Write Angry Part III
In which our Write Protagonist braves the surly soldiers of Circuit City to return the villainous Nano for a real iPod Nano. Will he find true happiness? Will George Bush finally pull Dick Cheney's finger? Will Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie finally kiss and make up?
I'm not getting into the Circuit City thing too much other than to say I went into the store while they were opening, got passed around from department to department, and salesperson to salesperson like a case of Coors amongst junior lifeguards. So I wound a up a little curt and cranky, and the salesperson that I wound up with last, came back at me even crankier. Ah, San Francisco, we've become Manhattan West with half the traffic and three-quarters of the surliness.
You are probably asking what kind of job lets their employees wear iPods at work? Not mine, but note the surliness that I mentioned early, then imagine a rabid grizzly. Got that picture? Complete with foaming of the mouth? Well, I make that grizzly look like Snuggles the fabric softener bear. Nobody has said anything to me yet, preferring the mellower Procrastinator.
So the beauty of the iPod is that everyday before, during and after work, I get to become my own Kubrick. My own Scorsese, a Joel and Ethan Coen wrapped up into one package if you will. I step over panhandlers and prone homeless to the tune of "My Favorite Things" by John Coltrane. I get to watch to watch gay or native Chinese couples have verbal melees to "Hotel California" by The Gypsy Kings. Club hoppers and bar flies take on a quasi-ethereal quality to the tune of Georg Freidrich Handel's "Sarabande" from the "Soundtrack to Barry Lyndon."
The near mundane takes on surrealism of Fellini-proportions and the more obnoxious coworkers are vanquished to the tune of "Uptown Anthem" by Naughty By Nature.
Life is good at one gigabyte at a time.
I'm not getting into the Circuit City thing too much other than to say I went into the store while they were opening, got passed around from department to department, and salesperson to salesperson like a case of Coors amongst junior lifeguards. So I wound a up a little curt and cranky, and the salesperson that I wound up with last, came back at me even crankier. Ah, San Francisco, we've become Manhattan West with half the traffic and three-quarters of the surliness.
You are probably asking what kind of job lets their employees wear iPods at work? Not mine, but note the surliness that I mentioned early, then imagine a rabid grizzly. Got that picture? Complete with foaming of the mouth? Well, I make that grizzly look like Snuggles the fabric softener bear. Nobody has said anything to me yet, preferring the mellower Procrastinator.
So the beauty of the iPod is that everyday before, during and after work, I get to become my own Kubrick. My own Scorsese, a Joel and Ethan Coen wrapped up into one package if you will. I step over panhandlers and prone homeless to the tune of "My Favorite Things" by John Coltrane. I get to watch to watch gay or native Chinese couples have verbal melees to "Hotel California" by The Gypsy Kings. Club hoppers and bar flies take on a quasi-ethereal quality to the tune of Georg Freidrich Handel's "Sarabande" from the "Soundtrack to Barry Lyndon."
The near mundane takes on surrealism of Fellini-proportions and the more obnoxious coworkers are vanquished to the tune of "Uptown Anthem" by Naughty By Nature.
Life is good at one gigabyte at a time.
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 7:47 PM
2 Comments:
Hotel California by the Gipsy Kings?
I'm on my way to iTunes.
Yeah, Pooks. It was originally a hidden gem in "Rubaiyat: Elektra's 40th Anniversary" and was featured in the Coen Brother's film, "The Big Lebowski."
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