What I'm pissed off about today:
That it's a busy-ass Friday. And we're shorthanded. Again.
Katy Perry. Her smirky, smug lyrics. The offensive self-commodification of her toy line. The knowing, ironic, hyper-girly facial expressions that say, despite being so damn beautiful, she's just one of the boys. While looking like a blow-up fuckdoll. The winking, atrocious fashion sense that I'm sure has a deep social significance that's already been addressed in some undergraduate student's thesis. Allow me: “Perry simultaneously subverts traditional female gender roles while empowering her own femininity by appropriating vintage, retro pinup kitsch as filtered through a candy-coated Technicolor dream world.” And a Japanese anime wet dream. Lisa Loeb, you’ve officially been out-Hello Kitty'd.
The weekly appearance of “myriad” in at least one piece of copy that crosses my desk. Not since Brian Ries squeezed the life out of “preternaturally” a couple years back has a word been so overused and abused.
Requests to add songs to the Friday Dance Party after I've already started playing it. Can't do it. So don't ask.
The fact that there's a Saw V coming out. And that there are sick assholes out there who get off on a movie series that revels in finding new ways of gruesomely offing people.
Orlando Cabrera's bush-league move of kicking dirt toward Rays pitcher Grant Balfour just because he didn't lob him a meatball over the fat part of the plate.
This headline on MLB.com: “First foray into playoffs a win for Rays.” OK, I get it: Yoda now writes for Major League Baseball.
