interrupted my packing to get drunk, go to shows, and watch Season 2 of Dexter [a little disappointing] into the equation.)

But getting up at 5AM to drive 4 hours to Las Vegas to attend a high tea... I have no words. I don't even know what high tea means, but I have no doubts it's nearly as intoxicating as it sounds.

Also currently rageful that Moon saw Hillary last night and Stars did not.

-stars

grievance: american idol's boys looking like women

2008-02-27T11:35:00.013-05:00

I will admit that there is no point to this stream of thought; nonetheless, I felt obligated to ask of someone, anyone, this politically-incorrect, socially-unprincipled, consciously-unbridled question:

Why do all of the boys on American Idol look like/"want" to look like women? Furthermore, they all essentially SING like women. Their ranges are super high and they are constantly using lofty, diva-like vibrato.

I have no problem with individual inclinations toward femininity amongst men, make no mistake please. I am just curious about the cause of, and totally baffled by, this bizarre social phenomenon.

Truth be told, I wasn't following this season. (I've been lackadaisical with my television-watching because I watch about 5 shows on television, of which most are not of the reality type and have thus been dormant. [Note: this is not a direct result of my having "good" taste in television. I like shitty, shitty TV. I just don't particularly love reality shows. I'm not a snob about it. I just hate stupid people.])

In any event, I happened upon last night's "boys' performance round" on American Idol, having missed most of the performances. At the end of the show, when they give a quick, 10-second playback of each performance, I was entirely caught off guard to see what I thought to be actual women. I take serious issue with this because American Idol's stylists, wardrobe people, etc. are making these dudes look like chicks:

Yes, that is the same guy. Has metrosexuality taken over the media in such a tempest that I, a native Manhattanite, am unable to identify gender? Pish posh.

-moon

grievance: bar etiquette (silly cocktails)

2008-02-21T13:08:00.010-05:00

There are plenty of blogs which come from the standpoint of a bartender or someone who works in service about all the fucked up shit that customers do. So I've been blog-reticent on this matter, in the hopes of not being redundant.

But oh my stars, each and every one of these following drinks is ordered each and every time I bartend. And each and every time, I want to take a pint glass, smash it on the bar and scratch the customer's face out with that beautiful serrated translucence. So in an attempt to NOT go to jail for assault, I've decided to use my experience for good and share with you all...

Drinks to Order If You Want the Bartender to Laugh At You:
1. SoCo/lime shots. Usually ordered by: a douchebag who played football in high school, majored in business or political science, and is currently working at his daddy's company. Always ordered in a gratuitous quantity, like TEN, to give to all his buddies, i.e. the vapid blonde chicks he's with. You know them: the ones who bring purses nice enough to have to wipe the bar with a beverage napkin before putting it down. And the douchebag dudes that look JUST like him, also wearing popped-collared-Polo shirts. Southern Comfort is fucking DISGUSTING.

2. Red Bull mixed with top-shelf vodkas, especially, but not limited to Grey Goose. If you're drinking Red Bull with liquor, you're essentially a crack head. Red Bull, while I do love it solo, is like carbonated SHIT. And if you're mixing it with booze, it's probably nighttime. Nobody needs that kind of caffeine after noon. Your goal with this kind of "cocktail" is essentially to have a heart attack, die, or throw up. It doesn't matter if it's house vodka or fucking Belvedere. You just sound like an asshole.

3. Partially connected to number 2, STOP ORDERING GREY GOOSE. It really isn't that great a vodka. You're paying for a name that you think is trendy and respected. It really isn't.

4. You have no place ordering a dirty martini, (of course, with Grey Goose) at a rock bar. For that matter, the fact that anyone would think such bars would serve mojitos is simply ludicrous. There are people smashing into you from behind, left and right trying to get a drink. You think I'm going to muddle mint leaves? You deserve to be choked with a lime for even asking.

5. If you order Jager bombs or Irish car bombs, you are automatically an asshole.

6. If you order Jager shots, surfer on acid shots, or red-headed slut shots, you are automatically a douchebag. For that matter, kamikazi shots, lemon drop shots and buttery nipple shots make you a fucking pussy.

7. Anything "sour," namely whisky sours, amaretto sours, or (ugh) Midori sours. No, no, no. Those, along with Malibu bay breezes, are also a huge tip off to "I'm 16 years old." If you ARE 16 years old, think of a better drink. If you're NOT 16 years old, message to you: be a bigger loser.

8. I understand that somewhere along the way somebody decided to turn "vodka and tonic" into "vodka tonic," and "vodka and cranberry" into "vodka cranberry." I don't know why, but the linguistic transformation has happened. With that said, there is no such thing as a "gin tonic." Stop ordering them from me. It's just weird.

9. Stop drinking Jose Cuervo. Seriously. It's a Mexican dude pissing in a bottle.

10. Girls, stop drinking cosmopolitans and apple martinis if you're doing it because you think you're Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City. I can ALWAYS tell. You're not fabulous. You're probably FAT from drinking all that sugary, sugary crap. If you're wearing a tutu with leggings and expensive shoes, you deserve a smack in the head.

-moon

raging out at... ryan gosling

2008-02-20T16:56:00.003-05:00

"I mean, God bless The Notebook," Gosling says. "It introduced me to one of the great loves of my life. But people do Rachel and me a disservice by assuming we were anything like the people in that movie. Rachel and my love story is a hell of a lot more romantic than that."

Where does one get in line for that?? And who knew it got better than The Notebook?

I'll be sharpening my razors if anyone needs me.

-stars

rageful grievance: purse casualties

2008-02-19T23:00:00.003-05:00

Stars' Original Post:

Dear Cigarettes,

Stop FUCKING spilling out in my bag and ruining good smokeables. I'm tired of reaching into my bag for chapstick and coming out with a handful of tobacco.

Your old friend,

Stars

Moon Addendum:

I agree wholeheartedly. Especially when it gets in the cracks of lip gloss containers. Smearing glittering and tobacco-filled ointment to your lips is key. And I have evidence of a friend's purse dismay in the form of a picture:

-moon/stars

grievance: taxitv

2008-02-19T21:03:00.010-05:00

There are very few problems I have with the concept of taxi-cabs. At the top of the list of merits of cabs may be the fact that I do not even possess a driver's license (and got my permit at age 19). A direct consequence of this is not having to elect a poor sap to be "designated douchebag" for the night. And I certainly love anything that facilitates inebriation. There are, of course, other aspects of the concept of taxis which I do love. However, concepts do not always pan out as intended.

In reality, a lot of cab drivers are assholes. And the ones who aren't ALWAYS want to chit-chat with you ONLY when you aren't in the mood to talk (e.g. when you're [spoken very quickly and in one breath, in my typical overdramatic fashion] rushing to school via cab because there is a test and you overslept and you need to take a last-minute look at your notes during the ride and the cabbie wants to ask you how to arrange 9 chairs evenly around a rectangular table [true story]). And there is simply NO polite way to say "shut the fuck up." None at all.

An even larger percentage drive like they're in a high-speed car chase or a car-simulation video game. However, I am not on the run from the police nor will I have another "life." I'm not a Super Mario Brother.

So now I present to you the newest thing to grace taxis - and the WORST since 1996 when they decided to install recordings to play when the driver would hit the meter. These were terrible because they were spoken either in a terrible Staten Island accent, telling you to "rememba to tsake you-wa belawngins when exsitin the tsaxi" or the one of which I have a blurry memory with, I believe, Eartha Kitt meowing or something and then, of course, reminding you to take your SHIT. I was in sixth grade so the memory is faded. Did Joe Torre do one... ?

Ladies and gentlemen, it's "TaxiTV." And it can go to hell.

It makes me furious. For those of you who have not been privy to (or forced into seeing) this atrocity, I shall explain. In keeping with (I suppose) the (unnecessary) technology of today, such as DVD screens in the backs of cars' headrests for children to be mollified, the Taxi and Limousine Commission has put fucking touch-screen "television" screens in the backs of taxicab partitions. This installation went hand-in-hand with credit-card-payment-ready cabs, and a GPS system. Why in the world the person in the back needs to see this screen, I've honestly no idea. (I'm going to break this aspect down because many people have claimed this to be the only real thing which can be defended):

A. If you get into a cab, you tell the driver where you're going and he takes you there. You don't tell him "make a right onto 56th street, then a left onto third avenue," etc. He knows. He does this for a living. Leave it to a professional. In fact, not only is this useless and erroneous information to give to a passenger, it's actually in some ways problematic, as it lends itself to "back-seat-driver"-ness.
B. You have to hit approximately ten buttons to get to the map. It's not even convenient.
C. You're in fucking New York City. Look outside your fucking window. Even if you're in an un-fucking-familiar neighborhood, there are big, green signs on EVERY SINGLE corner of the ENTIRE CITY. Not to mention, with the exception of certain areas, the city functions on an ordinal, numerical grid-system. Reaaaaally? You need GPS? Douche.

Okay. So, you may ask, what other useless shit is on there that makes you so vehemently furious, moon? Well, I shall tell you.
- Garbage, filler shit that has been deemed uncontroversial and vanilla enough, such as 5-second reviews of movies. Thanks. I learned a lot in 5 seconds, Jeffrey Lyons.
- Zagat fucking restaurant shit. Dude, Zagat is pretty much everywhere I go these. Leave me alone, Zagat. Who do you think you are? John Mayer? (See "raging out at... john mayer.)
- Weather. Someone told me that they liked the weather portion. My rebuttal: if you're in a taxi, you've already BEEN outside. You don't need to be TOLD what the weather is if you've already EXPERIENCED it.
- "Don't forget to..." as an "Ask the 'Locals'" bit, with "locals," of course, being celebrities like Julianne Moore or something. And the advice is like "bring the stroller, even if the kids say they want to walk." I don't have kids. And also, what the fuck? I feel like taking advice from your child is never a good idea. The other one I can recall is "bring an extra roll of film." Shut the fuck up. I don't like this because I don't like being told what to do. Especially not by celebrities. Espeeeecially when they don't pertain to me (not only do I not have children, but I own a digital camera).
- Random, skewed, couple-days-old news clips. Just as they're about to tell you some actual information, some shit like the "Taxi Rider's Bill of Rights" comes on. Yes, the yellow sticky thing that used to be stuck to the back of the partition. That used to be the ONLY information you needed. And if I weren't so fired up about TaxiTV, I'd write about the absurdity of granting "rights" to passengers.

I think I've made, thus far, a pretty good case for why this advancement in technology is silly and stupid. But if those reasons don't make you angry, ladies and gentlemen, the real reasons I am furious about TaxiTV:

Fucking inane and incomplete "headlines" on the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Is it not enough that you're in TRANSIT and watching television? You need another thing going on? Dude. Adderall has NO chance against these forms of gratuitous stimulation for people with ADD/ADHD. Or AC/DC for that matter. (Yes, people have AC/DC, clearly.)
I thought I'd share some with you:
- "6.4-Magnitude Earthquake Shakes Mexico." (Ummm - that's kind of important... You couldn't put that on the screen itself?)
- "Polls Open For Potomac Primaries." (Okay, this actually tells me nothing. Are you telling me to go vote? I don't live there. Let me know when there are RESULTS.)
- "Clinton Attacks Obama's Contributors." (This isn't really news. It's how campaigns work. She needs cash. Cooooool campaign manager, Hill.)
- "Homes Evacuated After Semi Overturns, Leaks." (WHAT???? Semi-what?)
- "5 Crossover Vehicles Named Best For Family." (Cool. Care to share which...? No..? Just wanna tell us that 5 exist...? Great. Thanks. )
- "100 Years Easier to Reach Than You Think." (I know, now, that there was some study done that essentially says we will be able to live longer than the past generation. However, this "headline" says nothing. Who is "you"? Who the fuck are they to tell me how difficult I think it is to reach 100?)
- "Britons Sound Off Against Anti-Child Device." (Do Brits hate children? Is that what this is saying? I feel like I'm on Jay Leno.)
- "Clemens' Ex-Teammates Dropped as Witnesses." (Why??? Damnit. I want stories here.)
- "Top Sports Photos of the Week." (Seriously now. What??? I even tried tapping it in the hopes that it was a link to said photos. Nope. Which I guess is actually fine seeing as this is non-news.)
- "Canadiens Player Accused of Stealing Purse." (This is actually fucking amaaaaaazing! A professional hockey player is stealing purses? Love it. This is the one thing I obtained from TaxiTV. However, I have no idea about whom they're actually speaking. Typical.)
- "Weird Chronicles: Modern Music Musings." (This isn't anywhere NEAR a complete thought, let alone piece of news. I do appreciate the alliteration of "Modern Music Musings." I, however, have no idea what this is TRYING to say.)

