Archive for the ‘Duuuke’ Category
Glimmer of Love
Posted on: September 4, 2013
She is my muse, love. My life. My soul, which I never knew or believed existed until I felt her breath… my breath, filling my lungs. Lately words have been flowing from my heart that I never expected to hear, feel, or believe. It is as real and as drastic a transformation as I have ever experienced. Apparently, it is wholely possible to look forward to speaking to someone just moments after hanging up the phone – to miss someone mere seconds following farewells. It seems that, despite all doubt, in all appearances, potentially, probably, ipso. fucking. facto. that love not only exists, but that I find myself eyebrow deep in it. This is a first. Many firsts, in fact. But, certainly the first time I find myself deep in something that did not require legal, medical, or moral assistance to get out of.
I am writing this for the same reason I’ve ever written anything, because I have to. I have written, to date, a number of letters beyond my ability to count (which is to say, I’ve run out of fingers and toes) regarding the subject of love, the subject of my love, addressed to… well, you get the point. I have killed four pens, 2.5 notebooks, and three packs of evelopes in just a couple of months. So for anyone wondering if The Duke of Glimmer has been writing… he has, but only for one person as of recently. And although she prefers not to share my attention, I’m sure she’ll grant me reprieve in this case.
My love is music, for I found her through music. My love is friendship, for I found her through friendship. She is dance, and light, and laughter… gorgeous hot days, and long desert nights. She is drugs – I will not lie. The greatest (seriously, the greatest) drug I’ve ever known. I am convinced she is the path to my enlightenment – if that is a thing and it can truly be achieved. And if not, I’m just fucking happy. Really happy. Happy enough to write this sappy post that you will probably read, say “awww,” puke, then take an insulin shot. And that’s fine.
The point is that it’s real and it’s out there – love. It’s not something you’re expecting to find, or that you seek out on purpose. It just grows, organically – non GMO, always fair trade. I didn’t even know I wanted it until love found me, but now I’ll fight with the passion of a thousand souls to keep it, this fire that burns in my heart. There’s no formula, just live your life and let it find you. It will. Somehow it found me. Somehow there’s a beautiful woman in this world who is just like me, but better… so much better. Genuinely, just ask Tracy, she’s better… and she loves me, lucky fool that I am. So for anyone struggling or lonely out there – trust me, if you’re holding the glimmer, sooner or later the universe will send someone to share the burden.
Jerk the Glimmer
Posted on: March 27, 2012
(Hi. Hello. My name’s Duke. That’s not my real name. Some of you know my real name, but that’s neither here nor there. Many of you have yet to grasp that I post on this blog too – and when I write, it’s in blue – hence the blue font you’re reading. Contrary to popular belief, I have never used online dating to find men – not that I wouldn’t – I just don’t like men, or online dating. Tracy does, and that’s fucking weird, which is why I share a blog with that weird sexy bitch. Anyway, this is just a public service announcement to let you know who I am, again, and what color I write in, again. Now back to your regularly scheduled pissing and moaning…)
I’m still shaking off the depression from reading Tracy’s rant about seeing the sun after work. Fuck the sun and its mocking glare, sadistically laughing at me in my windowless closet! Whoa, ok, let’s pull it in – I actually like the sun, and daylight savings time, because I hate waking up and leaving work in darkness like a goddamn Alaskan (they’re not reading us up there anymore, are they Tracy?).
