Sorry excuse for a post!

It’s my Twitter word cloud. I’m pretty surprised that “fuck” isn’t bigger…

You can find your own, and a bunch of other pointless data at TweetStats.com. Here’s mine. Whooopdeeshit!

Cheerfulness index will remain unstable throughout the day

Ugh. Work. I don’t want to go there today. I’m up early, and in a productive mood… and who wants to waste precious productivity on doing their job. About to become a grumplor. Having trouble with my computer machine. Can’t get the right drivers to install for my webcam, so brightness is stuck all the way up, and it looks like I’m living on the sun. Which might be nice. 17 degrees Celsius outside? What’s up with that? Vancouver, why have you stolen all our extra degrees. Apparently this is the coldest July in eleventy years (it was more like 67 but I have probably forgotten the real number). That’s really okay with me, I guess. I get to spend most of the damned summer cooped up in a small box like some sort of animal. Not that humans aren’t animals. But. Like some sort of zoo animal. And, well… I like to go to the zoo alright, but I think they’re mean (so I guess that makes me a terrible person *shrug* — hypocrites, all of us). Damn, I wish I was headed to the zoo right now, though. I’ve had enough XHTML and CSS and ASP and JS and OMGWTFBBQ for the week. I’d had enough by 10am Monday morning. Le sigh.

Well, here’s something. I don’t even know if I mentioned it on Twitter, because it’s probably awful (haven’t watched it, not going to!) I don’t even remember what song this is. I remember either intentionally picking ABC, because of Michael Jackson hypejunk, or possibly intentionally picking ABC, because of Michael Jackson hypejunk. So, be surprised.

I didn’t reach my high score by a long shot. I guess I wasn’t drunk enough. So I don’t know if I still have the number one score in the world. In other news, I’m a geek.

Run, Blago, Run!

Run, Blago, Run! Kickstarter from rebexa on Vimeo.

Mr. CRO has a new project in the works on Kickstarter.com – a new online funding platform for artists, designers, filmmakers, musicians, journalists, inventors, etc. He’s attempting to raise funds to host a 3-day Run, Blago, Run Pop-up Art Show! in Chicago in July. Based on the mysterious stencils of the disgraced former governor jogging in a track suit and looking over his shoulder which are finding their way onto buildings and alleys around the city. Pledge as little as $1 in the show to make sure it happens and get fresh incentives in return. In addition there will be an open-call for artists to interpret the jogging pose juried by actress Joan Cusack & legendary house dj/producer Derrick Carter. 10% of sales from the show will be donated to Street Level Youth Media street-level.org

Visit: kickstarter.com/projects/Mr-CRO/run-blago-run-show

“This project will only be funded if at least $3,500 is pledged by Jul 01, 12:00am.” Which is soon. Give ’em a few bucks, I’m really interested in seeing this happen.

Stuff your “Happy Friday” up your cunt.

It’s not just drivers who fucking hate the fuck out of you.

From the Chicago Critical Mass site:

Warning from the Chicago Police Department: We’ll let you break the law, including running red lights, as long as you don’t do it while drunk, or get into any fights, because we’re fucking pussies.

And from their FAQ:

I’ve heard that bike riders sometimes run red lights. Is this true?

The strength of the Mass is in it’s close-knit unity as an organic body. It is sometimes necessary to ride through lights in order to maintain this unity. It is actually safer. Otherwise, car traffic is tempted to weave in and out among small groups of riders.

From the Austin Critical Mass site:

Do you break traffic laws?

Most riders run stop signs and red lights on the ride (after making sure that it’s safe to do so). Some riders obey all the rules, all the time. Many of us feel that the road rules were written with cars in mind and make little sense when applied to bicycles, especially 100 bicycles. (Try staying in one lane on a ride that large.) Requiring a bicycle to behave like a car is much like requiring a fish to behave like an accountant — they’re two totally different things. Other more enlightened parts of the world (including one state in the U.S.) allow cyclists to treat stop signs as yield signs.

Many of us also have contempt for the law because it’s applied unevenly to bicyclists and motorists. When Austin had a helmet law, bicyclists were thrown in jail left and right for not wearing helmets, while we’ve never heard of a motorist going to jail for not wearing a seatbelt. And while cyclists can easily get tickets for something as mundane as riding on the sidewalk, motorists who hit and kill or severely injure cyclists often get off scott-free. The law also provides extra rights for motorists at our expense, such as the right for cars to park in our bike lanes. With all this in mind, it’s no wonder that many cyclists have little regard for a law that requires them to stop at a stop sign when there’s no danger in their simply slowing down instead.

