Last year around this time I listed a bunch of things for which I’m truly thankful. Well, this year I’m not in the mood. So instead I’m going to list a bunch of things I hate.
National Novel Writing Month. Who the hell came up with this lame idea? Crank out 150,000 words in 30 days? What’s the point? Your novel will suck. In all candor, your novel would probably suck if you worked on it for a year, but seriously, it’s going to suck. Why can’t everyone just paint something really fast? At least that way you can pass it off as “abstract” or something. You can’t spew out a badly written novel and pass it off as art. Well, unless you’re Dave Eggers. Listen, if you want to let your fingers fly all over something for no good purpose, leave your keyboard alone and come over to my place and give me a back rub.
Songs that have sound effects such as beeping that make you think your cell phone is ringing when you drive. “All I Need” by Air might be a nice song, but it has a synthesizer riff that makes you say “WHAA--! It might be the CEO!” And you grasp for your phone and you veer out of your lane and by the time you’ve figured out the situation you’ve slid into a crosswalk and killed a family of five.
Shopping for my family. I have no idea what the hell they want. Although my brother is having a daughter, so screw it, I’ll just buy him a whole bunch of Gerber’s baby food. And then I’ll get a whole bunch of Gerber’s baby food for my parents so they can re-gift it. My niece is going to be my ticket to a stress-free holiday! I love her already!
Speaking of “holiday.” I actually heard some cretin complain about the word “holiday” because it stands for ‘holy day,’ and that’s a religious phrase and therefore it offends him. Hey, you know what offends me? Morons. You’re all Mr. Picky in regards to linguistics, but I bet you also use an apostrophe when you spell out decades, i.e. 1970’s. Admit it, you do. Bite me.
Norah Jones. I was tolerant of her because I figured that Grammy would send her straight to oblivion just like Paula Cole and Hootie & the Blowfish. But they still play her crap. Bland music. Bland voice. Bland name. Who the hell calls their kid Norah Jones? Mr. and Mrs. Jones, if you’re reading this, you’re on my list.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Posted by Greg at 03:07 AM. Filed under:
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It just cracks me up the way the holidays can bring out the crabby in folks. Enjoy!
i know this is a rant and all good rants should be left alone and not hacked at, but darling man, NaNoWriMo (I bet you hate when people don’t use the full name huh? hee) isn’t about writing well, it’s just about writing. Period. It’s about putting all those excuses under a mattress and letting the fingers go. But you probably knew that and I’m ruining the punch line.
Also, I could do so much with your title, but I’m having a very G Rating sort of day so I’ll let things be .... and that my friend is my gift to you!
I’m with on on the sound effects in music. There are songs that have sirens, etc., in them and it freaks me out every time.
You had me with every one of those until you got to Norah, then I just got all weepy and had to go find myelf a piano.
I can’t stand bland Norah, either.
Ten stars to you, for not jumping on the Nanowrimoshamalamadingdong bandwagon.
I FREAKING HATE NAWNOMOMOMOWRIMONAMOWRIOMWAONMIOAMO.
grrrrrrr....
As a regular reader and affirmed Greg admirer, I’ll overlook your hatred of Nanowrimo. While I admit that my novel in progress may not be brilliant, the time limit has forced me to get past my crippling perfectionism for a while and just write. I can always edit/burn it later, but in the mean time, I’m getting a wicked sense of accomplishment. It’s good for the ego, even if its bullshit.
You’re right about everything else, though… =]
BTW, she must have named herself, b/c Norah Jones’ dad is sitar player Ravi Shankar.
Yup, Ravi Shankar and his nurse who, um, nursed him back to life. It’s weird when personal history is more interesting than the music. What am I saying? I like her music!
As far as sound effects, even worse than cell-phone beeping is the police siren. When I hear that, I’m all “Whoa, did I do something wrong? Why yes, I’m listening to this STUPID SONG!”
shopping for family: just do what i do. buy them something you want and they do the same and then you trade.
Great idea from snowshoe. Greg, you give me a new coffee table and sofa. I’ll give you a new Porsche. Then, we’ll trade.
I am thankful for Greg because he hates Norah Jones as much as I.
I feel validated.
My ex-roommate bought that damn CD and played it over and over. Notice the ‘ex’ before roommate.
Word of advice: keep the Porsche. I think you’re getting the better deal.
My father’s automotive materialism reminds me of something I forgot to vent about. I’m riding with my boss in his new BMW, and a woman drives alongside us and gives him a “thumbs up” sign. You know what kinds of hand gesture I get from my Honda? Hint: It’s not a thumbs up, and I don’t even get it unless I cut someone off in traffic.
Apostrophes seem to be used to indicate there is an ‘s’ at the end of the word. There’s no apostrophe in CDs, either. And yes, Norah Jones needs to go to the bottom of the remainder bin, and soon.
i’ve always considered norah something of an accomplished lyricist. who’d have thought that you could write a song with the phrases “drenched in white” and “don’t know why i didn’t come” that isn’t dirty?
Oh Greg. I have been keeping my bitching on the novel writing trapped inside my head for fear of being clobbered by mobs of bloggers tossing partially written crappy novels at my head, but yes, YES.
Greg, for every woman who gives guys in luxury cars a ‘thumbs up,’ there is a woman like me who wonders what that guy is compensating for. A Honda just says, “I have better things to spend my money on.” Or maybe it says, “I can’t afford that Hummer I really want, and this car makes me feel like less of a man. I need to punch someone now.” It’s so hard to tell unless they have some kind of explanatory bumper sticker. But surely you’re not ashamed of your Honda, are you?
Frank, to be honest, the only time I ever felt ashamed of my Honda was driving around your city, where EVERYONE has a BMW. In the Bay Area, I’m a happy, mindless green Honda drone milling around with millions of other Honda drones. Listening to Norah Jones on the radio.
i like how “honda drones” rhymes with “norah jones.”
and dude, nanowrimo isn’t THAT unrealistic. it’s only 50,000 words, not 150,000.
but if you really want that backrub, my fingers will be available after midnight on sunday.
you were paula’s biggest champion a week ago, mister.
Shopping for your family stops being as stressful when you realize that they will always hate what you give them behind that “oh, I love it” or “that’s just what I needed” comment.
i can still say i have never listened to a norah jones song.
frankly, i have no clue as to what she sounds like.
but is she hot? cause you know that’s what it’s all about.
The only thing I want to ask Paula about is how feeling like a candied apple is the same as feeling red and horny.
I was just going to make the “Mr. Jones is Ravi Shankar” comment, but I’ve been pre-empted, so instead I’ll just say Happy Thanksgiving, and apostrophes in dates make me loony.
Misuse of the apostrophe is a national tragedy--and the freaking New York Times, the freaking newspaper of record, does it, so it may be a lost cause. If I have to read about SUV’s or VIP’s one more time…