Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Slut-o-ween? No, Kat-o-ween.



Much like last Halloween, I had splendid delusions of grandeur when deciding on a costume this year. As the story goes, I get an idea that's cool and seemingly easy to execute, then I pat myself on the back for being so efficient, and then I sit back and do absolutely nothing until it's almost time for trick-or-treating.

This Halloween, I thought I'd work my braces into my costume instead of fighting them and hating them like I do the rest of the year. I considered donning the typical schoolgirl outfit, which would be my backup if I couldn't find all the items necessary to make a good Ugly Betty. Of course, the only things all my "planning" yielded were a lot of wondering why it's so hard to find a red poncho (and wouldn't it be a bonus if it had "Guadalajara" written on it?) and wishing I had been tanning and, upon giving up on Ugly Betty, pondering how odd it feels to be 25 and trying to look half your age but also appear to have the sexual prowess of someone twice your age.

I was thinking this was definitely going to be the year I participated in Slut-o-ween, the holiday that runs concurrently with Halloween in which young women show the world their inner whore. Although I've never celebrated Slut-o-ween, I can appreciate why it's popular among certain segments of the population. Some girls are shy. Some boys can't afford porn and strip clubs. Some people need a little extra something to get their motors running. Whatever your reason, Slut-o-ween can be a great day if you're open-minded and comfortable in your own skin.

That said, I had to exhaust every other option before I broke down and dug out the short, pleated skirt from the back of my closet. I woke up in the morning and began rummaging through my clothes, trying to find a costume to celebrate one of my favorite times of year. I could be a hippie... I have enough clothes that actually are from that era. I could buy some white makeup and be a goth. I could wear one of my mom's old mumus and be a Hawaiian. I could just put on something weird and let everyone else figure it out.

No no no no no! These are all normal clothes that I would actually wear when it's not Halloween (before I got lazy and started wearing the same thing every day). They'd probably be acceptable, but not the eye-grabbing Halloween getups that nature intended.

Damn! Why do I always wait till the last minute? Damn again! I can't wear a skirt this short in public before dark.

I had to meet Gus to pick up our CMJ badges in less than an hour and I still had nothing. I was hoping the weather would freeze me out of doing Slut-o-ween, but it was surprisingly pleasant outside. Still, something just felt wrong. Luckily, in one of my big tubs o' goodies, I found a cat "costume" that I bought for 50 cents at Claire's several years ago. It wasn't anything amazing, but it was acceptable for daytime.

It's a really good thing I thought about this because NO ONE KNEW IT WAS HALLOWEEN!

I left the apartment a little before noon to enjoy a 30-block walk (not so bad) to Gus's work. I was the only person with even a hint of a costume. I got a few stares, but most people went on minding their own business. After a little while, some people behind me exclaimed, "Ohhh! It's Halloween!" I guess they'd been back there for awhile wondering what possessed a girl in her mid-twenties to leave the house wearing cat ears and a tail.

As the day progressed, I got more and more attention. This is great because I'm kind of an attention whore and I had been off duty for awhile. Your average catcalls just annoy me, but these were actual CATcalls in reference to my costume, so it was fun getting them. Besides, you shouldn't wear something that will call attention to yourself if you're not ready to receive it.

Highlights:

"Aw shit! She's got a tail too!" (guy on bike)

"Hey Catwoman! I've been looking for you!" (guy in mysterious unmarked truck)

"Where did you get your costume?" (random girls throughout the day)

"Heeeere kitty kitty!" (some dude)

"That's some good pussy! You need a ride, pussy?" (Irish dude with horses)

"That's so cute." (lady in the shoestore)

"Meow!" (fucking everybody)

And some guy jumped out and "pounced" in front of me, which was really funny only because he was shorter than me and not scary-looking.

When I hurriedly got dressed this morning, I thought I would change into my Slut-o-ween costume at night and wear it to some CMJ shows. But I was having so much fun walking around the city as a cat, I didn't want to change.

