BETAMAXNOMATES
'All she can do is dial and yell...'20041124
The Boy with the Thorn in His Side and The Chip on His Shoulder
Last day at work tomorrow.
I’d say I’m counting the minutes but that’s not really practical is it? Maths has never been my forte, shall we say, but I would imagine there’s a lot of minutes between now and 10pm tomorrow night and it would probably take me a number of days to count them all.
Which would, presumably, take me into negative time, losing hours for every minute I counted, throwing the present into some kind of Ballardian timeslip, a whirl of spinning clocks, numbers tearing through space-time like that old Windows screensaver...
‘Shala-lala-lala-la-la! Dum! Dum! Shala-lala-lala-la-la! Dum! Dum!’
Sorry, ‘Amarillo’ just came on Winamp.
I feel like I’m living in Phoenix Nights. Man, what a song. They don’t write ‘em like that any more. Hey, Winamp’s gone, or rather Nullsoft has been shut down. Thank you AOL. Thank you strange-translucent-data-flickering-dress-wearing lady.
Strange though that a lot of people are having such emotional reactions to this. I say ‘people’, I mean, of course, geeks - or g33Ks. Winamp was just a handy app, people, something that let you listen to Dashboard Confessional, Hope Of The States AND American Music Club while you punched code by day and poured your soul into Live Journal by night.
As Boris Johnson might have said to a grieving Liverpudlian widow:’ Get over yourself. Benefit-thieving scally.’
(Dramatisation: May not have happened)
One word: fucking legend.
Anyway, as I was saying, before myself interupted me, tomorrow is my last day at work.
And my fellow slaves.
Fat Patrick, who, since shaving his head, now bears a frightening resemblance to a certain superstar DJ par excellance. And Damien - relentlessly cheerful, someone for whom the word ‘gormless’ may well have been coined. I’ll miss my conversations with Damien, conversations about cars, and girls, and cars, and the bit in The Day After Tomorrow where the guy freezes to death in the helicopter. I wish him well, though I suspect the next time I hear of him will be when his body is pulled from a flaming Fiat Punto on a waste ground in Clondalkin.
Keep on cruisin’, boyz - yiz are bleedin’ rapid.
I’ll miss Ann too - the consummate bitch, the bitch’s bitch - hate-filled to the brim, never a good word to say about anyone, and probably rabidly badmouthing me right now for leaving. God, she was great - but a truly awful human being. Bleached blond and bitter - years of resentment etched across her face; her grimacing smile, her hollow rattle of a laugh, truly terrifying.
And I’ll miss Jennifer, that adorable little idiot. 17yrs old with her whole future behind her, she was funny, genuinely so, though she earned herself quite a reputation as a ‘mouth’, something an honest squire from the Ballyer' will some day slap out of her. Even though there were others in my department closer to my age, for some reason she was the one I related to most. Read into that what you will.
Maybe I’ll miss this. I don’t think it will miss me. Yesterday, my attempts to restore balance to the cosmos by over-charging customers backfired rather embarressingly when the manager had to remove me from the till. I suppose I should have realised that people wouldn’t be too jazzed about getting robbed. Huh.
Oppressed Masses: 0 - The Man: 1
Time for activities TV-related now (TM that clever cunt Neuro Practice). Time hurries slowly. But meanwhile...
I’d say I’m counting the minutes but that’s not really practical is it? Maths has never been my forte, shall we say, but I would imagine there’s a lot of minutes between now and 10pm tomorrow night and it would probably take me a number of days to count them all.
Which would, presumably, take me into negative time, losing hours for every minute I counted, throwing the present into some kind of Ballardian timeslip, a whirl of spinning clocks, numbers tearing through space-time like that old Windows screensaver...
‘Shala-lala-lala-la-la! Dum! Dum! Shala-lala-lala-la-la! Dum! Dum!’
Sorry, ‘Amarillo’ just came on Winamp.
I feel like I’m living in Phoenix Nights. Man, what a song. They don’t write ‘em like that any more. Hey, Winamp’s gone, or rather Nullsoft has been shut down. Thank you AOL. Thank you strange-translucent-data-flickering-dress-wearing lady.
Strange though that a lot of people are having such emotional reactions to this. I say ‘people’, I mean, of course, geeks - or g33Ks. Winamp was just a handy app, people, something that let you listen to Dashboard Confessional, Hope Of The States AND American Music Club while you punched code by day and poured your soul into Live Journal by night.
As Boris Johnson might have said to a grieving Liverpudlian widow:’ Get over yourself. Benefit-thieving scally.’
(Dramatisation: May not have happened)
One word: fucking legend.
Anyway, as I was saying, before myself interupted me, tomorrow is my last day at work.
I am overjoyed. That is to say I am ‘over joy’ and now I just want it to be over. Though I am, I fear, drifting dangerously close to sentimentality. Fuck, part of me’s going to miss this shit. I’ll miss the drudgery, the almost artistic pointless pointillism of it all. And I’ll miss the bottomless stupidity of the General Public, something that will never cease to amuse and depress me in equal measure.
And my fellow slaves.
Fat Patrick, who, since shaving his head, now bears a frightening resemblance to a certain superstar DJ par excellance. And Damien - relentlessly cheerful, someone for whom the word ‘gormless’ may well have been coined. I’ll miss my conversations with Damien, conversations about cars, and girls, and cars, and the bit in The Day After Tomorrow where the guy freezes to death in the helicopter. I wish him well, though I suspect the next time I hear of him will be when his body is pulled from a flaming Fiat Punto on a waste ground in Clondalkin.
Keep on cruisin’, boyz - yiz are bleedin’ rapid.
I’ll miss Ann too - the consummate bitch, the bitch’s bitch - hate-filled to the brim, never a good word to say about anyone, and probably rabidly badmouthing me right now for leaving. God, she was great - but a truly awful human being. Bleached blond and bitter - years of resentment etched across her face; her grimacing smile, her hollow rattle of a laugh, truly terrifying.
And I’ll miss Jennifer, that adorable little idiot. 17yrs old with her whole future behind her, she was funny, genuinely so, though she earned herself quite a reputation as a ‘mouth’, something an honest squire from the Ballyer' will some day slap out of her. Even though there were others in my department closer to my age, for some reason she was the one I related to most. Read into that what you will.
She thinks I’m mad, but I’m the one with the degree in, as she called it, 'psychic'.
Maybe I’ll miss this. I don’t think it will miss me. Yesterday, my attempts to restore balance to the cosmos by over-charging customers backfired rather embarressingly when the manager had to remove me from the till. I suppose I should have realised that people wouldn’t be too jazzed about getting robbed. Huh.
Oppressed Masses: 0 - The Man: 1
Time for activities TV-related now (TM that clever cunt Neuro Practice). Time hurries slowly. But meanwhile...
Comments:
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Naw naw, it ain't like that.
See when the kids these days say c**t, they mean buddy, confidant, what have you.
It's been comprehensively de-vulgarised; we're talking about a total linguistic paradigm shift here. You should be interested in that.
Anyway, see you next... Wednesday.
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See when the kids these days say c**t, they mean buddy, confidant, what have you.
It's been comprehensively de-vulgarised; we're talking about a total linguistic paradigm shift here. You should be interested in that.
Anyway, see you next... Wednesday.
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