Tuesday, December 20, 2005 So, it's all happening. The entire NYC system of mass transit has come to a grinding halt, leaving already harried and irritable New Yorkers to walk to work in Arctic weather. If someone doesn't get beaten to death in the streets over a cab before this whole thing is done, I'll be very surprised. Every once in a while something happens in the world that causes me to make an imperceptible shift to the right. For instance, when I lose too much money in taxes to afford to donate to charities I'd like to support or, say, that time the Democrats couldn't get their shit together long enough to beat the WORST. PRESIDENT. EVER. in a general election. I worry that if the strike goes on too long it will become one of those things that edge me a little bit more to the right. I mean, you get enough of these minor and barely noticeable shifts to the right, and you wake up one day living in bunker in Montana with fifteen heavily armed home-schooled children who call you "Maw". Oh well. Keep your fingers crossed that this strike ends peacefully and soon. Because if I have to have 15 kids, my ass is going to get REALLY fucking fat.  
Sunday, December 18, 2005 In fact, every Sunday for the last month has found me, unkempt and unwashed, sitting on the floor, mildly hungover and searching the web for a free tutorial on how to attach MP3s to the site. There has been much hysterical frustration, rending of garments and yelling at inanimate objects. But today the floodgates were opened and it all came together. Listen up internet- I hope you like yourselves some Bob Dylan BECUASE I HAVE DONE IT! I'm uploading, I'm storing, I'm ripping and hotlinking. I am locked, loaded and ready to unleash my musical taste into the ether of the 'net. I'm as close to giddy as I get. I've said before that I'm a music junkie and it happens to be true. That's not to say my musical taste is beyond reproach, because I know a hell of a lot of people who would politely beg to differ. If fact, there's a bass player who I took a few tumbles with in college that deemed my collection to be, "The worst CD collection known to man". He may be right or wrong, but it's my URL and I'll play anything I damn well please. MWUUU-HAHAHAHA!!!! Actually, it's far less sinister than it sounds, but I think it will very much change the nature of the blog. For starters, it ended my hiatus much sooner than expected. I'm sorry, I love you internet. Let's have makeup sex and never be apart again. As a peace offering, I give you one of the coolest things I have EVER seen. The iTunes Signature Maker goes through your iTunes library and puts together a personalized clip based on how many times you've played a song or how highly you've rated it. (Via Kottke). Basically, it creates a single clip of what your entire musical taste sounds like. God bless the internet. Click here to listen to my clip. And now, I'd like to announce the first ever TTTTCP contest. If anyone can correctly identify 5 songs from my signature clip I will make them the subject of my first ever podcast. Yes, you read that right. Overconfident in my geektastic technological ability, I've decided to give podcasting a try. If you don't know what it is, I suggest you look it up dear. So, stick around. Between the music, the contest, the podcast and a potential guest editor, things are getting exciting over here at the Cyanide Pill. This hiatus is definitively over. Oh, and by the way, in case you were wondering, this is the song that sounds like Sunday feels. Fast Train- Solomon Burke
Monday, December 12, 2005 Excited to begin my hermit weekend, I rushed home Friday evening, tore off my work clothes and climbed into pjs in 3 seconds flat. I flopped into bed while simultaneously digging for the remote and booting up my computer. I'm pretty sure I heard a swooshing sound as every muscle in my body started to go limp. And then it happened. No connectivity? Why isn't the TV working? "Reboot," I said to myself, "reboot and don't freak out". Please note: rebooting is the adult technological equivalent of blowing into your Nintendo game cartridges. It might work, it might not, but hell...you've got to try something. Reboot.....nothing......hysteria creeping in. This can't be happening. Still nothing. The hysteria starts to overtake me and I'm pulling wires from walls and plugging stuff into other stuff with no real plan or understanding of what I'm doing. I think I might have actually left my body at some point. And then it becomes clear- all systems are not go. The cable is down. I repeat- THE CABLE IS DOWN. A quick call to Time Warner confirms a power outage in my area and that they have no idea when it will be back up. No, no, no, no. As much as I am loathe to admit it, I'm a TV person- though I can live without it. But to be internetless? Holy. Fucking. Crap. I'm pretty sure I went through the 5 stages of death and dying while I came to terms with being totally DISCONNECTED to the interworld. Denial- This is the part where I wandered aimlessly around my apartment, repeatedly and incoherently muttering, "This can't be happening. This can't be happening". Anger- This is where I yelled at the poor Time Warner customer service rep out in Minnesota telling him, "This is TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE. I don't know how they do it out in Cowtown or whatever pockmark in the prairie your teenage mother squeezed you out in, but I'm in New York City and I NEED my fucking internet." Bargaining- It was at this point that I asked God to forgive me for the years of Nietzsche jokes, gambling and godless fornicating. You can take my TV, you can take my farm, but please Baby Jesus....don't take my internet. Depression- This is when I started feeling bad for myself. Poor Lisa...poor, poor Lisa. If I made more money and lived in Chelsea instead of shitty Murray Hill, I'd have internet right now. Forget internet- if I made more money and lived in Chelsea, I'd probably be at some fabulous party, surrounded by gay fashion designers all clamoring to make me signature couture gowns that lift, separate and disguise pear shaped figures. Acceptance- This is when I packed up my laptop to head out into the arctic night in search of free wifi to shoot in between my toes like the dirty internet junkie that I am. Once my heart rate, breathing and brain function returned to normal it dawned on me that I could just pirate off a neighbor. A few minor tweaks and I was up and running, albeit very sporadically due to a weak connection. It occurred to me at this point, all things considered, it's probably not healthy that I had such a meltdown due to lack of internet. I mean, I almost cried a little and I'm not even getting my period. Therefore, I've decided to take a minor hiatus from all things World Wide Web. There'll be no blogging, reading of blogs, or mindless 'net surfing for a bit while I concentrate on things that happen in the non virtual world. I will, though, probably allow myself to read Craigslist when I feel the urge. Because, hell, if one can't spend a few minutes a day perusing ads for Hot Trannies Who Love Cock and Skullfuckers, then life really isn't worth living. A girl's gotta have SOME fun, right?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005 The nature of my job makes the holidays a very hectic and annoying time. That and the fact that I'm pretty much an Atheist-Jewess-Christ-Killing-Godless-Fornicater-and-Drinker-of-Christian-Baby-Blood, well that doesn't really do much to conjur up an image of a fat woman wearing a reindeer sweater and blinking Christmas tree earrings, now does it? Or, maybe it's not so much the holiday season that's killing me right now but rather the fact that I spent the weekend in DC partying like it was 1986. Seriously- the whole fucking weekend was a cross between The Big Chill, Purple Rain and a Bret Easton Ellis novel. Don't believe me? You know what they say about pictures and words and whatnot so check this out:  I'm sure based on the above photographic evidence you'll all understand that posting will be light over the next few weeks while my little addled fucking brain recalibrates itself with naturally occurring serotonin and sober sleep.
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