Happy Birthday, State of Wisconsin!

May 29, 1848!

Whew - got that in before it was too late! (Wisconsin is known to be a friendly and easy-going sort, but, unfortunately, is kinda scary-sensitive about birthdays and holidays and all that...)

My New Desktop Pic

I don't care to follow the gossip columns or celebrity news and I certainly don't have any opinions on Britney Spears, but this picture really draws me in. I have to know, why is she crying? Makes one think about the humanity that lurks within the people who have become walking,talking corporate money-making machines.

I like a Britney who can cry.

Fiery Tempers Erupt!

My almost forty year-old, gay Puerto Rican roommate and his almost forty year-old friend (the basement-dwelling son of my Puerto-Rican landlord) got into a physical confrontation over some cardboard decorations for their PSP's!

Now these two have known each other for a while, my roommate has been a long-time renter and is considered part of the landlord's family. The mother is always preparing nightly plates of beans and rice or whatever it is she cooks for him. The son and him are very competitive about who has the best this or that. If one has a new doo-dad or pollywog, the other has to immediately go to Circuit City and get an even better updated version of that doo-dad or pollywog.

I was in the kitchen making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when I heard the commotion - louder than the usual daily commotion! From what I heard later on from my roommate (yep, I'm now a stinking, dirty gossip), the friend wanted to borrow some dinky application for the cover of his PSP to impress his lady-date for the night, but my roommate didn't want to lend it to him. So one hits the other, then someone gets hit in the noggin with a laptop computer and then finally a suckerpunch is thrown and my roommate now has the shiner the size of a piece of my mother's meatloaf - wow! It's all hush-hush because the landlord's son is on parole and they don't want him to go back to jail! (Shhhhhhh!!!!!)

Drama in the house!

Canon Powershot S500 Won't Turn On, E18 Error Message: MY CAMERA IS DEAD!

My camera is the latest casualty to faulty production. For 23 months this camera was my friend, you know, one of those friends that can piss you off so bad, but you still retain your comaraderie. Well, it's over. My $400 camera completely died and will now be used as a paperweight or a blunt weapon.

When I sought the chance of becoming a digital camera owner I did my homework. I got on the internet and checked out all the reviews that I could find. All gave this model the thumbs up, five stars, lists of pros vs. the not-many cons.

The camera did its job and did it well for almost a year. Then, suddenly, problems started happening. My camera would lock up with the lens stuck out. An error message, which I just found out recently, is quite infamous amongst Canon owners, made it's appearance - the E18 Error. At the time, I assumed I did something bad, like getting sand within the contraptions of the camera and I took it in to be serviced. Luckily, the warranty was still in effect, though, I did pay a bit to get the situation solved.

Then all was fine until February this year. My camera got increasingly moody. It would demand of me a change of its battery pack. I would lovingly oblige, but all I got back was sass! Even with a freshly charged battery, I would get the same message. Okay, I thought, I'll buy it a brand new battery. That should solve it. Nope. After waiting almost 2 months for the thing to show up in the mail, I charged it and fed it to my hungry camera. Same sass! Argh!

To make things more frustrating my camera basically went on strike, powering on less and less frequently until it just wouldn't turn on at all. Many great shots were missed because of this stubbornness. Finally, due to my overwhelming poverty, I took matters into my own hands. I employed the use of a mini-screwdriver and opened up casing of my camera to check out its guts myself. I wasn't sure what to look for, but I eventually figured there must have been a malfunction with the power pad within. I looked at, shrugged my shoulders and wiped it up with a little bit of my spit. Oh well, if my camera was truly dead my spit wasn't going to hurt it anymore than it already was.

It pulled a Lazurus! Suddenly, the other day, I, by chance, had my camera with me at a time when a photo was required. To my amazement it turned on without a hitch - and it stayed on! No sass-backs at all! So I've been using it like a madman ever since.

Until yesterday evening. I used it all day taking pictures of random NYC sightings. Finally I was home, and out my kitchen window at that time the sun was setting on the famous Brooklyn Willy Bank. I got my camera and aimed it. Nothing. No power. Darn!

So, I get out my invisible doctoring gloves and open her (him, I don't know) up again to check things out, maybe wipe it down with a little spit. Well, nothing seems to work this time at all. It's death certificate being signed when I spot that some of the circuitry from the power pad that is supposed to be soldered to the circuit board is detached. Without the tools of a micro-precise soldering gun and a small supply of solder there's absolutley nothing that I can do. (Weeping starts now.)

What makes this really bad, is that I can't just go out and get a new camera. I'm poor. Part of my grief process is anger. I'm mad because I paid so much for a high-end item that didn't even last two years. For crying out loud, you can go to a pet store and get a little gerbil for maybe ten dollars and be able to have it as a pet for more than two years. This camera cost me about a week of wages, which makes my blood boil more because it makes me realize I have to stay working at my hell-hole of job longer than I wanted to just so I can make enough money in order to replace the camera.