Before coming to that conclusion, I fought a bit of an internal battle about it anyway. I'm 25 now, so I'm running out of years to celebrate Slut-o-ween without looking like some nasty old woman who actually is a whore. This was the one day of the year where I can dress like I belong in a brothel and still be respected in intelligent conversations about music, finance, and the global theater. And yet, I don't think I have the body for a Slut-o-ween costume, even if I did already own all of the items that the one I had in mind comprised. I just couldn't bring myself to walk down the street in something I'd reserve for the bedroom. I just didn't feel like I could pull it off. Everyone has body issues (I'm not exactly petite), but I think this went further than that. Something about compromising my comfort just to cause a few boners seemed silly. I don't know these people... why should they get to look at me?

So my laziness paid off. People around here don't really celebrate Halloween with the gusto that Austinites do. That's okay, but I still wanted to and I'm glad I did. And I think I struck a good balance when doing so.


A kat is loose in Central Park...

posted by platkat @ 11:59 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

I Know My Chicken



You gotta know your chicken.

posted by platkat @ 10:49 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

A Halloween Addendum

Halloween night was also the first night of the CMJ Music Marathon, which drew out more hipsters than CBGB's last weekend in business. Although rock 'n roll style has been a cultural phenomenon for many years, it seems as though the "style" has surpassed rock 'n roll itself in the recent past. This is evidenced by the conversations I hear in and around rock shows. It seems that most people aren't as interested in the band they're seeing as who will see them in their new beat-up looking jeans and stupid hairstyle.

At the Knitting Factory, I went outside for a smoke and overheard four dudes talking about their stupid jackets. At least half of them were "on," attempting to say something witty with the possible bonus of sounding sharp.

I started talking to them about something, maybe the drinks, when a few of their friends approached, one of which appeared to be a younger version of Saturday Night Live's "lovely" Rachel Dratch.

"What are you guys dressed up as?" asked the girl, attempting to draw some kind of humor from the group, as they were clearly not in costume.

Dead silence. The young men stared at each other, each hoping one would say something funny before their river of self-proclaimed coolness went bone dry.

"A bunch of fucking hipsters," I said, and took another drag from my cigarette.

They were markedly saddened by this perception, but had no real comment.

For a culture that glorifies sarcasm and irony through fashion, they're quite tender on the inside. The nice thing about hipsters is that you can say whatever you want to them and they won't beat you up. (It might mess up their hair.)

Once again, if I'm not busy out there burning bridges, it's only because I stopped to buy more matches.

posted by platkat @ 10:22 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Monday, October 30, 2006

A Small Victory Dance

I finally finished the book I've been reading since... I think February: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Yeee-ow.

I had seen the book before, and was mildly interested. But there are so many good books out there about Zen Buddhism and how its practices are applicable to modern day life. I agreed to read this particular novel so I could participate in a book group that, through no fault of the book, went horribly wrong.

The book is only 400 pages long. I blame the length of time it took me to finish on the tedious writing and subject matter. I don't want to spoil it, but there is very little mention of Zen in the entire work, and since the book outlines the character's journey through insanity, I would say the work doesn't even embody the mere idea of Zen. Still, I was able to glean some maxims that I can apply to my career as well as my day-to-day interactions with people. I can't give up on a book, no matter how much I tire of it, and I am thankful that the dreadful parts were usually followed by some clever insights.

Regardless of its inconsistency, I would recommend this book to my friends in the tech industry, particularly engineers who are interested in theory above practice, and also tech writers who are genuinely interested in the products about which they write; generally those who write about consumer products that can be troubleshot by the average person with the use of a guide. I also definitely recommend the book to budding philosophers, or anyone with an interest in philosophy, and probably those interested in classic Greek language and literature. That pretty much comprises almost everyone I've met in my adult life whose opinions I respect to some degree and some intellectual fucks I know who are too pretentious to busy themselves with the plebian activity of riding and/or fixing a motorcycle.

There's a lot of to-do about fixing motorcycles in this book. It made me wish I owned a motorcycle so I could follow some of it. But I also remembered that if I got a motorcycle, it would be a part of my second-wave mid-life crisis (the first happened when I was 20-21; the next will happen when I'm around 27) and it would be a custom Harley or BMW and would likely have some computerized components. Still, you can apply the knowledge to most things.

