Category Archives: Getchore LEARN on!

Saor Alba

Full Disclosure:  I am, on my Poor Ol’ Dad’s side, a bloody Jacobite — as Scarlett O’Hara said, “run out of Scotland with Bonnie Prince Charlie…”

Of course you KNOW I’m watching “Outlander” — #1, I’m a huge history nerd and #2, I read the books back when they came out (and am reading them again).

Leaving aside my personal name for the series: “Everyone in the Known World Wants to Fuck Jamie Fraser” (if you’ve read the books, you get it, and if not… well, I give you this:)

Lord, that lad is FOINE!

Lord, that lad is FOINE!

… so at least you’ll understand why I gladly count myself among the “Everyone” — GREAT casting, by the way!

But anyhoo, I can’t help but find it hysterically coincidental that this series came out just as Scotland is voting on independence.  So, Dear Sweet Mama being just as much a geek as I am, we found ourselves transfixed as all get out at the idea.  So we got to talking about it at the Bob Evans.

What?  Where do YOU discuss global politics?

So far, we’ve been able to discern 3 major points of contention in the matter – these being what the rest of the world (i.e., not Scotland) seems to think ought to matter:

  1. WHO GETS ENGLAND’S NUKES???  Um, England does.  They’re England’s nukes.  But they WILL need to be makin’ an arrangement about the back rent…
  2. WHAT KIND OF MONEY WILL THEY HAVE?  I’d guess whatever money they want, euros, pounds, whatever.  Although I do have to come down as strongly against going back to the Live Pig Currency Standard.
  3. THE DEBT??? WHAT PORTION OF BRITAIN’S DEBT SHOULD SCOTLAND HAVE TO TAKE ON???  This one I’m quite clear on.  NONE.  That debt was paid at (and after) Blar Chuil Lodair.

So, for what it’s worth, I say saor Alba.  And while we’re at it, tabhair Eire ar ais go dti na hEireann.  And am ddim Cymru, if they like.  The time has come.

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Anatomy of Finding Something on the Floor

  1. See unidentified thing on floor.
  2. Look at it.
  3. Look at it.
  4. What IS it? Look harder at it.
  5. Look at it while tilting head.
  6. WHAT IS IT?
  7. Bend over to look at it.
  8. Look at it lookatitLOOKATIT
  9. Poke it.
  10. Poke it again.
  11. WHATISITWHATISITWHATISIT?
  12. Pick it up.
  13. Drop it.
  14. Look for it.
  15. Look for it lookforitLOOKFORIT
  16. WHERE IS IT???
  17. IS IT ON ME???
  18. Flail uncontrollably.
  19. See second unidentifiable thing on floor.
  20. Repeat from Step 2.

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More Lessons Learned…

… from “The Last Ship.”

Yeah, it’s been awhile, but hey, most of the funny/fucked up shit that happens to me has to do with The Concubine (without her knowledge), and I almost feel bad shaming her on Teh Interwebz.  I know, weird, right?  Me feeling shame.  But anyhoo…

LESSONS LEARNED FROM “THE LAST SHIP”

Episode 1

  • The CDC is never here to save YOU, dumbass.  They’re here to save other people. FROM you. (Actually, I already knew this.)
  • Jason Dean is still smokin’ fuckin’ hot.  My argument:
And still WAAAAAY too hot for Phoebe Halliwell.

And still WAAAAAY too hot for Phoebe Halliwell.

  • Don’t even fucking THINK about killing the dog, inexplicable Russian ninjas.  I WILL CUT YOU.
  • Two words:  JAYNE COBB! That is all.
The Hero of Canton

The Hero of Canton

  • Jason Dean and Jayne Cobb manage to make up for that actress who looks like she smelled a fart.
  • We are, at this moment, potentially 2 months away from President Boehner.  Wait, wait, stop cutting yourself, I said POTENTIALLY.
  • Radio silence is NEVER for your own protection.
  • When all else fails, fucking do it yourself.  Fear of electrocution is for PUSSIES.
  • If you fail to answer your phone, I’m totally allowed to come over to your place and steal your popcorn and mac n’ cheese.
  • We get issued protective face shields for a reason.  DUMBASS.

(although you did make the right choice, ma brotha.  ain’t goin’ out like that.)

BONUS:  Having kids and a wife is NOT. FUCKING. WORTH IT.  The Night’s Watch has the right idea.

AND ONE CAVEAT:  Naming a character “Dr. Scott” makes me want to throw toilet paper.

I love you, my Hooligans.  And I’ll try to do better!

