Legalese

Most of you readers know me solely by this blog. A few of you know about my other pasttime--the small, independent, one artist record label. Remember my earlier post "Don't Bite the Hand that Feeds You"?

The drama behind the post has escalated to the point that the graphic designer (who volunteered to help out at no charge) is trying to pull rank on the producer and the owner of the label's website. After shifting gears and deciding to change the website and the direction it is currently going in, E the graphic designer, finds herself with limited access and responsibility, and she's pissed.

Today she sent out a document that she signed, but that is not signed by the client, who would be either the website owner or the label, depending how you look at it. It appears to be one of those fill-in-the-blanks self-help forms that you can buy at the grocery store. And some of the wording sounds fabricated.

What I need, dear readers, is a lawyer who would be willing to read over said document and let me know if her claims are valid or if it's nothing more than legalese.

Thanks in advance if you are able to help. I promise to return to my tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic self in the next post.

Things that make you go, HMMMM....

Remember that Kevin Bacon phenomenon from '99 where everyone tried to link anyone to Kevin Bacon by 6 degrees? I'm sort of living it.

On my first date with the EX, I discovered, through a bout of verbal diarrhea, that he had graduated with Metro's sister. My friend and coworker's brother-in-law is Metro's current protege. Now my company has bought or merged with ( depending on which company you ask, you get a different answer) the competition, and to my utter astonishment, my new VP used to work with Metro.

Now, I am faced with a dilemma. Do I name drop? Or not?

See, Metro's wife (who woulda thunk Metro would be good at the marriage thing?) used to also work with my new VP, and if the 2 women were tight, then I create a really ugly situation. And, there's the little matter of his confiding in me that he had an affair with a supervisor which would not be a good thing to bring up if my VP is said supervisor.

But it'd be such a kodak moment, shaking hands, making polite small talk, sizing each other up the way women do, and then dropping the bomb, "Did you sleep with Metro too?"

Buyer Beware

I hadn't been to the movies in a while (not since my pancake dinner date anyway) and decided to go see Dominion this weekend. I can hear all of you asking the obvious question "Why?" and trust me, it's a question I will be asking myself for a long while, for Dominion may just be the worst and most unbelievable movie ever made.

So here follows my top reasons NOT to go see Dominion:

1. It does not star Max Von Sydow. Max is dead, which if I may say so, was a good career move on his part because it freed him of any obligation to participate in this movie.

2. It does not star Linda Blair. Yes, there's a girl with long dark wavy hair, but she doesn't spin her head in a circle and spew pea soup.

3. The devil/demon/posessed person is Filippino. Now, can anyone explain to me how little Filippino CheChe landed in freakin Nairobi? Surely Hollywood didn't truly expect the audience to believe that CheChe was native to the African setting. There were no Filippino villagers that could have spawned the poor crippled, bucktoothed, posessed "child" as he was continuously referred to.

4. It revolves around a biblical archaeological dig site. See, there's a satanic temple underground, right underneath the temple erected to St. Michael. The theory being that the unholy could be made holy and if not, at least kept in check, by "holding it down". This theme is made clear when the statue of St. Michael is unearthed outside the church in the ever popular scene of St. Michael standing on a coffin while the demon posessed corpse stares up in horror at the blade St. Michael is wielding. Sounds like all the bible stories I remember...

5. Could they not afford a Catholic consultant? I realize those CGI hyenas cost a pretty penny, but I've never in my whole Catholic life known of a priest to beat people with a crucifix. Although it does bring to mind the saying "I'm gonna beat the devil right out of you."

6. The use of salt was very suspect. Preparing for the exorcism, the priest who chose 10 people to be killed in WWII and subsequently fell away from God, Fr. Not Van Sydow pours salt in four corners of the chapel. Sounds rather Terrebone Parish voodoo to me.

7. No holy water. I don't know of any priest who would head off for a missionary assignment in a "savage" country and not bring a vial of holy water.

