A Day in the Life of McNeice (Part 1)
Posted: Tue Dec 04, 2007 7:47 amAndrew McNeice, Godfather of Rock n Roll Journalism, well, the wireless kind anyway, resides Down Under, on the small island of Tasmania, off the southern tip of Australia. Nestled into a corner of his house is the office, a getaway of sorts for the Man behind the avatar...the enforcement avatar that is. See, Andrew wears a rack of hats. Since he owns his own Public Website, he must wear the hats of News coordinator, story teller, concert reviewer, contact us dept, interviewer, and last but certainly not least, public message board Moderator. Now, before you think moderator doesn't possess any in depth skill, think again. In the Melodicrock.com stable of message boards, 58 in all, one and only one of those stand out; some say a jewel, many others say it resembles that of a real stinker. We are talking about the Journey Board of course. An eclectic group of people spanning the globe from Calgary to England, and Tasmania to Los Angeles. Many different colouful folks make up the place and much, if not most of the time, there is something brewing on Melodicrock.com's Journey Board.
Awakening at 630AM Kangaroo time, Andrew wavers down the hall and out to the driveway to retrieve the newspaper, and hustles nonstop, back into the house and straight into the shitter. He pours over last night's NHL scores
Taking too much time on the crapper, He blows off the shower like a Euro, and gets dressed and heads to the Office. He sits down in his throne and says a little prayer:
"Dear God, please I ask of you, don't let the Journey Board be in shambles. I sent AR and Deano on holiday(gay term for suspension), so that should help, right God? I cut HOTS off and hopefully St John didn't post last night drunk. Thank you God"
The computer boots up and it's showtime. What to do? goes through Mac's brain. Check email from the USA? Maybe it's JSS or Neal Schon? Naw, Neal would never email him back in a timely fashion. Perhaps one of those hair band bassists would return an email. After all, who gives a shit about some Euro hair bassist? Maybe he should finish writing that review from the Dokken show that took place at King Edwards Fish and Chips in South Hampton? Or maybe, no definitely, he should go straight to the Journey board. One can literally see the flames emanating from the screen as the page loads. It's hot in there, real hot.
"Fuck off HOTS! You skanky whore" writes a certain poster from a western state. Eyes roll and calmness departs. Andrew has now arrived and more importantly, has woken up. The Journey board resembles New York City...it NEVER sleeps. Once logged on, he sees his moderator class name highlighted in red. You would think chatter and fired up diatribes would quiet themselves but to Andrew's horror, they don't. In fact, they intensify. His presence only fuels the situation. He looks up and sees he has 46 Private Messages and most of the titles name a certain Deano and angry in the title, while some include the names AR and St John. Back on the Board, some moronic poster is complaining of the lack of cultural understanding and wants answers. St John gave him one. "Fuck you." Andrew needed something to combat the early morning squabbles. He headed for the fridge and grabbed a cold one. Yes, a cold beer at 743AM. After downing his brew, he posts an auto response entitled, "The next person who hurls abuse" and was received by the newbies as a toneful disciplinarian move, while the veteran posters all laughed in unison. Upon further reading, AR has told anyone who would listen what Arnel Pineda's meal of choice is, Neal Schon's height or lack therof, Strangerey has written about his complete disgust of Neal Schon and Jon Cain, Scarab Gator has been cheerleading, Moonbeam has been talking in a language no one understands, St John has reported his alcohol intake for the last minute, hour and day, Red13 JoePa has spoken in broken code about something, Nealisgod posted another NFL thread, Liam has talked up the Dallas Cowboys, yet again, Angie won't change the purple ink, larry from next door wont use caps or punctuation, Abitaman still can't spel, Rick has pledged allegiance to his union, Raiderfan and conversationpc have copied and pasted the GOP talking points for the day, OhSherrie has once again told them they were full of shit, Cyndy remarked on the beauty of San Francisco, Deb commented how bad her hometown hockey team is, Treetopovoska is myopic, Rhiannon wants to fuck with someone, and Granny wants a good hard...you know
Another hour in the life of the Journey Board. It will, like it's name, evolve in the latter half of the day.
Awakening at 630AM Kangaroo time, Andrew wavers down the hall and out to the driveway to retrieve the newspaper, and hustles nonstop, back into the house and straight into the shitter. He pours over last night's NHL scores
Taking too much time on the crapper, He blows off the shower like a Euro, and gets dressed and heads to the Office. He sits down in his throne and says a little prayer:
"Dear God, please I ask of you, don't let the Journey Board be in shambles. I sent AR and Deano on holiday(gay term for suspension), so that should help, right God? I cut HOTS off and hopefully St John didn't post last night drunk. Thank you God"
The computer boots up and it's showtime. What to do? goes through Mac's brain. Check email from the USA? Maybe it's JSS or Neal Schon? Naw, Neal would never email him back in a timely fashion. Perhaps one of those hair band bassists would return an email. After all, who gives a shit about some Euro hair bassist? Maybe he should finish writing that review from the Dokken show that took place at King Edwards Fish and Chips in South Hampton? Or maybe, no definitely, he should go straight to the Journey board. One can literally see the flames emanating from the screen as the page loads. It's hot in there, real hot.
"Fuck off HOTS! You skanky whore" writes a certain poster from a western state. Eyes roll and calmness departs. Andrew has now arrived and more importantly, has woken up. The Journey board resembles New York City...it NEVER sleeps. Once logged on, he sees his moderator class name highlighted in red. You would think chatter and fired up diatribes would quiet themselves but to Andrew's horror, they don't. In fact, they intensify. His presence only fuels the situation. He looks up and sees he has 46 Private Messages and most of the titles name a certain Deano and angry in the title, while some include the names AR and St John. Back on the Board, some moronic poster is complaining of the lack of cultural understanding and wants answers. St John gave him one. "Fuck you." Andrew needed something to combat the early morning squabbles. He headed for the fridge and grabbed a cold one. Yes, a cold beer at 743AM. After downing his brew, he posts an auto response entitled, "The next person who hurls abuse" and was received by the newbies as a toneful disciplinarian move, while the veteran posters all laughed in unison. Upon further reading, AR has told anyone who would listen what Arnel Pineda's meal of choice is, Neal Schon's height or lack therof, Strangerey has written about his complete disgust of Neal Schon and Jon Cain, Scarab Gator has been cheerleading, Moonbeam has been talking in a language no one understands, St John has reported his alcohol intake for the last minute, hour and day, Red13 JoePa has spoken in broken code about something, Nealisgod posted another NFL thread, Liam has talked up the Dallas Cowboys, yet again, Angie won't change the purple ink, larry from next door wont use caps or punctuation, Abitaman still can't spel, Rick has pledged allegiance to his union, Raiderfan and conversationpc have copied and pasted the GOP talking points for the day, OhSherrie has once again told them they were full of shit, Cyndy remarked on the beauty of San Francisco, Deb commented how bad her hometown hockey team is, Treetopovoska is myopic, Rhiannon wants to fuck with someone, and Granny wants a good hard...you know
Another hour in the life of the Journey Board. It will, like it's name, evolve in the latter half of the day.