I'm just happy that I finally finished the darn book. I took good notes, so I can refer back to the parts I liked without sifting too hard through the parts I didn't. Now I just need something light and fun and probably fictional to wash all this down and relax a little.

posted by platkat @ 4:49 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Sunday, October 29, 2006

On Running (Running On)

I ran my first race in New York today, a 5-mile precursor to the ING Marathon that will take place next week. Despite Halloween being just days away, there were fewer costumes than you'd expect to see at an event with over 6,000 people in a place as diverse and "crazy" as Manhattan. I guess people in Austin just like to dress up more. In NYC's defense, the weather's not exactly comfortable out here if you're standing still (e.g., before the race).

The run around Central Park was rather pleasant. Once we got started and warmed up, I must say I enjoyed it even more than the Turkey Trot, Austin's Thanksgiving 5-miler. The Turkey Trot takes you through some of my favorite parts of Austin (downtown, parts of Hyde Park, my old route to work), but the heat was unbearable when we ran it. I remember dragging Gus up the last hill at 4 and a half miles, ordering him not to walk, and wondering myself why I didn't just give up and collapse.

This run was pretty easy by comparison. I felt like I was going downhill most of the time and when it was over, I couldn't believe it. I probably could have run another few miles without knowing I was doing it. I may be a stronger runner now, but I think I was in better overall shape back then. Who knows? I just know that one thing remains true: Having other people running around you really keeps you going. Even though the events aren't cheap, I could probably stand to trade in a few Saturday nights of drinking for a few more of these.

Unlike the Austin runs, I didn't collect my weight in Zone bars or get offered powdered donuts halfway through the race, but I did get a chance to experience a new slice of my fine surroundings. I'm looking forward to the next one in November and the opportunity to run some races in Austin once it cools off a little. I wonder if New York has anything like the Trail of Lights. I won't hear any arguments that the figurines wouldn't last a day in New York City; those awful orange banners from The Gates managed to overstay their welcome by a longshot.

posted by platkat @ 5:39 PM  2 million people love The Kat

 

Thursday, October 26, 2006

There's nothing like a giant armadillo laying dead in the middle of the road with its legs sticking straight up to remind you that no matter where you go or what you've been doing, Texas is where you belong.

I still love living in New York (and the weather there has been much better than it has been here!), but it's nice to be able to come back to Austin to see what's new, and what's dead.

posted by platkat @ 8:18 AM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Friday, October 20, 2006

We Kissed Your Ass and Now You Owe Us

In the vein of horrendously obnoxious customer service, I thought I'd share the story of my shopping expedition yesterday. Actually, most people probably wouldn't call it an expedition because I only went to two stores. For someone who shops for clothes as infrequently as I do, that's an expedition. The only reason I went shopping in the first place was because a store right around the corner from me just put up a going-out-of-business "70% off" sign, meaning they should have a lot of shit on sale. The shit I refer to is what the girls around here wear when they go out or go to work and want to look nice. At least I think...

So, I entered the store with an open mind and a willingness to try on just about anything. As I stepped through the doorway, a Mediterranean man in his mid-thirties nearly knocked me over to inform me that everything was on sale because they're going out of business.

Thanks, I can read a fucking sign.

He kind of reminded me of The Rock, if he were an overbearing, aging hipster with no sense of personal space. I thought it was counter-intuitive to place such a menacing figure in the doorway of women's fashion boutique, but whatever.

I started grabbing clothes and a Mediterranean lady started a fitting room for me. We made a little conversation; she also told me the store was closing and pointed out some items for sale. I let her do most of the talking and was grateful when she was finished.

I continued my journey throughout the store. I passed the same Mediterranean man by the register and apathetically thumbed through a rack of halter tops, eyeing one with a silver snake broach at the solar plexus. I didn't think I could pull it off, but the snake was cute.

"We just got those in. Those tops are really beautiful."

There are two left and you're going out of business. Do I look like a fucking moron?

I nodded and walked away. I ended up adding the snake top to my collection as I walked back to the dressing room, remembering that I should at least try it on, since I'd gone to the effort to shop in the first place.

So the clothes-trying began, and from that point forward I had someone up my ass at least every two minutes. Over the years, I've gotten pretty good at saying, "Leave me the fuck alone," using only my eyes, but unfortunately it didn't work on these people.

The dressing rooms are small such that you have to walk out into the store if you want to look in the mirror. This way, everyone gets to see how ridiculous you look. More importantly, this gives the salespeople an opportunity to try to convince you that you don't look ridiculous and you should buy their shit.