8. The British military in shorts and knee socks. I know they're in Africa and it's hot in Africa, but I found it hard to take them seriously in their short pants.

9. Enthusiastic use of the native African languages. Without subtitles.

10. Cannibalistic cattle. Yes, you read that correctly.

11. Did I mention the movie was 2 hours long???

12. You have to spend money to get a ticket. Don't waste your money in these tight financial times. Your local movie house will not give you a refund.

How bad could it really have been? Well opening weekend I was one of 5 people stupid enough to choose to see Dominion. I could have seen Paris Hilton catch a metal rod through her forehead in House of Wax, but oh no, not me. Could've slapped some cinnamon rolls to my head and gone to see the latest Star Wars epic....hell I could have seen XXX without Vin Diesel, but no, sports fans, I chose Dominion.

It's a good thing I'm not with the EX anymore...I'd never earn movie chosing privileges again.

On par?

My fabulous new dating service (I can't believe I was able to say that with a straight face) introduced me to someone new a while back--Mr. Golf Pro, whom I'll just call Birdie. Our communications had been sporadic since Birdie had to go out of town for training on his new job, a cushy corporate gig that involves teaching the game of golf with the aid of virtual equipment and tons of wires. But once he got back in town he decided he'd like to take me out for drinks or to get dinner.

As most of you know, I date almost exclusively, people that I've met online, and generally, before I think about meeting someone in person, I have a few chats and phone conversations with him. But Birdie wasn't having any of that and wanted to jump right to the chase and meet sight unseen, which is quite odd, let me tell you. But we spoke a couple of times briefly and played phone tag for a couple of days and he seemed normal enough, so I thought, 'what the hell' and made Saturday night plans to meet my first golf pro.

I got to choose the restaurant, so I decided on a good one near my house so that he'd have to do the travelling and I could make a quick exit home if necessary. Of course, with the restaurant being practically across the street from me, I was a little early and waited out front for the man whose only description I had was "6 foot 3 and I'm no Brad Pitt". I hadn't given him much of a personal description either, but I did tell him what I'd be wearing so the hunt wouldn't be so difficult. (Although I was the only single lady standing out in front of the restaurant, and that in itself was a pretty big clue.)

We went to the bar to wait for our table and he asked me if I wanted a drink (not if I wanted something to drink mind you) and I said I'd like a bellini.

"A what?"

"I'm not sure what all's in it," I told him, " but it tastes like peaches."

"I guess that's alcoholic then?"

Ummmmm.....yep, I answered.

"I'll have a Bud Light then."

By the time my drink arrived, our table was ready and Birdie was all bent out of shape that he had to settle up at the bar and couldn't transfer our bar tab to the ticket at our table. He was gentleman enough to pull out my chair for me (which I think was another first for me, cuz I really know how to pick them.)

After a long time spent reading the menu and making small chit chat, he decided on the lasagna (the next to cheapest item on the menu) which didn't leave me many options to choose from, according to the etiquette I was taught that dictates never choosing something more expensive than the person paying the bill. Did I want spaghetti or lasagna? Hmmmmm.....

As we were eating our salads, Birdie shared a little about himself, how he hates his job as a golf pro, couldn't bear to leave his dog behind when he moved from California, and has a daughter in Michigan with only 40 more child support payments. Yes, he really said that. Let me tell you guys, that when dating a woman whose career is children, it's always a great idea to let her know how little you care for your own. Is Birdie planning to visit his daughter on his vacation? Nope. He's gonna go back to Cali and visit the friends he and his dog had at his last job.

After agreeing with him that no, he really couldn't leave the dog behind, I tried to take charge of the conversation.

"You're the first person from the service who's agreed to meet sight unseen."

"Yeah, well, I don't have a picture either."

My profile on the service says that I have chose a later date for picture viewing, not that I don't have one, so I clarified the point by saying, "I have a picture; I just wait until you ask to see it."

