Damn it, Greg! Why the hell do you like grunge!?

Well, to answer the very question in this post, let's start with the blatantly obvious: what is grunge?

Grunge, in super-nerdy Wikipedia-speak, is a form of alternative rock popular in the early 90's. Its music is described as a fusion between teenage angst so common of Generation X, the intensity of hardcore punk rock, and the slow, meandering tempo of heavy metal, to the point that is sounds kinda "grungy", which, in itself, is American slang for "dirty".

Of course, when we talk grunge, it's hard, and often impossible, to not mention Nirvana, which, IMO, is one of the greatest rock bands of all time. If people say that Nirvana is overrated, that's because they base their judgment on their most popular song, "Smells Like Teen Spirit", which is often touted as the anthem of Generation X.

Of course, there are other grunge bands as well, like Pearl Jam, with their best song (IMO) "Jeremy", Alice in Chains ("Them Bones"), Stone Temple Pilots ("Sex Type Thing"), and Soundgarden ("Black Hole Sun"). But to me, nothing compares to Nirvana, particularly because of its well-known frontman, Kurt Cobain. His was a life that burnt fiercely, but briefly. He was known for his lyrics, which, to my point of view, were obviously written from the heart and are very insightful, not some commercialized bullshit like the ones from the Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, and any other Disneycore bands out there. Thing is, nobody knows why Kurt decided to squeeze the trigger into his head. Hatred of commercialism? Heroin addiction? Or murder?

Now, why do I like grunge? Well, after being annoyed by the idiot masa because they totally fucked up emo, what with their poorly executed bangs, overdevotion to My Chemical Romance (there are other bands, people), and overused emo layouts on Friendster, I decided to turn back time and do 90's grunge, to set myself apart from the crowd (although I still listen to emo, these days I just redefine them as "post-hardcore").

Another reason is that, to describe myself as a person, I have the ghost of a Generation X-er trapped in the shell of a Generation Y-er. In simple, "I'm not on weed" talk, I feel that I'm more connected to Generation X than Generation Y because I experience an unimaginable level of angst connected with a troublesome past I experienced back at high school, I vehemently decry the level of commercialism I see in pretty much every branch of the arts, and I often have a problem with authority, be it my parents, or my professors, or even my superiors at work, which accounts for my rebellious attitude. Now that's why I like grunge.

Sure, grunge may be dead today, or maligned by it's radio-friendlier version, post-grunge (aka the likes of Daughtry, Nickelback, etc.), but to me, and hopefully a few people worldwide, it's still alive in my fragmented, tortured, and angst-ridden heart.

And I won't change until something else makes me get out of my angsty stupor.

On an unrelated note, the letter X, to me, also defines that I live a straight-edge lifestyle, i.e. you'll never see me smoke a cigarette in the lung center at work, you'll never smell alcohol from my breath, and if I ever die, it won't be from a heroin overdose or cannabis poisoning (I often joke that I already have a factory of weed in my head).

My life in the call center, so far...

I could never know why it's so hard for me to keep on writing, let alone write itself. I've been so swamped at work these past few weeks that I often say it's an actual accomplishment for me that I'm still able to write anything.

So, after enduring several days of taking the pain ride, the unthinkable came: I was finally transferred to the UK account, which, for those who aren't schooled in the ways of the telecommunications industry, is an account where you absolutely take no voice calls whatsoever, just texting your customers and all that shit. And, contrary to popular belief, you actually enjoy higher pay, and you learn something everyday, since this shit is beyond just fucking directory assistance, you can be asked anything that the customer thinks in his head right now, like "Why is life so unfair?" or "I'm lost in London, where's the nearest tube station?", and "Who created the cartoon named SuperTed?"

The thing is, the moment I was transferred to a 3-week training session (where my trainers are all crackers), I felt that I missed taking calls and picking fights with irate callers. Whatever free time I have is spent prowling the call floor as if I'm a ghost, looking for friends and TMs still stuck in DA, and annoying the hell out of them, often to the point that I can get a CA for it.

