Twisted Spinster

Rent is paid! Rent is paid! Rent is paid! I took the money order to the apartment manager today.
Gasp.

Okay, now to find a real job. No call from Walmart yet telling me when I can start. The problem with this city isn’t just the fact that after you appear on the doorsteps of people who have put ads in Careerbuilder asking for applicants they stare at you when you say “I’m here about the job” as if you were a two-headed green Martian (when everyone knows Martians aren’t green), it’s the fact that when you do finally go through all the paperwork and pee-in-a-cup hurdles they take forever to actually give you a date when you are to start working. What up, O-town? At this point I’m just doing it so I can show apartment leasing offices that I’m employed, because I’ve got to be out of here by May 3rd. One step forward, two steps back?

Anyway — all complaining aside, thank you everyone.

After living in Japan for years, Sean Kinsell will be moving back to the US in a few weeks. He is anticipating culture shock based on the television programs and political issues people seem to be into over here. However, I’ll bet you that what really gets to him after the shock of “you people actually watch that?” wears off will be all the little things — the mannerisms, the way people don’t automatically take their shoes off before entering a house, the way people greet you (bet you New York manners vs. Tokyo manners will really be a stunner), the way people act in movie theaters (heck, I haven’t been to the theater in years, not since the last Lord of the Rings movie came out), the way people eat, and so on. I can tell you that personally I experienced culture shock just moving from Miami to Orlando — despite the two metropolitan areas being only about 275 miles apart, they are like night and day. I mean, in Orlando people actually look you in the eye and say “hello” to you on the street! Complete strangers! And they aren’t crazy or planning to rob you — they’re just being polite! That freaked me out.

Yeah, this is my least original headline, but I don’t care — I read Ace because, well, oh just read it. And my dad told me octopus tasted like chicken. Let’s just say this Miami preteen was not fooled.

Update: okay, that came out wrong. Um — never mind.

Okay, the thunder stopped again so I’m still connected. The movie ended rather badly for all concerned — if not for their actual physical bodies I thought everyone’s character was rather well trashed and that includes what I assumed to be the more-or-less hero — he gets the girl and his kid, but only if he pays her husband to go away? I don’t know, I was underthrilled, perhaps mostly due to the fact that I wasn’t impressed with the protagonist. Perhaps it was because he was blond. I’ve never been into blonds, Peter Davison’s version of the Doctor being a rare exception. (And: you know, period filmmaker people, I know what you’re up to when you give Hitler hair to a character we are supposed to be against.)

Oh yeah — and Fenella Woolgar (however you spell her name, can’t be bothered to look it up, too dull-making, good Lord I talk like the characters now) has a really huge fucking chin. I mean it’s gigantic. Scary.

(Psst: one thing — this movie was directed by one of Blighty’s professional gays, Stephen Fry, so half the time all the male characters are looking at each other like they want to jump each others’ bones or something. For example, I thought David Tennant’s character — the “rich cad” who stole the “hero’s” girl — was actually making the moves on the “hero” with that coin trick scene. I recall that I saw Stephen Fry play Oscar Wilde and in that film a minor gay character is shown trying to pick up a dude with a somewhat different coin trick, so that’s probably why the scene gave off that sort of atmosphere. There’s actually only one Real Gay character in Bright Young Things, and he’s in none of these scenes.)

Oh hell, I suppose we could just revert to the comments on this post over at Ace of Spades.

Dance This Mess Around with the B-52s.

…but first earlier today my site was down for a bit (server issues), I had to go to a job interview — which I did not find, because God forbid that Orlando put address numbers on the office buildings scattered haphazardly in the twisty, tub-of-live-bait nightmare that are the streets here, so after driving around swearing at the insane people I have to share the streets with (stopping at stop signs is optional — you are allowed to let your car roll halfway into the street so people in the right lane can smash into you or swerve around you and smash into cars the next lane over; it’s fun for the whole family! like a bargain ride sponsored by Universal Studios or something) I came home to thunder and rain, so I disconnected the cable until that was over. (I have already sacrificed one computer to lightning hitting an unprotected cable installation; I’m not sacrificing another.)

