The wife and I are off to Connecticut for the weekend to celebrate our one year anniversary. We've got tickets to see Martin Sexton tomorrow night. Those who know him, you know what's going on.
One year already...rather shocking. Do you want to see our year by the numbers? Do you? Do you know who you're dealing with? Right.
2- Places we moved
5 -Jobs we've had between us
2 -Times our AC has given out
1 - Proper vacations (Vegas!)
2 -Debts fully paid off
6 -New debts taken on
46 -Inches of the new TV (see above)
2 -VW Jetta's purchased (I'm getting sick of them)
453 -Times we thought of leaving Jersey
350k - Cost of a decent starter house here
That's all I can muster right now...I have stuff to take care of before hitting the dusty trail. I'll be back Monday with more details and maybe pictures. You can live without me until then. Who am I kidding, nobody reads this. But isn't that the point? Am I writing this to journal my life or entertain strangers with voyeuristic tendencies? This can wait til Monday.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
These are the people in my neighborhood.
It's about time that I give mention to some of the folks who work in the same building. They work for the other companies, so I don't know them personally, but they cross my path almost every day.
First are the Eastern European guys who work at the hedge fund. Other people in their office dress like Gordon Gecko, they prefer the vintage flannel shirt and a Nordic beard. Odd, but just fine. What bothers me is that they gather in the communal kitchen to chat during lunch. They talk in rushed, muted tones. If I walk in, or even go by the doorway, they clam up and glare at me as if I were some corporate spy trying to eavesdrop on their discussion of feasible cold fusion. This honestly wouldn't bother me if it weren't for the fact that they jabber in some Eastern European Slavic language to which I am utterly clueless. Perhaps if they were speaking high school French or Spanish I could glean the slightest inkling of their diabolical agenda.
Tuesday the 26th, 12:44 PM. Target 1 asked Target 2 if he had seen his suitcases. Target 2 replied by asking for directions to the biblioteque. End transmission.
The other character is The Ginch: a cross between Dr. Strangelove and Wallace Shawn from the Princess Bride. He is short, which already flares my prejudice that short people have an agenda, wears glasses that darken with bright light, and holds his cigarettes in a most peculiar, Strangelove-like fashion. The fact that The Ginch seems to snarl with his thin upper lip doesn't help matters. He doesn't actually do anything to me; it's merely that seeing him gives me the "maybe I shouldn't have cut through this dark alley to save three minutes walking back to the car" kind of feeling.
Totally unrelated: I channeled my immature fascination with automobiles into its own blog. Confessions of a Car Slut. Link is on the left hand nav bar as well.
First are the Eastern European guys who work at the hedge fund. Other people in their office dress like Gordon Gecko, they prefer the vintage flannel shirt and a Nordic beard. Odd, but just fine. What bothers me is that they gather in the communal kitchen to chat during lunch. They talk in rushed, muted tones. If I walk in, or even go by the doorway, they clam up and glare at me as if I were some corporate spy trying to eavesdrop on their discussion of feasible cold fusion. This honestly wouldn't bother me if it weren't for the fact that they jabber in some Eastern European Slavic language to which I am utterly clueless. Perhaps if they were speaking high school French or Spanish I could glean the slightest inkling of their diabolical agenda.
Tuesday the 26th, 12:44 PM. Target 1 asked Target 2 if he had seen his suitcases. Target 2 replied by asking for directions to the biblioteque. End transmission.
The other character is The Ginch: a cross between Dr. Strangelove and Wallace Shawn from the Princess Bride. He is short, which already flares my prejudice that short people have an agenda, wears glasses that darken with bright light, and holds his cigarettes in a most peculiar, Strangelove-like fashion. The fact that The Ginch seems to snarl with his thin upper lip doesn't help matters. He doesn't actually do anything to me; it's merely that seeing him gives me the "maybe I shouldn't have cut through this dark alley to save three minutes walking back to the car" kind of feeling.
Totally unrelated: I channeled my immature fascination with automobiles into its own blog. Confessions of a Car Slut. Link is on the left hand nav bar as well.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Lunch in a Jiffy
My mistake. I opted to use my lunch break to get the oil changed in the Jetta. Jiffy Lube on 27 has been good to me in the past (last time was less than 20 minutes), so I hustled over there. Prompt check in, the car rolls over the pit, they start the process. The team leader comes in to upsell me the pine scent and armor all, which I politely decline, but I do spring for the tire rotation. This car has unnervingly expensive tires on it (18 inch, 40 series, Z rated) so the chance to save some life is worth the 15 bones. This is where the trouble begins.
Just after lifting the car and removing the wheels for the above mentioned rotation, one of the workers arrives with lunch. Say goodbye to returning to work on time. I watched helplessly through the glass as my car was left suspended in mid air without wheels. They ate, and ate some more, and I paced the waiting area. No use stressing over it. In the end, they finally finished their Taco Bell and attached my wheels, over an hour since I arrived. Bastards.
The waiting did give me occasion to witness a great intellectual conversation.
Employee: Lexus?
Customer: That's me.
Employee: You got like a hunnerd twenny thousand miles.
Customer: Yeah?
Employee: Yeah, you want the high mileage?
Customer: High mileage what?
Employee: High mileage oil for high mileage cars.
Customer: What's it do?
Employee: It helps high mileage cars. It's thick.
Customer: How much is it?
Employee: Forty one ninety-nine.
Customer: Is that more than the regular?
Employee: Regular is thirty (dollars) ninety-nine.