And somehow I find it hard to go home, since my new shift is now at 2PM-10PM, and at 10PM, going home is a matter of preparing your balls for the worst: going toe to toe with persons of evil intent. So I decide to sleep the night out in the company, at least until the morning, when I'll take the pain ride home.

And that's because I have a huge investment in my pocket. What is that 'investment', you ask? A new cellphone, which, without exposing its actual value, I paid an arm and leg for, or funded through blood, sweat, tears, and resisting the temptation to take VTOs. And now, I'm down to my last buck. Here I am, hoping to survive before the next payout while listening to anything and everything that has Kurt Cobain's name on it.

And, why the repeated mentions of grunge music? Well, again, that's another post to discuss. But this time, I'll write it right after this one, so I could go another week without being bugged by the thought of not writing another post.

The Pain Ride

Right now, I'm typing this post in my battered, just-out-of-work self.

I decided to hide the link to my blog from the old one, so to keep this pet project of mine that i call this blog totally underground. Why? Because I feel like it. So if you stumbled upon this site because you were click-happy while reading my blog on Friendster, well, congratulations. What you're reading right now is a continuation of my first blog on Friendster, Backwater Wikiality, entitled 'The Barbedwire Confraternity'. Why the title, you ask? Well, it's better than 'Untitled Blog', I can tell you that. Anyway, I'm not here to write about the blog itself, I'm here to talk about the subject matter of the blog, i.e. anything goes.

OK, enough rant. Let's start.

I've been through a lot, lately. Ah, yes, here I was, revelling in the victory that is my regularization, my very proof that I can stand up to the pressures of the corporate grind.

Or, at least I think I can.

Being the first (and youngest) from my training batch to get regularized, I had something of a rock star status from my peers, congratulating me every time I bump into one of them. On the contrary, my status as a 'regular' makes me turn into a jerk when it comes to punk-ass trainees.

You see, I dunno when it started, but the new batch of trainees tend to be cocky for reasons I somehow can't explain. They hog the shuttles (we'll come to that later), talk in very loud voices in the sleeping area, play games in the game room (a fact that my peers and I severely dislike), generally, they act as if they 'own' the place. Normally, I wouldn't be an asshole to trainees, after all, one man's 'noob' is another man's 'pwner', but man, their attitude is appalling at best, as if they know that our job is piss easy.

And it seems that my short-lived 'rock star' status didn't stop there. In the days before the next "schedule shift", I was stunned to discover that I was made 'Team Employee of the Month', because I was aggressive enough to improve my stats. The prize: a few gift certificates from colonial-mentality capitol Starbucks Coffee and SM.

Then comes the "schedule bidding". This is the time that you can pick a schedule that you want, and if it isn't taken yet, it's yours for keeps. In my line of work, the most 'normal' schedule you can get is one that runs from 9 PM - 6 AM, with day offs on weekends. Naturally, I picked that sked, because with it, I could easily go home early because of an available shuttle in the morning.

Which brings us to the main point of this post: the shift and the shuttle.

My shift's alright, guaranteeing me a good working station every time. And who wouldn't love an earlier shift? The bad thing is the shuttle: it's always late. I mean, there have been several times that the shuttle is extremely late for it's loading and departure times that I often get tempted to try an alternate route. Second, the damn trainees tend to clog up the bus that regular CSRs like me end up standing up clinging on to the handlebars. Third, I don't have any close friends in the shuttle, and I'm not a very sociable person, really. I only trust the friends that I value the most. Thing is, they're not with me because they're on later shifts. Bummer.

And I have to endure this sorta thing every frickin' day.

Coupled with the fact that I couldn't move to an easier job in the center because HR tends to put me on hold, essentially imprisoning me in the job I'm too tired to do nowadays.

I realized that as of this moment, I have no choice but to take the Pain Ride.

Oh, and if you were wondering what the hell 'pain ride' is, it's fake grunge lingo for a bus ride.

But, what is grunge? Well, that's another post entirely.

Obviously, this is a test post.

If you came to this website by way of clicking the link in my last post (Backwater Wikiality), congratulations, because there isn't much to read here yet, since this site is still under construction!

Come back in a few days and hopefully, I'll come up with something fresh.

Thanks for visiting my blog!

Greg