If you're interested in just how bad the Canon Corporation is to it's paying customers, check this out:

http://www.e18error.com/canonstory.html

Also, here are a bunch of user reviews for your perusal:

http://www.digitalcamera-hq.com/canon-powershot-s500-reviews.html#professional_reviews

Red Tanlines

Yep, I got my first sunburn of the year. I never learn when it comes to me and the sun. I went out for a leisurely walk to Prospect Park in the late afternoon. The weather was gorgeous and my copy of "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea was begging to be read. It was the late afternoon so I thought I'd be fine. Wrong. It's fairly obvious when I have my shirt off that I, at one point, had worn a wife-beater. The evidence against me is truly staggering!

Job Offers?

A few responses to my Craigslist posting of my resume showed up to my email account. Yay! Hopefully, I'll be able to escape the Gloom that has shrouded my life the last couple days.

Dress Down Friday

Haha, douchebags - real funny.

Guess we couldn't wear shorts to work. I was told we could because it was half a day and the boss declared it "Dress Down Friday", and so I showed up in mine. Everyone else was wearing blue jeans. Boy, did I get a lot of dirty looks.

Did I mention that I hated this new job???

My New Job

Ugh. To quote the Smiths:

I was looking for a job, and then I found a job
Heaven knows I'm miserable now

It is the shittiest job I have ever had! (Yes, it is worse than working at that naughty bookstore...) I'm file clerking at some law firm (my job agency wrongly informed me that I was working for an insurance company) somewhere in the hell of Long Island. It is the most disorganized ugly mess ever. My job everyday is to search through like 2000 boxes in the basement to find or put files away. The boxes are stacked nilly-willy in 5 different rooms. Usually, for one file I spend about half an hour scouring boxes for number identification, and then if I find it I have to move and lift about an average of five other boxes filled with about 35 pounds of paper each only to open the box in question to find that the file isn't in it. Such a pain! There's no light in one of the rooms. I have to ask to use a bathroom because the doors are all locked and I don't have a key. A few days ago I spent half an hour looking for a pen because they don't hand them out. Oh, and there's no place for me to sit. I have a theory my temp agency placed me here to spite me for my bitching at them. They supersuck! They weren't finding me anything, and I told them that it was ridiculous that this was so - that they make their money by placing me somewhere, blahblahblah.


Other things I hate about this job:

1. It takes me almost an hour in the morning to ride the LIRR train there; and at night I don't get home until an hour and a half after I'm done. It also costs me hour's worth of wages to pay for this trip. Boo.

2. Lots of the females there are overweight and wear see-through pants. Ladies, please! I know you love your preciously-little thongs, but don't make me look at them through the bulges of your skin-colored, skin-tight pants. Anyways, how do these women come to possess such thongs in size-XXXL? Wal-Mart? Shopko? Or do they make them themselves at home? Is there a cottage industry of women attaching maxi-pads to rubber bands? I simply don't know.

3. After being there for only 45 minutes I'm already concocting ways to escape the confines of the office. I feel worse when I realize I still have over SEVEN HOURS of servitude yet to fulfill. Yikes. I see a personal flask of vodka becoming a daily lunch ritual. Hello AA.

4. Too much fluorescent light. It's the way Satan lights up Hell.

5. Lawyers. 'Nuff said.

6. Everyone there talks like Amy Fisher, which is cool for about 15 minutes. Then again, I don't have that lovely of voice either. So that evens out.

7. It's all the way out in Suburbia. I moved to NYC to be in NYC, not some alternate version of Wisconsin suburbia. Hiss!

8. Knowing there will be more stuff to hate as time goes by. It just hasn't come to my attention yet.

Today's Notable Sighting

A Hearse stopped at a traffic-light. It's windows were open, it's stereo pumping out "Borderline" by Madonna!

Look what your love has done to me
Come on baby set me free
You just keep on pushing my love over the borderline
You cause me so much pain, I think I'm going insane
What does it take to make you see?
You just keep on pushing my love over the borderline

My Ambition Problem

I love irony.

The other night I was sitting in bed, unable to sleep, because I was too busy thinking about how I haven't been able to control my life in an effective ambitious manner and then getting angy about because it was three in the morning and that's the worst possible time to do anything about it.

When I woke up, I decided to call the job agency that's supposedly looking around for me so I can bitch them out. I thought, gee, they get paid by their clients by placing me into work positions for them, so why haven't they done this yet??? Arghh!!! So I call, but my agent is out on training and I'm only able to talk to the gratingly annoying receptionist. She asks for my name and I give it to her, then she informs me of the reason for having no work for me - my file is incomplete! What??? How can it be incomplete??? She says, "No list of references on file." I'm like, dude, you have those. I've worked for you guys already. She stops me to say that they shouldn't have found me that job if my file was incomplete. I know I'm getting nowhere with her, so I tell her I'll email my agent another copy of that darn list and that I'm going to bitch her out. Yay!!!

Guess what? I do this!!! Now it appears I may have work. My bitching got me a possible job.

Although, it was interesting in the meeting with my agent Kim, a tough-talking, firm hand-shaking, New Jersey gal that she asked me something as she looked over my resume. "Why do you sell yourself short on your salary potential? You could be making 30 or 40 dollars an hour. You seem to go after these low-paying jobs when you could be doing much more." I just nod my head. Hmmmmmm...!

