Talk Radio Would Better Without the 'Talk' Part

My morning commute takes me down through 2 very long highways, which around 7 AM look more like parking lots than actual roads. So what does this mean for me? Channel flipping through my radio for roughly an hour and a half. Super.

If you too are plagued by this, then you understand you’re basically limited to two radio options:

You can listen to a mish mash of Gavin Degraw declaring that he is doin’ just fine,  Rihanna declaring that she found love in a hopeless place, or those random British guys declaring that they’re glad you came.

You can listen to talk radio...

And this leads me to my main question: Why does anyone ever call into talk radio?!  Because let me tell you, calling into morning radio shows will result in you either.

           Embarrassing yourself by sharing personal information no one wants to know.

                     Being ridiculed by radio station personnel because you shared personal information no one wants to know. 

People need to cool it with oversharing. First of all, why the hell aren't you at work? If I have to be up at this miserable hour, then you should be equally as unhappy. Fact. 

Second, if you aren't on your way to your place of employment, why are even awake? 

Third, why is it necessary to share this story? 

GOD! JUST MARRY ME!

Some lady called into a show the other day, then had them call her boyfriend, and then gave him crap about not proposing. So what do we think the outcome of this went? Spoiler alert, we won’t be hearing wedding bells anytime soon. Yep, this chick got dumped on the Matty in the Morning Show, sobbed for a bit and then hung up in a huff. I mean really. The audacity this man has to not propose to his crazy girlfriend, who made the effort to call into a radio show so she could bully him into marriage. It’s amazing they weren't already hitched.

Who Else Loves Route 128 to Waltham?

Once upon a time ago I wrote a post where I, believe it or not, whined for a hefty amount of time about sitting in an hour and 15 minutes of traffic. My how the times have changed. Now if I'm lucky I get to work that quickly.

Except for today, today I got to sit in traffic three hours. Yayyyyyy! That was really all. Just a whine. Promise I'm done now. I'll be sitting at my desk for the next 4 hours to make up the time I missed. WAhhhhh!

OK now I'm really done. Next time I'll write something real.

Lessons from the Titanic

Spoiler alert: the ship (and my job) sinks

Monday was a boring day. And what do I do on boring days? Why pay $13 to watch a movie I’ve already seen of course! Duh, silly. Yep, after much whining about my friends dragging me to see Titanic, I have to say I may have, uh, errmm enjoyed it… Egg on my face.

But here is an important life lesson that I wish I had taken from Titanic back in 4^th grade when I had originally seen it. Though my 4^th grade expectations for life didn’t include me getting some sort of low paying corporate bitch position that I would ultimately get laid off from… So here we go.

The boat takes off, yayyyyy!

Woooo I'm the queen of the office!!!

The engineer of the ship declares that his 46,000 ton ship made of iron couldn’t possibly be sunk. The chairman of White Star Lines insists that they go faster even after he’s told they shouldn’t. The captain is told there will probably be icebergs everywhere, but decides he needs his beauty rest.  

The ship could SINK?? Why that's...

Yada, yada, failed suicide attempt, yada, yada, sex in antique car (this part only pertains to the movie, not my job), yada yada ship hits iceberg –shock – and starts sinking. Now let’s look at the two types of people on this ridiculous nonunsinkable ship.

We have project manag- I mean snooty rich people running the show, who wear uncomfortable outfits and use too many forks at dinner.

Do you take your fish eggs with sour cream or toasted bread?

And we have the people who actually work, show up to meetings on time, and write 3 different kinds of repor – I mean everyone else gets to hang out with the rats and shovel coal all day.  

Just another day livin' the dream...

So when the ship goes down who gets to fill those life rafts? Not the coal shoveling, report writing, meeting attending steerage occupants. Nope, it the geniuses in charge who take 2 hour lunch breaks and think supplying 20 lifeboats instead of 32 is OK because deck might look cluttered.

So yeah, I got laid off... Sour grapes, can you tell?

