I hate people

From time to time, I get inflammatory emails at my place of business accusing me of one crime or another. Some key examples:

*You know nothing about what you're talking about and are clearly too stupid to be an editor.
*You are unethical--your pockets are lined with advertiser dollars. I just know it!
*Ugh. Why can't you do the work of 100 minions and constantly go back into every old review and update it with every little detail that has transpired since it was written.
*Ew! How dare you not have perfectly manicured nails! And you're fat, too.

OK, OK...so maybe those aren't word for word. And maybe no one's ever actually called me fat. But you get the drift. Honestly, if I've made a mistake somewhere along the way and someone points it out to me with anything verging on politeness, I totally appreciate it--I'll even send a reply thanking the person who brought it to my attention. I want errors to be fixed, and I don't mind admitting where I've messed up.

But some people are just plain rude, and others are fucking dumbasses. Both groups annoy me equally. Here's a tip: how about you read the entire write-up before pointing out "glaring absences"...ones that are in fact in the fourth paragraph, third line from the bottom. Or what about this: check out the page outlining our reviews rules and processes before criticizing our work and how we're so obviously "accepting bribes." Yeah right...as if you're going to take that advice. I have a better idea: just bend over and let me give you a swift kick in the ass and we'll call it even.

I don't speak Latin

Nor can I spell it, apparently. I grabbed my blog title from one page, and discovered just a couple of days ago that I had the spelling wrong...by one letter. As it turns out, "with" is "cum" rather than "com", which is great in its own way, but also made me rethink a tattoo I had planned with the phrase. I'm just not so sure I want the word "cum" permanently inked on my person. Anyway, the name has been updated, but the linkage remains the same. And I call myself an editor...sigh.

What a world! What a world!

Well, that wasn't such a nice way to start off after nearly 8 months of no posting. I hope to have some interesting things to put up pretty soon here. I've had a chance to travel around a bit and always like to share tidbits on good places to eat and check out vistas. (Also of note: places where you can get drunk all day and do nothing.) What's been on the agenda? How about: South Lake Tahoe (for some gambling on 07/07/07!), Booneville, Chicago, and El Salvador. Plus, a brief--and surprisingly enjoyable--jaunt to Vegas. Now how many gory details will I be able to recall???

A bit of sad news to note: Vino Venue--that happiest of happy hour locales (and the unnamed wine bar I mentioned in earlier posts...that's right: unnamed because I wanted it all to myself!!!)--has given up the ghost, thanks to some thoughtless new owners who ran the place into the ground by not paying the lease for 8 friggin' months! Thanks a lot, stupid faceless corporation in Anaheim. I hate you.

Clusterfuck

Sometimes, working in media is a real shit storm. What I am referring to, of course, is the recent Gamespot/Jeff Gerstmann/ads-vs-eds scandal. I swear, it's taken an almost political tone on 2nd Street, what with the White House Administration-like "press conferences" around here. And by that, I mean purely internal meetings that involve a bunch of in-house journalist who are prohibited to make any real statements about the issue. As you might imagine, gagged journalists do not a happy bunch make--especially those whose reputations are being dragged through the mud by an unsubstantiated rumor. Unfortunately, the parent company was too slow off the starting blocks, and can't hope to save face now. Regardless, it would be nice if the general blogosphere and commentors would understand that the corporation in question will not discuss specifics for termination for both legal reasons and out of respect for said employee. Sheesh.

Monterey sure is chilly this time of year

One of my vendor contacts was kind enough to shuttle me and a friend down to the Sea Otter Classic last Saturday. I was really looking forward to the trip: after all, they had advertised the presence of mimosas in the invite flyer. Plus, the event takes place at Laguna Seca in Monterey and I hadn't been to that track since I was a little girl (ah, fond memories of early hearing damage). Well, Saturday dawned cold and rainy--rather miserable, actually--and to top it off, I was battling a cold. But I am a trooper, so I loaded up on tissue and cough drops, grabbed some green tea to go, and stopped off at Walgreen's for an umbrella--my last one lost its life in a battle with SF winds...I don't care what anyone says: San Francisco is the Windy City. Chicago only got the name because of long-winded politicians anyway. But I digress.


As it turns out, I'm alone in my trooper-ness when it comes to press: I was the only one to show up. So it was me, my friend, and three PR reps. Awesome--more mimosas for me then. After a bumpy two-hour ride, we pulled up at the track and....dude, there are hot biker guys swarming all over the place. As it turns out, I should have done my research. Here I was thinking the Sea Otter Classic was just street racing--you know, spandex and all that. But no. It is all types of biking: street, mountain, and BMX. Well now, this is my kind of event. Sadly, it was far too cold and wet for me to hang out outside, so I sequestered myself to the Harman Kardon/Volkswagen/Trek garage where they fed me tri-tip sandwiches, brought me bottles of red wine, and generally gave me the star treatment as I was the only member of the press there. I could do worse.

Drunky McDrunkertons

As I've mentioned, there's a wine bar down the street from my work that causes me endless headaches, but it is so good on the wallet that I can't resist being a regular. It turns out, there's no corkage because it's considered a "store," which is why you can get reasonably-priced bottles of good wine and enjoy it in a nice, laid-back setting (without freezing your ass off at a city park or something of the like). Some of my girlfriends from work and I really needed to take the edge off last Friday and--although we tried to mix it up a bit and go to a new happy hour locale (we were foiled)--we ended up back at Vino Venue. And, well, I'll let the pictures do the talking...

This was after bottle #5

Note the pressence of wine glasses in each and every shot

At least we had some cheese to soak it up.

Peace out...it's way past time to go home

Therein lies the rub

See, now, I knew this was going to happen: I haven't had time to blog anything in my personal space all week due to a hectic work schedule and a second job editing a book. Frankly, the last thing I feel like doing is writing more (bitch, bitch, bitch; moan, moan, moan). Anyway, a couple of my friends and colleagues were in Orlando this week for CTIA, and they called to harass me and make me jealous about this private Samsung party where Ludacris was performing. Well, my nice friend Bonnie was just wishing I was there (as she knows of my hidden love for Luda); Wil (of G4's Attack of the Show) called to harass me. Wil is a special kind of person. To get an idea of what I mean by that, please refer to the below transcript of our text correspondence:

Me: Having fun?
Wil: Luda, you whore.
Me: Cunt. I hate you so much right now.

Wil shares this special kind of relationship with anyone who is not a complete ass like him. Allow me to share another string of texts, this one including another one of my coworkers who had the distinct pleasure of reporting to Wil once upon a time at CNET:

Wil: Kent just called me a pig.
Me: Shocking.
Kent: Wil is such a pig.
Me: As he is pleased to admit.

You get the idea. I was bummed not to be at the show, but happy to be included in some way. And to Wil's credit, he did hold up the phone during the chorus of "Get Back"...for that, I shall be eternally grateful. Well, for a couple weeks at least. If they took any pics at the show, I'll be sure to post them here.