Following my two-week Seinfeld Fast, I immediately began to reimmerse myself into the dvd collection of my all-time favorite tv show and time waster. For me, because I have watched every episode dozens of times, Seinfeld can serve as background noise when I'm doing dishes or writing a paper. However, my constant viewing of the show also forces me to take notice of little quirks and holes in the stories; sometimes I get so ensconced in this line of thinking that I have to remind myself, "this way makes for a purely comedic situation." Just this weekend I started compiling a laundry list of my "show concerns" and thought I'd share it with the blogosphere.
On Susan's Death:
I know a lot of fans and casual viewers were somewhat shocked and appalled by the manner in which the writers removed Susan from George's life. As a person who went through the task of sending off hundreds of wedding invites, a number of problems with her demise occur to me: who voluntarily licks large amounts of envelopes when other alternatives are readily available, such as a wet sponge or cloth? Furthermore, who continues on with this task when they are feeling ill? Kind of makes Susan seem like she isn't playing with a full deck. Which leads me to...
On Susan Ross:
Susan mocked George when he asked her to sign a pre-nup, exclaiming that she made more money than him. So why was George tasked with purchasing the invites? Seems like something that the Ross' could have picked up if she wanted a higher quality.
*it makes for a purely comedic situation on a fictional television show...must remember...*
There's more...
On Elaine's Male Houseguests:
In the season two episode, "The Busboy", Elaine frets over her decision to have a male houseguest over for the week, as she soon finds the confinement stifling. Yet, in the season six episode, "The Soup", she does not hesitate to buy an open-ended airline ticket for a British man friend for an indefinite visit. Did we not learn from the first incident?
On the Dating Habits of George and Jerry:
In the early seasons of the show, George and Jerry date women who appear to be similar in age to them, as they are still fairly young-ish (early 30's). However, as the show progresses and the characters get older, their romantic pursuits seem to stay in that younger age bracket. For example, Jerry dates a Miss America contestant in the season six episode, "The Chaperone." I'm fairly certain that the qualifications to be a contestant in the pagaent, you have to be between 17-24, so that would make Karen (Miss Rhode Island) at least ten years younger than Jerry.
*it's a fictional show...fictional...*
There are plenty more, but I don't want to sound like a nit-picking crotchedy old person...even more so than usual. So I'll just leave it at that, while I catch up on season six for only the hundredth time. Ok, 99th time.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Irritable. Just...irritable.
What a deliciously annoying day I've had.
I not only got aggrevated to the nth degree by some entitled old-ass customer, but my boss let me get chewed out and refused to interject...and to add insult to injury, boss man waves to the customer and exchanges pleasantries.
It all went downhill from there.
Towards the end of my shift, another customer tries to lift my spirits by citing quotes by Satchel Page, Jackie Robinson and other old-timey sports figures. I told him I would try to smile more during the day, but I just came home and sulked for about four hours. Once I unloaded on Halbastram about my awful day, I started to feel better.
And, as such, I will now write a more pleasant entry.
Well, I don't really have any pleasant news to report for the day. But I suppose I can write about a dream I had. One where my sister and I were on a road trip, "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert"-style, to see Cher in concert. This is thoroughly baffling because I'm not even sure that my sister is even remotely aware of who Cher is. Also, while I do love Cher, I'm not travelling more than 25 miles to the nearest concert venue to see her. I just don't have that kind of money lying around.
So...that story peaked quickly.
Anyway, back to my annoying day. Because I haven't finished with this.
The whole situation could have been easily avoided if my manager just stepped up and said something of a reassuring nature to me once he saw that I was visibly upset. I always assumed that it was the role of the manager to ensure that their employees are doing ok and to talk to them if things aren't going well. Apparently my managers read from a different management handbook, the handbook that says to blatantly ignore employees and to pander to asshole customers above all else. Because employees are interchangable; customers are forever...
But, without the employees, who provides the service to the customers? With the flip of a switch on my mood, I can make customers disappear. So doesn't it seem logical to ensure that you're running a Happy Camp?
Not that I would make customers disappear...after all, I'm no Houdini. Or Copperfield. Or Blaine. Neither Penn nor Teller. Or...I think I've exhausted my Encyclopedia of Magicians.
Either way, I held a chip on my shoulder for four hours following this incident. It isn't healthy, I know. But I just felt jaded...even more so than usual. I only have two days left at this place and it feels like an eternity.
But I must think positive thoughts. Like taking road trips to see Cher. Or Lady Gaga. Or Lindsey Buckingham.
Boy, if I could turn back time...if I could find a way...I'd work someplace completely different...
I not only got aggrevated to the nth degree by some entitled old-ass customer, but my boss let me get chewed out and refused to interject...and to add insult to injury, boss man waves to the customer and exchanges pleasantries.
It all went downhill from there.
Towards the end of my shift, another customer tries to lift my spirits by citing quotes by Satchel Page, Jackie Robinson and other old-timey sports figures. I told him I would try to smile more during the day, but I just came home and sulked for about four hours. Once I unloaded on Halbastram about my awful day, I started to feel better.
And, as such, I will now write a more pleasant entry.
Well, I don't really have any pleasant news to report for the day. But I suppose I can write about a dream I had. One where my sister and I were on a road trip, "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert"-style, to see Cher in concert. This is thoroughly baffling because I'm not even sure that my sister is even remotely aware of who Cher is. Also, while I do love Cher, I'm not travelling more than 25 miles to the nearest concert venue to see her. I just don't have that kind of money lying around.
