Vocal Vocation

I've had an epiphany - I now know what my dream job is, and I'm gonna pursue it like a plains-running feline pursues sweet, juicy antelope. Mmm...antelope. It's not rock-star, it's not energy-weapon wielding hero of the universe. Not even close.

I wanna be a movie trailer voice-over guy.

I just finished perusing a bunch of new movie trailers, as Saturday morning habit often dictates, and found myself overwhelmed at how little this guy has to work, but how much, in all likelihood, he gets paid. You know the guy I'm talking about. I'm pretty sure there's a grand total of 3 guys who do this, but there's that one guy that like 93% of all movies use - he's got this deep, rich voice that's almost a whisper but instead carries force and confidence. I swear he can make anything sound good. If a movie was named "Stained Jockies", he could say it in that luxurious baritone of his and you'd be convinced that all your hopes and dreams for life rest on viewing the theatrical wonder that is "Stained Jockies".

The kicker is that this guy, while he sometimes has 3 whole LINES of dialogue (WHAT? That's overtime, folks - you can't tax the larynical (no way that that's a word) sex that is this voice and not pay through your arse), he often does say 1, 2, or 3 words, depending on how creative or edgy the producers got with the movie title. I mean to say, the entire trailer shows, and during that time this guy was probably drinking $500 a bottle wine from the glass slipper of the last empress of the Ming Dynasty just because he can, and then, near the end, steps up to the mike and utters less syllables than most cheerleaders do in those letter cheers they do, and gets paid.

I'm not money hungry - I'm sure he isn't paid as much as say, some medium sized European countries. I'm lazy hungry. Come on, dude gets paid to speak less than I have to if I want to order lunch. That's sweet. Hey, I wonder if when he orders fast food, he goes up to the counter and is all like "Double Bacon Cheeseburger Combo" in that voice. Bet he gets free cheeseburgers, too.

I'm so taking his job. I'm off to practice my guttural pied-piper routine. Feel free to tell me what YOU'D like to hear the movie voiceover guy say. I have good laugh imagining him saying mundane and ridiculous things. Then again, I'm a lonely guy.

Time Well Wasted?

I love that slogan from the Comedy Network, but in all honesty, it's almost become a reality for me. As I grow older and older, time becomes more of an issue, more of a commodity, more of a focus, and less of an intangible, taken-for-granted...thing. How the heck do you define time, really?

All I know is that the more intrusive it is, the more it pisses me off.

I used to sleep in until 12:00, 1:00 on the weekend, and never think twice - I mean, come on, I have all day, all weekend, right? I feel guilty if I sleep past 9:00 now. Lame. If I'm not productive in some way during the day, haven't made efficient use of TIME, I feel like it's been a wasted day. I didn't make TIME for exercise today? Wow, I'm a bad person. I was sick today, but had to get online halfway through the day and work, so that I accomplished something with my TIME.

It gets worse.

Even within blocks of TIME that I'm doing things, whether it's working, relaxing, whatever, if I don't accomplish certain things, it's been a waste of TIME. I only got so many errands done while I was out today, I didn't do as many exercises or ride as long as I should have, I didn't freakin' level my character high enough during this video-game session. If only I had more TIME.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a stress thing - I never feel stressed out about TIME. I barely ever get what I'd call stressed anymore. It's a guilt thing, which I hate even more. Guilty over time? C'mon. What's my friggin' rush? Honestly, I don't know what other things this whole growing up crap comes with, but if they suck as much as being constrained by TIME, I'm looking for Neverland starting tomorrow.

This is a pretty bare-bones, simplistic rant-barf, but that's where I'm at - TIME just keeps speeding up on me, weeks are blurring, and I'll be 29 before I know it. There was a lot I wanted to do by now, and while I know I've still got lots of time and that ultimately what I DO doesn't matter, every day seems to increase the imperative that SOMETHING happen.

Thoughts? Not just on my specific thoughts or situation, but on the utter evil of TIME.

So many haircutting puns

"Hair today, gone tomorrow."

"The end of a hair-a".

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.
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I'm sure there's more, but I'll be frigged if I'm gonna use up my creativity for the day thinking of things that annoy me.

So yeah, I cut my hair off last night. It's noticeably cooler, maybe in more ways than one. For all of you who said you liked my hair long - thanks, but I found myself facing the conundrum of your everyday common girl. If I wanted to be low maintenance and not really worry about things like cutting or styling my hair, it was basically a giant frizz-ball that blew all over th place in the wind and made me look like a mad scientist (not saying that's not a cool look and all, but...well, ok, it's not a cool look.)

On the other hand, I could spend time and money and make it look all pretty and cool and trendy and such, but that pretty much goes against every inclination I've ever had in the past 10 years, so that's out as well.

In the end, it was a fun experiment, and worth it to see how it looked, felt, etc. Anyway, here's some fun action shots from the shearing ceremony last night:

One final picture of me and the hair





The scene of the crime





This is the hair that came off from ONE pass (well, it may have been one and a little bit, but basically one)








Hard to see, but I attempted to leave myself a sweet rat-tail





The end result

So yeah, as you can see, I'm back to my normal, close-shaven self. I'm thinking I'll actually grow the hair to a reasonable length again, and try something different, but hopefully more manageable. Remember, it's all about being able to be socially presentable in 10 minutes or less.

