The sword of Damocles

Yes, I'm breaking out some ancient Greek knowledge on you today.

Now granted, I'm not in any sort of position of power, but that doesn't mean I don't have a sense of foreboding about the constant threat of layoffs at my shop. They're coming, more than likely by the end of the month. Like most peons at newspapers, I'm left in the dark about how many or when. Does wonders for morale, let me tell you.

The worst part is that the Grand Poobahs in charge don't seem to have any ideas other than cuts. No thoughts about finding new revenue streams or what to do online to bring in more money. A good number of the businesses who are pulling their ads aren't coming back. They've gone out of business or have moved their ad dollars elsewhere.

We continue to drive off advertisers and readers by producing less and less content, yet charging them the same amount. I would certainly not subscribe to our paper. There's nothing that interests me in it. Nothing that targets single professionals, very little for the NHL/NASCAR/tennis fan and our coverage of the music scene is pathetic, mostly because the entertainment editor can't see the value in any type of music that isn't what he listens too.

The saddest part is that I have reached a point of not caring anymore. It's just a job with shitty hours and crappy pay. When a business reaches the point that people are hoping to get laid off, it's probably not long for the world.

Anti-love songs

Alleged love songs that don't mean what you think.

Hinder: Lips of an Angel. Dude's talking to his ex on the phone while his poor current girlfriend is waiting for him in bed. What a douche!



Extreme: More than Words. Guy's trying to get his girlfriend to fuck him. He's not in love, he's just horny.



Uncle Kracker: Follow Me. Another douchy guy, this one trying to get a married woman to jump into the sack with him. What is it with these guys?



The Police: Every Breath You Take. It's about stalking! And this is a popular first dance song at weddings?



REM: This One Goes Out To the One I Love. Another popular wedding song that wouldn't be if people listened to what he's saying. "A simple prop to occupy my time" Does that sound like a song about everlasting devotion? I didn't think so.

Boobs

After losing about 30 pounds since my last bra fitting, I decided Sunday it was time for another. My bras, especially the bands, didn't fit, and you're supposed to get fitted after you lose 20 pounds (or gain it), so down to Dillards I went.

The little (and I mean teeny, tiny) girl with the hot pink measuring tape takes me back into the dressing room and whips off her measuring tape. 34 . . . OK, I figured that. I was a 36 the last time. But then she measured my booms. . . H.

34H.

That's like stripper sized, stripper with big implants sized even. Like bigger than Pamela Anderson, who's only a 36DDD.

34H.

What normal woman is that size? I felt like I should take myself down to one of the local strip clubs and see if they needed a dancer, although I don't have the tummy for it really.

Best of all, they only carried one bra my size at Dillards, and they're the only department store that carries them at all, which means I'm going to have to buy all my bras online now, without trying them on.

This does pretty much decide though. I'm getting them cut off. I'm so over boobies.

Ups and downs

Up: I find the lone other liberal from Indiana who lived in Missoula and likes weird indie films.
Down: I bought awesome hot pink shoes that don't fit me right.

Up: I remain employed.
Down: They killed our 401K match and are planning more layoffs.

Up: Hockey on TV!!!!!
Down: The Red Wings beat BBJ and the Pens.

Up: I have a 2K refund coming.
Down: It's not enough to completely rework my wardrobe.

Up: Maggie is much more lively since her $700 of mouth work.
Down: I still haven't paid it off.

Look a new post!

I've been busy with Jill and I's fashiony blog, so this one has fallen by the wayside. Sorry, lone loyal reader :D (Hi, Kate!)

This is yet another story from my woeful love life.

I went to The Flicks (the local art house theater) Monday for the very late showing of "The Reader." Art houses are weird, cause unlike the great huge multiplexes, you tend to see the same people and often strike up conversations with other moviegoers.

Back to Monday! An older woman and I struck up a conversation about recent movies we'd seen. I mentioned that I'd seen Milk recently, and she said she could remember the Milk-Moscone murders. She asked what I thought of the movie, and I told I had mixed feelings because the secondary characters, especially activist Cleve Jones, were so poorly developed.

Really this has a point, I swear, bear with me!

Then she told me I should see the movie about the early days of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the States, but couldn't remember the name of it. Not Philadelphia, not Angels in America, but that other one. The third person in the theater, a guy in the back, piped up and said it was a great movie, but he couldn't remember its name either.

After the movie, the guy came up to me and said he'd remembered the name, "And The Band Played On." I said, "Oh yea, that's based on a book by the same guy who wrote the definitive biography of Milk." I got a weird look, to which I responded, "I read it on the back of the Milk book." The guy and I talked some more and then he asked for my number, which, given that he was tall and dark-haired and apparently gay friendly, yet straight, I happily gave.

He finally called me last night, so hopefully we can actually meet up and discuss things not related to Holocaust movies, such as The Reader, or HIV/AIDS. :)

OK, maybe this really didn't have a point!