Hi!
Yeah...
It's nice to meet you too... uh I'm Spiderman

Yesterday I read a quite interesting story by that one-man Acadaemia, Umberto Eco. The story is titled "Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society," and it is almost unintelligible. The part that I have been pondering, though, is the brand new, postmodern, intriguing interpretation of the nature of labour. In the essay the islander researchers correctly realise that Milanese society is ruled by two competing forces, Church and Industry. Industry is termed the spiritual force because its adherents are basically living a life of monkship, including ascetic retreats called "board meetings," repetitive activities that can only be compared to prayer, and a life of poverty inside the barren cells they call "offices." Clearly the disciples of Industry lead pious, devout lives dedicated to Industry and its God, Product/Capital/Commerce (a deity expressed in Trinity!)

Damn, it was a mindjob. At first I laughed and put the book down. But I woke up today and the thought popped into my head and it hasn't left. I mean, I feel like crap when I wake up but I do it anyway, because I know it's what I have to do, same as a monk in an abbey would; I voluntarily exchange the most productive hours of my life to aid Industry in its goals. I dress in hideous garments that Industry considers "work attire" but to me is really no better, and certainly not more comfortable, than a monkish robe. At work I live in abject poverty, and the poorer I consider myself, the better. Am I not, then, living as a monk would, hundreds of years ago?

Although, perhaps, you could argue that monks don't have internet. And they probably have to kneel a lot. I guess they also do more manual labour. But you get my drift.

Avast ye landlubbers. I have duly come up with a list of annoying phrases and words that I consider unbearable to hear, and that therefore you are from now on prohibited from saying. Anyone uttering any of the following will be duly wrapped in Spidey-silk and cast off to the sharks!

D'you know what I mean

This phrase is SO 1997. Get over it. Also not permitted: Do you know what I mean, D'you know, You Know.

Vis-à-vis

If I catch you saying this, I will fill your mouth with Spidey-silk. Trust me, unless you are dating me, it is NOT sexy. Any word that sounds remotely French, or that requires an accent to be spelt "correctly" (with the exception of cliché, as explained below) will earn this honour from yours truly.

Jonesing

This is NOT a word. It is not English. If you say this, I will beat you with a small stick. If you want to say "want" without saying "want," just use the word "pine." Simple, elegant, classic, and oh yeah, ACTUAL ENGLISH. Next.

Kudos

OMFG. What is this? Israel? Where did you get this horrible, unpronounceable word? Don't ever say it again. Ever. I mean it.

Anything remotely resembling a cliché

Face it, clichés are stupid. Only stupid people use stupid thingies like clichés. Even the word "cliché" is a cliché. This, and the fact that it is French, should make it a double no-no. However, the fact remains that the English language sucks so much, that there is no proper English equivalent. So, until someone comes up with it (not me, that sounds like work), "cliché" will just have to do.

Mobile

IT'S A FUCKING CELLPHONE. NO ONE SAYS MOBILE. IT SOUNDS GAY.

This sucks. The door opens every other minute. It's never to see me.

Actually its not that bad because that would mean more work. And work
is stupid. That's the good news. And in fact there have been a couple
of times that it is for me. So, maybe its a blessing.

I am so fucking resourceful. Fuck, they should give me a raise. Spidey
needs money, damn it. Fuckin cobwebs aren't free you know.

Mary Jane is here. She's talking to my supervisor. Bleh. Even her, she
isn't here to see me.

Traffic is sort of crazy. Gahhh. I wish I could just swing home
instead of pretending to be normal. People are leaving.

Back to work...

I have been so sleepy today. Ridiculous. Sort of. Aaah. Sleepy.

Because I went to this quizzo yesterday and when I came back I couldn't sleep. Granted, I had slept most of the day. But still. Well, I did stay up doing Spidey things. You wouldn't understand.

In any case, only got 4 hours worth. Not enough!

Today I am Zombey, not Spidey. (OMG, I'm so clever.) The weird thing is I have absolute and complete control over my sleepiness. Which is weird, before I would of just fallen asleep in front of the computer. Then, I would of gone to the bathroom to sit on the loo and slept for around 15 to 30 minutes, like that, totally undignified. Today it was udderly unnecessary.

Which rocks, of course.

Cheerio
Peter