Give

Me

A

Fucking

Break

Hello? The law requiring people, whether they are in a car, on a bike, or on foot serves more than one purpose. Yes, safety is a big one. The other one is to allow smooth flow of traffic. For cars, bikes, and pedestrians. It may be safe to run red lights during critical mass, but it’s fucking annoying. Not just to cars, but to those of us who are on foot. San Francisco has a better idea for you douchebags: Critical Manners. You’ve got all the right to be on the road that you like (because despite what the law says, bicycles are vehicles). You’re a twat if you’re riding on the sidewalk (because despite what the law says, bicycles are vehicles — and in any case, Chicago law makes this exception for your “non-vehicles”). And you’re a mega-super-asshat-fuckwit-trashcunt if you’re blocking pedestrians, cars, or Bob forbid… other bicycles from crossing an intersection.

I know that pedestrians jaywalk all the damned time, eh, whatever. I don’t really have a problem with people / bicycles / cars crossing intersections against the light if it’s safe to do so (better be double-sure of that, kids) and also not rude as fuck to do so. Right-of-way, motherfucker, do you speak it? Hells, I don’t have much respect for the law in general. Everyone breaks at least 87 of those a year. But at least I have respect for people.

Keep being dicks, and I’m going to have to organize some sort of militant pedestrianism / broomstick-at-spokes tossing event up in this bitch.

Also, your hipster fixed-gear, one-speed, brakeless bikes are dumb as hell. And the $8000-worth of accessories tacked onto it are even dumber. Before I was forcibly transformed into a dedicated pedestrian, my car cost less than your BS Laufmaschine (I’ve gotta figure that removing the pedals and gears completely is going to be the next hip trend… Fucking dandies!)

I have spoken.

People being friendly? I am not equipped.

I’m obviously too white to leave my apartment alone in this neighbourhood. Not because I’m afraid of getting shot, or mugged, or raped, or yadda yadda. No. Just because it’s socially awkward. Why is that my main concern? I told you. I’m white. Very, very white (scroll dowwwwwwwn).

I have no idea how to respond to any sentence beginning “girl, you…” or “damn [anything]”. I don’t know where I’m going with “all that”. No, I don’t feel the need to “slow it down”. So, guy in the pimp hat, and guy with the too-big pants that could clothe an entire nation… I’m not trying to be rude, but you see, this is not a skill I learned in Canada. The only phrases I was taught for use in public places are “excuse me” and “I’m sorry”. I could maybe work out a response to “nice day, isn’t it?” (yes, it is), “you goin’ to the Cubs game?” (no, I live near here), or “[tension breaking joke about some weirdo on the train or the fact that the train is awfully crowded, and oops, I accidentally touched you]” (yeah, don’t you love the CTA [tentative laugh]?). But beyond that, I’m afraid I’m lost.

Is there a class I can take somewhere?

I think I’ve got some Tyler Durden-esque scenario going on

I didn’t take Monday off of work so that I could stay in Toronto a) because I wanted to see Metric on Sunday, and b) because I’d be fucking myself over come Tuesday, ’cause ain’t no one else gonna do my work for me…

So, what happens on Monday? Migraine from hell. Spent the entire day in bed. I blame United Airlines for cancelling my flight and messing up my carefully scheduled lack-of-sleep plan. And now, I’m fucked. I’ve gotta stay here until I finish all of yesterday’s work, and today’s work, too. Every second I waste (uh, just like I’m wasting ’em now) is another second I have to stay in this cubicle.

Should have just stayed in Toronto, gone shopping, gone to see Cyanotic in Burlington (which I hear somehow wasn’t awful? WTF? I guess there’s just nothing else to do in Burlington?), and blah blah blah.

I slept for at least 20 hours yesterday, but I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. Either I have multiple personalities that take over when the one named “Candice” is unconscious, or I should probably see a sleep specialist.

Fish-belly off-white



SDC10067, originally uploaded by raymilauren.

Carrying on… my sister Laurel and I were rescued from the fate of spending money we don’t have on Queen St. by a trip to The Issssssssland with Raymi, Phil, Casie and Dave.