HH

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Bar Lessons – Stone Pony Edition

Last Friday, Dear Sweet Mama and I ventured to the legendary Stone Pony to see one of her favorite bands, Black 47.  And Bar Lessons ensued.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

1.  These kids today, they don’t dance, they don’t even sway… they just stand.

2.  Drunk white chickies don’t know from an Irish jig.

3.  When you do a jig in their general direction, they become frightened.

4.  The lead singer of Black 47 may in fact be a leprechaun (he’s SO WEE!)

5.  Whoever it was that reviewed the Pony online and raved about the food was VERY. FUCKING. DRUNK.

6.  DSM is hilarious when hammered (of course, this is not news).

7.  There are jobs out there worse than mine – one of them is Bathroom Attendant at the Pony.

8.  Even while asleep in the car on the way home, Hoody will still keep her finger on the station scan button and play DJ.

9.  3 hours of sleep looks like PLENTY from the front side.  From the back side, not so much.

10.  Last night’s eyeliner looks like hammered fuck at work the next day.

 

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The Wonderful World of Broadcasting, Episode II

As promised, here is “the rest of the story,” when it comes to the truth behind my ostensibly-glamorous career path.  Let’s see, where were we…

5.  I am essentially slave labor.

Yes, I do get paid (the aforementioned no money)… for my regular job.  But as anyone who has ever been referred to as “talent” can tell you, it don’t stop there.  For example, when I was a TV producer (NOT an on-air job, mind you), I was frequently dragooned into “voicing” in-house commercials and PSAs… for no additional money.  Which translates into “fo’ free.”

All the ads you hear on the radio?  The DJs did them… fo’ free.  Voiceover work is a PAYING job, yo.  But once The Man owns you, sure ain’t he gonna use you.  FO’ FREE.

6.  I have almost no goddamned privacy.

Like it or not, once strangers know your name (even if it’s fake, as mine is and most are), you’re at least a quasi-public figure.  This means your every move – even in your so-called “real” life – can be subject to public scrutiny.  Case in point, I myself have been arrested.  For a nonviolent, victimless misdemeanor that, while infinitely stupid, most of YOU could chalk up as a lesson learned.  But MY mugshot was on the motherfucking teevee… because I was a “public figure.”

Further point, the infamous Chuckweasel and I were once at a baseball game in another fucking state, when someone recognized him by voice alone.  My day-to-day “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” quotient is ABNORMALLY high, mostly just from my voice.  Of course, it gets much worse for my brothers and sisters who are actually on TV – I’ve had friends harassed and even stalked, one to the point where the cops had to come walk her to her car every night.  And you wonder why my avi is a fucking cartoon???

7.  I am consistently undateable.

Yes, yes, part of that is my charming personality.  Bite me.  But a fairly large part of it is the horrible hours I work – part of the appeal of goddamned Chuckweasel was that we had the same butt-crack of dawn shift.

Another part is what the job – the news part – does to you.  I’m fairly callous and unfeeling about just about everything now, and apparently potential partners like someone who at least PRETENDS to have human emotions (huh.  Pussies.).  Fine, Sonny Jim, you watch live Ground Zero feeds all by yourself in the middle of the night for over a week straight and tell me you have fuck one left to give about people’s petty fucking problems.

But I do have some, emotions, that is – which generally come pouring out in an awful cathartic flood when some major can’t-take-this disaster becomes the lead story.  The only way I’ve found to deal with this is to date people who are also in the industry (See Gilbert, the Evil Ogre, and CW).  But this produces its own problems, in that A) You both work ridiculous hours and never see each other; B) You end up in competition for the same jobs and/or C) Your general self-protective disdain for all of humanity extends to each other.

Or you’re just a total bastard who bolts when shit gets real, like someone this blog used to know very well… but I digress.

So, E-Harmony, Match.com… um… J-Date? (note: not Jewish but fascinated by the whole Orthodox thing).  Huddle up, you guys.

I’m a 37 year old news professional who will never work normal hours, make any goddamned money, or give more than half a fuck about #FirstWorldProblems.

A life with me will mean an endless cavalcade of “real” FB pages versus “professional” ones, and even so, strangers will masturbate to the sound of my voice.

Get used to being alone (again) at important family gatherings, and embrace the fact that, while I will seldom shed a tear in relation to our own crises, I am extremely likely to start hysterically bawling over a mine disaster or similar.

I will know the names of our state and local lawmakers better than your family’s.  And I’ll have their cell phone numbers.

 

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The Wonderful World of Broadcasting

Y’all know what I do for a living – I do the news on the motherfuckin’ radio, bitches.  Before that, I worked as a TV news producer, and before that, I was a high school/college drama geek who was all up in plays and shit.  And that’s not even counting my brief stint as a weather girl.

