An Open Letter to KTS

Dear King's Theatrical Society,


You have a warped sense of entitlement, and a far worse grasp on priority. Your theatre shares space with the tunnels that connect Alex Hall to the A&A building, where just about all of us eat every day. And yet you choose the worst possible times to occupy this space. Why?

I am a resonable man, KTS. I can understand that when you are putting on a performance for an audience, that disturbances are unwelcome. Hell, I can even understand being asked to take the outdoor route when the weather is reasonable. But it is when you demand of us to take the to the streets during a snow warning or, even once, a blizzard, just for a rehersal. That is warped. What is your reasoning behind this?

The way I figure it, it's all a display of power. I've met a lot of Directors in my day, and let me tell you, they get off on it. There's no other logical explanation for it. Let us assume for a moment that my presence does disrupt the flow, the feng shui of the rehersal. Okay, fine, BUT; The Pit takes about 4 seconds to cross, at a regular pace. It takes about the same amount of time for the director to say to me, "Excuse me, we're doing a rehersal, you need to go the other way." Either way, it disrupts the rehersal. I've often noticed how no one rehersing even notices me until the director points out my presence by addressing me. And I'm sorry KTS, but not everyone is going to see those asinine signs you put up, and a number more won't care. When you see someone, just let them pass when it's horrible out, God.

The worst case of the above was during an actual low-level blizzard earlier in the year. I am AT THE DOOR. Like, not the door to enter the Pit, the EXIT. TO WHERE I AM GOING. I had successfully crossed the Pit before the director noticed me. When he saw me he got up and said, "You're going to have to go outside, this is a rehersal!" I look around. HE IS THE ONLY PERSON IN THE ROOM! Are you fucking kidding me?!? I told this guy off a little, telling him how moronic he was being, and that there was no way in hell I was going to turn around, back through the Pit, and go outside IN A BLIZZARD. I was a split second away from him even noticing me, and unless he was practicing for The Vagina Monologues, there wasn't even a rehersal to be had. Do you not see how insane that is, KTS?

Another problem I have; You KNOW when dinner is served, and yet you ALWAYS hold your rehersals around that time. When you KNOW there will be a large amount of traffic wanting to go that way. STOP DOING THAT. If you don't want to be bothered, don't reserve the room during mealtime. I'm also sure your cast is so glad to be missing supper for your magificent opus.

One of the things most kids learn early is to how to share. Well, KTS, you're hogging the ball on this one, and you need to let us play with it too.

When it's a blizzard, put up with 4 seconds of your time disturbed by us avoiding the harsh elements. And we wonder why this school has mumps epidemics come spring.

Sincerely yours in outrage,
- Chris Muise

Post Script to Cindy Day:

"Winterlude?" REALLY? No wonder CBC took Peter Coade.

Proof that I am Sexorz

%1

My CBC job fell through. They decided to need me on the one day of the entire week that my evening is not completely free. I am royally disappointed. But I DO look like George Harrison, so it's not all bad, I guess.

Here's my friend Cassie.

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- Silent G

An Open Letter to Hotmail Live

Behold, the Non-Threatening, Trendy Face of Evil.

Dear Hotmail,

For the last half a year or so, maybe even a year, you've been offering to glam yourself up by upgrading to "Hotmail Live." Every time I've logged on, you've asked me, "would you like to upgrade to Hotmail Live?" You were polite and gave me options, and I always gracefully declined. "No, Hotmail, you're beautiful the way you are," I would often think to myself as I proceeded with my usual sign on. And it's true, you were beautiful.

But the other day, I come home and see you all whored up anyway? Let me ask you; if you were just going to do it anyway, why bother asking?

It'd be one thing if you looked good as Hotmail Live. But the fact is, you suck ass. Only able to spellcheck the first 4000 characters? Fuck you! I write lengthy, existentialist rants back to my fundamentalist American ePenpal Scott Zimmerman, and 4000 characters isn't good enough. You used to be able to correct all of them. How exactly is this an upgrade?

You're also slow as fuck on a glacier. You're as slow as this Blogger site, and just as annoying to edit. The fuck is wrong with you?

Just cuz you've got a new best friend Vista doesn't mean you should change who you are to impress it. You were perfect just the way you were.




No go clean yourself the fuck up, it's sickening to look at you.

-Silent G

Everything's Coming Up AWESOME

My last year of University was a bit of a hell; noisy neighbors, not very many friends, the stress of FYP, having to leech off my parents for comic book money, bizarre home life, no cats. But while those last two are still a reality, my second year is far more awesome. My neighbors are quiet and polite, lots of people enjoy my company and my napkin art, most of my classes are simple beyond reason, and over the summer I had a great job that's kept my comic book habit well in check. I'm even the Vice President of the anime society here at King's, and I got the highest mark on my first test of the year. How can things possibly get any better?

A new girlfriend?

No, let's not get ahead of ourselves here.

Won the lottery?

No, you have to actually play first.

A job with the CBC?

A-YUP!

It's true, yours truly is now a member of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation! HOT DAYUM! It's a part time student gig that my Radio professor Doug Kirkaldy (who has had many past experiences working with the CBC, and as a result a number of hilarious stories about it) was asked to find an interested student for. Four interested parties and one hat draw later, here I am!

What I'll be doing is writing up traffic reports to be read on air a couple days a week. I'll basically just come in, call the police, Metro Transit, and I guess a few more important people in the world of traffic, ask them what's happening on the roads, and write up that information in a very conversational way. Ipso Facto, I'm done.