And that's what happened. At first, I didn't mind getting help from the two tag-teaming skinny but unattractive Mediterranean ladies (one looked like the first one's mother). As I came out in different tops, they showed me how to wear them or suggested what to wear with them. It was a little more attention than I wanted, but they were just doing their job. I'm pretty good at deciding what I do and don't like, and I know what I have in my closet to match whatever garment I try on. Over time, these women were wearing on me, crossing the line from appearing helpful to overtly pushing me into buying something. I understand that they need to sell stuff, but when you're dealing with someone who clearly doesn't want to talk to you, less is more.

I was even interrupted at one point by one of the ladies who wanted to "ask me something." The curtain moved a little bit and I had to abruptly say, "I'll be out in a minute." Whatever she had to ask me was insignifigant enough for me to have forgotten it by now, and definitely not worth exposing my naked body to the store.

Worse than the ladies, though, was The Overbearing Rock. He almost insisted that I try on the snake top again, even though I had already tried to explain to the ladies that I don't have enough cleavage to pull it off. It was one of those tops that doesn't "close" high enough, and I'm not big on showing off the great plains between my tiny twin peaks. To make one thing clear, my body is fine, that shirt on my body, however, is wack.

I really hate having to justify to a salesperson why I don't want to buy something, and when they're riding your ass as hard they were, you pretty much have to do that.

Anyway, as I tried on clothes, The Overbearing Rock kept walking by, commenting on my attire. I had brought back some black pants that I knew I didn't want just to see how some of the tops would look with that color. I knew I didn't want them because an inch of see-through mesh ran down the length of each side where fabric should be. The Overbearing Rock walked by as one of the ladies was helping me adjust the top and said matter-of-factly, "Those pants look very sexy."

And your ass is very creepy.

Now, I know I'm a decent-looking girl, but I'm no supermodel. I carry around a few extra pounds because I like to eat regularly, like normal people. These particular pants were not made for a girl like me. They were made for a girl like Cameron Diaz. That's fine, and it should be obvious to whoever sees me in them that they're pretty awkward (and now, I wish I'd taken pictures because it's kind of funny).

I put aside a few tops that I was thinking about buying and stripped down to try on a dress. By this point, I was warily eyeing the curtain between me and the rest of the world, just waiting for it to move so I could deliver someone a vicious beatdown.

When I put on the dress, I found that it was made with that stretchy fabric that isn't flattering on anyone. The pattern was okay, but the waist was too high, which I of course had to tell the lady who ran to me the second I stepped out to see how I looked in it. She tugged at the waist a little, so it would look halfway decent on me for a split second before the normal occurrences of wearing clothes (i.e., moving) would shift it back to where it naturally sits. The Overbearing Rock walked by again and said, "Wow."

I almost gagged. That was the most insincere "wow" I've ever heard, directed at me or otherwise. In fact, I think my dad would have sounded more sincere even after my mom had kicked him in the shin and gave him a glaring nod as if to say, "Give your daughter a compliment." While my family isn't terribly generous with compliments, I've come across many men who are. And while those are few and far between anymore, I still know a real compliment when I hear it. And that one was so far at the other end of the spectrum, I'd have to call it an insult.

I changed back into my clothes and evaluated my findings. Of course, I had "help." The younger lady stood with me while I went through my pile, so I showed her the three tops I was thinking about. None of them were "must-haves," but they were each a departure from the tank-top-and-cardigan look I've been rocking since 2001.

I don't look at prices until I've decided I want something (why go through the stress of decision-making right away?), so I clarified the prices with the lady at that point, as the clothes were precariously marked "on sale". Each item came out to about $50. No problem, but I'm definitely not going to buy all three. I said that I wanted to take some time and think about which ones I wanted. She insisted that I talk to The Overbearing Rock so he could get me a better price.

The price isn't the issue, but I might as well see what they offer.

She grabbed the tops and told me to follow her to the register. She said something to the man and he ignored me for a bit while I checked some messages on my Sidekick. Then he turned around and said with overpowering arrogance, "This is the best price you can get for these clothes. These are the best clothes and that is the best price."

This was really annoying, as I never said I had a problem with the price. And clearly, there was no room to negotiate, which the family should have established before they decided to have their big closeout sale. Apparently, their bad communication with customers stems from their bad communication at home.