These "headlines" make me furious. I never thought I'd find something worse than the Post. I was wrong.

With all of this said, and I think I've made a lot of great points, the number one reason I want to have a duel to the death with TaxiTV's creator is...

LOOKING AT IT MAKES ME FUCKING NAUSEATED.

And most people with whom I end up in a cab fight me on it and repeatedly put it BACK on. It makes me actually need to hurl, like reading in a car on a hot day.

Fuck off and die, TaxiTV.

-moon

raging out at... john mayer

2008-02-17T21:27:00.006-05:00

Okay, so yes, living in Hollywood, you're bound to have a celebrity neighbor or two. And living anywhere, you're bound to run into your neighbors fairly often. But sometimes, it goes above and beyond the call of neighborly duty and becomes borderline stalker creepy. Welcome to the case of The Gingers Vs. John Mayer. Leave us alone or give us a heads up that we are getting together for the 12th time this week. Two redheads in the foreground of every stalkerazzi picture of John Mayer? Probably us because he haunts our grounds. And we have had enough. Or not nearly enough.

It started for this Ginger years ago when I was a phone operator at a New York radio station. I was 19 years old and passed out asleep at 5 AM on a desk waiting for my shift to start. I could feel a body hovering over me. I fought to stay asleep until this gigantic body began strumming his guitar in an obvious attempt to annoy the piss out of me (or maybe he was warming up for a performance on the country's biggest pop station, but this blog is about me so shut your mouth.) Strike one, John. Don't bother me at 5 AM.

Fast forward to a few years later. I'm working at Mayer's label. Fine, he was there before me but still. My boss at the label sought out my number and called me. John's homebase was New York so without fail, there was a bi-weekly elevator encounter, including one time where the lights went out and we were stuck for about 45 seconds. (Did I pray to be trapped there forever? Mind your business, I will not answer such questions.) Strike 2, John. (Yeah fine, strike 1 Stars for that. But I'm still winning according to golf rules.)

So not too long after leaving that job, I moved out to California. Guess who else decided to change time zones? Out here on the left coast is where things began to get absurd. I managed to avoid Mayer for nearly a year until shortly after the boy I was dating decided he was over it. So in faux celebration, 2 of my girlfriends and I decided to hit up a hotel bar which is no more than 1200 feet from my apartment.

We went in and ordered a round of drinks and I noticed a familiar looking man. I went up to him and tried to place how it was that I knew him. Turns out he was a member of Mayer's band and was in town with John to perform a special holiday show. Of course he was. And here's where it becomes excessive.

JJ invites us to the show and we of course agree. Mayer's stalkerish tendencies aside, he puts on a great show and I love all free things anyway. The next night we decide to hit up Chateau Marmont. Guess who rolls in? Shocking. My body remains a wonderland all over Los Angeles County. Next day we hit up the premiere of Walk Hard, which despite living in LA for a year is the first movie premiere I bother attending. Guess who's on the red carpet promoting his surprise cameo in the film? Yeah, my old buddy J Mizzle. Of course he was. Where else would he be? And is my invisible assistant tipping off the Mayer camp to my every move? Because honestly, I have friends and family I see far less than I see John. I'm actually hard-pressed to think of friends, family, or boyfriends I see more frequently than John. I'm coming up blank.

So as we know, I headed home to New York for the holidays. I hit up a restaurant in Gramercy for dinner with an old boyfriend. We enjoy a nice meal and a few laughs and exit the premises as John is entering. Is there a coast I where I can live in peace? No, Stars, there's only 2 and they're both tainted.

This morning was the final straw, however. Last week, I had a "date" (my god, I hate that word) and went over to Ginger's house to get myself together. A friend of ours decided she would be my angel and straightened my hair for me. This morning I get an IM from Ginger that reads, "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME. CHECK TMZ RIGHT THIS SECOND." I log in and there's my hair straightening friend smiling up at me, sitting at Katsuya with John. Now he has not only infiltrated both my homes, my Christmas vacation, all the bars I love, but my circle of friends too?

That's enough, John Mayer.

-stars

grievance: fucking shoegasm

2008-02-10T17:48:00.003-05:00

Okay. Enough is enough. I saw ANOTHER Shoegasm in downtown Manhattan (see "grievance: attempts at clever plays on words"). And apparently there is a third. Stop this folderol. Fuck you, Shoegasm. I've HAD it with your douchebaggery.

(Crowd "boo"-gasms.)

-moon

shit that sucks - subway edition

2008-02-10T16:39:00.004-05:00

Please don't get me wrong. I love the subway and would choose it over any other mode of transportation our fine city has to offer. It gets me where I need to go inexpensively and quickly - and I love all things fast, cheap, and out of control. However in my attempts to use our underground transport system this morning to get from point A to point B, I've assumed a few new gripes and would thus like to address this letter to the MTA. (Please note: I'm writing this on my BlackBerry while riding the 6, J. Lo style).

1. Service changes on weekends - just because it's the weekend doesn't mean that you should feel free to mess with my subway service. Why shouldn't the V run on weekends, and why shouldn't the F stop at 14th street this weekend? Seriously - why is that okay? The L isn't running either, so the MTA has suggested riding the M14 bus instead. As much as I love the subway, I detest the bus. I'd rather ride a fucking camel.

2. My one man mariachi band on 14th street and 6th avenue on the uptown F/V platform (which I couldn't access today because of service changes, see above) - I love music. I live for music. Seeing Susan Cagle play in the Union Square station when I take the 4, 5, or 6 makes me really happy. As do drummers banging on buckets Bring-In-Da- Noise-Bring-In-Da-Funk Style, or even strange old women playing exotic Asian woodwind instruments - though I despise the instances when they're playing simultaneously, 2 feet from each other and not jamming with one another but rather each playing their own cacophonous shit. I love steel drum players. They transport me from waiting on the platform to being on a Caribbean vacation. What I hate is the dude that's taken up residence on my subway stop, exactly in the spot I wait for the train every weekday morning, playing Mariachi music on his guitar while beaming the most offensive shit-eating grin that says "yeah I know this is annoying you and I don't care." We need more subway accordion players like they have in Paris on the Metro that make me feel like I'm the male Audrey Tauteua starring in Amelie. Can we import some please?

3. The attempted humor of the MTA's educational signs - signs about not tripping on the platform, riding the subway while dying, not giving money to panhandlers, and (my favorite) not leaving your newspaper on the train, are not really funny. No puns like "the best news is a clean train. Throw out your newspaper" are amusing. In fact I leave my post on the seat of a V train every day in the hopes of saving some fellow straphanger 25 cents and informing them of Lindsay Lohan's recent falling-off-the-wagon-ness. As far as the other signs go - why are we telling people not to help out the homeless? And, really, do we need signs saying not to hurl on the train? If you're dumb enough to ride the train while profusely bleeding or gushing a pus rash you probably can't read that sign anyway, nor will you find a statement like "we want you to feel good when you ride" amusing.

Okay I've arrived at my destination.

Dear MTA,

Please take these suggestions under consideration.

Best,
Orion

Addendum - signs telling you to hold on to the poles in the subway cars and the rails on the escalator - I have the art of freestanding subway surfing down to a science and escalators really aren't that difficult to maneuver on. On the other hand, while I'm not a germaphobe I would reckon that those poles and rails contain more bacteria than a shitmonkey's asshole - yes a shitmonkey - and touching them should be acceptable only while wearing gloves or if it is the final challenge standing between you and a cash prize on Fear Factor. Even then I'd want a bathtub of Purell standing by.

-orion's belt buckle

raging out at... my top 10

2008-02-10T00:53:00.002-05:00

Today is a special day when so many things have created a swelling rage within me that I can not stick to one topic. I must instead introduce my first annual (or however frequently, or infrequently, I feel like doing it) Top 10 Rage list.

In no particular order...

10) My Roommate's Piece of Trash DVD Player
I will readily admit that I am absolutely the kind of girl that reads the novel before the movie comes out so I can snidely look like a pompous ass walking out of the theater saying, "can you even believe they left out the 3rd word in the 4th paragraph on page 26? The whole movie couldn't have possibly made any sense to anyone who didn't read the book." Now this attitude (and it is a stretch, but bear with me) is why I'm pissed off at the DVD player. Dexter, from what I hear, is this brilliant amazing show that I haven't seen. I've had the DVDs laying around and I, of course, have not yet unwrapped them and bothered to watch the show. Of course all it takes is for me to hear that it's coming to CBS and I immediately raced to watch. How could I bitch and moan about how much better the cable version is if I had not seen it? So clearly to keep my grandiose sense of entitlement, I attempt to watch the DVDs today and the DVD player tells me the disc is incompatible. Living with my roommate for a year, I have yet to put a disc in there that does actually work. So now I'm watching dexter on my laptop while the stupid DVD player screen mocks me in the background. I will be going out in the morning to purchase a cinnamon raisin bagel to see if that might be compatible for it. Or at least cross my fingers that DVD players are capable of being choked.

9) Lying Contact Lens Manufacturers
Yes, I know I shouldn't sleep in my contact lenses. And yes, I do it anyway. Almost every night. But I did have the good sense to order the extra oxygen, let-your-eyes-breathe contacts which are supposed to be "okay" to sleep in. Are they? No, they are not. Can I find my glasses? Nope, I certainly cannot. Am I going blind and might this blog be the last thing I ever see? Well now there's one question that gets a yes. Don't offer me extra fake oxygen. It's rude.

8) Javier Bardem
I legitimately can't sleep most nights or go into a convenience store to buy cigarettes anymore as I spend the entire time in a panic waiting for Javier Bardem to come in and airwhip me to death. I'm scared enough of the eye doctor's airpuff. If I ever see Javier Bardem anywhere near me, I will drop dead of a heart attack long before he can get near me with that deadly canister. Frick, now I'm thinking about him again. My roommate will be mad if she comes home and once again can't get in the door because I've created my traditional Bardem Barricade.

7) Lost
Okay (and I'm sure Orion is going to correct me... which reminds me, stay tuned next week for a special orion/stars west coast edition), but Lost is quite possibly the best show of its genre on network television. I would maybe allow Pushing Daisies in a ring against Lost, but any show where the lead actor is a pie-maker is somewhat genre-less. (I will categorize TV based on bakery treats as often as I want and based on the one time I have ever done this [just now], it has proven to be a remarkably efficient and precise classification method.)
But here is my big problem with Lost. And no, it is not how they always quickly and thoroughly answer all my questions within minutes of them being posed, or how it isn't frustrating at all that they do something absurd and never again approach the topic. Actually I've changed my mind. Those are my big problems with Lost. But even more pressing and tragic than that problem is that the costume designer keeps putting a shirt on Sawyer. I believe it's a Biblical reference - that you do not hide your light under a barrel - so the costume designers are pretty much telling God to shove it by shirting the ever majestic Sawyer. That's just not cool.