He looked at me with Speed Racer eyes and I continued, "It helps me to judge how shallow someone is." Perhaps this was a faux pas? If so I really don't care because it was the truth. If Birdie had wanted to see me before our date, all he had to do was ask to view the picture.

Birdie sucked down his plate of lasagna as if he hadn't eaten in a week and sat watching me eat my spaghetti. No he didn't want to taste any of it. No he didn't want to try the bellini. But just as soon as the waiter picked up my plate Birdie knew what he wanted to do.

He slapped his palms against the table top and stated, "I need to head home to walk my dog."

Uhhhh....okay. Now I have been on dates that weren't going too well, and with the exception of Hajit (remember him? Mr. My Name Is Not Sam?) both my date and I have always acted with dignity and decorum. But Birdie was sadly lacking in the decorum department.

A mere 55 minutes after arriving at the restaurant, we were heading to our separate cars when he called out, "Maybe we can do this again sometime."

But then again, maybe not.

Dear Direct TV

I'm sure you've all seen the DIRECTV commercials, with the celebrities reading "real" letters by "real customers". Being a new DIRECTV subscriber, I feel inspired to write a letter of my own.

Dear DIRECTV,

I never knew I wanted satellite TV. I had friends and loved ones tell me horror stories of satellite TV gone bad. No reception in bad weather. Unsteady reception. Exhorbitant fees for repairs and maintenance. No local channels. So I really had never given satellite TV a second thought.

Until I had to deal with Warner Cable. They are your competition, your nemesis, and quite possibly, the imps of Satan.

First things first. My name is Trisa and I am a recovering cableholic. I love being able to watch MTV repeats at 3 a.m. I love to watch surgical procedures and live births. I even love playing super sleuth and watching the crime shows and figuring out whodunnit. And I believed that Warner Cable was my only option.

Warner was completely happy to take my money each month, but when the service went down, and I needed a technician, well that's when it got ugly.

The tech came early on the scheduled morning, walked into my backyard and disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, he's knocking at the door again, "Ma'am, we have a little problem."

Ok. We'd already had a "little problem" when he tried to make me pay again for the service call for which I'd prepaid when I placed the order.

"You see, your neighbors have a dog."

Ok. But it's in their yard.

"Yes ma'am. But my box is in their yard. And they have a dog and their gate is locked and noone is home."

Uh huh. So how is this my problem?

"Well, you see, arrangements have to be made for me to have access to the yard. When you do that, then call me back and I'll come back out."

Excuse me? The backyards in my neighborhood have easements for all the utilities and we are supposed to keep our yards accessible to repairmen at all times. Now because the neighbors have locked up their vicious beast to protect the children in the neighborhood from a certain scourge of rabies, I can't have cable?

"Well ma'am, they're not supposed to keep me from having access to their yard..."

So you are telling me that I have to go ask neighbors that I don't even know if you can have permission to go in their yard so that I can have cable?

"Yes ma'am," he answered and had the nerve to smile as if the problem had been solved.

When he left I called Warner Cable and spoke to many people in many departments and they all agreed that it was indeed my job to secure their techinicians access to their equipment.

What I don't understand, and the thing that's really upsetting me is, that I didn't put your equipment in someone else's yard. Your equipment for my service should be in my yard so that you can access it with my permission. You need to call the neighbors and say, 'Hi this is Asswipe with Warner Cable. My technician needs to get into your yard to do some service work.' It is your equipment and your responisibility.

"Well, ma'am, they might not be a Warner Cable customer."

They're not a customer and your equipment is in their yard?!

So, thank you DIRECTV for sending out a service man who was 5 hours late, and for whom I had to miss an entire's day of work. But I have television. And life is good.

Toe Boy

Eighty's trivia quiz...can you name the latin boy band that shared the airwaves with New Edition? Well I proudly had all 23 of the albums and a room wall papered with posters from Bop! and Tiger Beat. I was 16 and knew what I wanted...a little latin boy dressed in acid washed jeans, oversized ID shirts and color coordinated socks, able to break out into spontaneous song and dance ala MTV videos of the day.

