Home of the Soul Cookie

It’s been raining today, so inevitably that means that traffic has been, and will continue to be, utter crap.

See, in California, rain on the freeway means that the 90% of us who know how to make reasonable adjustments in our driving are at the mercy of the idiotic remainder, the ten percent who either

• drive bat-outta-hell style (stuff that would be dangerous even under the best of conditions), or
• drive overly cautiously, almost to the point of pavement paranoia.

The second group is comprised of those folks who see a little bit of water on the freeway and immediately drop to 20 MPH regardless of the traffic around (or behind) them, while the first is home to guys like the dick who was weaving in and out of stop and go traffic on the approach to the Bay Bridge this morning. His antics brought him within inches of my rear bumper — no exaggeration. If I was parallel parking, and had a car as close as his behind me, I would have to get out and go look to make sure I wouldn’t hit it.

Could be worse, though: I could still be in Ohio, dealing with the drivers there.

The consumers that respond to spam offers. As long as there’s money to be made, spammers are going to keep hammering my inbox and my blog.

All you jerks that read a piece of spam and think to yourself, “Why, yes, all-natural enhancement sounds like a great idea!” can go screw yourselves.

No pun intended.

Heaven help me if I ever am in the position of having to listen to Sofia Coppola run through her vacation photos. If Marie Antionette is any indication, there are few things in this world that could be more excruciating.

I didn’t mind the rock songs being worked in. Sure, it was a done lot clumsier than in A Knight’s Tale, but ’twas tolerable.

I didn’t mind Kirsten Dunst in the role. Well, not too much. She was… um… pretty in the fantastic period costuming by Milena Canonero.

(I’m starting to think that Bring It On and, to a lesser extent, the Spider-Man entries are the only movies of Dunst’s that I will ever like her in.)

I did, however, mind that the movie was boring. That it was ponderous. Self-indulgent. Interminable.

The ruthless editing of Borat was sorely needed here.

Yes, Sofia, I see the pretty landscape. Oh, and, my, isn’t Marie looking very lonely as she peers out the carriage window! And the constant whispers of the French court; well-noted. Oh, look… another landscape. That’s… nice… More forlorn window-gazing…? Yes, symbolism! How very, very smart of you!

An aside: I hate it when people talk in movie theaters. I mean out-loud, big-boy-voice talking. Whispering? S’fine. Carrying on a conversation? Say hello to my little friend.

So it’s a pretty good indication of just how horrible this movie was that a trio of movie-ruining harpies was merrily gabbing away (at a volume you might use on the subway, or perhaps on a motorboat) just a couple seats to my left and I didn’t care.

But wait, there’s more.

I spent the movie marking time until the end (and resisting the temptation to go fetal) because, I reasoned, at least I knew how the story ended.

Silly me.

The movie ends with the departure from Versailles, before the guillotine.

Olbermann is, again, in top form.

There are jackhammers pounding away about 15 feet away from my desk.

I work on the fourth floor, mind you.

See the original image by
 SoulCookie

….aaaaaand the big boss just called, all fatalistic about me coming out. He was iffy before, given that my schedule didn’t allow me to leave until this morning, which meant I’d have missed a little bit of the morning session.

Now that I am, at best, going to miss all of the morning session, he was on the verge of just telling me to stay here in the Bay Area.

One more flight delay and I suspect he’ll step over that boundary.

Perfect. Just perfect.

There wasn’t room on the 7:55 flight; I’m now on standby for a 9:21 flight.

/frustrated

I’m going to Denver for a couple of days for work, but the day has gotten off to a not-so-good start.

It seems the travel agency issued me travel credentials for “Sean Barrow,” and not for “Kevin Sean Barrow.” It took me threading the bureaucracy of 6 different agents at 4 different stations (with about eight different theories) to discover that it was not, in fact, a problem, since “the last name is really all they look at.”

That epiphany didn’t come until 15 minutes after my 6am flight had departed. (Thanks, crackmonkeys.)

So, I’m on standby for a flight that leaves SFO at 7:55am.

This is not a good time for my extracurricular events.

• I was offered a chance to make it into Club 33 this weekend (thanks, Sara!), but had to decline ’cause it would’ve cost a bundle to jam down to Anaheim.
• That’s okay, as it happens, because I got violently ill late Thursday night. Whatever it was, it kicked my ass six ways to Sunday; I only started to feel somewhat human yesterday.
• Comic-Con starts Thursday. For the first time in seven years, I’m not going.

For those of you going to SDCC, or for those who are merely curious about the impact of the con on downtown San Diego, here’s an article on locals’ reactions to the invasion of “Nerd Prom.”

“It’s huge business for us,” said Dan Flores, marketing manager for the Gaslamp Quarter Association.

He hesitated, then broached the sensitive part: “The attendees are … ”

Different?

“Different. But they don’t all come in costume.”