6) My Supermarket Discount Card
The supermarket discount cards belong to a conglomerate that is also home to such things as socks in the dryer and every Bic lighter I've ever owned. They are objects which are fleeting in my life. They come and bring me joy for a short time and then are just as quickly lost, though not forgotten. There was a period of perhaps 6 or 7 trips in a row to Ralph's when I signed up for a new card because the old one was in the Great Abyss. And my phone number also magically never works.
So I finally have given up and have picked up the habit of punching in my old gentleman friend's phone number. (At least "Pinehog" is good for something). So thanks for the discount, "Pinehog," and you can send me a small gourmet cheese platter for all the points I've wracked up for you in the Ralph's Wine Club. (Come on, who thought I was shopping for a well balanced meal?)

5) Brittny Gastineau
That girl can suck whichever of my butt cheeks is her preferred. A few nights ago, I was walking into a bathroom stall at some Grammy party (God, living in LA is awful) and Brittny Gastineau literally enters the stall with me and yells "Is Paris in here?" Now I've had about a gigaloot of champagne (and yes I did make up that word but it truly is how much champagne I had) and have no idea who this chick is and even if I did, we certainly aren't cool like that for her to join me in a tiny bathroom stall. So the remainder of the conversation goes something like this:

Stars: I have no idea who Paris is.
Brittny: You've got to be fucking kidding me. Where is Paris?
Stars: I'm not sure if you're aware of how tiny this stall is, but the chance of Paris being in here is pretty marginal.
Brittny: You fucking bitch. Tell her I need her.

Okay, what? I'm making it a life rule that D-list celebrities are never welcome in any bathroom stall I'm in. Ever. I have to debate where A-, B-, and C-listers fall on my stall privilege rule. I will get back to you.

4) T-Mobile Sidekicks
I don't have to justify this to anyone who has ever owned a shitkick. Mine is basically being held together by dental floss and a prayer right now. It never works and yet I remain just immature enough to not want to switch to a BlackBerry.

3) My Landlord
My lease is up in less than a month and par for my course, I'm moving, so they're renting out the apartment. With zero forewarning, my landlord barges in with 2 girls to check out the apartment. I was actually head half down in a beer on one couch with a half naked singer/songwriter on the other couch, his head in some Tostitos. We did not need witnesses to that hungover moment. Nor can I imagine it's great for his career to have a spotting of that nature.

2) Tylenol P.M.
I'm a notorious insomniac and I used to be able to trust in my old friends Simply Sleep or Tylenol P.M. in a pinch. Apparently those things are now as effective as a Flintstones gummy vitamin. It's laughable - the non-existent purpose they serve. I don't even get drowsy. I think it may actually have the adverse effect. The next time I go to run one of my half marathons I'm going to pop a Tylenol P.M. I will be sure to finish in record time.

And the top of the Rageout List, the gold medal of suckage prize goes to...

1) CNN.com
Of course I followed the presidential primaries, obsessively checking each number as they came in. And I was delighted with the turnout and pretty much rooting CNN on as their winner projections were coming in quicker than any of the other news channels. But when you click for the more detailed state-by-state delegate breakdown, it informs you in big purple letters which of the candidates no longer have a snowman's chance in hell of winning. Obviously there's quite a few down-and-out candidates who are basically being mocked in lavender by CNN.com for having no votes. But somehow Mike Gravel, winner of maybe not even his own vote, has a big fat zero next to his name, but has escaped the Lilac Mockery. I will be creating "congrats on the goose egg, Gravel" in an array of purple hues to show I think he showed as terrible of a showing as all the other candidates... sans, of course, my beloved Hillary.

-stars

grievance: native english speakers attacking foreigners' english

2008-02-09T15:17:00.003-05:00

Let me first say that this is not an act of repentance for having (possibly) offended anyone with either my "English 101" blogs: those blogs are intended to castigate native English speakers because IT IS YOUR FIRST (AND/OR ONLY) TOOL FOR COMMUNICATION, and there is no excuse to not use it well and be proud of your written and spoken word.

It is furthermore not repentance for having offended anyone in my "Foreigners Speaking Too Loudly" blog. Foreigners DO speak too loudly and my theory about this fluoresced as I walked out of class yesterday (furious about this new "rageout target") and joined people screaming in Spanish. Don't get it. I really don't. And I digress.

I was in class yesterday... Oceanography class. Life lesson: don't leave core requirements to your last semester. Bleh.

In any event, the professor's first language is clearly not English. And I actually don't know what her first language is. However... HOW-EV-ER... her English is pretty damned near impeccable. And I just got out of an Astronomy lab taught by an adjunct who A. didn't give a shit about the class and B. LEGITIMATELY did not speak English. (That was fun.) Again: do not leave core requirements to your last semester.

In any event, this BITCH in the class decides she will take it upon herself to CORRECT the professor's English. CORRECT THE PROFESSOR'S ENGLISH?! I don't even do that when English is his or her first language. That's a respect issue. My question to this bitch in the class is "have you ever stood in front of a hundred people and posited that you INDUBITABLY KNEW the answers to all questions on some particular discipline? My guess is no. And if you have, you certainly haven't done it in a language that is NOT YOUR FIRST!" Seriously. The task of being comfortable enough in another language to speak as an authority comes with a lot of pressure. And to bust this nice woman's balls about her having said "most thin" instead of "thinnest" is pretty much complete and utter garbage. (Yes, that actually happened; yes, I've been writing this stuff down; yes, I understand that is not conducive to actually learning.)

The only time speech correction really works (from one person to another) is if there is a systematic error in the speaker's understanding of a language's functional pattern (perhaps a good correction would have been "thinnest" if the professor had in fact said "thinner," but had meant "thinnest"; that is a systematic mistake in which the speaker does not acknowledge the differences between superlative ("-est") and comparative ("-er") constructions. And furthermore, an explanation is necessary. And it should have been done in private, you fucking bitch.

Also, I spent time writing down constructions that the professor did make correctly which are proof of mastery of a language and/or are misused by native English speakers all the time (which leads to my point that most English as a Second Language (ESL) speakers/learners speak far better English than the idiots who are raised speaking it.)

She used "farther" instead of "further" to speak about geographical space. (6 points)
She properly used metaphorical/idiomatic language: "soupy." (8 points)
Formal sentence syntax in a spoken statement: "density of the material in which you're trying to float." Who the hell speaks like that?! Well. I do. And I get flack for it all the time. Oh well. (15 points)
Use of the word "lexicon" (of course, in response to this BITCH FACE correcting her - she did handle it very gracefully though). Use of this word shows several things:
1. That's KIND OF a "hard" word, in the sense that not all native English speakers would know what it means. (Allow me to vouchsafe - it simply means "vocabulary.") (3 points)
2. It shows that she has spoken about lexicology and philology enough to use that word. (4 points)
3. SHE APPARENTLY CARES ABOUT THE WORDS SHE USES!!!!!!! (287356229.44 points)

She gets that many points for the last part because that's a lot more than I can say for a lot of people. So I was actually quite impressed.

So why the FUCK would you, a stupid idiot undergraduate student, feel so pious to flash about your faux-erudite-douchebag-ness to try and destroy power levels in a classroom that are necessary for KNOWLEDGE-TRANSMISSION? And embarrassing a perfectly lovely woman. Ugh. Go to hell.

So, folks... don't FUCKING correct foreigners' speech like this. Soooooo fucked up I can't even deal with it. Plus, you're probably teaching them something wrong. Most foreigners who move to the United States see a decrease in the fluency of their proper English skills because idiot Americans teach them slangs that allow them to be lazy. 'Though I am a big proponent and enjoyer of slangs, I would never sacrifice them for actual language.

Girl in Oceanography class, I hope you read this. And I hope you peed your pants in 2nd grade or something embarrassing that would exonerate you from this. Shame on you.

-moon

grievance: "things" disappearing into a technological abyss

2008-02-02T14:20:00.003-05:00

I've never been one to hate on technology (Stars' domain). Nor have I ever been one to write blogs that are spurred by a hatred of something without the purpose of addressing it. This is solely me "bitching one out" because I am irrationally angry at two devices.

Okay... let me begin with the one that was completely NOT my fault (because let's face it... I am indirectly responsible for one of these):

1. My BlackBerry is an asshole. I kept getting messages that wouldn't disappear saying that I have a BlackBerry Messenger (hereto referred to as "BBM [I'm so cool]) message.") So, instead of wiping the entire device, I decided to remove BBM. Lo and behold, when trying to reinstall it, I got messages saying that my device didn't support this conduit for installation. The douchebags at the Verizon store said I had to do a hard restart, and had to back up all my shit, but would lose all of my messages... so I've been putting it off, because I had e-mails, texts, etc. that contained information I needed to record.

Then, when I'd finally found the time to do that, I tried to actually sync it back (contacts, calendar, what have you). My computer decided it didn't recognize the stupid ShitBerry. So I MANUALLY updated everything back to my computer. Yeah... 'cause I have TIME for that. (Rolls eyes.) But still hadn't extracted any kind of information from the texts, e-mails, etc.

Then, the piece of shit decided one night to just delete all my messages. Great. And then consistently did that every night... and then last night... every SINGLE time I'd sent or received a message.

So... I texted one of my very good friends on Tuesday inquiring about her birthday plans on Thursday, to which there was no response. Then I called her Thursday morning. Then an irate MySpace message regarding her non-response. Then at 1:30AM on Thursday night, I received a phone call from a mutual friend who was with her, "where the FUCK are you?" Apparently she'd texted me with ALL of the information the night before and was expecting I'd be there. Awesome. Really. Awesome.

Oh... and all that time I spent (read: fucking WASTED) manually putting shit back on my computer... was entirely futile because...

2. My MacBook is a douchebag. (Well... okay... more like I'm a douchebag.) I spilled WINE on my MacBook... AGAIN... for the SECOND TIME... in TWO MONTHS. The first time "she" in some ways rehabilitated herself and was use-able. But this time... done. So I was depending on my PictureTrail to get my photos back... and my motherfucking asshole iPod for my music. Turns out, the asshole decided that about 2000 of my 10000 songs were corrupt and while their titles showed up, there was no MP3 to extract. And it's not as if there was ANY rhyme or reason for the target of said corruption. It wasn't a whole album here or a whole folder there. No. It was arbitrarily chosen songs from all over my library.

So after throwing down some cash for some recovery program or some crap (which crashed every 10 minutes, which was AWESOME) I got back most of my stuff. But turns out... a lot of the recovered files are PORTIONS of songs. What the hell am I supposed to do with THAT? They're also named "106, 107, 108," etc. So... this has been really fun and totally awesome.

This was also after spending about a month trying to reconstruct my playlists FROM the physical lists on my iPod manually because my other MacBook (that shit the bed) decided one day to delete my iTunes library.

In a last attempt to get back full goddamned files... I went back to an external hard drive that had been created from the hard drive from my PC (which lit into flames before it froze and died) which had been working JUST fine for a year and a half. Suddenly, it's decided that it will only allow me to drag ONE folder (if that) to my computer before it freezes and makes whirly, eddy-like noises.

So... essentially... trying to contact me is completely and utterly unreliable and my iTunes gives me a seizure just looking at it:

Anyone know whom "��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C - ��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C - 17152 - ��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C 1" is by? Oh... I didn't know that was the OTHER name for two minutes and twenty-one seconds of "Found Out About You" by The Gin Blossoms. Terrific.