I grew up and so did my heart throbs, but the group kept going and found a renewed popularity in the late 90's thanks to a reunion tour of some of the earlier members. It was a dream come true! I hadn't caught a single concert when I was in school, but this was my second chance. I was the first in line at Ticket Master when the tix went on sale. I educated friends on the music and history of the band so I wouldn't have to attend the show alone. My sister, who I'd brought up listening to the music, was drafted to go with me and I joined a mailing list to meet other fans who were planning to attend and agreed to meet total strangers a couple of hours before the show.

Having printed all the spanish language lyrics off the internet, I studied and was well prepared to sing my heart out. (Sadly, I had never learned the dances, but did get to see groups of 30 something women high stepping in front of the arena.) It was a fabulous night only slightly marred by my being shot in the eye with the confetti gun. But that's another story.

I immersed myself back in the sub-culture of this group, reading boards, joining mailing lists, translating articles into English and visiting chat rooms. And that's where I met Toe Boy.

At first noone believe it really was Toe Boy. Why would one of the chosen, one of the band members, drop by this fan chat room? I was only there because I'd caught rumors that someone "official" might stop by, but I never expected to receive a private message from Toe Boy himself. Not sure why he singled me out, but when given the chance to dialog with the successors of my teen idols, I was all for it.

But the jealous, evil snits in the chat room tried to steal his attentions away and to convince me that Toe Boy was an imposter. He told me he could prove he was real and gave me his phone number. My friend Susie started chatting with him, asking him questions about his twin sister, and after a lenthy conversation, she pronounced him the real deal. (She's friends with a girl in NY who could pass for the twin of Toe Boy; Toe Girl and Toe Boy had met back in the day and he was all kinds of excited to be talking to mutual friends of sorts.)

So I rushed to the phone and called the number and got an answering machine, which is what he told me I'd get. But I didn't know this kid from Adam. He wasn't one of my idols. So we called again and Susie listened and said, that yes indeedy, that was really the voice of Toe Boy. We were sort of like SETI finally receiving communication from an alien life form.

Enjoying my brush with fame, I put Toe Boy on my instant messenger list and we chatted a few times. He was planning a fan get together in Houston and we were invited to the show. A friend of his from the chat room started a conversation with me and we were email buddies for a long time. But one night things got really interesting.

It was 2:30 in the morning and Susie and I had pulled an all nighter watching old videos. (There was a great demand for their stuff among the fans and whenever we got hold of something new, we'd get together and celebrate.) We'd gotten to a section with tapes of the newer boys, the ones way younger than me (like Toe Boy) and I wasn't too interested, so I was chatting online with TB when he decided to share with me that he has always liked feet.

I have always found feet rather disgusting, so I just said uhuh, thinking he'd move on to another topic. Instead, he took a break and moved up to the roof to smoke a little weed. When he returned, he told me all about the things he wanted to do to me with his feet.

Uhuh...I felt my face burning with embarassment. And then he told me whe he wanted me to do to him with my feet.

By this time Susie had wandered over and was reading too. Icky poo. I limited my responses to well timed and appropriate yeahs and uhuhs.

When he was done and conversation went back to quasi normal, he said, "You're the first person I've met who understands about the feet."

Despite his foot fetish, Susie and I attended the show in town, and eagerly went to meet him afterwards. I handed him something to sign and he asked my name. "Trisa, " I answered, "T-r-i-s-a."

His eyes lit up and he gave us a devillish grin, "From the in-ter-net?"

I still keep myself in the group's circle, helping with the Street Team for a different group member and volunteering for a private label. As luck would have it "my" guy is working on a new reunion show with Toe Boy and some others (including my long time crush), and I've recently gotten word that Toe Boy has been ill. It's even been rumored to be the big C, which makes me very sad.

All the songs that might go unsung and all the toes that might go without worship.