I was going to relate the hilariously involved story of why I still don’t have cable internet at the house after TWO MONTHS. But the Comcast people seem like they’re trying, at least, and it’s always hard for me to be angry at people who are being friendly. So, I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt, and leaving off what would be, no doubt, an epic rant.
In the meantime, assorted news bits:
Dear people who are going to boycott GAP because it isn’t Christmassy enough:
Okay. Fine. I tried to ignore you. But you just won’t have it, will you? You people want a war on Christmas? I WILL GIVE YOU A GODDAMN WAR ON CHRISTMAS.
You fired the first shot, by making sure I heard “Feliz Navidad” piped through the speakers at Kohl’s on NOVEMBER 8. That’s right. You call it a war on Christmas, but over here on the other side of the fight, we call it the War on Keeping My Fucking Sanity For Just One More Damn Month. And you have claimed a valuable chunk of territory, called the Pre-Thanksgiving-November-Strait.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said, “but you don’t look very much like a witch doctor.” Olivia Austen Mortimer (Livvy to her friends and the women that ran the $3,000 a month infant-to-preschool daycare, “Miss Livvy” to the maid) said this with a certain tentativeness, equally concerned with her guest’s feelings as she was with his credentials.
Sure, G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra can be called loud, stupid, lazy, poorly-acted, or even just the world’s 
second-longest toy commercial (Transformers 2 wins first ranking). But I would have been okay with all of that. The same could definitely be said about the cartoon, and this movie definitely wants to be a live-action version of the cartoon.
But the worst thing about it is that it seems to become all these things, more and more and more, as the movie gets longer and longer and longer. It is a relentlessly tedious film.
For the first hour, I was kind of enjoying it, for what it was – big dumb loud toy commercial come to life. Then Megan started to nod off, so I tried to encourage her to stick around to the end.
Me: C’mon, don’t fall asleep.
Megan: Well, how much longer is it?
Me: (checks runtime) …Apparently another hour.
Megan: Let me know how it goes. (Goes to bed.) Read more »
I don’t think it qualifies as an eating disorder, or anything. I mean, I’m neurotic about a lot of stuff (diseases, for instance), but it usually never crosses into the field of “disorder”–as in, it doesn’t specifically disrupt my life in any meaningful way. It just gives me something to bitch about.
My problem with food is one of these things. On the face of it, I like food. Food is delicious. And eating feels good! Upon closer inspection, food pisses me the fuck off. Read more »
Since moving in with my girlfriend, I am learning a lot about “coupledom.” The act of being two people sharing a life. And I think we’re pretty good at it, so far. She clips coupons, I watch seven straight episodes of “The Big Bang Theory.” It works for us.
But Sunday, heading up alone to my grandpa’s 89th birthday party, I was witness to a couple coupledom issues that I had not expected.
You are a company that PROVIDES NETWORKS FOR PEOPLE, and your customer service ops are, what, all just sitting on islands a million miles apart? Do you want to explain to me why I have to explain who I am and what my problem is every time I get transferred? Why I have to continue to give you my phone number to every new operator I speak with, because the last one sent me to the wrong place? You are the CABLE INTERNET company, you should be the MOST networked company on the planet.
I’m no internet genius, or anything, but for fuck’s sake it can’t be THAT hard to just send a little message to whoever’s getting the call. Shit, you could do it with Instant Messenger.
While we’re at it, seriously, you guys don’t keep a file of people that call in with legitimate concerns? I know I don’t have an account (BECAUSE YOU WON’T GIVE ME AN ACCOUNT BECAUSE YOU KEEP FORGETTING TO PUT THE FUCKING CABLES INTO THE GROUND AT THE HOUSE), but, look, if you put in a database that recorded who I was (and if you’re not doing that, why the fuck do you keep asking me who I am?), preferably BY NAME, you could also make a note about my PROBLEM. That way, I wouldn’t have to explain it to you every time I call in to tell you that you still haven’t fixed it!
ASSHOLES. The only reason I am getting Comcast is because FiOS isn’t out here yet. I swear to god, you simpering dipshits, the second Verizon gets their fiber-optic cables out to this ass-end of Conshohocken I am going to ditch your crappy service company and pee on you.
So, it’s important for you all to know. I have, since birth, been a tinkerer. I know, it seems weird–how can a guy SO BRILLIANT in intellectual pursuits also be handy with tools and crafts and such? Well, your skepticism is warranted, as I’m pretty lousy at fixing things. Seriously, this guy? That’s me.
But the fact is that I like trying to fix things and build things and improve things, and so when a problem comes up, it is I, Braak! who steps up to the plate. All of this brings us to Jeanine’s guitar.
Some day, your children will ask you, “Where were you when Chris Braak CHANGED THE FACE OF THEATER FOREVER?” You had better be able to tell them you were right there, at the world premiere of The Life of John Henry. If not, how will you withstand the shame in their eyes, as they look upon you, a parent who has finally failed ultimately after so many small failures, finally revealed your complete lack of cool? Your children will say they love you after that, yes, but…deep in your heart, you’ll know that they don’t mean it.
I know, I know, you’re all clamoring for just one more preview of my NEW NOVEL, Burn Down Bloody Twilight - presumably, so you have one more chance to know if you want to order the book – for the low, low price of $8.41, no less. (Obviously, you were leaning in the direction of “Yes, I believe I will buy it for such a reasonable price,” but I like the buyer to be prepared.)
But there has been a bit of a goof regarding the printing, so it has been temporarily – SO, SO temporarily – put on hold, until it can be sorted out.
(The long and short of it is, make sure you are publishing from the final edited draft before you announce going to print. Pulling out excerpts alerted me to enough little errors that I realized I was NOT, in fact, working with the final copy – which, regrettably, is on my home laptop, which is A) at home, not here with me in Austin, and B) kind of having some trouble turning on – a situation this seems a good enough excuse to rectify.)
So expect it NEXT WEEK! Which means a couple more preview pages. Oh, JOY!