(Side inquiry: what about this file made iTunes think it should be genre-d as "Blues"?) Hmmmmmm. You puzzle me so, iTunes. You enigma, you.

-moon

rageful grievance: rude concert go-ers (a stars and moon collaboration)

2008-01-22T21:29:00.002-05:00

This is a collaborative narration of an event to which both Moon and Stars were privy. Due to this shared experience, we felt it necessary to share the recount. Stars' words are in red; Moon's are in blue. Shall we begin...?

Once upon a chilly eve', Stars and Moon went to see a band. N.B.: others were present, but they don't matter, obviously. Stars and Moon also hate paying for things. A lot. But this show was important enough that they elected to break the bank on tickets. Also N.B.: Moon is still angry. Stupid headliner.

As is rote for all fairy tale classics, the glory of matching Newcastles (see photo below) was preceded by daunting dragons in matching baseball caps. And, of course, the obligatory midget.

(Why did I turn this into a fairy tale?) (I'm not really sure. But the story does include some evil villains and we are pretty princess-like, so it works.) Agreed. Oh and I had traveled from a distant land, so that counts for a proper fairy tale requirement.

Alas, we begin our tale of turpitude: Enter stage left Moon and Stars. The show has already begun. A midget stands before them.

What is the politically correct term for midget, anyway? Little person? I like wee one but that could get us in trouble with the fairy tale community. Well, I think you've done your part for the wee people actually with your Wee Me, no? That is somewhat exonerating. And you will find out later how I exonerate myself on behalf of the wee people. Absolutely. Well... I won't. I already know. But I can't wait for you to share it with the world.

In any event, Stars and Moon, are suddenly rushed by a group of three of the most ogre-ous/ogre-ful/ogre-ferous (I can't reconcile which word to make up) boys. They stampede over Princess Moon and Princess Stars. Their objective on the other side of the princesses is, obviously, to stand in front of them and act like complete and utter assholes. They reek of vile stale beer and that putrid odor of fraternity castle meets the creature under the bridge. And perhaps they were from a team of jesters as two of these ogres were wearing the exact same hat. Indeed they were. They were undercover jesters. But I saw one of them juggling by the bar later. Juggling two wenches.

(Is this a pirate fairy tale now?) Where's Orion, our resident pirate expert? We have finally found somewhere that his college degree can be put to use and he has gone the way of the buffalo. This may actually never happen again. Such is life.

Getting back to our glorious tale: said ogre-jesters proceed to accomplish their goal of irritating the hell out of the princesses, by pushing each other, ignoring the band and letting respect for others' space go by the wayside. The Princesses Moon and Stars complain to one another to the tune of "I'll fucking kill them. I've never been so angry in my life,"... as all princesses speak.

Well if you live in the kingdom Princesses Moon and Stars live in, you must speak that way to get by. Princessing 101. Not entirely unlike English 101. Very similar in fact.

Just as Moon and Stars felt that these shenanigans could get no worse, they began pushing each other in such a way that they began banging into the Wee One, who had been doing a valiant job prior: protecting the princesses from the jesters. Not to mention giving up her own view of the show despite all the dubloons she too had shelled out to bear witness to this event.

So Princess Stars took measures into her own dainty hands. She bravely approached the most grotesque ogre of the three and demanded he leave the wee one alone at once. To which the response was his throwing his short ogre arms into the air and proposing a duel to the death. (This is real shit people; metaphor aside, this dude wanted to FIGHT Stars.) (Also on a very real note, had Stars actually had that goddamn sword in the stone, his ogre buddies would have had to carry his head home in a bag.) She had left the sword in the stone at home, unfortunately. No one really ever expects to run into ogre-ous riff raff at an event for the king's court. Surely not.

The princesses then regaled in a goblet of Newcastle. A much deserved goblet.

The End.

Moral of the story: Ogres should stay the hell away from princesses with an attitude. Or perhaps they should just stay out of the kingdom entirely.

If you see this man behind Stars, everyone, punch him in the eye. He is the King ogre:

If you see these princesses... well... buy them a beverage:

-moon/stars

grievance: silly idioms

2008-01-12T14:52:00.003-05:00

Why must our society call people with orange-hued red hair "carrot tops"?

The top of a carrot is not in fact orange. It is green. In attempting to reconcile this, I can understand that the phrase "carrot top" may not be so precise an analogy that it compares the top of the carrot to the top of the human (which is weird anyway).

However, I aver that all alleged to be "carrot tops" dye the tips of their hair green.

Stupid idioms.

-moon

raging out at... being taped to a couch during a shootout

2008-01-11T17:49:00.002-05:00

No, that wasn't a typo. Last night I was actually covered in stickers and packing-taped to a couch while a shootout went down outside. Before the two people who love me freak out, I should clarify that one event had nothing to do with the other.

I should rewind... and also state that my memory is dim on these events so I will be presenting the story from three different sources.

Last night I was exhausted from a long week of "working hard" and "leading prayer groups," so I elected to head over to my local "Ginger"'s house and watch Arrested Development. My usual two large green goblets of wine later, I was fast asleep on Ginger's couch with a party going on around me. The next thing I remember is waking up unable to move, taped to a couch. So allow me to bring in my two very reliable (and terrible) friends to finish this post for me:

"Jen": You took me to new levels last night. New levels of appreciation. You have no idea how many one-liners you had last night.
Stars: Did I? I don't even know what I said half the time.
"Jen": When we were taping you, you kept moving and that would be so loud we would all stop, let you settle. Well, you woke up and you were like "MMM... I SEE WHAT'S GOING ON HERE... I'M JUST NOT DOING ANYTHING UNTIL THE MORNING." I DIED LAUGHING.

Stars: "Jen" just told me I woke up during the taping.
“Ginger”: You don't remember that?? You said, "I don't care... I'll deal with this in the morning."
Stars: I have zero memory of that. I'm an idiot even when I'm a zombie.
“Ginger”: Do you remember me cutting off the shit? I woke up to you moaning you were covered in blood. I was like "oh shit." Then I kept trying not to laugh, but the evil in me kept pulling the stickers on your skin, and you were like "OH GOD NO."
Stars: I just remember being like "put them on my clothes. Keep them off my skin. I'm bleeding,"
“Ginger”: And then you were like "eh, at least it's not loud anymore," when I had taken off a lot. Oh yeah... and you missed a shooting.
Stars: I miss everything when I pass out! There is no waking me up when I don't want to be.
“Ginger”: I can't believe you missed the shooting.
Stars: What happened??
“Ginger”: There was a shootout right outside. And we walked into it. And got yelled at to stay back. But we didn't stay back. I just wanted to make eye contact with the perp.
Stars: Did you do it??
“Ginger”: I might've been the perp. Just saying. There were shots between "the perp" and the cops I believe.
Stars: Did anyone emerge victorious?
“Ginger”: You didn't get shot did you? I'd say that's victorious.
Stars: You ran TO a shootout. I was safer taped to the couch. So you guys are really good friends. And I thank you.
“Ginger”: You do owe me a big thank you for that. We went through a shootout and then made it in time for last call.
Stars: You went to a bar after the shootout while I was taped to a couch??
“Ginger”: Yes. Fiesta and East/West.
Stars: I'm in love with you all.
“Ginger”: Two bars.

So, to summarize: I don't even know what to say. I'm bruised and bloody. Ginger and Jen are hungover. I need No-Doz whenever I am not alone. Oh, and my friends are a-holes.

-stars

raging out at... inappropriate ways of finding out information

2008-01-10T14:36:00.002-05:00

Some information is difficult to take. Some information is painful to swallow. And some information is just plain weird to receive. Is it too much to ask that I just be informed of said news in a manner that's not out of control?

Last night was my very first class as a TA (teacher's assistant). (I will pause here for a moment so everyone can get a good snicker in about who it is that might be a less appropriate TA than I.) And honestly, if you can think of someone, you win the Random Rageouts Door Prize. To be determined at a later date.

As the students filed in, I handed out the syllabus and during this time finally bothered to take a look at it myself. In gigantic, how-in-the-hell-did-I-miss-this? letters, the name of an old gentleman friend of mine (who shall be referred to as "Mozart" from here on out) pops out at me: he is next week's guest-speaker. I literally choked. (And no, not a false usage of the word "literally." I most definitely choked on my French Vanilla coffee.)

Luckily "Mozart" and I are still on excellent terms. Whom else would I call when I can't figure out what to do with my extra candlewax? Or if I need someone to dance for me... to prove why "Umbrella" is a great pop song? Or count on to give me nightmares for a week over requests that I can't believe came out of a human's mouth? I keep him around strictly for those first two reasons... and sometimes hide from him for months because of the last one.

This particular instance wasn't a big deal, but this bitch "Mozart" knows where I work and that I would clearly be the TA on that class and yet I have to find out from a college course syllabus? And considering we are "friends" from back east, to have him guest speaking in my class on the west coast is information I would have preferred to come from him.

There have definitely been instances in my life where I have gotten pretty substantial information from the worst possible source. (Here comes Stars Being Angry at Technology again...)
Not so long ago, in a land not so far away, I was dating a gentleman who shall be referred to as "Pinehog." I don't know why. I just like the name "Pinehog." "Pinehog" went away for work and I discovered through the miracle of pictures on MySpace that "Pinehog" fell into someone else's girlie parts. That is certainly not information anyone ever wants to hear, but learning about it complete with visual aid was probably the worst way to be enlightened.

And in all fairness, a lot of the inappropriate gathering of information has been my own fault, as I am a licensed spy and computer hacker of boyfriends. It's true. They give out degrees for that. But that doesn't discount the innumerable amount of times, I've been broken up with on a text or been told of an engagement on an e-mail or even when I had to find out that a friend overdosed by Instant Message.

I really don't think it's too much to ask of anyone to give me a phone call or have (gasp!) a real conversation about unpleasant, or strange, topics. The whole thing makes me want to delete my MySpace, my e-mail, my AIM, get rid of text messages, and find a safe hiding place under a rock so I never find out anything the wrong way again.

Also, apropos of nothing and entirely off topic... I would like to have Michael Cera's awkwardly adorable babies. I don't care if that makes me a little creepy.

-stars

grievance: inconsiderate retailers and pharmacists

2008-01-04T15:53:00.002-05:00

Do I think my own schedule is more important than anyone else'? Obviously.

No. Scratch that. I do however think that people should generally respect others' schedules. I feel I can make a considerable contribution to the (made-up) study of Serviceology, having worked in jobs that require me to hike my voice up several octaves to a level saccharinely offensive to all living beings excluding the canine variety and render my face wrought with (faux-)smile lines.

Wednesday Afternoon
During my lunch break, I went to Cosi to grab a salad. The lines for food during midday times on weekdays in midtown east are an exercise in starvation. I waited to order my Bombay Chicken Salad, ironically sans chicken, for fifteen minutes.

10 more minutes on a separate line to pay... broken computer system... angry asshole manager yelling at register-employees... me eating through the entire slab of bread which is supposed to accompany my salad... "we just opened the front register; you can go there." 10 more minutes in this line. Right before I pay, the women at the register LEAVES. I was going to walk out with a free salad. Sadly, I needed to get a fork and they hold them hostage behind the register.

Next journey: dropping off my father's prescriptions at Duane Reade. Lovely girl helped me. Asked if I'd like to wait for it for 20 minutes to which I responded that I had to run back to work but would pick it up at 4:15 on my way from work to class. (... you can see where this is headed.)

