Trip to Hell and Back

My morning so far consisted of;

A.) getting off work.
B.) getting an iced coffee.
C.) getting the opportunity to see two of the most annoying dogs on the planet go to the Vet for shots!

My younger brother gave me a ride home, and we waited around for the time of the appointment. Despite Dunkin' Donuts caffeinated goodness I still nodded off. Then we left for the Plaistow Animal Medical Center, (they're good) and the dogs were in a transport kennel, (that they sleep in) and also were whining in the back seat, (they knew where they were going.) We get there and both of them pee next to another car, but it's a dirt parking lot, it's all free range. Then we go in.

This is where is gets irritating.

I've seen worse behavior in the past out of them at the veterinarian's, so I'm expecting the 5th ring of hell. (Which ring is it that 10 lbs. dogs yip and struggle against their leashes?) One dog is shaking in fear, (she requires a muzzle, to prevent a recurrence of biting) and the other is testing out his most high-pitched warble, (he's a British Pekingese; trust me, the sound almost stings.)

So we let the little bitch, (she by the way is a Jack Russel Terrier if you own one you know they are almost too intelligent and/or independant) go first, muzzle already applied, and it goes all right, but she was fighting the restraint, and then the other gets his turn, so now it's his turn to shake, but the vet dubs him a 'sweetie' so no restraint is needed. One $114.40 check later, (one of the dogs required an antibiotic for a recurring skin problem) and we're on our way back home. The dogs have literally barked and strained away all their energy, and now I'm fully awake.

Damn dogs.

A Sign of the Coming Apocalypse

Rolling Stone Magazine really sucks, like MTV in print.

A while back I read their top 500 greatest rock songs... or some such thing, and the whole list was basically wrong, if not entirely out of order.

It goes without saying that the issue following that had letters denouncing the authenticity of their choices, and how current publicity trends regardless of any true measure of value were at the core of the decision making process, but oddly enough, that isn't why I think that RSM is a worthless rag, not worth publishing. Let me sum up how stupid everyone who works at getting this magazine into print is in one clear example.

Kelly Osborne's 2nd? Album is given three stars for what? Ah. Realizing herself that she cannot sing, so she doesn't try as hard.
3, okay.

Foo Fighters is raked across the coals for a double album they released as their... 5th? Because it isn't as good as their previous album, is the reason given.
2. I see.

Smokers Beware

Smokers, I hate you. Here is a top... Four... maybe Five reasons you should die.

1.) You stink.
Everything about you, and I'm not sure if you realize it anymore, because your olfactory senses have been deadened to the degree that bathing and perfuming have become much the same thing. Your breath usually smells like a pile of dead skunks in a dung heap, with week-old rotten eggs mixed in. You're unaware of the offensive odors emanating from your body, and it isn't just the smoke. If fact people who have moved on to old-fashioned pipe tobacco, I applaud your efforts to cover up everything else that stinks on you. Chances are, you're old, and have quite a bit to cover up.

2.) You're completely devoid of manners or thoughtfulness.
Your inaptitude in what others might call common courtesy shows no bounds and it shows in nearly every action. Next time you think planting yourself directly in front of the restaurant you are leaving, or right on the front steps of the house you're at, throw yourself in front of a fucking bus. Trust me, you're not far enough off the beaten path. You need to put yourself;

A.) Out of my way
B.) downwind, refer to reason 1.

3.) You're irritable.
This falls into something of a personal nature , but cigarettes are supposed to relax you, not turn you into an utter psychopath if you don't get "yo' smokes." Go fuck yourself.

[Ex.] One brother who does smoke couldn't find his cigarettes and accused second brother of defiling them. Second brother expressed confusion and said he had no idea of what the other brother spoke. Supposedly that brother then had to walk twenty minutes in both directions to obtain new cigarettes at the time of night he "needed*" them. So in retaliation for imagined affront to his goddess, tobacco, he proceeded to take a piece of gravel and "key" other brother's automobile. What a Nancy.

*reads = is a giant pussy without them.

4.) You're slobs.
Afore mentioned brother and next door neighbor are in stiff competition to see who will reign as supreme champion of the clogger of the street drain competition. Pick up after yourself you goddamned slobs. This goes the same for a restaurant.

5.) You usually have an enabler.
In defense of the goddamned smoking, one argues that it was an addiction, and the same as being overweight. I am overweight. Goddamn it, I'm fat. I hate that about myself, but let's be honest;

A.) I don't eat a box of cupcakes a week to get there.
B.) I wouldn't spend five bucks a pack to eat said cupcakes.
C.) I don't froth half my afore mentioned hypothetical cupcakes into the faces of those around me who are either diabetic or on a diet.

So, I might be fat, but you're still the biggest assholes, smokers. Fall asleep in that easy chair with a lit death-stick hanging out of your face. Then burn.

Friday Wake

My uncle died this week. He was something like 49 years old, and my cousin (his son) is nine years old. It didn't hit me until I was describing the situation matter-of-factly to a co-worker and then (as it was the end of my shift, and I was going home in the AM to sleep) I couldn't sleep. I sat in bed thinking about how most of my memories of my Dad are from about that point on, (I mean we all have occasional memories, from earlier, but not with the same clarity) and my Dad's still alive. Hell, his father didn't die until I was twelve, and I was broken up about that.

I comprehend, but I can never know what this kid is going through. Philip Chin was a great Dad, and I hope his son remembers him as fondly as I will remember my childhood with my parents.

The Dead Shift

My job at night is simple and has little in the way of tasks. The shift is almost always an 8 hour one, and basically all I have to do is stay conscious. The other side of the dead shift is that I have become much less productive during the rest of my time throughout the week. I need to find something to do during the day. When I am not at work, I have lately resigned myself to doing no more than playing video-games, reading comic books, or going to the occasional movie. I have also gotten back into reading novels again, as it turns out reading has taken up a huge portion of my on-the-clock time.

(That's right: I get paid, in no small part, to read.)

Besides entertainment, I don't have much else going on. The Plan* is still in effect, but the fruition of that is still months off. I have about an hour to kill, before work so I'm going to go through my 'morning' routine.

[*The Plan: Saving up a significant portion of my bimonthly paychecks in order to purchase industrial grade woodworking machines. With which I will start a private business specializing in architecturally and ergonomic designed furniture with an affordable modern aesthetic. The Plan is to eventually bring in family members so that they may also work in an environment devoid of stupid people which infest our current work places as the rats that carried the Bubonic plague infested the medieval cities of Europe.]