Please Mama Not the Curling Iron Again

Wow, Tuesday is on its way to expiry and this is my first blog entry of the week. I'm a slacker.

When last I posted I was in a very foul mood indeed, and the aftermath of my decision to "drop out" of that pointless course is still yet to be determined. My boss wants to have a serious talk with me about it tomorrow morning at 11am. Wish me luck, because it cost the station 550-bucks to enrol me and the bastards won't refund the station money. To which I say, "that ain't right". But if I have to pay for it with my own money, sobeit. I am not going to immerse myself in a time-consuming effort to increase my marketing skills and be a sales lap-dog when it's not-at-all what I want my future to hold. Perhaps I'm being unreasonable, but for now, I don't care. There's no extra money involved and no reward but more hard work and a title after my name that no one would understand or respect, and I'm not going to pursue unhappiness. I don't want door #3 Monty... I want what's in the box. ZONK

On to lighter things...

Riding the bus home from Kipling station every night I frequently see a woman with truly horrendous hair. There's a whole whack of equally appropriate adjectives to describe this poor lady's coif as long as it's synonymous with heinous And that's not for her lack of trying to make it absolutely perfect which makes me a jerk for documenting it... but anyhoo... yeah, her hair looks like "ass". She's this little bit of a woman who has mousy, stringy thin hair - which I wouldn't ordinarily comment about because you do the best with what genetics give you, right? Her hair wouldn't be so bad if she'd just embrace it as an unattainable goal and keep it neat, but since 1981 when her mama ceased burning her with the curling iron and allowed her to use it to create her own beastly bangs... she has been feathering the front and the sides of her washed-with-dish-soap-don't-know-what-conditioner-is hair, outwards from her head. BUT -and here's the kicker- doing absosmurfly nothing with the crown or back of her head. So thusly her "Ally McBeal in a wind-tunnel" look is incomplete and she looks like an unmade bed every time I see her. And strangely enough, growing up in a churchy environment around churchy people I always thought she looked conspicuously "christian-like" because as far as I can tell she usually seems pleasant enough, if ever-so out-dated in appearance. And I overheard her speaking with another lady on the bus a while back and they spoke of churchy things. So I know how to spot 'em.
---in the wild, the "gays" are prone to instinctively sensing the presence of their enemies, so as to blend-in and appear "less-gay" to avoid ignorant condemnation, split-second judgement and unwelcome "witnessing" with the intention of conversion and repentance. Surely I jest, 'cause I don't hide my rainbow-coloured man-purse from anyone.

Incidentally, as a disclaimer, I would've ridiculed this woman's awful hair regardless of her spirituality or religious beliefs and no "gays" were harmed in the making of this blog entry.

Shut Your Mouth - by Garbage

Welcome we love you
We hate you
We love you
We want you
We need you
We wish we were like you

They say you're a saint
You're a whore
You're a sinner
That he had you
He made you
He can't live without you.
Would you confess
if we asked
That you nurture the urge
To declare that it's time
To settle down
With a man of your own
You want a baby
A family
A piece of security

Shut your mouth
Try not to panic
Just shut your mouth
If you can do it

What's your opinion on the dire situation
In our land here
Our guest here
Of course you'll be nice here
How do you feel about god and religion
Are you good people
Bad people
Guess it doesn't matter people.

Your place
My place
Make her bring that famous face
You got some
You want some
You wanna let me get you some
We know your music but of course we'd never buy it
It's too fake man
Right man!
We don't give a fucking damn.

I hear you say it
Play it smart girl
Win the game love
Give 'em what they want
What they want to see and you could be a big star
You could go far
Make a landmark
What have you been reading you smart girl?
Win the game love
Give 'em what they want
What they want to see and you could be a big star
You could go far
Make a landmark
Make a shit load.