Wednesday Evening
RUNNING from my office to class is hard enough during rush hour. And of course the prescription was not ready. But they didn't simply TELL me this. They disappeared into the back for ten minutes. And I had to send another person back there. She spoke with the original Inconsiderate Pharmacist, and then on her way back, stopped to check for another person's prescription before telling me that it wasn't ready. Sure. Take your time, lady.

"What time do you close?" asked I.

"7."

Rushing through my one-credit Astronomy winter-session lab, I ran huffing and puffing in stilettos from 41st and Lexington to 43rd and 3rd.

6:58 P.M.

"What time do you close?"

"7:30."

... And then I blew up a Duane Reade.

Thursday Morning
Dunkin Donuts man ignores me and continues texting on his cell phone. Looks up at me. Then cleans off a coffee machine. Then gives me an attitude when I order something. Soorrrrryyyy for bothering you while you're getting paid.

Thursday Evening
Bookstore to pick up stupid Astronomy lab book. Guy ignores me for so long that after saying "Excuse me?" several times, I end up having to hit the BELL to get his attention. Was I at a hotel concierge desk in the 1980s?

Friday Morning
At this point, I was already brewing from social interactions of this variety. I decided to treat myself to a Frappuccino Lite. My request was met by "Ah... we OUT of 'Lite' today."

And then a little angel dressed in a green Starbucks smock (the Official Away Uniform of Team Heaven) appeared from a cloud made of real fairy dust and offered to look in the back.

Ta-da! The first time someone goes out of her way to do her job, customer satisfaction (and in this case, restoration of faith in the merits serviceology) is achieved.

And then I tried a sampling of a new lemon/cherry/cake extravaganza, which complemented my Frappuccino Lite beautifully.

Parable: Wait. There is none. This is just me being cranky.

Also currently cranky about: "Doughnuts" being spelled "Donuts" and "Light" being spelled "Lite," and the fact that their having been "published" as such compels me to reproduce them in their stupid forms.

-moon

shit that sucks: anti-malaria medication

2008-01-04T15:39:00.003-05:00

I recently took a trip to the Dominican Republic. Lots of people go there for vacation. A lot of those people are pretty stupid, so I figured there were not real risks involved. I like to think that if stupid people can do it often it's a pretty safe bet. Like getting a learner's permit. Look around you. The people passing basically have trouble remembering to inhale and exhale regularly, so you figure that you'll be fine. So I thought nothing of going to a third-world country for a five day vacation.

Then my girlfriend began asking me if it was safe to take the cab from the airport to the resort, terrified that some rogue cab driver would kidnap two good-looking Americans and hold them for ransom (1 US Dollar = 38 Dominican Pesos). So I'm Google-ing "Punta Cana" and all of a sudden I see the CDC Website telling travelers to take anti-Malaria pills and be vaccinated for Hepatitis A. This is all well and good, except that this was all being found out 24 hours before my plane was to take off.

So my girlfriend managed to get ahold of her doctor (I don't really have one; I have a fear of them) who told her that she had to take them, as did I. So, I take the pill. You take one the day you leave for your trip, and then one per week for the next three weeks after your return.

What no one mentioned to me was that the pills screw with your sleep. You wake up almost every hour and have the strangest dreams. I mean weird shit. First I had a dream that I was in Malaysia being chased by cannibals who wanted to roast me and stuff me inside of a pig's intestines. Then I was unable to graduate college because I failed an advanced course on the quadratic equation (which is interesting because I have graduated college, and never once took a math course). What is weirder is that I've woken up unable to decipher the dream world from the real world. I rarely, if ever, actually remember my dreams, let alone waking up thinking they are real. Last night I dreamt that I was being forced to spend the day at Roseland Ballroom at a DVD authoring convention, and then woke up in a panic that I was running late for it, and couldn't believe that I would have to spend my whole day there.

I have two and a half more weeks of this awesomeness, and it sucks.

-orion's belt buckle

raging out at... "i'm dealing with a lot"

2008-01-04T04:25:00.002-05:00

I believe firmly in the golden rule: If you "do unto others...," sure, you'll make mistakes but overall you'll be doing better than most. And we are all selfish. We do things for selfish reasons. What I have no respect for is people who make excuses. Like that whole "it isn't you; it's me," or the current idiocy I just got on text, "I'm going through a lot. It isn't intentional."

If you can find me someone who isn't going through "a lot," you've probably found the equivalent of the fountain of youth. This kind of phrase isn't an excuse; it is a cop out. I'm going through "a lot." You're going through "a lot." That guy you passed on the street is going through "a lot." And guess what? We all don't act like a-holes.

I guess what I'm really raging out at is people's lack of self-awareness. I'm insane. I'm aware. I'm overly emotional and dramatic and I know it. I know it every second of every day. Now this isn't an excuse for my idiocy but it somehow makes it less horrifying when someone is aware. If you are a religious sort (and I'm not, really), then you believe in the right of free choice. So it isn't acceptable to choose to do the wrong thing, but it is almost sad when you're that ignorant in a sociological sense that you aren't even aware of who (and why) you are.

And yes, you're reading the post of the scorned and the hurt. But I'm not so insecure that I can't admit that. And I'm happy to be hurt. It means I still feel and maybe I'm capable of feeling for someone who isn't a frog. But I keep kissing frogs.

But that's okay. I'm okay with that. And I think I've learned my lesson that people who make points of themselves with a snap and a wink, and are caricatures of themselves, are those who will never deliver anyone anything more than temporary happiness. I'm never going to make an excuse for feeling too much or too little. I hope I always feel too much.

All that being said.. Tonight I have a renewed faith in those who have proven themselves time and again, and a belief that I will never again fall for the wink.

Take a gander into the comments and say petty things about your least favorite wink-er. Or even rage out at people whose favorite bands are those we've told them they should love. Or rage at me for being petty.

-stars

grievance: people speaking too loudly in foreign languages

2008-01-01T20:39:00.002-05:00

I grew up in New York City, so I'm obviously okay with loudness, generally speaking. Why, then, would I find it necessary to buy in-ear headphones for my iPod? Screaming foreigners.

Moving about the city by foot and public transportation is already a harrowing experience. Simply put, New York is filled with annoying people. Typical offenses include (but are of course not limited to):

- GENERAL WALKING ACTS OF OBLIVIOUSNESS, i.e. walking too damn slowly for no reason (the most vexing variant of which being the slow saunter-down-the-stairs-to-a-subway-platform-with-a-train-pulling-
into-the-"station"-because-he-or-she-needs-a-different-train-line so you end up standing on the platform watching the train leave you behind)

- GENERAL STANDING ACTS OF OBLIVIOUSNESS, such as stopping short in the middle of Times Square to take a picture of an entirely uninspiring fire hydrant (the most vexing variant of which being the standing-with-another-member-of-your-party-on-the-escalator-so-
that-no-one-can-pass, and then copping an attitude with people who politely ask to pass)

- OBLIVIOUS SPATIAL ACTS OF INDECENCY (Please don't touch me or violate my personal space.)

- INTENDED SPATIAL ACTS OF INDECENCY (Don't fucking touch me. I'll cut your face.)

This brings me to the last category...

- GENERAL ASSAULTS ON APPROPRIATE VOLUME LEVELS
See Also: "Why the fuck are you screaming?"
See Also: "Why do you insist on keeping the volume on your phone while playing a game?"
See Also: "Can you not wait until you get home to decide on an obnoxious ringtone for your new phone? ("No"? Oh. Well it is an important decision: the horrifying version of the Fourth Movement of Mozart's Fortieth Symphony in G minor "orchestrated" for a MIDI ringtone most likely in C major versus some crappy pseudo-jazz bullshit. And it is also certainly essential that you make this decision by playing them back and forth in public.)

Alas, we come to the main point of this outline of offenses against social propriety. Why must people (in America, at least) who are speaking a foreign language YELL? I will safely err on the side of this being a behavior that only takes place in public... not only to avoid a sweeping over-generalization. But also because if people spoke at that decibel in their homes, they would all be evicted and no longer live in New York.

Is there something inherent to the structure of EVERY other language in the world that REQUIRES that absurd kind of volume? Other theories: a strange disease that deteriorates hearing, to which only Americans are immune? All non-native English speakers were forced by their parents all their lives to use their "inside voices" and have developed deep-seated psychological damage to which they are responding by lashing out against... well... me?

I suppose I'll have to start hanging out in libraries.

Or travel abroad. And when asked to moved aside on the escalator, whisper "no."

-moon

raging out at... shots

2007-12-25T22:44:00.004-05:00

I hate Christmas. I genuinely despise nearly everything about this stupid holiday. I don't know where the wonder and magic of December 25th went, but wherever it shipped off to, it certainly bought a one way ticket. The only reason I even still celebrate Christmas instead of converting to some religion where tradional Christmas is banned is, it's a great day to get drunk with my favorite family members. But as tonight ended with me letting loose a shrill war cry in the direction of my brother and his girlfriend banning them from speaking to me again for the remainder of the night, I seem to have lost what was left of my holiday joy.

Today I walked into a home filled with family I haven't seen in over 9 months, since I picked up and moved cross country. I was welcomed by my dearest cousins with whipped cream shots of 43. Right down the hatch they went and thus the drinking commenced. I attempted to slow my pace down with an only slightly pinkish cranberry and vodka, but my cousins were having none of that.

My internationally renowned champion drinker cousin Peg entered the Ring O' Christmas bearing shot glasses that were actually MADE of candy canes. Being that "no" is probably the least used word in my vocabulary, this was just catastrophe waiting to happen.

Now I would like to state for the record that I am NOT, in fact, raging out at the candy cane shot glasses. I am in fact applauding their very existence and brilliant power to make vodka taste much like a liquid Starburst of goodness. And it is not their fault that their variety of flavors caused me to throw back a shot from each glass; that would be my own stupidity. But, come on, look how cute they are. It would take will power of pure wrought iron to resist.

What I am angry at is shots in general. There has never been a time in my 10 years of drinking where I have woken up the next morning and been like, "Well, thank God we did those shots. The night surely would have been entirely doldrum without those Patron shots." Never. I would imagine no one ever has. Shots are without fail always a terrible and ungodly mistake, but again this very basic life truth has yet to stop anyone from partaking in a round or 12.

Shots have been the cause of a good chunk of the pie chart of my life's tribulations. Because of shots, I have endured headaches sent straight from hell. Because of shots, I have kissed boys whose hairlines receded to nearly the back of their necks and ignored boys who may have been Prince Charming. Because of shots, half the pictures of me in existence look like the one above.

Oh, and of course, every year there is the Christmas tradition of the picture of all the cousins to be framed and displayed for the next year. Here is what this year's looks like. I'd like to thank the many, many candy cane shots for ensuring my classiness and low alcohol tolerance be one for the books. [Note: Stars is the drunken pile passed out in the corner.]

Which reminds me... Orion, you and I have a special shot to take that's been years in planning. I have not learned my lesson yet.

-stars

grievance: annoying children "actors" ruining my christmas

2007-12-25T19:22:00.002-05:00

Why does the romanticization of Christmas necessarily produce the most annoying breed of children possible? I pose this question to you not only because I have no possible explanation. I pose this question to you because I am personally offended.

Annoying Children - Instance 1: I went to see "Wintuk," the new Cirque du Soleil which is posed more as a cohesive story than their traditional stagings. There are feats of acrobatic wonder, of course, but they are streamed together via a young boy whose intense (and absurd) facination with snow has caused me to name him "gay for snow." He spends the entire two hours of the "play" saying "wow, that thing you guys have trained to do for years is pretty cool, but there's something missing!". "Where's the snow?" "I want it to snow!" "Snow, snow, snow!" "I want to make love to a snowman in a snowbank with Bing Crosby singing 'White Christmas,' while snow falls all over my gay-for-snow head!" (Fine. He didn't say that. But he may as well have.)

