may 19, 2000.

Once again, I find myself at the end of a very busy week with absolutely nothing left to do. I sigh a sigh of relief...ahhh. Nothing left but wasting time - my forte.

I find it depressing how bad the grammar is around here. Every day I hear "action" treated like a participle, in a sentence like "they've done a good job of actioning delists; they're goal is talking to the price shortfall." Which is to say, "many items have been removed from the regular inventory with the intention of addressing the loss of income these items represent." Now, I'm not a grammar queen by any body's meterstick. I use words for my pleasure first and for communication second. But man, is it ever painful to hear this crap pour out of people's mouths. It would make Doctor Johnson weep like a baby.

Fortunately for morale, after they murdered their mother tongue (matricide!!) they sprung for pizza. It's hard to feel self-righteous when your fingers are covered in bacon grease.

Last night I had a good time. I don't usually get to say that about a weeknight anymore, so let me say it again: last night I had a good time. Ian had invited me to an event he was putting on at the Kathedral, and having nothing better to do except go to bed at a sensible time, I did the mid-week club commute thang. It turned out to be a record release party without a CD (production was a trifle behind schedule), so the Boy & I were treated to the spectacle of amateur musicians rocking out for their friends & family. It reminded me very strongly of the shows my brother used to put on back when he first started playing in rock bands: big room, lots of friends, a goofy aura of unprofessional earnestness and a whole lotta sound. Filling the role of my brother last night was Ian, only with more charisma and wearing pimp clothes. He introduced the bands, killed time during soundcheck generally acted all crazy like for our amusement. I was feeling very sentimental & exhilarated by the whole thing, almost like I was falling in love. It's hard to explain. It's hard to remember. But it was fun.

I was feeling a bit more enthusiastic than the Boy; he bitched about the $10 cover and kept me from running up to the stage a few times. It made me a bit upset. I hate it when he acts like he knows best, especially when the issue is restraining me. It's not my fault that he's not as kooky as me. Anyway, it soon ran its course, and in 20 minutes or so I apologized for drinking half of his beer and then calling him a style cramper. Aren't we sweet?