Friday, October 14, 2011

A post in avoidance of an essay

You might've noticed that my blog has gone under a facelift, and if you didn't notice, well, shame on you for not noticing, and if this is your first visit, well, shame on you for not visiting sooner.  I needed a bit of a change, and I'd say this change was for the better, no?  I think so, anyways.

It's already midway through October (what?) and the intensity of all of my classes is rapidly increasing; between now and the end of November, I have six essays due and four tests.  (Two of the essays and two of the tests are on the last day of class, November 28th, so therefore my funeral is scheduled to be on the 29th.  Do attend.) The first of six papers is due this upcoming Thursday, and naturally, I only just completed reading the book on which the paper is based on.  I've planned to finish it this weekend, by tomorrow, preferably - not actually that tall of an order, since I can in fact knock out an entire (unpolished) essay in two or three hours - and thus, me being an optimist, I've decided to start it tonight, and if things go supremely well, I'll have this essay off my shoulders before the bulk of the weekend passes me by.  Given that I'm furiously typing away at this, a blog post, instead of my essay speaks volumes.  I spent the last hour coming up with a thesis - I deserve a break.

Okay.. the last half hour.

Twenty minutes.

Half of a thesis.

The rudest fucking waitress I've ever had

(by the way: I've made a vow to keep my profanity to a minimum since I believe it removes my credibility, but in this case, this waitress was fucking rude as hell) Yesterday, me and three friends decided to go to the Swiss Chalet (score, I love Swiss Chalet) for dinner.   Upon walking in, we were greeted first by Adele's Someone Like You, and while I adore the song to pieces, it puts me into an absolutely depressed mood whenever I hear it on the radio, like a sad Adele cloud is raining over my sad head.  The hostess said something to the effect of agreeing that the song is the biggest downer known to man (I made my sentiments aloud), lulling us into the false sense of believing that our experience would be a good one.  (cool hostess = good experience?)

A library is louder than how silent this restaurant was.  The youngest occupant aside from our table was easily a 60 year old woman.  I feared momentarily that Swiss Chalet's currency was not money but in fact your youth, but this did not turn out to be the case.  Our waitress appeared to be a kind natured older woman - that is, until her head started spinning and she began to breathe fire upon our table.  She began by taking down our drinks: I was planning on ordering a beer, but my friends opted for water; the waitress confirmed water for my three friends and then walked away.  Upon her return (and production of a water for me, too, so I think perhaps my telepathy has finally started working because I'm assuming she read my mind as a substitute for actually taking down what I would like to drink), I then asked for my beer, to which she replied sharply "You better show me some ID."  Well, that's not unheard of - she seemed to be satisfied before disappearing again.  (by the way, every time she walked back toward the kitchen with menus that customers had finished with, she slammed them down on a ledge)

When taking our orders, she proceeded to cut off my one friend in the middle of his sentence, demanding "White or dark meat?"  I know I have a tendency to be overdramatic, but her tone was absolutely unprofessional and completely rude.  I gave my order strictly to the point, and I wouldn't be surprised if I threw my menu in her stupid face.  When asking for a second beer - what, I drink a lot, and I drink it fast; I'm a big guy - she looked at me and said "You aren't driving, are you?" and by instinct I said "of course not" with a little laugh, prompting her "Well, you better not be" as a response.  Woman, I'm responsible.  At this point my friend decided to ask for a comment card - I was quite intent on leaving one like the elderly person I am (I think Swiss Chalet actually took my youth..), and upon hearing they didn't have any, the dining room manager came over to our table and asked us what was wrong; we were subsequently pestered for the remainder of the meal in effort to see if we were still content.  A spell must have come over our waitress as she suddenly was perfectly polite - perhaps she had a twin.

I didn't tip.  A friend tipped in pennies.

Silly teenagers

In a completely related topic: I hate being written off as ignorant just because I'm a young person.  I understand that there really are the "dumb" ones of my generation - the delinquents, the apathetic, the rude - but to generalize my entire age bracket (I guess "young person") as rude, apathetic delinquents is wrong.  I don't mean to pride myself, but I generally consider myself to be extremely polite; I'm quite obviously educated; I don't loiter or kick down mailboxes and cats.  The people I willingly associate myself with are the same: they're polite, they're educated, they're civilized and personable and presentable and cultured.  To assume that just because I'm a teenager or student or young adult I must be disrespectful is, well, disrespectful.  It's as if I need to walk around in public with a resume tacked onto my forehead: hello, I go to the University of Toronto, and I'm civilized (and probably smarter than you).


I only decided to start watching just two new shows this fall TV season: New Girl, which has made me fall completely in love with Zooey Deschanel (and it doesn't hurt that the show is actually funny), and American Horror Story, which you may never have heard of, but you might be a more sane and overall better person without watching it.  I have been completely obsessed with the show since it began last week, given that it produces mystery after fucked up (I permit that "fucked") mystery and deranged visual without sense.  The premise is simply that a family moves into a haunted house, but by haunted house, I mean that there's a creepy child demon imp in the basement and a latex bondage ghost man who raped and impregnated the main character with its latex bondage ghost baby and that there's a bunch of people who just appear in the house at the strangest of times leading me to believe that everyone's dead.  Oh, and this old maid with a blind eye who everyone sees as an old maid with a blind eye except for the father who sees her as a sexy young woman who he keeps running into while she's touching herself.  Right!?  The show has completely enthralled me and even if I felt like giving up on it I'd just feel as though I was cheating myself out of discovering the answers: why do characters move in and out of the house so easily?  Why is there a latex bondage ghost man?  Just.. why?

A snazzy listen

I recently downloaded Nicola Roberts' CD Cinderella's Eyes.  Who? you say.  She's a member of a girl group from the UK called Girls Aloud (who? you say), and I kept reading that her debut solo album was fantastic, so I gave it a listen.  (I always did like her voice the best out of the five of them - she's the ginger one with transparent skin) The entire album is really quite good, and I've been listening to it constantly.  That and She & Him.  Zooey Deschanel, just be mine already..

There you have it.  I suppose I should return to that essay/half thesis..

No comments:

Post a Comment