Yes, I do what I went to college for.  Yes, plenty of complete strangers know who I am (and occasionally recognize me in public, we’ll get to that later), which I guess makes me some facet of famous.  And yes, all those cunts I went to high school with are FUCKING. SORRY. NOW. – as are their fat car-salesman husbands who didn’t hit this back when they were dreamy quarterbacks who wouldn’t give me the time of day.

But it ain’t all chocolate cake and porno, Hooligans.  For instance:

1.  I get shocked in the ears on a fairly regular basis.

By which I mean, pretty much every time I go to work.  Broadcasting is all about 2 things – electronic equipment and making money.  And because of the second, almost none of the first is ever properly installed or – and this is important – properly grounded.  So if I make the mistake of, say, touching the microphone while my headset is plugged in (something that is pretty much integral to my job), I get a jolt straight to the tympanic membranes.  Which hurts like a motherfucker and probably causes brain dam– LOOK, A SQUIRREL!

2.  I have literally been on fire.

And I don’t mean literally as in figuratively, the way some people (wrong people) use the word.  I mean literally as in, “What’s that smell?  Is it bacon?  No, just me.”  As in actual, no-shit-for-real flames.

Admittedly, my own experience with bodily fire came during a community theatre performance when my microphone’s wireless battery pack overheated.  But the equipment is all pretty much the same, and it happens a LOT more than you know.  You think Anderson Cooper looks like he smelled a fart?  No, what he smells is a palm-sized lump of plastic melting into his lower back.

Yes, I have scars.  No, you may not see them.

Unless you buy me dinner.

3.  I work hours that would make a Chinese sweatshop worker call his non-existent union rep.

I currently get to work at 4am to prepare for my first newscast at 6am.  Yes, the 2-and-a-half minutes of news you half-assed listen to on your drive to work takes some poor schmuck like me about 2 HOURS to lovingly craft.  And that’s just radio – when I first started in TV, I produced a 5am to 7am morning news show… for which I reported to work at 11PM.  Yeah, the night before.  My anchors came in around 3am.  Those “Today Show” fuckers who seem so giddy?  That’s because they’ve been awake and working since before your ass went to bed.

4.  I work those hellacious hours for no money.

When I first started working in TV news, I was making the princely sum of $22,000 a year.  This was 2001 (mid-August of 2001, which will become important later), and I was straight out of college, so at the time I was like, “SCORE!”  Yeah, not so much.  By the time I moved to radio, 5 years later, I was making $28,000 a year.  And when everything went to hell and I left WBGV, I was up to $32,000 — but that included “extras” like calling football and basketball.

It’s pretty much a cliche in the industry that – with a few notable exceptions – you will never make any goddamned money… but everyone will THINK you do.

Stay tuned, there’s more truth-telling to come!  Tune in again, same Bat-time, same Bat-station!

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For Your Viewing Pleasure

As we all know, television viewership takes up a significant portion of my day (largely because I’m holed up in my room hiding from the increasingly-evil Concubine). So let’s all pick up our clickers and see what’s entertaining us now, shall we?

  • The Walking Dead (AMC):  Duh!  Dear Sweet Mama and mine’s Sunday ritual – I have no idea how we’re going to survive the midseason break!  We’ve already decided if we ever win the lottery, we’re buying up all their ad time so they can go commercial-free.
  • Witches of East End (Lifetime):  I know, LIFETIME?  Which is why I initially did not hold out much hope for this one, but it turns out it’s great!  For those of you who also watch, I’m officially Team Killian – Dash is a douche.
  • American Horror Story:  Coven (FX):  the first of the AHS series I’ve watched, kinda makes me want to catch up on the others!  Of course, that fine-ass Angela Bassett doesn’t hurt – like my Dear Sweet Grandmama always used to say, good black don’t crack!
  • Almost Human (FOX):  LOVE THIS!  Which means it’s guaranteed to get cancelled.  So eat up the Kennex and Dorian eye candy while you still can!
  • Atlantis (BBC America):  Just discovered this on the OnDemand.  So far, I’m very much liking it and considering throwing a little at Jason, Pythagoras and (as always) Hercules (what is it about Mark Addy?)
  • Breaking the Faith (TLC):  FLDS girls running away from the Warren Jeffs compound – how could I NOT be watching this???  It’s a little overacted at times, but forgivable.
  • Ancient Aliens (History):  Not only do I love this show on its own merits, it also affords me the opportunity to spend time with my unwitting fiance, Giorgio Tsoukalos.  Yeah, he doesn’t know it, but that crazy-haired little monkey SHALL BE MINE (Gilbert should be fine with it, it’s all about the gyros and the geek cred!)

