Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

not at all about weather



I love that "grouse" means to grumble, but also means "Any of various plump, chickenlike game birds of the family Tetraonidae...having mottled brown or grayish plumage."

Plump, chickenlike, and mottled, that's me!

(ETA: The cut-tag originally included the word "grousing." Now this is just a non sequitur.)

Rant 1: Our stock-options used to be managed by Smith Barney. SB was always convenient and efficient to deal with. Then we switched to Charles Schwab. Who suck. Suck, suckage, colossal suction. Schwab has the customer-service equivalent of a black-hole singularity. Their customer service is the dimensionless point where all matter that has been sucked into the black hole is concentrated, a point of infinite density. End quote. But today they reached the infinite curvature of suckage. Forget their usual fumbling incompetence--today I was introduced to a new phone feature: a periodic beep tone that's meant to let you know when your call is being monitored. Within about 30 seconds, I developed a conditioned reflex of sudden rage every time I heard the beep. If you've ever seen Primal Fear, it was just like that scene where Edward Norton's character fixates on the maddening beep of the camcorder's waning battery until he suddenly FLIPS THE HELL OUT.

Rant 2: Herein I argue for a law enabling citizen's arrest and use of deadly force on a pestilent species of Metro Transit bus driver, the thwarted comedian who abuses his position of power--while at the wheel of a 17-ton vehicle--to remorselessly and unrelentingly torture a captive audience via microphone with passive-aggressive banter, solo ditties and sing-alongs, and folksy, obnoxious bids for passenger participation that entail clapping and chorusing. But thank you, Fiend of Hell, for your considerate suggestion to those of us unmoved by your performance--we're the ones, by the way, sitting silent and horrified at the rear of the bus--to exit at the next stop, because "it's a free country."

Rant 3: Not a rant, actually. Just new evidence and confession of my lameness: last night I was stopped by the cops, who finally noticed that my tags have not been updated since May. Turns out, a proof of insurance certificate is also something that needs to be kept updated, and not a permanently useful piece of paper issued when you first got your insurance. Huh. The combined fines are about $700. But the proof of insurance is $500 of that, and it sounds like it's no big deal to get the fine rescinded with a quick court appearance.

I'm not wrought up about this. It's stupid, but I've been cognizant of my stupidity for some time, and this was totally preventable. And actually, as soon as it happened, my mind started generating all kinds of bright-sided anodynes, like:

* At least I wasn't driving drunk at the time.
* My house wasn't recently destroyed by a hurricane.
* This is unquestionably the cattle-prod I've needed to get my shit together--like, you know, hey, here's an idea, why don't I do my 2004 taxes, and pay my bills from the last two months, and update my checkbook register for transactions more recent than April?

I don't know if I've ever mentioned my LiveJournal Mission Statement before, but the goal of this LJ is really to make you all feel much better about yourselves and your life-management skills by comparison to me. And of course so that I'll be able to look back years from now and marvel: Holy crap, what a meathead! Thank god I cleaned up my act, or I'd never have become an A-list screenwriter, multimillionaire, CIA consultant, and Motivational Actualization guru.

My foresight is 20/20 yay!

--End of Third Monday Transmission--

ETA2: Right. Okay. "Third Monday" is a non sequitur too, I've just noticed. The thing is, I'd decided that so far this week we've had Monday, and then Monday, and then Monday again, and so...yes. I'm just going to abandon any attempt at consecutive thought process and commit myself wholly to nonsense. technician quickthorn cryptogram noodle.
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