They say that when you want to consider the value of time, to ask various people. The value of a month, ask a woman who just gave birth to a premature baby. The value of a second, ask the person who just avoided an accident. As I sit here at WJOL, heading into hour number four, I've fogotten the value of time. In fact, I've forgotten the value of being busy. I can't remember what it's like to not be bored. I'm a bored board-op. A bored-op, if you will.
I'm one of those unfortunate people who can hear the high-pitched electronic signals. If a television is on nearby, I'll know. This was a point of contention for ex-roomie Kate and I, when you had to (gasp) manually turn our dorm's TV on and off, so Kate, whenever she was done with watching her show, would just turn the TV to an input channel, or put it on mute. She couldn't hear the signal, so it was as good as off for her. I, on the other hand, would wake up from a nap, annoyed, with a migraine. This dog-like super power of mine is good for conserving electricity, but very bad for my chosen career path, what with all the equipment that makes all sorts of fun noises.
Annoyance of the minute: WJOL is holding me hostage. Apparently "Sure, I can work between 11 and 3" means "I can be here indefinately, because my other job which needs me there at 4 isn't important at all". This is now the second week in a row that I've had to call Friday's to tell them I was going to be late due to a radio conflict. This is the last time I work a radio job prior to an important committment. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'm one fooling away from burning the studio down, Office Space stylie.
Suddenly, time seems very important. Funny how this happens.
Annoyance update: Apparently, this is my fault. I should have known that whenever one works a game, one stays until the end. Nevermind that I didn't know that. Nevermind that no one told me there was a game. I guess it's my fault for expecting my employer to respect me. Friday's has spoiled me, it seems.
Enough ranting. The bright side of this is I now have more time to ponder whether or not I should stop for gas and fast food on my way back to Bolingbrook. On one hand, it's not Friday's fault that my free hour went away. On the other hand, spending 15 extra minutes to not run out of gas on the way there, and not pass out from starvation might be worth it. The philosophical questions are mounting.
As I think I'm actually on the verge of transcending from "annoyed" to "angry", it's time to get my fingers off the keyboard.
Getting rid of the old feelings of the old ways of thinking.
It seems to me that when I order "the biggest coffee you guys have" I should get the biggest coffee Dunkin Donuts has to offer, not the mere "large". I also don't think it's too much to ask TGI Friday's for a "Brisket Sandwich, no fries sub sm house salad sub caesar no caesar drssng sub bl chz drssng". Or maybe it is. All I'm saying is that when my demands are simple, I expect them to be complied with to the letter.
I was never a rebellious kid. I had a stint in high school where I would walk down the middle of the street late at night, or say obnoxious things in public, or make memories involving gasoline, old shoes, a lighter, and two pitchforks, but I never did anything truly delinquent. My first cigarette was almost 2 years after it was legal for me to purchase them, my first sip of alcohol without parental supervision was of half a wine cooler the last week of my freshmen year in college, and my first time getting officially inebriated was months after it was totally legal for me to do so. I've never been in a fight or had to be treated for the clap, and my experimentation with drugs is on an "indefinite hiatus". The kind NSYNC has going, not the one LBC claimed.
My first book of the summer is Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk. I bought it so I could get in touch with my musical roots, get a sense of history so I could appreciate where the guitar riffs and lunatic antics I love so much came from. The problem with this book is, it's not so much a "history" book, as it is a collection of interviews with members of the bands and record execs and groupies who were there. I don't know who these people are! That's why I got a history book! Although I suppose there's no better way to get to know a genre than to jump right into the deep end, so the first time I listen to an Iggy and the Stooges album, I can have fond recollections of their descriptions of how Ron Asheton had to tie a rope leash around Iggy's waist the first time he went on a 3-day acid trip.
The problem with the whole punk movement, I'm coming to realize, is that the people who invented the lifestyle were truly insane. Really, completely batty. Wearing strange clothes wasn't a fashion statement, it was the result of being on speed all the time. Vandalism and general mayhem weren't hobbies, they were inspired, random acts of lunacy. Anyone who claims they're "punk" is a liar and a poser. A true punk is a music-obsessed junkie on a self-destructive binge. If you want to be an individual, get a philosophy and develop your own fashion sense. Don't imitate meth-heads and the criminally insane. That sort of thing can never turn out well.
That said, I aim to be more inspired, more spontaneous, and a general nuisance to my Circadian rhythm this summer. Who's with me?
You traded my lovely gift for a sneering, semi-pornographic monkey lamp? How could you?!
Today, I am a girl. My hair has product in it, my legs had bronzing lotion applied to them, all 20 of my nails are an unnatural shade of "Summery Orange", there are these strange, pliable round things in my eyes, a skirt around my waist, and perfume clinging to my skin. It seems my X chromosomes decided to gang up on me today. It's sort of nice.
One final left to go before OMG SUMMER LOL! When I say "final" I actually mean "memorize two monologues and pretend I learned stuff about acting". I'm anticipating a grade report that might be allowed to drink from the same water fountain as Linda's, for once. The term sort of petered out on a pretty laid-back note, considering it began at a panicked fever pitch.
Summer Reading List (thus far): Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk Slaughterhouse-Five Anna Karenina