So I yelled, "I can see why you're going out of business you creepy fuck! I hope your miserable ass gets fucking deported!" And then I knocked over a display of earrings and threw a table through a window.

That last part didn't happen, but I left the store empty-handed, feeling glad I didn't give money to such a poorly-run family business. I hate shopping for clothes even more now.

posted by platkat @ 2:58 PM  4 million people love The Kat

 

Worst Brow Wax Ever - I Wanted to Escape!

My review of Escape Spa written for citysearch.com

I went to Escape for a brow wax based on the great reviews I saw on citysearch. The facility was pleasant and sanitary, but the aesthetician I saw HAD NO IDEA WHAT SHE WAS DOING. I should have stood up and left right away when the first words out of her mouth were, "You're going to have to come back 3 more times for them to look right." I've seen many aestheticians and no one has ever said that to me before. She didn't ask me how I wanted my brows done and when I tried to show her, she started arguing with me. She also berated me for not having hair follicles where she expected them to be and accused me of overplucking. Not exactly stellar customer service. I have sparse hair growth, which isn't totally uncommon. Everyone is different, and a good aesthetician will do their best to work with you have. If I was born with perfect brows, I wouldn't have to see a professional in the first place, right? But even worse than this person's rude attitude was that HER HANDS STARTED SHAKING while she worked on me. I don't know about the rest of you, but I find it pretty scary when a person is putting hot and sharp things near my face and cannot control her movements. All in all, I left annoyed, insulted, and a little freaked out, and my brows didn't even look good. Steer clear of this place unless you like being insulted while pain is being inflicted upon you. And if that's what you're into, try "escaping" to one of NYC's fine BDSM clubs and leave the aesthetics to the pros.

I hope someone was amused by this, and that maybe other people won't make the same mistake I did. It's a known fact that some business owners write reviews of themselves, which is both bogus and sad (Wayne's World), but this place had more reviews than normal, so I thought I was safe. I find that if I'm still annoyed with a place awhile after I've been there, writing a scathing review helps me cope a little bit. :-)

(But I'm not a total hag; I write nice ones too!)

posted by platkat @ 7:12 AM  1 million people love The Kat

 

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Stolen with Pleasure

I believe there are a few more key ways to spot a douchebag, but this is a good start.



Regardless of their attire, they're a dead giveaway once they start talking.

posted by platkat @ 7:13 AM  2 million people love The Kat

 

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Even More on the Roof

I went up to the roof today to do one thing: verify that it is indeed 72 degrees outside so I won't over or under dress for my afternoon appointment. But I actually did three things:

1. I verified that it is 72 degrees, but somewhat breezy and overcast, so it is light-jacket weather.

2. I saw that Borders is really close by on 2nd Avenue, next to Dean & Deluca.

3. I found a dollar.

Yes, a whole dollar! Indeed, the roof is good for many things besides getting a breath of fresh air without opening a window or going downstairs.

posted by platkat @ 12:08 PM  1 million people love The Kat

 

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Dark Water

Think about the last time you gave someone a rim job while drinking a gin and tonic and smoking a cigarette and you'll have some idea the tap water in our apartment tastes like. Do people in New York actually drink this stuff?

Today it rained all afternoon, and now the top of the Empire State Building is hidden by a thick, dense fog. Today's high temperature was this Texas girly's nightmare: a damp 58 degrees. I'm glad I work at home, and gladder still that I will be returning to sunny Austin in less than a week.

posted by platkat @ 8:30 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Monday, October 16, 2006

Shocked and Appalled

You know, it's funny... You pump a bunch of apes full of adrenaline (and who knows what else), make them eat, sleep, and breathe a frivilous sport rooted in violence, and dress them in body armor heavier than most people can lift--You'd really think they'd know how to behave themselves on the field. So, when I turned on the morning news and saw 11 University of Miami players thrashing it out with 18 Florida International University players, I was naturally amazed to see such ruffianism taking place in the fine, upstanding world of college football.



It is quite surprising that with all the good encouragement these young men are given to study hard, respect their elders, mind their manners, and make a positive difference in this world, these same men, when wearing bright costumes and given a small brown ball, would go batshit crazy and try to inflict pain upon one another.