Poor Laurel and I aren’t used to this thing you mortals call “the sun”, so excuse us if we were out of sorts (or just altogether too drunk!). Personally, I call that orb in the sky the Day Star, and it burrrrrns us! Look how “pale” Raymi (middle) is (sarcasm sarcasm sarcasm). I thought I had only managed to burn my shoulders and freckleize my face, but I noticed a tan line (what?) on my ass (not pictured) earlier today. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m also not sure how I didn’t burst into flames. So, anyone who sees me in the near future… this is me with a tan. Pity me, pity me, pity me.

Oh, by the way… I changed my hair again, or rather, removed most of it. I was informed that I look very much different from photos of myself online, but there’s a mathematical law (related to the study of Bistromathics) that states that my appearance in any photograph is necessarily completely unrelated to my appearance in person. I can’t be bothered to keep my avatars and such up to date. By the time I change the darn things everywhere, I’ll look completely different, anyway. Some people are convinced I’m a chameleon.

Babbling re-commences next time I can convince my lily-beige ass to stay in one place for five minutes. We’re having a restless day today.

Clonazepam x10

When I got on the CTA blue line after work to head to the airport, and ultimately to Toronto, I started reading “The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul” by Douglas Adams. I’ve read it several times before, but not for ages. So I didn’t remember how it started out. Here are the first few paragraphs, which I should have taken as a warning:

It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth
has ever produced the expression “as pretty as an airport”.

Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a
degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special
effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of
people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that
their luggage has landed in Murmansk (Murmansk airport is the
only known exception to this otherwise infallible rule), and
architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their
designs.

They have sought to highlight the tiredness and crossness
motif with brutal shapes and nerve jangling colours, to make
effortless the business of separating the traveller for ever
from his or her luggage or loved ones, to confuse the traveller
with arrows that appear to point at the windows, distant tie
racks, or the current position of Ursa Minor in the night sky,
and wherever possible to expose the plumbing on the grounds
that it is functional, and conceal the location of the
departure gates, presumably on the grounds that they are not.

Airports can go to hell. No, airports are hell. Hell is one gigantic fucking airport, and every flight out of it is cancelled.

I eventually got to Toronto, though. Saturday morning. Early. And since I can’t really say I would have ended up doing much Friday night at midnight, when I was supposed to get there, I guess it’s not that big of a deal. Except that I was ideally planning to sleep on Friday night, at some point. Instead, I spent what was left of the night (not much) at the O’Hare Hilton. I hadn’t had a chance to eat anything since before my cancelled flight was supposed to depart, so I ate a $5 package of peanut M&Ms from the mini-bar and watched “Twilight”, which was every bit as horrible as I could have wished it to be. Lovely night. If you’re into hiking around an airport lost for five hours, being led around on a wild goose chase by contradictory arrows, and then not sleeping. Which I totally am.

(For what it’s worth, yes, I suppose it’s possible to get to the east by going far enough to the west. But I don’t think, if I was in charge of putting up the signs, that I’d try to pass that off as a viable option. Then again, I’m pretty sure that whomever put up the arrows at O’Hare was on crack. Here’s how you get to the Hilton check-in (not labelled on any map I checked, BTW): go up an escalator, go down another escalator, walk in a complete circle around terminal 2, go up OR down an elevator (your choice — they both lead nowhere), go outside and walk around the outside of the entire airport, go up an escalator, go down an escalator, go up an escalator, go all the way to terminal 5 for no particular reason, and then finally determine that the signs are full of shit, do the exact opposite of what they say, and find the damned thing by accident. Gee, why are all the people standing here waiting to check in drinking? And where’s my drink, dammit?)

I find that I need to take a break to bash my head into a wall for a while before continuing, so… hang on there.

Soooooo tired

I think the last time I got a full night’s sleep was… uh… I can’t remember.

I just got back from Toronto. This time, the train ride back home was TWICE as long as my flight. I’d take a nap, but as my sister discovered this weekend, it is not even close to possible to wake me up once I’m unconscious. Setting my alarm would have no effect, and besides, doors at Metro for Metric open in half an hour. I’ve got to change! And put some Noxzema on this sunburn! Sol:1, Candice:0. No tan whatsoever. Just some painfully red shoulders, and a 100% increase in freckles. Was spared my sister’s fate of a red sniffer only because my foundation is SPF 15.

Ramble pointlessly some more, but I have to go destench myself and then leave again. No rest for Candices.