Friday, September 24, 2010

So here's the problem...

Okay, well, I've been lazy, I've been busy, and I've been stressed out.
Spewing vitriolic musings can drain a man.
I wish I could be updating this as often as I have been in the past, and maybe I can again still at some point (I know all 8 of you are excited to hear that).
But for now...it's time for me to take the plunge and start ranting and raving in a much shorter, twitted form.
I will hopefully be able to update this much more often and share my hate on a regular basis.
So you can start following me, you know...if you want, at or @ or however the hell it is "ianisweinin"

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Book 'em Dano

Ohhhh, excuse me from TEARING you away from that enrapturing tome you hold between your palms??

All I politely asked was "What are you reading?"

And you FLASH ME THE COVER??

If I had asked "Excuse me, what is the douchiest way you can show me what you're reading?" and you responded in kind by staring up menacingly over the upper-binding of your 8th grade summer reading list idea of "young and intellectual" (we all read Of Mice and Men when we were 14, buddy, congrats. Maybe my little sister can help you with a five-paragraph essay on it ) and show me the God Damn BOOK COVER as your answer, then yes, you'd be correct.

"Let's talk 'thesis statement', please."

I asked what you were reading, asshole. If I wanted to read right now, I would be the one not working at 3pm b/c my failed audition ran late and could spend all day with a book.

It's a direct question. Has the miasma of your just sheer, powerful hipness glued your mouth up so tight that you don't have the fucking ability to say the words "Something Something by Dan Brown-rip off"?

Don't flash me the cover. Just tell me the fucking title. I know--IT'S SO TAXING.

This isn't the fucking Library of Alexandria, okay? And you're drinking coffee with whip cream on top. Get over yourself.

If you didn't want someone to ask you about it then you shouldn't be sitting in the faux-intellectual/douche section at Starbucks with your SCARF ON INDOORS---

--and charcoal banana republic sweater hanging loose past the fingerless gloves you picked up off a delinquent cockney child from Edwardian England.

AND GET A FUCKING JOB.