So...that story peaked quickly.
Anyway, back to my annoying day. Because I haven't finished with this.
The whole situation could have been easily avoided if my manager just stepped up and said something of a reassuring nature to me once he saw that I was visibly upset. I always assumed that it was the role of the manager to ensure that their employees are doing ok and to talk to them if things aren't going well. Apparently my managers read from a different management handbook, the handbook that says to blatantly ignore employees and to pander to asshole customers above all else. Because employees are interchangable; customers are forever...
But, without the employees, who provides the service to the customers? With the flip of a switch on my mood, I can make customers disappear. So doesn't it seem logical to ensure that you're running a Happy Camp?
Not that I would make customers disappear...after all, I'm no Houdini. Or Copperfield. Or Blaine. Neither Penn nor Teller. Or...I think I've exhausted my Encyclopedia of Magicians.
Either way, I held a chip on my shoulder for four hours following this incident. It isn't healthy, I know. But I just felt jaded...even more so than usual. I only have two days left at this place and it feels like an eternity.
But I must think positive thoughts. Like taking road trips to see Cher. Or Lady Gaga. Or Lindsey Buckingham.
Boy, if I could turn back time...if I could find a way...I'd work someplace completely different...
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Starting Over Again For, Oh, The Millionth Time.
It really is interesting that I don't even bother to keep up with my blog anymore, considering that I talk way to much on the Facebook. If I just collected all of my day's thoughts into one post instead of blasting people's walls with my millions of little spastic posts, I'd be a tad bit more organized, thought-wise. As it stands, I pretty much just write short bursts of anger/excitement/sadness/etc that happen to be mulling in my head at the moment. Other than my story to the New Yorker (still pending, btw), it's been a while since I've really sat down and written out a long, collective piece.
And I can guarantee I'm not going to write one now.
And no, this isn't me being silly or spiteful. It's me being a combination of the two. It's also me running on only three hours of sleep in the last 24 hours. It's me still recovering from the beating my liver took last night. It's me trying to listen to Judge Judy episodes on the internets while I think of something worthwhile to write about.
It's me being spastic, just in a different venue.
Well, let me try to get a handle on things. As this is New Years, I suppose I should be concentrating on putting together some sort of laundry list of things that must be accomplished. I'm not doing that. Because I'm honest with myself: unless it's something that I can complete in a day in between grocery shopping and sorting the mail, it's not worth adding to the list. I can't make long term goals on New Years because they're usually silly, superficial goals that I should be doing anyway. And I figure I'll either get around to it or I won't.
Negative? Yes. Lazy? Well, I do dislike most things that require too much of my energy (with "running" being first and foremost on that list).
But, as I am very excited about some of my and Halbastram's prospects in the new year, I will offer up a few of my hopes for the next twelve months:
-a published story
-a new residence on the east coast
-repaying all of the people who have helped me out over the last twelve months.
Twenty-twelve was a trying year- just a bastard of a year. And Halbastram and I experienced life from an angle I hope to never have to see again. People may go on about how hard life is, but they haven't had my husband's summer. But we're putting that behind us. I'm an especially superstitious person, so tradition should dictate that 2013 will be tremendously evil to me. But I will not be defeated by a couple of numbers. I will own 2013 (hopefully for a fair price, because I can't afford anymore debt).
So, to my friends, family, associates and lovers of Glen Lerner commercials, I bid you a happy new year and a prosperous 2013 and a World Series win for the Tampa Bay Rays.
Peace. Love. And Mazel Tov.
And I can guarantee I'm not going to write one now.
And no, this isn't me being silly or spiteful. It's me being a combination of the two. It's also me running on only three hours of sleep in the last 24 hours. It's me still recovering from the beating my liver took last night. It's me trying to listen to Judge Judy episodes on the internets while I think of something worthwhile to write about.
It's me being spastic, just in a different venue.
Well, let me try to get a handle on things. As this is New Years, I suppose I should be concentrating on putting together some sort of laundry list of things that must be accomplished. I'm not doing that. Because I'm honest with myself: unless it's something that I can complete in a day in between grocery shopping and sorting the mail, it's not worth adding to the list. I can't make long term goals on New Years because they're usually silly, superficial goals that I should be doing anyway. And I figure I'll either get around to it or I won't.
Negative? Yes. Lazy? Well, I do dislike most things that require too much of my energy (with "running" being first and foremost on that list).
But, as I am very excited about some of my and Halbastram's prospects in the new year, I will offer up a few of my hopes for the next twelve months:
-a published story
-a new residence on the east coast
-repaying all of the people who have helped me out over the last twelve months.
Twenty-twelve was a trying year- just a bastard of a year. And Halbastram and I experienced life from an angle I hope to never have to see again. People may go on about how hard life is, but they haven't had my husband's summer. But we're putting that behind us. I'm an especially superstitious person, so tradition should dictate that 2013 will be tremendously evil to me. But I will not be defeated by a couple of numbers. I will own 2013 (hopefully for a fair price, because I can't afford anymore debt).
So, to my friends, family, associates and lovers of Glen Lerner commercials, I bid you a happy new year and a prosperous 2013 and a World Series win for the Tampa Bay Rays.
Peace. Love. And Mazel Tov.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
