The Somebody app was a major major bust for me. I spent hours attempting to deliver probably 15-20 messages and successfully delivered two. Everyone else would claim availability, and then I would show up at the GPS coordinates, and then I’d press “I can’t find this person” and wait and try again and wait and try again and wait and never get an update on where that person was or how to find them and then I’d do that until I got too frustrated and went home.
I was hoping for a lot of strange, weird interactions. All I got was a pain in my ass.
And a cycling workout, I suppose.
Please stop talking at concerts. Please.
Last night the quiet moments of all Nick Cave’s songs were overwhelmed by people talking. When the instruments faded it was like crowd walla foley playing at top volume.
That shit has got to stop.
I’m just a magnet for hostility lately.
Went to the local ripoff store for a sandwich.
I order up, spend most of the time outside with the puppies, checking in occasionally on my sandwich.
It’s about done so I go inside to ask for condiments.
I look at the sandwich guy and go “Hey, can I get…” and before I can get out another word some guy in line interrupts me and shouts “EXCUSE ME!”
I look over.
“There is a LINE over HERE! THIS! Is the line. THIS! US! OVER HERE! You have to get BEHIND us to order! What are you THINKING just walking’ up and ordering a sandwich etc. etc.”
And dresses me down for another 10 seconds or so.
I listen to this with a small grin, hoping I look amused.
He finishes it off, after a pause, with this flourish : “IEEEEEEEE didn’t order yet EITHER!”
I wait. He looks angry and proud: righteous. He is today’s sandwich line integrity hero.
“Either?” I ask, trying to sound innocent.
He blinks. Now he’s confused.
The guy behind the deli puts my sandwich, wrapped, on the counter.
I pick it up and point it at the guy in line.
“This,” I say, “Is my sandwich. I was asking for condiments until your rude ass interrupted me.”
He looks at the wall, suddenly. He had held my eye contact the entire duration until now.
“Miscommunication,” he says to the wall.
“Really? You’re going to treat a stranger like an asshole, you’re gonna talk to me that way about politeness and manners when you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and then when it turns out you’re wrong you don’t even apologize?”
“Miscommunication.” He says again, quieter, to the wall.
“I guess I’m going to put on mayonnaise at home.”
And I pay for my sandwich and leave.
"Power" is me telling you that I have it and you don’t.
This blew my mind when it came on Adventure Time. It’s ripped straight from Wallace Shawn’s play The Fever. Almost verbatim.
From “The Fever:
The fields were pieced together one by one, by thieves, by killers. Over years, over centuries, night after night, knives glittering, throats cut, again and again, until the beautiful Christmas morning we woke up, and our proud parents showed us the gorgeous, shining, blood-soaked fields which now were ours. Cultivate, they said, husband everything you pull from the earth, guard, save, then give your own children the next hillside, the next valley. From each advantage, draw up more. Grow, cultivate, preserve, guard. Drive forward till you have everything. The others will fall back, retreat, give you what you want or sell you what you want for the price you want. They have no choice, because they’re sick and weak. They’ve become “the poor.”
And the book runs on, years, centuries, till the moment comes when our parents say the time of apportionment is now over. We have what we need—our position well defended from every side. Now, finally, everything can be frozen, just as it is. The violence can stop. From now on, no more stealing, no more killing. From this moment, an eternal silence, the rule of law.