Through the first tangent and onto the next one… You’re lucky you live in an age where people who used to get paid for talent now give it away for free – thanks again, interweb. At least it keeps the pedophiles at home surfing the Gymboree catalogue instead of out trolling playgrounds with primer colored vans marked “FREE CANDY” on the side. Too on the nose? I like to set the bar high early on, just as a litmus test. If you’re still with us, you are creepy – and that turns us right on. Speaking of creepers and interwebs, did you hear/see/read Rick Santorum’s comments about internet porn perpetuating vile and deviant behavior in today’s public? I just want to thank Rick Santorum (if you haven’t yet found out what “Santorum” is, please google it – I can’t repeat the definition here because it makes me blush), and the entire right-wing candidate pool for always giving me something to talk about when I have absolutely nothing to share with you people. I always thought it would be hilarious to run for President under a fake persona and just exaggerate every socially regressive talking point until the American public realized it was being fucked with – Borat style – and started laughing at how ridiculous political discourse had become… but the character I’d invent would be just like Rick Santorum, or Sarah Palin, or Michelle Bachmann, or Newt Gingrich, or Mitt Romney… and the American public already takes these people seriously. I guess anyone with a microphone has to be treated as if their “ideas” are legitimately viable.
Where was I? Oh right… Rick Santorum said he wants a more strict reading of obscenity laws so he can protect the public from the vile harms of internet pornography. Porn, according to Santorum, is toxic to marriages and relationships, and contributes to misogyny, violence against women, prostitution, and sex trafficking. Nevermind that studies have shown that sexual assault and rape have declined considerably since the advent of the internet. I suppose there’s no proof of a causal relationship there, but I don’t know any other invention that made access to orgasmic release easier, cheaper and safer for the public at large. As much as I talk shit about the internet for draining people of their capacity to retain knowledge (I don’t remember, just google it), and dumbed down their personalities to the point of their individuality being nothing more than an ability to share ideas and art that other people have created – I still think it’s an amazing, interesting, vital, filthy, disgusting, beautiful tool that shouldn’t be censored in the slightest. Personally, I’ve never seen internet pornography, but I hear good things – and if you have access, you should give it a try some time (and feel free to review your favorites right here in the comments section, or on our facebook page – like us, follow us, please or Tracy will beat me – click the button!).
Furthermore, (sorry, I have to get this train back on track) he’s accused the Obama administration of siding with pornographers over children, because the federal government isn’t out shutting down all nudey sites (not like they have anything more important to do). Rick has vowed to do what Obama could not – raise America’s kids, because after all, that’s what we’re looking for in a President. Even his own party is criticizing him for putting too much emphasis on social issues like this one. But, he and his running mate, Rush Limbaugh, will hold steadfast in desluttifying America and making it repent for its sins. Papa Santorum knows best, now go back upstairs and put some gosh darned clothes on!
#Shit Duke Says…
Posted on: March 8, 2012
He awoke from the haze of a six month hangover on March the 8th, in this foul year of our lord 2012…
Shit. It’s Thursday. I’m stuck in a box with no windows. And somewhere outside this dim closet the sun is shining on people who’ve probably made far better life choices than myself – or yourselves, for that matter. Because if you had any brains you’d be out there enjoying the day too, instead of slaving away for time off you’ll never get to take.
Let’s stop right there before I take you to the dark place too early. Explanations will not be administered for where I’ve been and why I haven’t written. Those of you who know me understand that I tend to disappear for hours, days, months at a time. If you don’t know me… well, you’re starting to get the picture. Our inconsistent rapport will eventually lead you to the conclusion that I’m the trainwreck cousin who shows up at Thanksgiving with a different look and new trashy girlfriend every year, only to rail against an establishment I never quite challenged head-on, then leaves sloppy drunk and doesn’t call again until Christmas – to tell you things have changed and I’ll be doing missionary work in Liberia through spring.