Oh, and I bruised the bottom of my left foot on the corner of one of the plastic crates holding my godforsaken record albums, and then whilst chasing a mosquito around the bathroom I bent my right ring finger backwards on the shower curtain rod and now it’s killing me. So I may not be typing much tonight. (I still have lots of thank you emails to send — I’ll get them out as soon as I can.)

Update, later: okay, here comes the thunder again, so it’s time to shut down. I’ve been slogging through Bright Young Things — the movie, not the book — and I must say I can’t really seem to get involved in the stories of the characters. Perhaps it’s because either the filmmakers or the author of the original novel (which I have not read) seem to detest just about everyone with the possible exception of the main guy’s lady-love (though she comes off as both stupid and selfish) and her canny father, played by Peter O’Toole, who is smart enough not to give his wayward child and her blank-personalitied beau any money. So far the only time I’ve had sympathy for anyone is when the Agatha character, normally a “daring” pseudo-lesbian (for the time), seems genuinely shocked that the pad she was invited to crash at after a coke-and-jazz party turned out to be No. 10 Downing Street, but then her character snaps back into useless upper-class-twitdom. I must admit I rented this movie out because David Tennant is in it — he plays the part of what is supposed to be a dull, common fellow, I guess, though compared to the shallow rich creatures he’s surrounded with he comes off as rather superior. I’m thinking, though, that Evelyn Waugh’s sort of broad, cruel farce has had its day, despite the superficial resemblance to our own rich, shallow celebrity culture. At least the rich bitches of yore had a solid base to both rebel and be criticized against. At least the pre-WW2 generation knew who Croesus was. Today what do the Paris Hiltonites have — mocking their parents for watching Eight Is Enough when they were kids?

There’s nothing a girl likes more than waking up and finding out she will be able to pay the rent after all due to the generous contributions of people like Glenn Reynolds and Bill Quick, as well as Kathy Shaidle and all their readers and my readers and Tim’s readers. Thank you everyone!

Most of you will get at least a brief “thank you” email from me. However, if you donated via Amazon you might not, because Amazon doesn’t always send emails telling me who donated, so let this be a thank you to you all. (If this message sounds kind of stiff and awkward I blame it on me needing more coffee… no really, I can’t take it all in yet. What can I say, the internet has been very, very good to me. I heart the internet!)

Check out this awesome pulp magazine cover illustration over at Kathy Shaidle’s. (It’s in regards to this the-apple-doesn’t-fall-far-from-the-tree story, by the way.)

I think the knife-wielding monkeys are a nice touch. Everything is better with monkeys.

(Second link via Tim Blair.)

Update: the wackos over at Ace of Spades finally got onto this. What took you so long, boys?

Okay, the position at Walmart that I’m slated for is garden cashier (that’s the cashier by the garden department, duh) on evenings and weekends. I’m pretty well hired, I just have to pass my drug test (and there’s no reason I shouldn’t). The pay isn’t the greatest — it looks like it will be $7.40 per hour for a max of 32 hours per week. It’s better than the zero I’ve been getting, though, and the hours of the position leave the rest of the day available for another job. However, barring a miracle I’m not going to make the March rent much less the April. I talked to my apartment manager and told her I was trying every avenue, but I’m pretty well tapped out, so I don’t know what to do except to beg for more donations! By the way, I’d like to thank the two people who (so far) have donated via Amazon — these donors are anonymous, or else I haven’t gotten the email notification from Amazon. And anyone else who has donated who hasn’t at least received a “thank you” email from me, I promise I’ll get one to you ASAP!

Oh — and it is too laugh: just as I was leaving the house for Walmart I get a phone call from someone else I applied with who knows when, and then as I am waiting for my third interview at Walmart (they run you through three supervisors for some reason) I get another call from one of the other placement agencies with a possible full-time position. So I have an interview set up for tomorrow with the first folk and my resume in with the second. Maybe, eventually, if not my ship than at least a raft will come in.

The British say “not by a long chalk,” but Americans say “not by a long shot” — the origin of which expression is also explained at the link — though what is not explained is why we use the latter expression and the British use the former. I guess it’s just one of those British vs. US things, like calling a car trunk a “boot” Over There, etc. Although “trunk” makes more sense — you can keep things in a trunk, but a boot is something you wear on your foot. Right?

I’m sure there’s an explanation, if not a reasonable one.