Waka Waka Syndrome

So the Boston Bruins have round one of the playoffs against the Capitals tonight. This can only mean one thing - and that is that everyone can start pretending to care about hockey.

This is what I like to refer to as Waka Waka Syndrome. Basically, Waka Waka Syndrome dates back to a million years ago, when the World Cup started. Whenever the World Cup is about to happen, people like to go ape shit all over soccer and it shows up everywhere- on people cars, posters go up, random positive yet nebulous words are shouted in the streets, people actually like Italy again. Then, when its over, soccer returns to being known as a sport of obscurity played by small, wimpy children in the suburbs, except maybe in England.

Much like the experience curling and synchronized diving goes through during the Olympics, hockey is no exception to this phenomenon.

Generally, a few types of "fans" become particularly loud during this special time of year:

Most kids from South Boston

Irish! Bruins! Boston! Guiness! WOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Chicks who think black and yellow complement their skin tones and strive land themselves a hockey player eventually.

 Pucks! Ice! Chara! See? We totally loooove hockey! 

And these poor bastards who need something to root for.

Sorry boys, Beckett's pitching tonight, you
should probably just head over to the Garden now. 

Don't worry Waka Waka Syndrome never lasts long. Generally, its either till playoffs are over or till we lose.  You can fill in the blank here.

The Secret to Success in Corporate America

So what could be a better way to begin the New Year? Why by writing a post four months late of course!

So at my first big kid job here is what I learned:

If you walk around with a terrified look on your face, you will look busy and important

If you schedule yourself for 8 meetings a day and then miss half of them and show up late for the other half, then you will look busy and important.

If you fill out a million different kinds of reports and complain about your work load, then you will look busy and important.

So are we seeing a trend?

Sorry this post came in late, I’ve just been so busy…

I'm a Big Kid Now

Wellp, I did it. I finally managed to graduate college. Sure it took me 4 and a half years, but that was tooootally because of that uh, major change. The point is, I can now happily say goodbye college, hello unemployment. And what discipline would a studious young individual such as myself now go into you ask? Well,  I was an English major so that leaves me with three options basically- teaching, law school and living in my parents' basement. Guess we'll start with the latter and go from there.

Priorities

Lets talk about squash before I get on with this post. In England they have this thing called squash. Squash is super concentrated juice and you dilute it with water. 

                                                                 

I guess it's supposed to be like delicious poor man's juice? I dunno. I don't get it, its kind of like crystal light but with an intensified aftertaste of Splenda.

Anyway, I began this post-like so many others-not to talk about the many oddities of our wooden toothed counterparts, but to whinge as it were about the ridiculous obsession with the royal wedding- insert all sorts of puns involving the word 'royal' here. e.g. royal pain in my ass.

I shrugged it off and rolled my eyes as everyone else grumbled and groaned on about it for the past few months- can't say I cared enough to even get annoyed about the incessant news reports.

Well all that changed one friday morning as I rolled out bed, ran through the shower, and loaded up on 32 oz. of Dunkin Donuts. Shooting down the usual on ramp, a ghastly sight arose before me. Traffic. Not just any traffic- on-ramp traffic. This was just the precursor to 40 more minutes of sitting on the highway. Perhaps I should throw in that I was only traveling 1 exit down.

I frantically scanned through radio station after radio station, but alas real news was not to be had. Only a steady stream of usless reports on the nuptuals taking place thousands of miles away that would basically have no impact on my life in any capacity. Digging through the recesses of my memory- back about 15 minutes at least, I tried to think about what I had seen on the news in between bathing and caffinating. Oh wait- there you go. No news, just two bored looking Brits, sitting in the middle of a tree-filled church, listening to the Vienna boys choir, or whatever that was.

So rather than the traffic report that I normally get in morning that would have saved me from an hour and 15 minute commute, which normally takes all of about 12 minutes, I got to watch two rich people get married and then waste a hefty amount gas and time crawling down the highway and waiting for a 9 car pile-up to be cleaned up- priorities people! Priorities!