I am perplexed that a columnist at ESPN would say that the initial punishment of one suspension wasn't a harsh enough penalty for this little group squabble. These guys have really been through a lot, accepting gifts from sports-loving alums, drifting through college barely attending class, and ignoring the basic standards of daily decorum that are second nature to most students attending college. If anyone has respect for rules and regulations, it's these guys. They've only done stuff like this a few other (million) times, and I bet all the players swore they'd never do it again (until next time). Come on, have a heart!

And I'm sure this talk of the players abusing their coach's kind leniency is all made up. I mean, a football player bending the rules to their advantage and doing whatever the hell they want? I don't think I'd believe it if I saw it! These guys have been convinced since childhood that they deserve to live like kings because they can remember some plays and beat up on some other dudes wearing costumes different from their own. Gentlemen with such integrity and personal value to our society do not deserve to be suspended indefinitely from their precious game, and it's really a shame that only their loving granddaddy of a coach can see that.

Good thing we have such brilliant sports announcers in this tumultuous business to support the players' rights to ignore the well-being of those other than themselves... all the damn time. The only chances players get to throw their weight around and disregard everyone else's needs for their own pleasure is when they're not playing or practicing. Why, there just aren't enough hours in the day! These guys are heroes for giving so much back the world; how have we waited this long to let them just be themselves on the field and act like the primordial beings from which the human race was spawned?

"Now, that's what I'm talking about!"

I agree, Mr. Easiest-Job-On-Earth! Let these guys have their fun. In fact, let's make a new rule: No more suspensions for violent acts, whatsoever. Maybe the future of mankind will get lucky and they'll beat themselves into one division, which slowly decimates until football is obliterated from the earth forever.

posted by platkat @ 8:04 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Three Notes

1. You know who's cool? Bronson Pinchot. Yeah...



2. Pibb + Camel Lights = Crazy Suspicious

3. After listening to song, "Bunny Hop," a million times and actually doing the said dance at parties since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I just learned that the words are, "Come join in the fun / Father, Mother, Son / Do the Bunny Hop / Hop hop hop..."

Father, Mother, Son? What the fuck??

posted by platkat @ 12:01 AM  1 million people love The Kat

 

Friday, October 13, 2006

Good Luck!

It's Friday the 13th! One of my favorite recurring days of the year, but maybe not everyone else's. I've already seen some Friday the 13thy things happen to a bunch of people around me, but so far I haven't been too negatively affected. Hope everyone else's paths remain black-cat-free!

posted by platkat @ 8:25 AM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

I'm OK

According to CNN, a small plane crashed into a building on 72nd Street. I'm on 33rd Street, so I'm OK. I went to the roof, but I couldn't see anything. The multitudes of sirens are making the city sound like more of a war zone than normal, but that's the only way I'm affected. Gus is working on 59th Street, and he's OK too.

However, we'll be traveling to Houston for a wedding soon. That may not be OK.

posted by platkat @ 3:29 PM  0 million people love The Kat

 

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

It's a Miracle!

I was feeling a little hungry. Not really hungry, just a little. So I grabbed last night's leftovers from the fridge to idly nibble on for a few minutes. I took a few bites, and lo and behold, nestled before me in a clear tupperware tray, I saw Him.

From the heavens above, I was being given a sign. He has sent his image to be displayed before me as a reason not to lose hope and to spread His good word across this populated land! I have seen the light. I have found The Flying Spaghetti Monster. In my spaghetti.

I must alert the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster immediately. The elder pirates will surely want to analyze the form and texture of my sacred religious finding.

What great feats I shall accomplish due to this miraculous experience! The most important job I can do right now is to make sure everyone knows His greatness so they can be touched by His noodly appendage. Indeed, the Pastafarian religion is spreading like wildfire, but it is due only to aspiring pirates like Daniel and myself proclaiming His good word to the masses.

But this makes no sense! people say. It's all made up! they accuse. They make it sound like I'm running all over the city trying to convince other people to believe in this all-powerful being that I found in my spaghetti, even though I'm unable to prove its existance. But I truly have faith that the Flying Spaghetti Monster is coming back to earth to judge us, so you better convert now!

