NOTE: Believe it or not, I wrote this post (unedited and all) while at work. Why? When your team gets banned from doing anything else, you're bound to resort to something. And this post essentially just popped out of my ass. OK, enough rant. Let's start.
Here we are, my team being punished because we think so high of ourselves.
For a minute there, I thought that my team is so fucking metal, we kick every other team's arses.
Then reality kicked us right in the stomach and shouted in our ears that we're only human.
No playing, no loud chitchatting (sic), no searching. 'No playing' I can endure, I don't play games much anyway, even when I'm bored and on the verge of... well, I'll leave that to your imagination. 'No loud chitchatting' I can handle, I mean, I'm not much of a chatter anyway; I prefer to be silent. But no searching!? Damn, that's the only thing I'm doing whenever there's not a texter around asking some stupid Magic 8-Ball question.
Which brings us to the topic of this 'blog' 'post', which will be deleted an hour later because I have to take a 15-minute break.
Ever had a Magic 8-Ball? Me neither. I never had one, simply because I have no knowledge of its existence. But I've seen it countless times in movies, on TV, read in books, hell, even played in video games. This little plastic ball, made to look like an 8-ball seen in a game of billiards, is filled with liquid and has some weirdly-shaped dice-like thing that has writings on it, that every time you ask a 'yes' or 'no' question, you shake it, then some answer pops out, hence the name.
I remember our trainer/DJ, Aaron/CutterJ, mention something about this text service being treated by most people as some new-fangled 'Magic 8-Ball'. Truer words have never been spoken. Because right now, most of the questions we receive are almost always in this format:
"Will Amanda ever love me?"
"Will I be rich in the future?"
"Does this blouse make me look chubbier than I already am, because I'm a stupid, fat, lazy fuck who does nothing but sit around eating junk food and whatnot, debating useless, pointless stuff on Internet message boards, and giving some reed-thin geekazoid from Cambodia a righteous '+99 silver staff of the moon' of smiting?"
The first few times you get these types of questions, you're like "OK, maybe they just need somebody to talk to", but later on, you'll get so fucking annoyed that these people think that we do know everything. Wow! Like we have security cameras wired on every street, every house, even in your fucking bathtub, in all of the 50 states!
Then again, when your text line guarantees people that we can be asked ANY question, you know you're gonna expect the worst of society: racists, haters, or the just plain stupid.
But hey, thank God Almighty I have a job. And these people are paying me to fill their apparently empty heads with some fluff that I only know too damn well that they'll shit it out eventually.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Saturday, November 15, 2008
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).
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.
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.
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