And the world spins by
With everybody moaning
Pissing, bitching and everyone is shitting
On their friends
On their love
On their oaths
On their honour
On their graves
Out their mouths
And their words say nothing

I waited to say something Oh shut your mouth
I wanted to say something Just shut your mouth
I waited to say something Oh shut your mouth
I wanted to be something Just shut your mouth

Theatre of the Mind

One of the assignments for my course is to summarize what I've learned from the contents of a radio-based article on "the Theatre of the Mind" and to do so in one or two paragraphs. Yes folks; I'm one-week in, and other than putting any spare time I had during the week to good use completing assignments, I've left the arduous task to what I believe to be my one and only weekend to cram it all in. Although I'd have to verify that with the course outline which I left at work. I do believe all my assignments for the first unit must be submitted by this coming Friday. Until I verify that, I'm going to treat that impression as fact to keep a fire lit under my ass. I still haven't decided why I'm taking this damned course in the first place, but I'm wavering back and forth between doing it for myself and just telling my boss I've changed my mind and that I can't fit it into my life's schedule right now. But seeing as how I made the mistake of telling him that this course is "really going to take me back to school" (which I've no doubt it will), I'm also faced with a nagging wont to leap this hurtle just to show myself whether I've got some hard decisions to make; namely a change of career to give myself a little purpose.

The kicker is, that I already know I need to be doing more than what I'm doing. There's no fulfillment in it whatsoever, and all the understanding of what power there is in "truly great radio" ...no joking... I believe that it has that kind of merit... I don't believe radio will ever truly be great again due to the world's commercialism and society's consumerism. Ironic; given where I sit on the cog in the engine of marketing. I call myself a cog because I serve a purpose, but I just spin and keep the machine I work for, working well. But with that grandiose introduction I will proceed with my own little summary of the article, "The Theatre of the Mind".

If tomorrow, someone were to start spamming every Internet user in New York City to tell them of an alien invasion that would surely devastate civilization as we know it. That particular piece of e-mail wouldn't likely make it past a single junk-mail folder, much less; make them drop what they were doing and fall into a state of panic, bordering on hysteria. Needless to say, it would take a whole lot more than that now, but the story of how one night's radio broadcast of H.G. Wells "War of the Worlds" sent most of New York and New Jersey into a state of mass panic in 1938 is very impressive by today's standards. In the information age we live in, it would take a well-coordinated, mass-media hoax with several mediums disseminating the same misinformation to achieve the same effect.

This article is meant to inspire me as a writer, to appeal to my listening audience through the power of what I imagine and what in-turn they will imagine while listening to my commercials. Radio was once an incredibly powerful medium. And I should aspire to use the same techniques which still make radio great, to hold the attention of my stations listening audience. I don't have to deceive the masses into believing something, big and terrible is happening, but with the appropriate descriptions and right execution, I most certainly could.


There... two paragraphs of drivel that someone wants to hear I've learned. That's not to say I don't believe that to be true, and whether or not it means anything to the laymen who might have the displeasure of reading it I'm not so sure. But in real life there are clients. Clients who aren't interested in "theatre of the mind". Clients who think that because they're a business-owner, that also makes them a bonafide marketing expert. (Not that I'm claiming to be one myself) Then to add to the authentic real-life-experience: there are co-workers who aren't always up to the task of translating your vision into something that works. Co-workers who may or may not feel like giving it their all. Co-workers who do genuinely give it their all, which makes the final product not only craptacular, but sad. I haven't been entertained by radio in years. And I truthfully don't know anyone else who has been either. Cynical bastard, aren't I? I think I've just made a decision about this course.

Now to use theatre of the mind, I think I'll go fill the bathtub with ice cream, top it with 50 cans of whipped topping, stick my arm in up to my shoulder first to see if the cold is even slightly tolerable... brrrr chilly... then stick my head in and eat my way to the drain. Could you picture it?

Now for an angry song recommendation to match my mood. (don't worry, I'll be better by tomorrow)

This is the New Shit - Marilyn Manson

Everything has been said before
nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same You can ask for it by name

Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, and don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along

Are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit?
Stand up and admit it, tomorrow's never coming
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it

Do we need it? NO!
Do we want it? YEAH!
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it

Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along

Everything's been said before
nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same You can ask for it by name

Are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit?
Stand up and admit it, tomorrow's never coming
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it
Do we need it? NO! Do we want it? YEAH!
This is the new shit Stand up and admit it

Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what
I stick it in the you-know-where
You know why, you don't care
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what I stick it in the you-know-where
You know why, you don't care
Now it's you-know-who
I've got the you-know-what
I stick it in the you-know-where You know why, you don't care

Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party Sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence
Blah, blah, blah Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely Stick your stupid slogan in Everybody sing along

Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you
Let us entertain you