See, it sounds stupid when you do it too.


posted by platkat @ 10:18 PM  1 million people love The Kat

 

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Comedy 101

I think it's time some people in the world learned a few things about comedy and jokes. To provide a disclaimer, I may not be an actual "comedian" or even really that "funny," but I did hold my cell up to a microphone one time so that Gus could deliver his comedic routine to as part of a private comedy-karaoke showcase. I also view Comedy Central frequently and surround myself by goofy people who will not shy from the opportunity to provide a good laugh. Using these extremely strong credentials, I am delivering this short blurb on explaining what is funny by helping to define what is not.

I've had the displeasure of knowing people throughout my life that tend to cut people down, may it be for being gay, southern, or otherwise different, or simply because they wore a strange garment or bought music of questionable quality. I don't know if these societal confidence-choppers have a collective name (or did I just give them one?) but you've undoubtedly met one before. They mistake an excuse to be mean for being witty. There's a place for sarcasm, and it can be very funny, but only when there's a cleverness about it that is missing from the mind of most "choppers." These folks like to say things that are offensive and follow them with the phrase, "It was a joke." (I remember the days when these people used to say, "No offense" instead, but I think they were giving the objects of their torment negative ideas regarding their intentions, so the former phrase is now used in attempt to abstract listeners from such possibilities.)

Today, I stand on my virtual soapbox to say, "No, it's not."

This is a joke: "Two guys walk into a bar. The third one ducks."

This is not a joke: "Only stupid faggots like Insert Name would get that question wrong."

This is a joke: "Why is a woman like a hurricane? Because when she comes it's wet and wild and when she leaves she takes your house and car."

This is not a joke: "I'm reading this article about some fat, money-grubbing twat. It's probably about Insert Name but they changed the names to protect the nauseating."

This is a joke: "Boudreaux calls the doctor and says, 'Doc, doc, my wife Marie is in labor and da contractions are only two minutes apart!' The doctor asked, 'Is this her first child?' Boudreaux shouts, 'No, you idiot, this is her husband!'"

This is not a joke: "Or if you're from the bayou like Insert Name, you're probably too busy parking your ugly, retarded ass on a fishing boat to resolve that kind of issue."

Funny: Jabs at public figures who deserve them.

Not funny: Deliberately singling out someone in the room.

Funny: Clever inside jokes with close friends who share your sense of humor.

Not funny: Derogatory comments toward people you hardly know in large groups of people who hardly know you.

Funny: Anything on Mr. Show.

Not funny: You.

Get it? So quit it. Thanks.

posted by platkat @ 11:46 PM  3 million people love The Kat

 

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

There are days when you wake up and have a ton of shit to do and you've already missed more daylight hours than you care to admit but you work as hard as you can and still feel like you're not getting anywhere.

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...*

The water in New York is nasty, or at least from my New York sink it is, and when you're doing a ton of stupid work where you find more problems than you solve, leaving the house to buy water is a good deviation from the frustration that lies ahead.

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

Friends' birthdays are important, but unlike Pepperidge Farm, you forgot your friend's birthday and need to buy a gift at the 11th hour. After walking around town for awhile with every intention of buying a nice gift, you get frustrated and decide to just get the damn water. And maybe stock up on soup because the Emporium o' Foods is having a sale.

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

You can walk through aisles and aisles of random foods, organized loosely by type and brand, and no matter what's there, you want something else. Like a cookie. A big, soft, sweet, chewy cookie. But this store doesn't have those cookies. It has Chips Ahoy... and Chips Ahoy. Those cookies are acceptable, for instance, when you have to bring a snack to a party. But I was going for quality, not quantity. How could a store that calls itself an Emporium have such a limited selection of cookies??

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

You'll still cruise the store 10 times over so you don't have to make a trip to another store, like Grizzly's, which is right across the friggin' street. You know the effort is fruitless from the beginning, but that's the amount of walking you'd do back at the HEB or Walmart in Texas, and you're going to be glad you had a little exercise before you finally find the cookies you seek.

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

To say, "Fuck it" and go to Grizzly's, where P-Farm's Soft Baked Chocolate Chunk cookies are a whopping 20 cents off the regular price. In your face, corporate marketing whores! I was going to buy these cookies anyway!

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

Back in the old days, no one cared about nutritional value or calorie-counting because everyone was working on the farm instead of sitting back at their desks trying to find new ways to procrastinate and amuse one's self before a nice dinner with friends that makes your mundane days spent rotting in a chair seem worth living.