There I go rambling again. The point I was trying to make is that Whitney Houston was a terrific singer, and it’s a fucking tragedy what happened. Whitney, and Amy Whinehouse, and Lindsay Lohan… what? Oh Lindsay’s still alive? She can’t sing, either? Sigh… where have all the talented drug addicts gone? I wonder if heaven’s got a coke dealer…
Alright let’s reel this thing in, because I haven’t even started yet, I don’t think. So let’s focus on the substance. The real reason I haven’t written, besides the lack of motivation, time, or thoughts worthy of wasting paper/webspace – is that nobody reads anymore. Sure, you read the headlines that NPR posts on facebook. But when was the last time you finished the article? No, you’re into the internet memes about what your parents think you do and what you really do (spoiler: your parents think you do nothing that matters, you actually do nothing that matters). You’re checking out the gif of some kitty falling off a table, or the latest youtube video about Shit Douchebags Say (something something something FAG! something something let’s get some PUSSY!). And if you feel the itch to make a difference in the world, update your status to what color bra you’re wearing to fight against breast cancer, or grow out your chest hair to show solidarity with Greek austerity. But you’re certainly too busy being interesting to care about what anyone really has to say, or what’s actually going on around you. You’re too fucking busy being an armchair activist. Maybe you’re sitting there saying “well what the hell have you ever done to make a difference?” “Not a mother flippin’ thing,” I reply. And even if I had (which I have), I wouldn’t tell you – because I’d rather entertain you with my sins, and hedge them privately with good deeds, like putting strippers through college.
All you have to do, to change the fucking world, is watch this goddamn video, and share it with 13 people, or else Kony is going to steal your grandmother in the night and make her a Ugandan prostitute. Isn’t this just a sophisticated version of the old chain emails from myspace? Facefuck has become an amazing place, where information is shared and movements have taken shape. But I hate to burst your bubble, awareness is not a movement. Cures, solutions, revolutions, they don’t come about because you’re aware of the problem. If people sat around at work and sent each other videos of kids dying from Staph infection – we’d still be waiting for someone to invent penicillin. Hitler didn’t burn in a bunker because of viral internet memes making fun of his Michael Jordan mustache and love for killing Jews. And, as powerful as twitter is, it still couldn’t stop Ahmadinejad from stealing another election and throwing anyone who protested in jail. So keep updating your statuses to complain about gas prices – just don’t forget who’s slapping economic sanctions on who next time you’re at the pump. Hashtag just sayin…
Political Dysentery
Posted on: October 5, 2011
Are You Experienced?
Posted on: July 21, 2011
- In: Cheers | Duuuke | Not A Tyler Perry Post | Rockstars
- 1 Comment
Ahh the sweet taste of recovery. Anyone who had the unfortunate displeasure of talking to me yesterday knows it was an all day marathon hangover here at Duke’s desk. I had a pretty wild Tuesday night in Hollywood… watching Gustavo Dudamel drop BOMBS on The Bowl while conducting Mozart. Weren’t expecting that one were you? Well we like to keep you on your toes here at HTG, so I switched venues to something a little less dangerous and traded in the UNTZ for the pleasant fluttering of flutes and cellos. I have to say, it was a blissful experience. Classical music isn’t something I typically go out looking for, but I’m not ashamed to say I found it… or it found me. I won’t sit here pretending I took it seriously the entire time – because I spent the first few minutes scanning the orchestra for Black people (just out of curiosity) – and I was disappointed, yet hardly surprised, not to find any. However, somewhere around the second bottle of Pinot (you stay classy, glimmerface), I found myself sitting there with eyes closed just focusing on the multitude of notes filling my ears. Albert Einstein once said that Mozart’s music sounded as if he had just stumbled upon it – like it had always existed as part of the inner beauty of the universe. I thought of it as listening to calculus – like a brilliantly solved equation unfolding in my mind. I mean, I never passed calculus (3 tries), but it was how I imagine a brilliantly solved equation would sound if I possessed the ability to solve one, and then turn it into music. Moving on…
