Really Real Rage; Damn The Man
Today, I wasted two hours at the Boulder County Clerk and Recorder's office to not register or title a truck. The problem comes down to what the revision number is on the 'Statement of Fact' form. The content is exactly the same, but my revision number wasn't acceptable to the bureaucrats.
I came uncomfortably close to a homicidal freakout with the shotgun of doom. I got home and was reduced to freaked-out pacing and yelling at the cat. I decided that I ought to play some bass for therapy (as I often do), instead of shooting those giggling bureaucrats with rat-shot in the face. They're on the list now, however.
The 'Frito Bandito' (Mahoney's new nickname) inspired me to fill said truck and park it in their lot with rotting garbage. This is what I will do early next week. I need to pick up some restaurant waste so that it's totally awesome. I'm sure that I'll get a ticket, but maybe we'll make the news. Free advertising, friends...
I tried to watch TV, but I had to turn it off because I was this close (holding fingers close together) to getting medieval on its ass.
Because I was completely pissed off, I totally broke the orange one. I was learning a fucking INXS song, of all things:
I broke the pick guard off at the output jack. It was hanging by a screw, and that made me angry enough to start drinking.
I needed an excuse to replace that hinkey 'parchment' one. I opted for a brown tortoise one, a la the hot rod (wicked, but with a side-mount jack) precisions from a few years ago. I'm thinking that I ought to go all out, though, since it'll be in pieces, and just do all the mods that I want to do now, since I can do it outside of the bass, and then basically drop the new setup in.
I'll be internet shopping tonight.
I came uncomfortably close to a homicidal freakout with the shotgun of doom. I got home and was reduced to freaked-out pacing and yelling at the cat. I decided that I ought to play some bass for therapy (as I often do), instead of shooting those giggling bureaucrats with rat-shot in the face. They're on the list now, however.
The 'Frito Bandito' (Mahoney's new nickname) inspired me to fill said truck and park it in their lot with rotting garbage. This is what I will do early next week. I need to pick up some restaurant waste so that it's totally awesome. I'm sure that I'll get a ticket, but maybe we'll make the news. Free advertising, friends...
I tried to watch TV, but I had to turn it off because I was this close (holding fingers close together) to getting medieval on its ass.
Because I was completely pissed off, I totally broke the orange one. I was learning a fucking INXS song, of all things:
I broke the pick guard off at the output jack. It was hanging by a screw, and that made me angry enough to start drinking.
I needed an excuse to replace that hinkey 'parchment' one. I opted for a brown tortoise one, a la the hot rod (wicked, but with a side-mount jack) precisions from a few years ago. I'm thinking that I ought to go all out, though, since it'll be in pieces, and just do all the mods that I want to do now, since I can do it outside of the bass, and then basically drop the new setup in.
I'll be internet shopping tonight.
Labels: Gear, gear acquisition syndrome, the booze, the internets, The Man
posted by Jeremy at
5:11 PM
1 Comments:
Fuckin' Boulder, man. I was there tonight for a show at the B.Side (good sound but I can't recommend the place even though it completely reminds me of Maxwell's in Hoboken, NJ). They roll up the sidewalks in that city too fuckin' early for a college town. Ever since Tulagi's went out, all the DIY venues got shut down soon after opening and The Fox books almost entirely jam bands and hip hop, there's little reason for me to ever go there except to visit friends. Boulder blows.
And Boulder bureaucrats...I applaud the garbage stunt. Fuck them. People waste MY time like that, I want to kill their whole family. But that wouldn't be productive, I suppose. Still, the thought crosses the mind. My condolences, my friend.
-TM
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