This kid was so offensive that I actually no longer like snow. When "snow" fell on the audience, I was disgusted. Get over yourself. You're not Mother Nature. It will snow soon enough.

Annoying Children - Instance 2: I watched a movie called "A Grandpa For Christmas" last night (which was followed by a movie called "A Boyfriend For Christmas" - gag). Note: I did not watch this lame ass holiday-movie-for-lonely-chicks.

This total brat was the main character. And later on, she sang and danced... So my only theory to reconcile this awful casting is that they chose her based on THOSE abilities. However, in a holiday movie, it's pretty much a hard-and-fast rule that you've gotta at least empathize with the main character.

I did not empathize with her.

I wanted to light her stupid pigtails on fire and slap her in the face with them.

I would much prefer to actually LIKE the character whose journey I am on and have the producers find someone else' track to which she can lip sync. Nobody sings live anymore anyway.

So, essentially what we have is a kid who is gay for snow and a brat who can sing and dance, both of whom I hate.

Good luck to the children I will someday have. If they act up, they may end up buried in snow with their grandpa.

Merry Christmas.

-moon

grievance: friends and hardware

2007-12-24T12:17:00.002-05:00

One-Question Survey:
Is it acceptable to have friends who call you at 4:15 A.M., to tell you that they are stuck on a Manhattan rooftop?

See "raging out at... unacceptable locking doors."

-moon

raging out at... drunken camera work

2007-12-23T21:14:00.001-05:00

Wouldn't this have been a much better video if the Camera Ginger hadn't had 90 drinks of assorted varieties?

-stars

raging out at... unacceptable locking doors

2007-12-23T04:37:00.002-05:00

So I suppose there comes a time in every blogger's life where you have to give up a little too much personal information in order to properly make your point. And I suppose that time for me has come now.

Being back home in New York for the holidays should be a time for friends, family, warmth, love and giving. For me, it is a time to be trapped on a rooftop in TriBeCa at 4:30 in the morning. I'm slowly developing hypothermia as I write this, and drinking the half a beer that I had to pretty much channel my inner Jet Li to obtain, so please excuse my normally impeccable rationality as it slowly spirals into psychosis. God, I feel like the guy from The Mist slowly writing his way towards his impending doom. If the last of my memoirs is this tale, I suppose it is only appropriate that this be the legacy I leave.

One of my very favorite people in the whole world (although he is losing points by the minute as he taunts me with his full beer and the other one I KNOW he's got in his pocket; Either that or I chose the absolute right person to be trapped with) lives in this beautiful apartment in downtown Manhattan. I decided to bundle up like an Appalachian hunter and trek in to spend the night playing cards and drinking beers with this lovely man. Fast forward to a few hours later, we are both long past a light buzz and someone is wearing a feather boa and someone else has donned both elbow and knee pads. I will leave it up to you to determine which one is my outfit of choice. Both are very good guesses.

So in our not at all inebriated states of mind, we decide that we should go have a few drinks on the roof to enjoy the view. Now packing for the roof was an episode in and of itself. We could (and should) have gone to Tahiti for a week with what we took up here. We made sure we were plentiful on brews, blankets, Tostitos and for reasons I'm still unclear on, a laptop. Someone's a workaholic and if you guess me, well then you haven't been paying attention.

So let's fast forward to a little later. More drinks in the hole and we're downing them cuddled under a fuzzy blanket. It's sort of sweet, actually. But then comes the Stars catastrophe. Being that my quitting smoking went swimmingly, I panic when my lighter falls over the edge of the roof (even more so than I panicked when a hoodie I lived in for a while went down). I get up and walk over to the stairwell where my purse had dumped over on our way up, praying some matches went renegade and were laying abandoned on a stair somewhere. No luck, of course. On my way back up, I successfully drop my cigarettes behind me and go to pick them up without moving my legs. Why? I don't know. I truly wish I did but I do not and am sure I shall regret it for a long time to come. On my super graceful return, the door slams shut and locks on its own by virtue of nothing I've done wrong whatsoever. (Popular retelling of this tale will tell you that I kicked the door shut then slammed against it and laughed uncontrollably for 10 minutes, but this is why I'm clearing it up now.)

So after 20 MORE minutes, the doormen arrive to rescue my drunken companion and me. But now the door is jammed. So I sit here writing my blog, nursing what may be my last beer ever and I'm still laughing through my rage.

Why do the doors have to lock from the outside? We are a million damn flights up. If someone's spidey skills have enabled them to make it on top of this building, let them on in, I say. They earned it. And to be perfectly frank, I'm sure If they can scale 26-story Manhattan buildings to land on the rooftop, I have no doubt in their skills to pick a lock to get into the building. Have you ever known a criminal to concoct a lever and pulley system to soar through the air and perform professional level acrobatics to land unharmed upon a rooftop to then look at a door and be like, "Oh crap, it's locked. F this." Yeah, neither have I.

Please use the comments section to send prayers for my blue extremities and to share tales of your own follies with things that lock when they aren't supposed to. Fingers crossed that someone has a chastity belt story.

-stars

shit that sucks - social networking overload

2007-12-17T22:26:00.004-05:00

So I was an early adopter of Friendster, and I was obsessed with it. Then I transitioned to MySpace. Loved that, but it was totally crushed by Facebook, where everyone on the site is actually real, and you're not getting spammed by wannabe porn stars and getting comments about $50 Macy's cards. I am also a member of Buzznet, Twitter, VIRB, iLike, and Last.fm, mostly just to see what all the hype is about. And I'm glad all of that all of those millions of social networking sites exist, I guess. I mean they do no harm and if you want to join them and maintain 75 profiles and keep updating your status on each one, and uploading photos to all of them, and keep adding and inviting the same friends to them, more power to you.

My issue is this - every site needn't have a social networking component. Today Google announced the integration of their new social networking platform into their web apps, and Netflix asks me to import friends from my e-mail address to see their recommendations, and a=Amazon wants me to upload a picture. Why? This doesn't make my experience better. It just sucks.

-orion's belt buckle

raging out at... american driving laws

2007-12-17T21:19:00.002-05:00

Why can I not drive a tank along the streets of Los Angeles, but everyone can drive their ridiculous SUVs which are just as much a death trap anyway? I would bet good money half the drivers I speed past on the daily have at least medium, if not heavy, artillery in their cars anyway. I would take an oath in front of good Governor Schwarzenegger to never load the guns and to plow over only people who really deserved it if he would just let me drive my tank.

Tanks are perfectly allowable in the UK. See you bastards in Europe.

Here is the tank I would like (in case you have me as your Secret Santa this year... no more problems figuring out what to buy!):

-stars

raging out at... my smart bank

2007-12-17T14:17:00.003-05:00

For the last several years, every single time I deposit a check, I tack an extra zero onto the end hoping one day someone will fall for it. It has yet to happen and now I think they might be on to me. I plan on continuing this idiot tactic anyway.

-stars

shit that sucks - mainstream indie films

2007-12-17T01:26:00.002-05:00

Zach Braff invented the Shins, and possibly also the mainstream indie flick. This is why I hate Zach Braff - that and the fact that Scrubs isn't really funny, and he hasn't really done anything else. Ever.

I just got home from seeing Juno; you may know it as the "sleeper hit of the season." Everyone's talking about how edgy it is - meanwhile I felt like I was watching a made-for-Lifetime movie on a big screen. Just because she's sixteen and pregnant doesn't mean that it's gonna be controversial, and just because she's like a live action version of Daria Morgendorfer doesn't mean it's gonna be edgy - see also Little Miss Sunshine.

But what pissed me off more was how everyone in the theater felt uber-cool going to see this art house film, which starred Jennifer Garner. The multiplex in Union Square is not the Angelica, and if you are seeing a movie there, realize that you're not in on some awesome secret.

Lastly - the soundtrack. Just because you have an indie rock soundtrack doesn't mean you have a real indie gem. Sonic Youth, the Kinks and Cat Power weren't just uncovered by your music supervisor. Face it - you just want chicks in legwarmers who just got off work at American Apparel to talk about how brilliant the soundtrack was. Face it - it wasn't.

Glad I got that off my chest. Feel free to use the comments section to list other overrated mainstream indie films.

-orion's belt buckle

grievance: attempts at clever plays on words

2007-12-07T02:36:00.003-05:00

There is a store on 14th and 8th. A shoe store. It is called "Shoegasm."

Shoe doesn't sound like "or."

If it did, "Shoegasm" would be clever.

Dane Cook called his comedy tour "Tourgasm." Not "Showgasm." Because that's not funny. Nor is it clever.

Apparently the genius minds behind this shoe store are hanging out with Geoffrey Chaucer in 14th Century London...

"Rede in his almageste, and take it there.
Dame, I wolde praye yow, if youre wyl it were,"(The Wife of Bath's Prologue [the meaning of which I have NO idea])

... because while they seem to think "shoe" rhymes with "or," Mr. Chaucer has rhymed "there" and "were." Thank you Great Vowel Shift. (1200 to 1600 A.D. must have been a WILD time for miscommunication.)

The "ooh" (like "moon") sound in Modern English sounds very much like how it would have in Middle English. The "oh" sound in "orgasm," however, is traced back to having sounded like "ehw" (as in "new"). I find it senseless to use IPA here; this blog is already technical and gratuitously erudite enough. Thus "shoe" and "or" would have rhymed as well as "there" and "were" did.

That said, Shoegasm owners: if you were alluding (VERY backhandedly) to pre-Great Vowel Shift pronunciations of English, I laud you. I will begin buying "shores" at "Shore"-gasm immediately.

What's my point? If you're trying to be clever, appropriating 14th Century pronunciation for the name of your West Village shoe store ain't gonna fly.

Sub-point: I'm going to name my shoe store (that I now have to open solely for the purpose of PROPERLY effectuating cleverness) "Chaucer." His last name comes from the French word "chaussier." What does it mean?

Shoemaker.

-moon

raging out at... people who take away messages seriously

2007-12-05T03:44:00.002-05:00

Obviously with the infiltration of IMs, texts, and e-mails in our daily lives, communication has gotten a little muddled and there are all new sorts of life etiquette rules to be learned. I've gotten into more all-out wars with people I love (read: "the idiot men I date") than I can even recount because of someone taking the cyber-written word the wrong way. But today I learned that cyberspace has figured out a new way to make my already handicapped relationships eligible for the Special Dating Olympics... the away message.

I've been laid up feeling pretty sick the last week or so (and don't worry, there's a rage on my unnecessary need to have an appendix in my body coming) and I've had away messages up more than usual as I've been more unavailable than my norm. So in putting these things up, 9 times out of 10, they're bitching about something or in direct correlation to something a friend and I had recently been laughing about. Now if I were to write "Doing crossword puzzles with Dick Cheney" as my current status, a normal logical person could probably ascertain that I am not, in fact, engaging in word games with our jackoff Vice President. However, if you live in Hollywood and have a slight history of the occasional non nun-like behavior, well then let the rage and accusations fly.

So I'd like to clear up a few things.
1) Almost backing over Shia LeBeouf with my car and having to have him guide me out of a parking spot so he can remove himself from the deathtrap I nearly put him in does NOT mean he was inside me at any point during the day. He did not offer his services. I would have accepted.
2) If you know me well enough to be obsessively checking my away messages, you should know my behavior well enough to know when I'm being tongue-in-cheek.
3) Again knowing me that well, you should know (and by you, I'd like that to again read: "the idiot men I date") that sometimes I write these things to make you angry. It isn't rational or acceptable but this is what I do.