In other news, the points system officially drops Monday, or whenever I have time to figure it out. Not sure if it'll be retroactive, but I'm thinking yes, mostly because I enjoy awarding and punishing. I should've been emperor somewhere.

What the heck I'm up to

It's occurred to me that, possibly, some of you have only vague ideas of what's going on in my life right now. After all, I'd say I have vague ideas of what's going on in your lives, and since I disclose roughly the same amount of information I soak in (in regards to people and relationships, anyway), it follows that maybe a little update is in order. If this bores you to tears or seems like self-indulgent posturing, screw you. How's THAT for fostering relationships?

Might as well start from when I left Bethany. Nope, I didn't graduate. No, Prez didn't enlist me in his secret militia, which some of you might've heard (mostly because I started and made great efforts to propogate that rumor). And no, I won't tell you why. At least not here. I will leave it to the winds of rumor and gossip, because I think that stuff is funny, and hopefully the stories will somehow involve me wielding swords and saving damsels.

Anyway, I came back to Fredericton, and decided I needed a job. So I got one, schlepping produce at the Superstore. I did that for 3 freaking years. I hate broccoli on levels most of you can't fathom (pull broccoli from a box full of ice at 7:30 AM on a winter's morn and you MIGHT have an idea). It was a job, though, and for the most part I was treated well and made decent money. For the last year and a half of that, I went to school, studying Web Design and Development at Compucollege, which is just as shifty as it sounds. Oddly, I've discovered they've since cancelled the program that I took, and so far, I'm the only one from my class to have landed a job.

Yeah, I got a job. I personally think the guy took pity on me because I'd been to school for over 8 years but couldn't MAKE people call me doctor (I still hold little kids upside down by the ankles and force it out of them, though - once a bully, always a bully, I guess). In any case, this little company called Red Cow Technologies hired me on, and now I write computer programs for web-based applications. As a good example of the type of thing, I could probably write my own blog program instead of this one, and perhaps even improve on it. Phear my leet skillz. I've been working here for almost a year, really like the people and the direction of the company - we're up for a KIRA (Knowledge Industry Recognition Award - my coworker has suggested the "Keeping It Real Association", which is WAY cooler, but whatever) award for "Best New Startup Company", and just the publicity alone should be worth a lot. If we win, however, there's a good chance I'll be a millionaire in 3 years. I'm in on the ground floor, baby. Anyway, I say all that to say this: it's going well, and I like it, for the most part. It's not my passion, but I'm not positive I have any of those, so that's OK.

I moved out recently - I now reside a whole 10 minutes away from the safety and warmth of my parents house, sharing an apartment with one of those aforementioned jobless classmates. I rub that in his face every chance I get, often using sock puppets to illustrate the success of my life and the dismal failure of his. The productions get rave reviews, I swear. He's a good guy, we get along pretty well, but for those of you who roomed with me when I had no clue how to think of anyone else living with me - I am SO sorry. I get it now. Seriously, if I go home again to an empty milk carton, wiener package, and bread bag all on the counter again, HE'S going to be greeted with a powerbomb so devastating he'll be afraid of lint falling off his clothes and landing on the carpet in his room. Nice guy, though, good sense of humor.

So that's what the heck I'm up to, more or less. I sincerely would like to be regaled with reciprocal stories of what the heck all of YOU are up to. Except for the ones I know. From each of you, I want a dirty limerick. I'm making my weekly rounds of public bathrooms tonight, and I need some fresh material.

PS - I have added some photos of me because I am sexay and narcissistic and you shall be subjected to my beauty and learn to love it. Also, I wanted everyone to see how absolutely dumb long hair looks on me before I cut it off for the summer, since anything above a steady intake of breath makes me sweat as it is. Oh, who am I kidding? I sweat when I breathe, too. You'll learn to love that as well, though it will be a harsher lesson.

There will be no attention drawn to the genesis of this blog!

Look at me, I have thoughts and opinions!

I figured now that the "trendy" phase of blogging (at least, in MY eccentric, sporadically trend-hating mind) has passed, I'd go ahead and start one up. I really have no idea why, except that lately, I've wanted to write crap down, and maybe see what other people think, for some unknown and likely self-serving reason.

That being said, I expect 10 or more responses extolling my life's accomplishments and the erudite sensibilities with which I conduct myself, both on and offline. Any less, and I shall unleash a grisled horror the likes of which have ne'er before been seen upon the hapless shores of Atlantic Canada!

My wrath can be appeased through the offerings of muffins. But GOOD muffins - none of this boxed mix junk. I'm really craving a muffin right now.

In all seriousness, I'm finding myself with a severe lack of socialization here, and I'd just like to have a forum wherein I can converse with my friends and acquaintances who are far away (or near, though really, come on - just come over, you're like 10 minutes away), occasionally bring up serious topics, and then promptly send the discussion of said topics spiralling into an endless abyss of potty jokes. Is that too much to ask?

If so, I refer to the above-threatened horror and subsequent muffin placation.

I'll also try to get posting more on other's blogs - I run hot and cold with my committments, as anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with me is likely to attest to.

So, post away, young e-...peeps. Let us revel in this glorious courier service of 1's and 0's!