It’s important, I feel, to get a well rounded sampling of the stimulus available out there. So often we limit ourselves to a certain genre of music or events – that we forget to take time to open ourselves up to the diverse plethora of pleasurable experiences. When was the last time you went to a jazz bar and listened to the blues? How often do you participate in wild haired drum circles? Ever have your face melted by the metropolitan opera? Maybe you’re just too busy posturing in line at Club Douché, waiting to pay $18 for a glass of ice with three drops of vodka in it…
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to shit on anybody’s idea of a good time – I did that enough last week. If you like clubbing, if you’re really into following around that one band I probably never heard of, if you’re at Avalon every Friday night for a dose of boom boom (see you on the dancefloor, Tracy) – that’s great! Have at it. I’m just saying, be open to switching it up a little, because there’s a lot of interesting shit out there. There’s plenty of fun, cool, alternative places to have a few drinks and a few laughs with good company… Festivals, wine tastings, art exhibits, comedy clubs, concerts, plays, carnivals, jazz bars, 1980’s clubs, 1780’s clubs. No wait, seriously. What if there was an after hours spot that played Vivaldi and only served 18th century cocktails? Powdered wigs and tights optional, of course. That might sound like a Renaissance fair, but I think going out should be about more than just getting sauced and looking for sex. It should involve all the senses, and require some active thought and participation. What about a reggae joint that’s also a medical marijuana dispensary – so you could get irie when the bomboclat rasta tells you to? I’m just spit balling here, but If those kind of places exist, tell me – I’m there. If not, feel free to run with these ideas or come up with your own, because the recreational landscape needs even more mind blowing fully immersible experiences. Places where you can really get a feel for alternate perceptions, cultures, and lifestyles. We live in the future, and although we have yet to invent a time machine, I want to walk through doors that transport me to other times and places. I don’t want cheesy theme bars, I want to transcend. Challenge accepted? Good. Go.
Hold the Metta
Posted on: July 12, 2011
I can’t say with any degree of accuracy where or who I’ve been since I last disgraced the interwebs with my complaint-laden gibberish. Hazy snapshots come to mind, but much like a conversation with my parents – I can never divulge anything more than generalities and insignificant details. I’d like to say that I’ve grown as a person, learned about myself and the world, gained culture and wisdom and understanding; but the reality is I’ve burned off too many brain cells to have possibly gained anything more than an early onset of alzheimer’s and a lifetime ban from… well, it’s not important.
Lately I’ve been wondering how much is too much? How far is too far? At what point do we stop pushing the limits of public intoxication and weekend warriorhood? When do we make the jump from running-into-the-stands Ron Artest to sweet charitable goofball Metta World Peace? What the fuck does Metta even mean, anyway? (Editors note: I’ve decided that Metta is my new favorite word and officially a new glimmer game. See how many times you can use that word in a day; via email, casual conversation with your boss, to the girl crying in the bathroom stall next door…you get the picture. Game on!)
Maybe I was supposed to cut the shit after college, but it has only gotten worse – or better, depending on your perspective. These days I have money to party in ways I always wanted when I was a broke student living on spaghetti and Italian dressing. Now, every year feels like a competition to outdo last year, and the result is always the same – I’m the big winner. The best is yet to come, which is both exciting and frightening, because as I keep surpassing myself – I’m almost positive that my body is losing. It has to be. Something has to give at some point. It’s only a matter of time…
Normal people chalk up their hazy years to youthful rebellion and move onto the long boring phase of domesticity as a result of their ensuing maturity. They get real jobs, settle down, have kids, and everything else takes a backseat to “life.” I’ve started a career, not a star-studded one, but a career to be proud of nonetheless. One that requires me to be a responsible upstanding adult, which I appear to be during work hours. I’m surrounded by nice people – friendly grown folks who work hard even on their days off, pick up their kids from school, pay their mortgages, remodel their homes, and occasionally play golf or poker if they have a couple of hours free. Nice people – fucking squares. Did they start off that way? God forbid. Was it a gradual breaking of the exuberance and spirit that once had them preaching free love and Tuesday night skinny dipping? It seems that even the ex-hipsters and night owls eventually sold out in the name of practicality and parenthood – two concepts with which I’m entirely unfamiliar.
