Or Some Blog...
“I'm doing my best not to become a Kindle bore.”
Too late, pal.
I joined Twitter, and tweeted: “Using Twitter for the first time.” For some reason, somebody responded to that. I mean, God, I bored myself typing it. I have no idea what to do with Twitter, but I signed up anyway. What’s the difference between Twitter and Instant Messenger? Why is it suddenly not only a big deal, but an attractor of followers who seem kind of cult-y, if you know what I mean? Going to update my Facebook status now. Not.
“Or some shit…”
I’ve noticed a habit with young males, at least from overhearing their conversations, that they frequently qualify a statement with “…or some shit” at the end. As in, “He was going downtown, or some shit,” or “he was drinking a beer or some shit,” or “she said she didn’t want to see me any more, or some shit.”
I noticed that this qualifier doesn’t really qualify anything. The original statement is perfectly unambiguous. He was going downtown. He was drinking a beer. She said she didn’t want to see me any more.
The intention seems to be to apply a layer of urban insouciance to statements of fact. The speaker cannot be bothered to vouch for the truth of what he is saying, he’s just, you know, throwing it out there. Whatever.
But I was on the couch of an evening, as is my wont, and found myself applying this qualifier to statements made by people on television, silently to myself, at first, and then – sensing that the Dread Bride might find it funny – out loud. My, we were amused!
I’m listening to the radio now. It works with best with pundits and newscasters. It’s easy to do. When you hear “We need to reduce regulatory obstacles,” add “or some shit.” “Obama’s top budget officials seem confident they can deal with this immediate difficulty. Or some shit.” My, you will be amused!
Shootings in Oakland, Where I Live
Four cops dead, for no apparent reason, shot by a guy who probably should have still been in prison. Between the first shooting, and the second, the shooter acquired (somehow) an AK-47. Where did that come from? I’m not a gun control kind of guy, really. I grew up with guns. But they were .22s, shotguns, and like that. Why should ANYBODY outside of the armed forces have a machine gun? And the killings in Mexico? Thousands dead? That’s because people can’t get machine guns in Mexico, but they can certainly buy them here. And smuggle them down.
I keep trying to dredge up some enthusiasm for our post-Bush world, but what can I say? I’m going to be sixty in October, have no money (but I’m debt-free!), want to drown Octomom in her own litter (Horrid Wife calls her “Octopussy”), set fire to AIG, and half of Obama’s administration (which half?), and make the Twitter, Tweets, Twaters, and Twitterverse just. Go. Away. We are turning into Smurfs. Evil Smurfs.
Did I mention Afghanistan?
“A woman accused of taking more than $73,000 from the Arlington church where she was an administrative assistant blames the devil. Papers filed with a theft charge Wednesday in Snohomish County Superior Court say the 62-year-old Arlington woman told detectives ‘Satan had a big part in the theft.’”
He held the bag, politely.