Pepperidge Farm Remembers...

What a fucking pig you have to be to eat a whole (okay, half, but only because of sheer willpower) bag of cookies. Actually, a bag only contains eight cookies. That's okay, right? Half of that chocolately goodness got stuck in your braces so you brushed it all out of your mouth right away and it's like you never ate anything, and now that you're not dying for cookies anymore, you can finally try to get some work done. Oh forget it, I'm heading to the pub.

Pepperidge Farm Remembers.

*For those in the dark, this was part of some comedian's stand-up routine. I not only stole his joke, I kicked it in the face, slammed it against a wall, declared it dead, and chopped it into bite-sized pieces to store in my fridge. My apologies. But only for this post, not eating half a bag of cookies. Those were delicious.

posted by platkat @ 6:51 PM  1 million people love The Kat

 

Found During the Obligatory GIS for "Pepperidge Farm"



128K RAM? FORTRAN?? Data... base??? WOW! This whole "personal computer" thing just might take off!

And maybe by the year 2000, we'll have colonies on the moon and ad designers will learn how to lay out a two-page fucking spread.


*Ahem*

posted by platkat @ 3:37 PM  4 million people love The Kat

 

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

More on the Roof

Although the views from my roof are great (see previous post), the roof itself is kind of sad and desolate. Some roofs (rooves!) have little gardens on them, or at least some brickwork and patio furniture. Not mine. It has a weird insulation-like flooring, and there are a bunch of things on the roof that are probably preventing management from even thinking about building a patio.

The elevator control room is up there, as well as some other little building that takes up a considerable amount of the roof's footprint. There is also a scattered bunch of large silver things that probably do something very important (besides make a lot of noise)... I'll try to furnish a picture when I have daylight again.

In one corner, there's a huge antennae that looks like it came from the 80s. Leaning against the elevator control room is a cracked full-length mirror, accompanied by a large orange bucket and a container of soap. Kind of makes you wonder what kind of kinky stuff goes on when I'm not there.

Although I've never seen anyone up there, I know someone has used the roof. Someone who drinks Miller Lite and smokes a Marlboro Lights, maybe 100s. If I knew people here, I would invite them to drink and smoke on my roof. I'm very surprised, I'll daresay shocked, that with enough residents to fill 32 floors (minus floor 13, which my building doesn't have), which is so many people that I have almost never seen the same person twice in my daily comings and goings, NO ONE from this building uses the roof EVER.

The most curious thing of all though, is that there are weeds growing in the cracks of that strange insulation material. Although not heavily trafficked by people, somehow a few seedlings managed to make their way up 32 stories to take root in the very infertile roof-flooring.

posted by platkat @ 8:25 PM  2 million people love The Kat

 

Monday, October 02, 2006

It's a Beautiful Day in New York

Sunny and 68 degrees. See?







The weekend was pretty cool too. Although the weather wasn't quite as nice as today's, we still got a lot done.

I found a great shoe at NextFest:





I always wondered what happens when you shove a Gameboy into a pair of Candies. As soon as they make another one, I'll be the first in line for my own pair progressive platforms. (It's where the "plat" comes from, you know.)

We also went to Toys "R" Us. ARRRRRRRRRRRR! ...Backwards! That's actually an indoor ferris wheel behind us, but there were no pirates on it as far as I could tell.



And I got a good shot of the biggest booger in board games, Plumpy from Candyland:



Did I mention I'm a fucking tourist? I thought I'd stop all foot traffic on my block of Times Square to take this amateur, poorly lit photo. I'm awesome!



We joined some other tourists at the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum (but not as many as we thought we would, which is a good thing). Gus liked this plane:



We went inside this plane:



We thought it would be cooler than it was.

And of course, no loosely thrown together photo blog post of mine would be complete without a dead bird.



We found this one in the train tracks as we departed Paoli, Pennsylvania a couple weeks ago. Besides the new BlackBerry Pearl (slick!), it was probably the most interesting thing we saw in Paoli. What the hell were we doing in Paoli? Meeting some intersting people at the annual Boathouse Bash. I drank my first shot of SoCo since high school and remembered all over again why I'll go at least another 10 years without touching the stuff. Bleh!

posted by platkat @ 1:07 PM  1 million people love The Kat

 

 

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