The other night I tried something completely outrageous and out-of-character. It was despicable, unforgivable; my parents would be proud. I stayed home, and did nothing. Actually, I stayed in my hotel room. I’m living at the Marina Del Rey Marriott right now, not that it matters or that you care – it’s just a detail to flesh out the story. So, on a weekend night (it was Thursday, but I had Friday off), I sat in my hotel room, ordered room service, and watched my view of the pacific ocean with its sandy beaches and docked sailboats. It was quiet, serene; just lovely. I remember thinking, which is already a big deal for me… “Maybe I can do this – mellow out and step back from the edge.” I’ve always been attracted to the locomotive lifestyle of monsters and rockstars. All my heroes had the grit to push their limits, and as a result cranked out some incredibly profound bodies of work. But, then again, all my heroes are either dead or in rehab. Perhaps there’s something to this simple life of sobriety. It seems a moment can be enjoyed without slurring obscenities over loud music, or offending patrons at late night diners. Of course by 10pm I was absolutely bored with the view, the television, the room, the book I brought, and myself. I hit the 8th floor for some free concierge Chivas, and the rest of the weekend was a blur from that point on…
This is my life
Sorry Ma’am, I’m a Man
Posted on: May 31, 2011
Regretfully Yours,
Posted on: May 18, 2011
- I didn’t get to escape from prison. Why would I want to go to prison? Come on, didn’t you ever watch OZ? It’s awesome. Rick Fox was on it. And yes, I realize one has to be arrested, tried, and convicted before such a possibility can arise – and I certainly have no regret in failing to participate in these endeavors (although in all honestly, I’ve come closer than I’d like to admit). I just always wanted to start a riot in the mess hall to create a diversion, dig through a concrete wall with a rock hammer, crawl through grinding turbines of power generators, sneak up on guards and stealthily break their necks with my bare hands, climb on the roof of a compound with flood lights searching as the helicopter flies in through darkness just in time for me to grab its dangling ladder, and pull myself to safety with machine gun bullets whizzing past my head. It might be the claustrophobia caused by my crackerjack box of a cubicle that has me jonesing for an epic jailbreak, or perhaps I’ve seen Shawshank Redemption one too many times. But for once, I would have liked to be the one who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side…
- I regret not building that kick ass fort every kid dreams of. I’m talking about a fort built of pillows and plywood, forged out of blankets and brawn. Three stories of no-girls-allowed-big-boys-only fortliness, with a secret stash of playboys under a loose floorboard, a system of string-and-tin-can telephones connecting all the other forts in the neighborhood, trip wires surrounding the premises to warn us of approaching adults, a bar, pool table, jacuzzi, fly maids, a butler, a tricked out stage setup with automated light shows, huge plasma television, a kitchen with a chef, stripper p… What? Too much? Hey, ask any guy – we all wanted one (as kids, and still today as adults), and if you were one of the lucky few who actually had it – I hope Jesus condemns you first. You don’t deserve heaven, because you’ve already been there.
- I wish I had performed stand-up. I think of comedians as class clowns who were never forced to grow up and get real jobs like the rest of us. They live the dream, drunkenly offending and badgering their audience while occasionally sharing a gem or two about life – kind of like what we do here at HTG, but on stage… for money. I’m not trying to say I’d be particularly good at it, because in truth I stumble over my words when struggling to make awkward conversation with the cashier at Vons (she’s only known me 20 years). I guess for starters (is it late for starters?) I wish I had the nerve and comedic prowess to do it, but that’s neither here nor there. It would have validated my existence on this Earth to be one of the few people to ever command a microphone and make people laugh, on purpose.
- I really wanted to hold a public office. Even the city councilman from Bumfuck, AR gets his own parking spot and his name immortalized in some registry log for having voted to remove the stop light next to Art’s Barbershop on 6th Street. It’s history, man, and I wanted to be a part of it – even a small one. Getting elected to a public office validates your existence because lesser beings agree you’re more qualified to lead than they are (seriously, that’s what you’re saying by voting instead of running – if you think you can do better, you should). Anyway, just like comedy, I’m not saying I’d be any good at it – but there’s just something appealing about wearing a power suit, and accepting briefcases full of money and free weekends in Laughlin as payment for allowing untreated waste from the local power plant to be rerouted through the city’s drinking water facility.