So the point here is this: don't take what I say to be serious. It most likely isn't. And please know if ever I do have Shia inside me, I will take out a full page in the New York Times to announce it. News of that nature is worthy of something more grand than my away message.

-stars

grievance: converse without laces

2007-12-05T02:56:00.002-05:00

A couple years ago Converse started making All Stars that look exactly like their originals, but without laces. From what I understand (which is only a conjecture, as I have never owned such atrocities) the tongues of the sneakers are in some way adhered to the rest of the shoe, creating a faux-slipper situation.

I'm cool with it if you want to go out of your way to wear shoes that slip on. I really am. You're a lazy fuck. But I am.

But then wear shoes that actually are intended to slip on. Don't wear shoes that USED to need to be tied that have been SEWN or GLUED (again, just a conjecture) together. These shoes still retain the SAME EXACT structure of their lace-conscious counterparts. I remember learning in AP Biology about homologous structures: some structure in a living thing that came from the same ancestor as another; one uses the structure for something (a tail, or some shit) and the other doesn't use it for shit but still has the stupid thing. What if we started sewing fake tails onto animals that never had them? That's the closest comparison I can think of that best exemplifies this insanity. (Great analogy, right? Except... what the fuck was a tail used for in the first place? Viz. "The author's reasoning is flawed in that she... A. fails to acknowledge that a tail may have been useless in the first place. [Whoops. I already wrote a blog about the LSATs. Shucks.])

Okay. So we've (and by "we" I, of course, mean "I") come to the conclusion that the lace-holes are not necessary. Now to address my other issue: Converse are already slip-ons. I've had the same pair of Cons since I was 14 and haven't untied them once. Thus, the laces are not necessarily an OBSTACLE to slipping the shoes on and off.

Conclusions:
1. If you are going to remove laces from a shoe's design, remove the lace-holes as well. Velcro anybody?
2. If you are going to design a shoe that is more conducive to ease of removal than the original shoe, make sure the original shoe's design isn't INHERENTLY slip-off-able.
3. Don't sew and/or glue tails to animals.
4. Don't reference AP Biology in a blog about sneakers.
5. This shoe is so fucking ugly I could cry.

-moon

grievance: the lsats

2007-12-04T00:59:00.002-05:00

"The reasoning above most closely conforms to which of the following principles?"
"Which one of the following most accurately expresses the conclusion of the dietitian's argument?"
"If Malpighi's delivery is first and Leacock's delivery is third, then which of the following must be true?"
"The phrase 'scholarly monographs that sap the vitality of history' in passage A (lines 6-7) plays a role in that passage's overall argument that is most analogous to the role played in passage B by which of the following phrases?"

Read that garbage for 2 hours and 55 minutes straight. And then write an ESSAY. You've just taken the LSAT.

How did our society allow us to get to the point where we, as a whole, are administering, and taking, this test?

The Law School Admission Test is just that. "Admission" being the key word. It doesn't purport to measure "aptitude" as the SAT does. Its pursuit is that of admitting people based on some criterion decided by the LSAC. And apparently that criterion includes "logic games."

What?

I'm sorry. Is the LSAT a test you take to go to school to become a detective? Didn't know that.

After taking my test, I had a conversation with a gentleman who had also taken it. In discussing logic games, he argued against my claim ("logic games blow and I want to punch them in the eye") by saying that he honestly thought that it made sense for that to be something that is tested for aspiring attorneys. His premise for this argument was that "you've gotta be able to think on your feet in court if someone brings up some shit you've never heard before... you gotta be like 'oh if M can't be HERE, L must be here.'" This theory is crap. You can't be surprised by the opposing side in court with surprise evidence. You can't withhold shit and try to surprise your adversary in court. So that theory is complete junk.

However, that is the most valid explanation I've heard. My issue is the fact that the LSATs shouldn't be testing stuff for which you need to learn a technique to be successful. My LSAT tutor told me to "stop fucking thinking" about a hundred times. Apparently I'm supposed to turn into a machine for those 2 hours and 55 minutes and throw rationale out the window. So what is this test really even testing? Your ability to make yourself completely and utterly brain dead? If that's the case, I should have taken an LSAT before I took my LSAT. Nobody should be asked to concentrate on an excerpt about strawberry mites after 2 hours and 45 minutes.

Fuck strawberry mites. They're a bunch of assholes and I don't want to know about them.

Yes. I did study for the SATs as well. But differently. I learned vocabulary words. And now I have a bigger vocabulary. And that helped me in college. Is law school going to be about figuring out how many possible line-ups there are for clowns exiting a clown car based on a specific set of rules that some random person made up? If so, COUNT ME IN! (That was sarcastic. But only because clowns scare me.)

This test makes me angry about the law.

-moon

Comment worth posting from my friend Steve who is an attorney: "I can't tell you how often I'm standing in Court, doing oral argument on a substantive motion and have to say:'Your Honor, with the Court's indulgence, I'd like to draw a diagram, illustrating how Mr. Green, Mr. Red, Mr. Blue and Mr. Yellow typically line up when taking turns fishing in a canoe with only three seats.'" (He, too, is being sarcastic. But only because he hates canoes.)

grievance: abuse of the english language part deux (english 102)

2007-11-29T20:29:00.003-05:00

I've gotten tons of responses about my "English 101" blog. However, most were simply of amusement. The rules I outlined then are still repeatedly offended by people who have read it. With that said... I don't care. You're all getting a D and barely passing. So now onto English 102....

1. This rule is near and dear to my heart and offending it makes me so wildly and insanely angry that you really should heed the warning. In a written, yet informal conversation, à la AOL Instant Messenger or e-mail, actually READ the words that your fellow interlocutor has written. I've made it absurdly clear (in other ways other than this series of blogs, incidentally) that while I may make typos, I pay a great deal of attention to spelling things correctly and formulating grammatical functions as they are intended to be formed. So, instead of CORRECTING people when they offend these rules, I simply say it or write it back to them, correctly. And yet, people ignore what I've said or written and continue to say or write what they please. I am SO personally offended by this irreverence for language that I have named this my CARDINAL SIN. Especially when the word in question is the name of a friend of me (note rule 8) or my name. The first time someone speaks to me and calls me "Jen," I'm okay with that. When I say "Jenn" back to him or her regarding myself, and then am then called "Jen" again, I'm liable to break the darling's face. Just PAY ATTENTION.

2. While "better than me" can be used correctly, it's seldom the case. Used correctly: "he hit her harder than me," as in "he hit her harder than he hit me." But this goes back, in some ways to the "who"/"whom" bit with using the correct cases of words: "she's smarter than me" is COMPLETE AND UTTER GARBAGE. Constructed correctly: "She's smarter than I." I do understand that this sounds austerely stuffy. An easy way around it? "She's smarter than I am." And that flushing out tells you EXACTLY why it ain't "me": "she's smarter than me is"? The holy gods of grammar frown upon you, young word-abuser.

3. "A whole nother." Really? REALLLLYYYYY? The reason there is an "n" between "a" and "other" when contracting to "another" is because "a other" sounds like garbage. Know what else sounds like garbage? Your face. No. I kid. "Nother" sounds like damned garbage. The "l" at the end of "whole" functions as the "n" does. It's just unnecessary and... (let's hear it, everybody, for my favorite word) gratuitous.

4. Stop using "that" because you're too lazy to put together a construction like "which" (I know, real hard that one) or "who." You sound like a five year old.

5. Commas ALWAYS go inside quotation marks. As do periods. It doesn't make sense. But you HAVE to do it that way. Tough shit.

6. "Quote" is not a noun. It's a verb. "Quotation" is its noun form. "I was reading some of her quotes"? That sentence makes me want to hurl. On your face. Which, according to rule number three, also sounds like garbage. Yes I just used a quotation of my own.

7. "CD's from the 1980's." = my worst nightmare. Apostrophes never ever ever ever ever denote pluralization. They have two jobs: contractions (like "it's") and possession ("Mary's" ). What the holy hell made people start doing this? I'm actually curious as to what spawned this sheer idiocy.

8. "S"s (not "S's") and apostrophes have a complicated relationship. For that matter, possession in English is a little complicated. So allow me to indulge myself in a full explanation of some things you may not know about this strange system:
Rule 1: When making something possessive that ends in an "s," you have two choices. You can either add an apostrophe AND an "s," like so: "Marcus's." Or you can simply add an apostrophe: "Marcus'." IMPORTANT NOTE: if you decide to use "Marcus's," you must, when speaking, say "Marcus-iz." If you decide to go with "Marcus'," you must simply say "Marcus." No "iz." Either is totally acceptable as long as you maintain some kind of consistency between the written word and spoken.
Rule 2: The add-an-apostrophe-but-no-"s" rule also applies to words or names that end in "s"-sounds, such "Maurice," or "Liz," or even "instance," becoming "Maurice'," "Liz'," and "instance'." Or you are welcome to put those "s"s in if you'd like and get "Maurice's," "Liz's," and "instance's" (which is DEFINITELY different than (not "then") "instances." However, you must maintain the way you speak these words based on rule 1.
Rule 3: Making nouns that end in "s" plural: ALWAYS add an "es." As simple as that. The family of Mr. Jones is "the Joneses." If you want to make THAT plural, as in, belonging to the Jones family, you can go with "the Joneses's," or the "Joneses'." And this is why I ALWAYS go with NOT adding "s"s after apostrophes. "Joneses's" must be pronounced "Jones-iz-iz." WHAT! No, no, no... (just like Destiny's Child said).
Rule 4: Alternate ways to manifest possession: the "of _____" construction. An easy way to avoid this "Joneses's"/"Joneses'" nightmare is to simply say "of the Joneses." However it is not "of the Joneses's" or "of the Joneses'." That is just silly. You're essentially doing possession TWICE. So if THAT's the rule, why would you say "a friend of mine"? "A friend of me" or "a friend of myself" is what should be there instead. Same goes for "a friend of Katie." N.B. I understand that saying "a friend of myself" sounds like a vouchsafeing tactic, so I don't actually expect anyone to SAY that in informal talk. But if you're writing, you'd better watch it, bitches.

9. "He"/"she"/"they" and "his"/"her"/"their" are making me want to throw things. Let's get this straight for the last damned time: if you are talking about a single human being, "he or she" CANNOT be referred to as "they." He or she must be referred to as "he or she" or "he" or "she." "They" is used to describe a collective group. "People are stupid. They don't know how to speak proper English." (Low blow, I know.) "There is a person reading this blog who is an idiot. He or she does not know how to speak proper English." 'Nuff said.

Can someone, just ONE person, who reads this at least pretend to try?

-moon

raging out at... people who may or may not be dead

2007-11-29T18:49:00.002-05:00

It can't be explained as to why, but nothing (and by nothing, I mean most things) enrages me more than not knowing if someone is dead or not. I hate that I have to sit there, wasted at a bar, and google things such as "Betty White dead." Nearly all of my drunken googles are for either song lyrics or finding out if someone is, in fact, dead.

And to be honest, I am mostly pissed at myself for this one. Someone will pass a remark about someone such as Abe Vigoda and then someone else will ALWAYS chime in with, "Aren't they dead?" I immediately become devastated and start in on the "Dead Inquisition." As my slow Sidekick loads up "Abe Vigoda dead," I attack the party who felt Abe was dead. "When did he die? Are you sure? What happened? How come I think I saw him in that new Macy's commercial? Oh, that was Usher. Whatever. I don't think he's dead. You're wrong. You're dead. Why would you say a thing like that about Abe Vigoda if you weren't sure??"

Now if the allegedly dead celebrity meant that much to me that I would attack a friend, shouldn't I have been up on whether or not they were dead in the first place? And why in the hell does everyone think everyone is dead anyway? 9 times out of 10, the person in question isn't dead.