Peekaboo(m)!

The streets of New York are teeming with packs of what I call the "Boom-Booms" - macho dudes driving around in a never-ending man vs. man/nature/society/other idiot quest, windows down and stereos advertising the latest Dr. Little Bow Wow Wow Rappy Doo Dogg for all those unfortunate to be within their blaring epicenters. These earth-bound roving sonic-booms usually come and go, never staying much longer than a stop at a red light, and with a few angry blasts of the horn (to hurry up their distantly-related, silent slower brethren) they're on their way laying waste to other neighborhoods and I'm able to get on with my life.

Well, earlier on today, I had my share of the Boom-Booms, when one particular offender seemed to stick around much longer than usual -it must have been more than three red-lights I figured. I was sitting on my couch (pseudo-couch) reading and I tried to wait this one out, but it just kept going on. So, of course, I made great haste in using my (amply) inherited skills in busy-bodying and made my way to the window. No cars. Hmm. I realized the sounds weren't those of bassy death rattles, but those of a higher-pitched, wailing female alternative singer and her band - Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees!

I had to get a closer inspection of this endangered species and followed its siren-call out of my apartment. Soon, I was standing outside a cacophony of "Peeeeee - Peekaboo! Peeeeee - Peekaboo!" I determined it was coming from a third-story window of a brownstone down the street. A kitty was firmly-pressed against the screen, trying to escape through means of osmosis, I guessed. I agreed Siouxsie was screeching a little loud, however, it was just so nice to hear her in an overcrowded soundscape of Boom-Booms that I had to forgive her and I stayed and listened awhile.

I'm Smashing In Your Windshield Right NOW

Car-alarms are a joke. Nobody ever does anything when they go off.

Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk.

Craptacular Weekend

I haven't left my stupid apartment all weekend. Thursday night, a friend in the City asked me to model for an anti-meth campaign (which I suppose was waaaaay more pro-booze) and I ended up drinking a little. Anyway the next morning I wake up with an overzealous hangover and a really grody pop-eye. So I've been hiding from humanity sitting in seclusion on probably the nicest weekend in New York this year listening to all the non-Mexicans in my neighborhood loudly celebrating Cinco de Mayo. Yay! I end up sitting in my apartment picking myself apart for drinking what I did (which is so incredibly lame, since what I drank is probably the equivalent of some people's morning mouthwash) and thinking about investing in a plastic bubble to live in. So. I have a whole weekend to read and watch teevee and surf the net, right? Nope! My head and eyes hurt too much to stare at a book, or even a comic-book. The cable's been out on this side of the apartment for over a week now and the cable-jerk isn't coming til this next upcoming weekend (guess I'm gonna miss the season finales of "Lost" and "Smallville", the only two shows I ever watch - godamn you, Time-Warner). My internet access has pooped in and out on me too. Hey though, I thought I could maybe work with my digital camera since I just got it a new battery (battree, for you Pam). My camera, my life and blood, had been acting out. It "informed" me it wanted me to change it's battery pack, which I would then do - but, it would snappishly repeat its message to me even after I fed it a freshly charged battery. I got a new battery off the internet and weeks later after it came, I charged it and placed it into my hungry camera - crap. I got the same message. My camera is a petulant brat and I'm a practically on welfare, so I'm too poor to pay to fix it or *egads!* replace it. That reminds me, my iPod is also being a fucking bitch troublemaker. It loses its power after using it for only an hour. ARGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Seems like my sickness infects anything with a circuit. I'm like a cursed super-villian.

Night School

Last night I dreamed that I got my test score back from an essay I wrote in a prior night's dream. Boo-ya, I totally aced it! 99% - in your face!

Now, don't go asking me what the exam was on - I forgot!

Confessions On A Blogpost

Okay, okay. I admit it. I have in my possesion two tickets to see Madonna's upcoming Confession Tour. Somehow I got hooked up with a presale event and I ended up with some pretty good (really good) seats for her first NYC appearance on this tour. Problem is, I'll have nobody to go with! Either all my friends hate her and her music or they don't wanna shell out for the price of a ticket. Looks like I might be standing next to stranger and a whole lotta money in my pocket the day of the show!

I've thought about selling my ticket too, but that would be really stupid. Just because nobody will go with me, doesn't mean that I'm going to give up my chance to see Madonna. Heck, she's been in some of my dreams (well, maybe back in junior high...and, high school too...and)!

That American-Hating Terrorist

So Moussaoui got life for his part in the 9/11 attacks. Well, I'm glad he didn't get the death penalty - but if I was on the jury I would have picked a different, more effective way of punishing him. I would have just sent his ass off to the nearest Disney Store where he could work the cash registers and field customer requests from crazy moms and bratty little snots for Winnie the Pooh stuffed bears and Lion King II dvds for the rest of his wretched life.

Hah!

me!Pods

Apple, listen up! I was witness to (yet another) New York baby tantrum, this time on the subway. Seems that babies gotta have their iPods too. They don't shut up until momma hands over her pod and they can listen to her Black Eyed Peas or whatever hip hip hippity hop playlist. Another target market for ya, Apple.