- I never got published! I know it’s a pipe dream, but all I ever wanted was for someone to stumble across my facebook page, read my status and say, “give that man a book deal!” I guess Shit Duke Says wasn’t as big a draw as I’d hoped. And cocktail napkin musings aren’t taken too seriously, regardless of how nicely they’re bound together when shipped to Random House. So, instead, I’ve kept my day job – sneaking over to our blog whenever nobody is looking (like right now, for instance) to put together wild gibberish with the intention of entertaining my fellow working men and women – who want, just as much as I, to creep out the window of reality and puff on the magical dragon of procrastination. The intention was always to use this as a stepping stone – a practice ground to develop my skill (or lack, thereof) until it was worthy of sharing on a professional level; at which time I could execute my blogger-in-crime’s method of quitting with a bang, and move on with my rockstar writer lifestyle…
Apocalypse… Now?
Posted on: May 12, 2011
(Editor’s note: We aim to entertain, amuse, frighten, and offend. The blue font means you’re about to read something borderline insane… By Duke. Got that glimmerheads? Duke blogs in blue.)
“I don’t know how many of you people believe in astrology… Yeah, that’s right. That’s right baby. I am a sagittarius… the most philosophical of all the signs… But anyway, I don’t believe in it. I think it’s a bunch of bullshit, myself. But I’ll tell you this, man, I’ll tell you this… I don’t know what’s gonna happen, man, but I wanna have my kicks before the whole shit house goes up in flames…”
-Jim Morrison
He was the Lizard King – the great prince of cosmic philosophy and mystic wisdom. I’m just the chameleon trying to blend in – the kid with my head down in the back of class, hoping the cruel sadist of a teacher won’t call me up to the chalkboard. But having my kicks has always been a top priority in life, especially now that I know the shit house goes up in flames in just a few days… WHAT?!
Pull a little closer, because it’s about to get real… Harold Camping, a ministry leader and retired civil engineer from Oakland, CA, has decisively calculated the date of The End based on prophecies from the Book of Revelations, and claims that “beyond a shadow of a doubt, May 21 will be the date of the Rapture and the day of judgment.” Ho-ly shit. TIME, NPR, Huffington Post, and even ABC News are running with this story like it’s the birth of Mariah’s twins! After all, what does the media love more than celebrity offspring? Right – death, destruction, and mayhem – ratings, baby! Now, as a sinner and total non-Christian, I admit that this “Rapture” is a new concept to me. So I did some googling, as any young man does when he’s searching for God… and came across the official website for the End of Days, www.wecanknow.com (pronounced “we can know, dot com”). Go ahead, check it out, I’ll wait…
Back? So, 9 days from today, approximately 200 million good little boys and girls will magically ascend into heaven, leaving the rest of us miscreants to suffer wars, plagues, fire and brimstone here on Earth until the end of the world… which will take place on October 21st (looks like there really won’t be a basketball season next year). But wait, hasn’t almost every generation believed it would be the one to see the apocalypse? I mean, every time the tribulations of mankind become seemingly insurmountable, isn’t there someone standing on a soapbox crying that the end is near? Are things so bad these days? I know the economy sucks, and we’re still in Afghanistan even though Bin Laden is dead, but come on – in 1914 the whole world went to war. Then in 1929 the stock market crashed so hard they named the shanty towns built on broken dreams of investors after a poor schmuck who wasn’t even a year into his presidency (Hoovervilles, you don’t have to look it up). THEN, in 1939, the world went back to war… AGAIN! Man, that would have been a pretty climactic way for the Almighty to draw the curtains – He is one for showmanship and pageantry, let’s be honest.
“But Duke,” you exclaim, “nobody has ever mathematically predicted the end of the world based on the actual word of God!” Oh no? Harold Camping (yup, same guy) originally predicted that the Rapture would occur on September 6th, 1994. Hmm… well… human error can get the best of anyone, so he went back to the drawing board with his Bible and his calculator until finally he grew a media empire large enough to spread his doomsday message. Err… I mean, until he got the date right. His “non-profit” broadcasting company, Family Radio, currently has a net worth of $122 million which is used to control radio and television stations across the globe. The man has a following, so you may want to check if your surgeon really thinks you’ll need more than a few months to live before you go under the knife anytime soon.