Don't tell me someone's dead and crush my spirit unless you are sure.

-stars

shit that sucks - vending machines

2007-11-29T16:31:00.002-05:00

An incorrect haiku.

I'm really thirsty.

I have no cash in my wallet.

I'm a debit card kind of guy.

I'm really thirsty.

There's a vending machine outside.

Why don't you take debit cards?

Why vending machine?

Why?

-orion's belt buckle

raging out at... abraham lincoln

2007-11-29T16:14:00.006-05:00

I don't care. I hate Abraham Lincoln. I hate him with every fiber of my being.

Now, maybe my sheer disdain for Old Abe isn't necessarily his fault. It might be more fair to say I hate the pedestal people have put him on with total disregard for the fact that he was an opportunistic bastard with a stupid beard. To prove my point, I would like to provide you with some basic Facts de Lincoln which I will then irrationally rebut.

Fact 1: Abraham Lincoln had a massive ridiculous beard. Beards were a sign of status and are regarded even today as a symbol of stature. (Is this true? I made it up.) So Abe gallantly wandered around stroking his beard to show people that he, in fact, was a public figure to be respected.
Rebuttal 1: Abe had Marfan syndrome.
Marfan syndrome is a genetic disorder that manifests itself in a typically tall stature and disproportionate limbs and other really creepy abnormalities. Abe had crooked creepy Shannen Doherty face and grew a massive beard to hide it. He could have truly been a man of the people, let his real face show, and given hope to others who were affected. But did Abe do that? Nope. There's a role model.

Fact 2: Abraham Lincoln was largely self-educated and spent most of his time reading to better himself.
Rebuttal 2: Neighbors of Abraham's reported the belief that Lazy Abe spent most of his time reading to avoid doing any manual labor whatsoever. He was 700 feet tall and strong but was such a slothful bitch that he wanted no part of helping around whatever farm or plantation or wherever the hell he lived.

Fact 3: Abraham Lincoln cheated at a duel. There's no need to even rebut this one. The man CHEATED at a duel. Aren't duels supposed to be for defending honor and all that? You kind of lose the point of the combat when you fricking cheat. Abe was challenged to a duel by James Shields pretty much for anonymously talking shit. Abe was such a man that he felt the need to throw around his smacktalk secretly. Yeah, that's who I want running my country. You want to talk shit, do it up. Don't be a little ass-bearded bitch and do it anonymously. So because Abe was challenged by Shields, Abe was permitted to select the weapon of choice. Abe, being a sneaky little hoe's beast, decided they should both wield the largest swords imaginable. He was a giant ogre with disproportionately long limbs!! That sort of weapon could only create a fair fight between Abe and Andre the Giant. Uncool, Abe.

Fact 4: Abraham Lincoln was notoriously anti-war because of "unnecessary bloodshed."
Rebuttal 3 (yes, I screwed up my numbering): Abe had zero combat experience. ZERO. The commander in chief's only experience with battle was when they let him help bury bodies from battles already fought. Great, the head of all military probably couldn't shoot a gun or strategize or even wrap a wound like Florence Nightingale. But if you wanted a creepy middle of the night body bury, you could totally hit Abe up.

Fact 5: Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves because of his great love for justice for all humankind.
Rebuttal 4: If you don't know that entire platform and declaration was done for financial reasons and not reasons of actually giving a shit about people as a whole, I don't care to explain it. Look it up.

Fact 6: According to recent theories by historians, Abraham Lincoln may have been a homosexual.
Rebuttal 5: Go back to rebuttal 1. Be proud of who you are and don't hide behind the beard like Tom Cruise. Hmm, now I am wondering if that is actually wear the term beard comes from. I may have just solved a great mystery.

Fact 7: Abraham Lincoln was the first Republican President. See this quote from John Diggins. "Lincoln presented Americans a theory of history that offers a profound contribution to the theory and destiny of republicanism itself."
Rebuttal 6: Thanks for that.

So in summation...
I hate Abe. I hate his laziness and inqualification to run the military. I hate his false politics and the facade behind which he lived. But mostly, I really hate his beard.

-stars

shit that sucks - peacocks

2007-11-29T16:14:00.005-05:00

Everyone's favorite network with the xylophone scaled sonic branding ending their deal with iTunes to sell on Amazon.com and their own proprietary website.

First of all - NBC has the best original programming with the exception of F/X and HBO. Chuck, The Office, 30 Rock, and Las Vegas are some of the most brilliant shows on the air today. But, like everyone else in the modern world, I stopped being down with appointment television with the advent of TiVo (okay really just generic Time Warner DVR). Then, the iTunes Music Store added television series and I could put them on my iPod and plug that into my TV and watch whatever I wanted even if I'd forgotten to TiVo (read: DVR) it.

This is how I discover most shows. I'm a pop culture addict - it's what I do.

Long story short, NBC pulled the plug on iTunes because it wanted more money. What they don't understand is that TV shows have no value really. DVDs of TV shows are purchased because they are physical products. Consumers are purchasing the box to place on a shelf because it is representative of their tastes. When people put The Office DVD on their shelf they are doing it so when they have guests they can say "oh, you like The Office?" Or else you watch the episodes once through, and put the box back on aforementioned shelf. In fact, if you notice most people lose at least one of the DVDs that come in TV show boxed sets. Go open your friends Lost Season 2 - tell me if Disc 3 is in there or if it's sitting under the couch scratched up like a cat toy.

So why not be happy at making 1.99 for a TV show that you were otherwise making nothing for. Advertisers aren't going anywhere yet. Use iTunes as a promotion - in fact it is credited with launching The Office into the mainstream. Let clips sit up on YouTube, you can't really monitize 30 second clips (don't get me started on ringtones). Let fans be fans and share their enthusiasm of your product.

So now there's a writers' strike, so I'm preparing for new TV to disappear to make room for America's Best Choir (yes - there is a real series coming with that premise this January). So in celebration of my new iPod Touch I bought Season 1 of Heroes, a show I'd always wanted to start watching. So now I'm hooked on that, and almost through with it (even though new episodes of programming are still airing and I'd meant not to start watching Heroes until the strike was affecting my life - I have no self control). So, I want to get episodes from Season 2 - but they're not on iTunes. They are available only on Amazon.com's Unbox service - which of course isn't compatible with a Mac and can only be viewed on a PC in Window's Media format (can't be played on the iPod) - or it can be viewed on Hulu.com, another PC only website which isn't even open to the public - it's in invite only beta.

Thanks NBC. Way to get viewers to your shows.

Shit sucks.

-orion's belt buckle

grievance: washing new york city streets

2007-10-06T18:16:00.002-04:00

Who thought it was honestly necessary to start washing New York City streets? Please tell me I am not the only one who has pondered this question or, at least now that I'm bringing it up, can get on board with my confusions, because this is totally whack.

Okay, yes, I live in a REALLY nice area of the city whose community issues I've become pretty well versed in and it's become offensively obvious to me that the people who live here are so affluent that they have nothing to complain about but absurdities. So, it's certainly predictable that there would be maintenance men of my building and those around me washing down the streets in front of the buildings on a daily basis... but that doesn't detract from the sheer silliness of it.

I DO understand the desire to have the area in which you live be nice and attractive, but THESE ARE STREETS. Why are apartment OWNERS paying thousands of dollars in maintenance a month to pay for people to clean the surrounding areas, i.e. the EARTH, near which the buildings in which they live are situated?? This is my big problem: yes, sidewalks are essentially "man-made," HOWEVER they are still OUTSIDE, and a part of the earth, versus the marble floor of my building's hotel-like lobby, which I assure you, I believe needs to be cleaned. But like, ummm... UMMMMMM HELLOOOOOO, this is the earth. It has its own built-in cleaning mechanism, namely the RAIN.

Furthermore, I find this practice completely futile... no matter how much you hose down the CONCRETE STREETS, they're still going to be disgusting. And what is this trying to effectuate? BECAUSE it is concrete, it looks the exact same when it's "clean" and when it's "dirty." So are the boards of buildings deciding to do this so that pedestrians can SIT on the street? Or lie down?

With all of that said, I'm not big into getting into people's business unless it directly effects me... and this is how it DOES effect me: in keeping with the theme of my blog about wearing sandals and shorts in the rain, I DO NOT WANT THE BOTTOMS OF MY PANTS AND/OR SHOES TO GET WET. If it's raining, fine, I have to deal with that and either wear appropriate clothing or deal with the decision I've made if it HAPPENS to rain. But why am I forced to look like a COMPLETE ASSHOLE, holding my pants up from the thigh as I walk over certain patches of New York City streets?!?!?!?! So effing stupid.

Sincerely,
Dissatisfied, Water-Hating New Yorker

-moon

random rageouts and grandiloquent grievances: shit that sucks

Raging Out At... Bus Driver Trickery

grievance: coffee cups in the media

grievance: mercury in retrograde

grievance: technology making me suck at blogging

grievance: being spit on

grievance: thinking you can go to work after taking a red-eye l.a.-n.y. flight

moon's attempt at "raging out at... people thinking alcohol poisoning is a thing"

grievance: the economy (the sequel)

raging out at... looking unassuming

grievance: corn on salads

raging out at... buying birthday gifts

rageful grievance: quitting... AND THEN BEING FIRED!!! (another moon and stars collaboration)

grievance: abuse of the english language (english 103 - let's try this one more time)

raging out at... commuter nightmares

grievance: the series finale of the l word *spoiler alert*

grievance: subtitles

grievance: people not being able to handle daylight savings time

grievance: cab drivers who talk too much

raging out at... unexpected marriages

grievance: the city

raging out at... the economy

grievance: people's distaste/scaredness of google maps "latitude"

grievance: facebook statuses' grammar

grievance: bar etiquette (2)

grievance: baby taxi accidents

grievance: gravity (part 2)

grievance: asking for "no" or "little" ice

grievance: gravity

grievance: 2008

raging out at... passwords

grievance: my appliances

grievance: starbucks

raging out at... my own arrogance

grievance: ass-biting

raging out at... obligations

grievance: lottery tickets

raging out at... drunken behavior

raging out at... internet findings

grievance: pomegranates

grievance: young, drunk girls in murray hill

grievance: bamboozle edition

raging out at... un-hilarious money

grievance: television-advertised cd compilations

raging out at... the coachella edition

grievance: excessive air conditioning

raging out at... the puppy store

grievance: the worst airplane ride ever

grievance: "you'll see me again!"

raging out at... the shape of teeth

grievance: annoying humans

shit that sucks: nightclub clusterfuck sxsw edition

grievance: the mta

raging out at... "appointments"

raging out at... "fix-it" tickets

shit that sucks: lost addiction

raging out at... 5am

grievance: american idol's boys looking like women

grievance: bar etiquette (silly cocktails)

raging out at... ryan gosling

rageful grievance: purse casualties

grievance: taxitv

raging out at... john mayer

grievance: fucking shoegasm

shit that sucks - subway edition

raging out at... my top 10

grievance: native english speakers attacking foreigners' english

grievance: "things" disappearing into a technological abyss

rageful grievance: rude concert go-ers (a stars and moon collaboration)

grievance: silly idioms

raging out at... being taped to a couch during a shootout

raging out at... inappropriate ways of finding out information

grievance: inconsiderate retailers and pharmacists

shit that sucks: anti-malaria medication

raging out at... "i'm dealing with a lot"

grievance: people speaking too loudly in foreign languages

raging out at... shots

grievance: annoying children "actors" ruining my christmas

grievance: friends and hardware

raging out at... drunken camera work

grievance: the series finale of the l word spoiler alert