I can't imagine it will pay me incredibly well, with four hours a week or so of work. But I'm not excited so much over the fact that I'll be getting paid (I mean, that rocks. It'll keep me in Ultimate Spider-Man and Tonkatsu), but rather that I will have the CBC as my first journalistic employer. And that HAS to look good on the resume of a budding journalist, doesn't it? And I'm also told people who get this job have often gone on to do more permanent things with the company, which is even better.

I haven't been this excited in ages. I work with the Goddamn CBC! Hee hee, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning, jumping with glee over the new Playstation Santa's elves had made me, and marveling at the soot footprints leading to the fireplace.

If I could only get that girlfriend, then life would be pretty much perfect right now.

Speaking of...

Hey ladies. I'm single, and I work for the CBC. Can you imagine anything more erotic? Me neither. Call me.

- Silent G

Do a Line...

Uh, hi.

Yeah...so...

So, I was Congaed today.

I know that is not a real word. But for a phenomenon this random, I feel coining a new term, however grammatically incorrect it may be, is highly appropriate.

Earlier today, two of my friends and I decided to trek down to the local comic book depository for some much-deserved revelry. On the way there, this middle aged woman essentially jumped out of the bushes with a number of other people and shouted, "Now HERE are some energetic people!" Dumbfounded, I strike a sort of pose in an awkward sort of way, as is my general response to any sort of oddity. Cassie and Denise were far more stunned. Then, the strange woman said something that'd set the mood for the rest of the afternoon;

"LET'S CONGA!"


DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Yes, this woman wanted me to conga with her. Before I could even ask the obvious question ("What the fuck are you on?"), she runs up behind me and GRABS MY WAIST. I am picky about who I want touching me, and a strange 40-something woman leaping from the shrubs is not among the privileged few. Not knowing what to do, I just stood there for a moment, shocked that this was happening. Her creepy bush friends were all laughing and going on, goading me. I felt rather dirty, to be honest.

Then Miss Crazybush here dragged my two friends into this. A strange woman forcing one of my female friends to touch me around my waist from behind is just WAY too much for me, and I just began walking away. This was some crazy bullshit, and I wasn't putting up with it. Fuck them, I just wanted some manga.

But of course, it doesn't end there. No, while no one physically or emotionally accosted us since that woman, we didn't walk 20 feet before a group of younger girls asked us if we'd mind joining them in a Conga line. WHAT THE FUCK? Did we land in Bizarro Halifax or something? We promptly told them no way in hell, and left the general vicinity as fast as the traffic lights would allow us.

The rest of the way to the comic book store was clear, thankfully, and we spent the time discussing what the fuck kind of medication they were overdosing on. On the way back, in the same place as when we first met our attackers, an older couple asked if we could stand between them and pretend tha-- and we cut them off right there. We knew what was coming and we basically told them to fuck off. We hurried home.

Something MUST have been going on today, I simply refuse to believe that the Public Gardens were suddenly causing people to lose their minds. Yet, none of these creepy people thought to explain why they were assaulting people with Latin rhythm. If they were, I don't know, Conga-Lining for Colon Cancer in Kids, then sure, I'll conga. It's for a good cause. But for all I know, these could have been just a group of wandering perverts. Or perhaps an example of the chilling scenario played above.

One thing I know for sure is I am going to SCOUR the fucking paper tomorrow. Maybe they'll have something to say; Random localized conga parties in the middle of the city at noon has GOT to be newsworthy, hasn't it?

That's it for me. Excuse me while I go wash the filth away.

- Silent G

Five-Star and iPod: A Marriage Made in Hell

I am very much looking forward to my return to school this year. I'll be going into my second year, I'll know the score, and I'll be back in my same single room from last year, a perfect little grotto, save for one flaw; the neighbors. They were the loudest assholes on the planet, forever blasting their crappy rap music. Thank goodness they were evicted eventually. But I know the chances of the same deal is rare, and that since I'll be the only non-first year on the floor, I may even have some clout, the older students have told me.

And then Mead Five-Star had to go and fuck it all up for me.

I was watching TV tonight and I saw a commercial for a new breed of Five-Star binders with speakers installed in them, which you connect to your MP3 player of choice. "Listen to music the way it was meant to be; out loud!" the ad boasts. I can assure you, that is not the way music ought to be listened to, from a binder. You take your binder outside, in public, into classrooms. It's obnoxious enough having people playing their music loudly in their rooms, or singing their crappy songs in public. Now you'll have scores of fucking status-seeking lemmings all listening to the same tonal disasters that have somehow come to be called songs, like a hundred people having a conversation without a point.

I'll tell you right now, Mead, music should be listened to via headphones, unless you're having a party or are at a concert. Otherwise, that's why you have iPods; it's a little box of music in your pocket that you plug earphones into, and then ONLY YOU CAN HEAR THAT MUSIC. That is the inherent genius of it. It's music that doesn't bug the hell out of the rest of us. Steve Jobs ought to have a Nobel Peace Prize for that one.

Luckily, though, I don't see this thing catching on. It's useless and impractical. Headphones are personal, small, lightweight, and quiet to all but you. This product is like a boom box with schoolwork inside it. And there's nothing cooler than the Prepie's Ghettoblaster, is there?

This product will be dead in a week, and Mead will go out of business promoting the damned things.

All I know for sure is if I'm walking through the campus quad this fall, and I hear "My Humps" blasting from some denim-bound ring binder, I am chucking that sucker into the nearest lake... and then I'll break his binder.

That's it for me, I'm out and I'm tired.

- Silent G

The Gift of Music

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Just some musical selections. A real post to come later.

- Silent G