Archive: December, 2008 Monthly archive

Good News

Tomorrow we are celebrating December birthdays at the office and, at the same time, having a sexual harassment seminar. Oh yes, we know how to party. Safely and appropriately. Then Sunday is our totally awesome holiday party. In Yonkers. Sigh. (KARINA I’LL GO BUT I DON’T HAVE TO LIKE IT. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME LIKE IT.)

As for sexual harassment, I’m really looking forward to it. Which then isn’t harassment, I guess. So complicated. I liked it when life was simpler, when men just bonked ladies over the head with their clubs and dragged them back to their caves. There are ads in the subway now about how a crowded train doesn’t make it alright for someone to touch you inappropriately. And the last time I was in Japan there were signs about that too. It’s outrageous that we have to put up signs for certain things. We don’t have signs for “Don’t forget to blink!” or “Water tastes like water!” Like dudes, don’t touch people. The end. Now because people like to touch people who don’t want to be touched, I have to spend 30-40 minutes of my day talking about it. You are RUINING MY DAY you jackasses!

Chinese Democracy

So today my coworker put a copy of the latest Guns n’ Roses record on my desk, Chinese Democracy (that’s the record’s name, not my desk’s name, though technically my desk has a name since it’s from IKEA). Anyway, yes. Guns n’ Roses. A record that is, uh, fifteen years in the making? Maybe more? Who knows. It is the most expensive record ever made. Each CD is covered by diamonds and orphans and delivered to you by a unicorn. Fact.

Anyway, it’s Guns n’ Roses. I think to myself, look, here is this CD. It is free. It is Axl Rose. He was part of growing up. The bandanas! The ripped jeans! The catcher’s outfit! The booze! The whores in the videos! I mean it’s Axl Rose! You know where you are? You’re in the jungle baby, and you’re gonna die! BUT, it’s Axl without Slash, which is like an Oreo without the creme filling, and instead of the creme filling it is some kind of fruit jam. In this simile, the fruit jam is Buckethead. A dude who wears a bucket on his head and somehow manages to shred on the guitar. Whatever. Listen, the CD was on my desk. I thought to myself, OK. Let’s do this, Annie. It’s free. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you don’t like it, you can just take it around the back and shoot it.

I pop it in. I wait. I listen. I think, this might suck, but THERE IS A CHANCE IT MIGHT BLOW MY MIND. I have not read any reviews, I have not heard anything about it. It’s just me and Axl Rose and the dude with the bucket.

And then the music comes.

And it sucks.

Oh my GOD it sucks.

How can something be so full of suck? I don’t know. I mean it took over ten years, there’s no way this record was going to live up to anyone’s expectations, but it actually was like, wow. Surprisingly, shockingly full of suck. It was as if Kid Rock had a baby and it’s name was Guns n’ Roses. Yes, that bad. I wanted to stab pencils into my ears but realized I had no pencils because we make Internets for a living and pencils are not needed in our line of work. But guess what? I muscled through the whole thing. Because I wanted to experience it. I thought there might be this nugget of solid rock. No. No nuggets. Not even a chicken nugget.

Anyway my coworker actually thought it was ok. He said it was “not as good as Die Hard 4 but better than Rocky 6.”

First of all, everything is better than Rocky 6. Nights in Rodanthe is probably better than Rocky 6. Die Hard 4? I didn’t see it but I thought Die Hard 3 was really bad (that’s the one where Sam Jackson sheds a single tear every so often), so if 4 was anything like 3 then my coworker is trying to say that this record sucked. Which it does.

But I think it’s more like the Waterworld of records. I think Cleopatra is the most expensive movie ever made after you take inflation into consideration, but saying that this record is the Cleopatra of records actually makes it sound good.

Anyway I am sad, but not surprised. But I’ve listened to it so you don’t have to. It’s like I’m doing you a favor. Stopping you from going home with the wrong guy/girl. Like yeah you might think it might be fun, but you’re gonna wake up feeling sad with a burning sensation when you pee. Just saying.