I will also watch the shit out of any House, Bones, Castle, SVU or what have you, especially in marathon form.  And as we all know, I’m a HUUUUUGE dork, so I also spend a lot of time gettin’ my learn on, watching History and Discovery and such for fun.  My latest forays include a 2-hour show on The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre and several shows about dinosaurs/cavemen/whatnot.

Also, it’s illegal to have a platypus for a pet.  Mother. Fucker.

Your turn, Hooligans – what boob-toobage can’t you live without?

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Like, TOTALLY!

First real day on the new job under my belt, and I’m chillin’ watching this great series on NatGeo:  “The 80’s: The Decade That Made Us.”  So Hooligans, it’s time for...

POETRY SLAM!

We grew up in the 80’s

Hair was big and life was large.

We listened to the Bangles and that freakin’ El DeBarge.

All of us just waiting for an end in fire and flame

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

Our fathers taught survival, our mothers taught us, too

All the skills they knew we’d need when that ol’ Red Button blew.

But the sirens never sounded and we grew up less than tame

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

Now we sit here all grown up now,

In our forties (either side)

We realize we’re still breathing long past when we thought we’d die.

Our skills are all but useless and we’re somewhat less than sane

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

So we crack up in our thousands

Turn to drink and drug and vice.

Our heads still filled with “WOLVERINES!” and that damn Vanilla Ice

Our parents think it’s their fault, but there’s no one left to blame

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

Now life’s all about the ‘Pocalypse and how we’re gonna die

We listen to the theories and we never bat an eye.

The enemies are different and the world is not the same

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

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Drunk School Digest

So, confession time:  Two Christmases ago (12/25/11), Hoody went to her Bad-Ass Cousin’s house (you know, the 0ne who always got you in trouble as a kid – that one) and got, as Hoody does tend to get, fairly fucked up.  Hoody then attempted to drive home and suddenly saw blue lights.  Now, in the words of the poets, “I ain’t tryin’ to see no highway chase wit’ Jake,” so Hoody pulled over and got her drunk ass a DUI.

Yes, she’s sorry.  

And on the plus side, she’s now in a “treatment program” (the quotes will make sense later) and can therefore present to you:

DRUNK SCHOOL DIGEST

Week 1, Day1

Got invited to sit at “the cool kids'” table by lunchtime – helps to be hotter than a smacked ass.  Today we learned how to steal things from the supermarket.  We also learned that men are bad and are the root of all violence and evil – from a MALE counselor.

Week 1, Day 2

This shit really, really drags.  I did see one girl’s boob this morning when she flopped (yes, I do mean “flopped”) it out in front of everyone, so there’s that.

Week 1, Day 3

I seem to be the only person here who’s JUST a drunk.  Everyone else is a “booze-and-” – like, heroin, coke, etc.  I feel like the slow kid in class.

Week 1, Day 4

Ditched.  No sleep, couldn’t face it.  Turns out there was a huge fight between one of the counselors and some of the “students” – I missed it!

Week 1, Day 5

Really starting to get a complex about NOT being a drug addict.  Everyone was sharing their “freak-out” stories and my drunk ass got nothin’.  Also, I may be the only person here with teeth.

Stay tuned, it can only get weirder!

 

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Finger Chickens

As opposed to Chicken Fingers… mmmm, chicken…

SCENE:  Hoody and Dear Sweet Mama are watching the New Year’s Resolution episode of “American Dad,” in which Deputy Director Bullock wants to chop off someone’s finger (don’t worry, no spoilers).

DSM:  So, what finger would you pick?

HH (without missing a beat):  Well, it can’t be my left hand, ’cause I might get married someday and I don’t wanna fuck up the pictures. (You know, the one where it’s both your hands with the bling showing?  I love that).

DSM:  But then it’s your RIGHT hand… and that’s gonna be creepy for handshakes.

Hoody and DSM proceed to shake each other’s hands with various fingers held back, testing for creep-factor.

DSM:  But wait, is it the whole finger or is there a stump?

HH:  I don’t want a stump, I think that’s somehow more creepy than just not having an entire finger.

The outcome of this discussion was the decision that the right pinky finger would be the way to go.  However, after further consideration, I must withdraw my vote for the right pinky, because I hold it out while sipping beverages in order to appear fancy (yes, all beverages).  So, to preserve my fancy, if I ever get married, the poor schmuck other person will just have to hold their hand over mine in such a way as to hide the fact that I have no LEFT pinky.  If I’m ever in a finger-cutting-off dilemma, that is.

That’s love, right there.

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