My real problem with this whole notion of a fully calculated doomsday… is that he came up with the algorithm based on numbers he assigned, out of his ass, to occurrences referenced in a fairy tale. Yes, I said it, fairy tale. Religion is fine, faith is great, belief keeps hope alive – I’m totally with you, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. But, like all fairy tales, they were written by human beings as a means of convincing children and simpletons that there are rewards for being a good person, and consequences for being a bad one. You know, because being a good person for the sole purpose of doing the right thing just isn’t enough. People need incentives, which was especially true thousands of years ago when it wasn’t common knowledge that murder, rape, theft, and dishonesty are counterproductive to societal advancement. I do believe in God in the sense that there’s some force tending the light at the end of the tunnel. I do not believe He’s ever written a book – men wrote those books to control the behavior of brutes and barbarians, and they’ve served that purpose well – not counting the wars that have been fought over their claims.
It’s almost comical the responses some of these back peddling yokels come up with to cover their bases. MSNBC spoke to one of Camping’s followers from North Carolina who claimed, “If May 21 passes and I’m still here, that means I wasn’t saved. Does that mean God’s word is inaccurate or untrue? Not at all.” Alright, fair enough, if you’re still here then you weren’t saved. But the assertion still stands that 200 million people, or roughly three percent of the world’s population, will ascend to the Pearly Gates. So, if there isn’t an astronomical hike in the number of missing persons, and nobody is seen floating into the sky by the 22nd, then can we agree God’s word is inaccurate? How about when we’re still around to celebrate Halloween? Do we get a public apology? Will Family Radio sell off its assets and give $122 million to science, or better yet… the poor? Shit, I probably have a better shot at 4 foot 10 inch White Jesus coming down from the heavens and choosing me as the first person to join him in the kingdom of glory and uneventfulness. Say your prayers, kids. I’ll stay behind for the five month blowout orgy before we all meet again in Hell.
Glimmer Talk
Posted on: April 27, 2011
Are five days enough to let the heat cool off from the Spike Lee/Tyler Perry black-on-blacker race wars? Speaking of which, I think that bitch Madea snuck into my dresser drawer and replaced all my ties and dress socks with panty hose and a do-it-yourself home weave kit! Hey, if the mumu fits… no no, fuck that shit, I’ll keep my day job, thanks very much. It may be hectic and thankless, but it’s dignified – sort of. Anyway enough about transgendered millionaires, here’s a bitch-fit about you and me…
Look, I get it. You’re busy at work. I’m busy too. I work for one of the biggest defense contractors on the planet. The team I work with, the shit we do – it represents roughly 9 billion dollars in potential revenue. So trust me, I am fucking busy. But, I also have needs. I get lonely in this tiny office with no windows. Our understaffed team is made up of a tough skinned little old lady and two over-the-hill programmers. While they are all friendly and great to work with, they couldn’t understand me on a personal level if their pensions depended on it. Alright, I’ll be honest, I’m one of those people who needs constant communication with someone… ANYONE… but preferably someone who cares enough to reciprocate my attention. So when I’m not training stubborn financial experts, testing software modifications, troubleshooting user issues, answering calls and emails, or working one of the many side projects that totally aren’t in my job description – I like to reach out and touch who ever is available, digitally I mean. I’m talking about my only medium of sanity between the 8 to 5 hours, gchat. If you’re on it, if I see your name on a daily basis, chances are I’ve asked what you’re wearing at least a few times. And if you’re cool, you’ve probably lied and described something far more interesting than the bland corporate costume you bedrudgingly threw on that morning. Maybe it’s kind of sad, but that’s the best entertainment I get all day.
People are different, though. We all have different schedules, responsibilities and distractions swirling around our heads. We have diverse needs and communication abilities as well. So it’s no surprise that there are so many various types of gchatters. How many, you ask? Did I take the time to categorize them and compile a list one day while stuck on a teleconference that really had nothing to do with me? Maybe I did. And maybe now you have something to read as you multitask between facebooking and pretending to give a shit about your job…
The Ghost – I IMed you three hours ago and you still haven’t responded, even though your status never went idle (yeah, I noticed, that’s what it’s there for). Do you have me on the pay-no-mind list? Did you die at your desk and your twitching rigormortis-stricken hand just keeps moving the mouse to fool your friends into thinking you’re still alive? I know, I know, you’re furiously firing off emails and other such banalities that are paramount to your career. Seriously though, everyone has a few a minutes in their to day to say hi to a friend and see how they’re doing. In some cultures, that’s how they show they care.
The Brick Wall – Hi. OK. You? Yeah. Oh. Cool… I don’t think talking to one of these ice boxes even qualifies as a conversation. I don’t know a lot of people who are completely bereft of personality – but maybe being at work just sucks it right out of you. Perhaps you’re really quite interesting and have fascinating stories and opinions in real life, but you’re just illiterate or can’t type well. No no, I understand. You’re busy. If you don’t even have the time to formulate full sentences or share a complete thought, maybe you should cut the bullshit and go handle your business. I don’t want to tell you how to be a better slave or anything, it’s just an idea.
The Cliffhanger – You could be the greatest storyteller ever, if you could just finish a god damn story. You escaped from the whore house brawl, stole the cop car, chased by thugs, you jumped from the speeding vehicle, hid in the bushes, then suddenly…. Ten minutes go by, twenty minutes, your name turns idle, you get logged off… What happened? Did the thugs catch you as you were finishing that sentence? No warning, no “hey, I’ll be right back, sorry.” I don’t hear from you again for two days and when I finally do, you don’t even have the decency to finish the story! In the meantime, I broke three office chairs from hanging on the edge of them for so long. It’s not just the stories, either. It happens during just about every conversation we have online. They never end, you just disappear as if we weren’t even talking. Imagine if we were having a discussion in person, and right as you were about to make a point, I turned around and walked away…
The Emo Queen – God, life is SO hard, isn’t it? Shit, I pat myself on the back just for getting out of bed in the morning. But once I’m caffeinated and showered, I lose the morose attitude and brighten up quite a bit. After all, it’s just life – no big deal. Then I get an IM that goes something like, “Kill me pleeaaaase, my mom said my green shirt is uglyyyyy. I want to dieeee.” Wow. Relax, sweetheart. Don’t kill yourself just because your mom is a shallow bitch and you have no taste… my mom points out that I’m losing my hair all the time. You want to know why I’m losing it? Because of her. That’s no reason to cry. Check my wrists – no scars, Ma! So get over yourself, throw a sweater over that tragedy, and make your mom happy for a change. Try doing it with a smile – it’s easier than you’re making it.
Tracy- The Perfect Gchatter (she put me up to it, I swear) – How am I? Well besides choking on my tea from disbelief, I’m great! Thanks for taking the time to ask. Oh and you have an interesting anecdote, follow up commentary, and a warm, positive outlook? Holy cow, it’s almost like there’s a human being on the other end of this electric window! Perfect gchatter, I know your name isn’t always Tracy, but I am always happy to hear from you. Hell I might even stop what I was doing just to say I miss you and make plans to hang out. Then, when all that show of emotion is done, we’ll actually bid each other farewell before getting back to the insanity of corporate life. I’ll do it with a smile on my face, because my day has just been MADE – you can bet your sweet ass on that.
I could go on for days, I’m sure. But in the interest of time and space, I’ll wrap this up. Let’s be real, nobody is perfect. We’re all different. I’m guilty of being all those characters at some point or another (and so is Tracy, but don’t tell her I said so). My only goal here is to poke fun and make people aware of how they come across when they’re click clacking with their buddies. Next time you’re escaping the monotony of your work day, just remember that’s a real live person you’re talking to – probably a friend. So act like it. lol. omg. asl? gtfohwts.