Customer: So it's only two dollars more?
Employee: (Rolls his eyes) Nah, bro. It's like seven or eight dollars more.
This happened, almost exactly like this. He was serious, too. Seven or eight...
Just after lifting the car and removing the wheels for the above mentioned rotation, one of the workers arrives with lunch. Say goodbye to returning to work on time. I watched helplessly through the glass as my car was left suspended in mid air without wheels. They ate, and ate some more, and I paced the waiting area. No use stressing over it. In the end, they finally finished their Taco Bell and attached my wheels, over an hour since I arrived. Bastards.
The waiting did give me occasion to witness a great intellectual conversation.
Employee: Lexus?
Customer: That's me.
Employee: You got like a hunnerd twenny thousand miles.
Customer: Yeah?
Employee: Yeah, you want the high mileage?
Customer: High mileage what?
Employee: High mileage oil for high mileage cars.
Customer: What's it do?
Employee: It helps high mileage cars. It's thick.
Customer: How much is it?
Employee: Forty one ninety-nine.
Customer: Is that more than the regular?
Employee: Regular is thirty (dollars) ninety-nine.
Customer: So it's only two dollars more?
Employee: (Rolls his eyes) Nah, bro. It's like seven or eight dollars more.
This happened, almost exactly like this. He was serious, too. Seven or eight...
Friday, July 22, 2005
Where the hell am I going?
Got my hat. Keys are in the ignition. And I'm not moving.
I've reached the crossroads of my life and it's crippled me. Not only can I not make the big decision, I can't seem to make any decisions. Perhaps if I choose nothing, then whatever happens can't be my fault. Innocent by abstinence.
I don't have to tell you how foolish this is. Not making choices doesn't stop time, no one offers a time-out, and that's apparently what I'm trying to do: bring it down.
I'm realizing how quickly life can run between your fingers. We're here for a disgustingly short amount of time, and I'm terrified of making choices that will waste a single minute. The irony, of course, is that I've wasted more than a few months in this holding pattern; too weak to step forward.
You'll point out that I got married, wasn't that a big step? It was an immense step, yet many times easier. It was right, I felt it. My instinct practically screamed that I needed to be her husband, and have her as my wife. Was that even a choice? Choice implies options. There were no options; I would have been miserable without her.
Now I'm making her miserable, and that won't stand. She sees the pain on my face, she sees the internal conflict that is bringing me down. She begins to wonder if I've lost confidence in her as well. I haven't.
The pain in my gut is real. Doctors don't know what to say. Despite repeated assurances that it is merely stress, I have to wonder. Did I do this to myself? The choices are endless.
Do we stay? Do we move? Do we go to school? Do we start a career? I don't know...the answers aren't clear, and they're not getting clearer anytime soon. Either way, I have an amazing friend and lover sitting on this bench seat with me and she's getting restless. It's time to put this thing in drive.
I've reached the crossroads of my life and it's crippled me. Not only can I not make the big decision, I can't seem to make any decisions. Perhaps if I choose nothing, then whatever happens can't be my fault. Innocent by abstinence.
I don't have to tell you how foolish this is. Not making choices doesn't stop time, no one offers a time-out, and that's apparently what I'm trying to do: bring it down.
I'm realizing how quickly life can run between your fingers. We're here for a disgustingly short amount of time, and I'm terrified of making choices that will waste a single minute. The irony, of course, is that I've wasted more than a few months in this holding pattern; too weak to step forward.
You'll point out that I got married, wasn't that a big step? It was an immense step, yet many times easier. It was right, I felt it. My instinct practically screamed that I needed to be her husband, and have her as my wife. Was that even a choice? Choice implies options. There were no options; I would have been miserable without her.
Now I'm making her miserable, and that won't stand. She sees the pain on my face, she sees the internal conflict that is bringing me down. She begins to wonder if I've lost confidence in her as well. I haven't.
The pain in my gut is real. Doctors don't know what to say. Despite repeated assurances that it is merely stress, I have to wonder. Did I do this to myself? The choices are endless.
Do we stay? Do we move? Do we go to school? Do we start a career? I don't know...the answers aren't clear, and they're not getting clearer anytime soon. Either way, I have an amazing friend and lover sitting on this bench seat with me and she's getting restless. It's time to put this thing in drive.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Columbus OH Bans Assault Weapons: NRA Cancels Convention There
This is a good thing. I'm pretty damn sure of it. So why does anyone care when the NRA starts stamping its feet like a two year old who doesn't get another Ritz cracker?
"Thanks to the Columbus City Council, 65,000 people will not be coming to your wonderful Greater Columbus Convention Center in 2007," Wayne LaPierre, the rifle association's executive vice president, said in a news conference here. "The only thing the City Council can expect out of their decision is the gratitude of those businesses in the city we go to instead."
Take your stupid fucking guns back to Tallahassee or Atlanta or Dallas. Why is it so wrong for a city to decide that it doesn't want the criminals to be carrying heavier artillery than its police force?
The NRA is stupid, stupid, stupid. Where's my kevlar vest?
"Thanks to the Columbus City Council, 65,000 people will not be coming to your wonderful Greater Columbus Convention Center in 2007," Wayne LaPierre, the rifle association's executive vice president, said in a news conference here. "The only thing the City Council can expect out of their decision is the gratitude of those businesses in the city we go to instead."
Take your stupid fucking guns back to Tallahassee or Atlanta or Dallas. Why is it so wrong for a city to decide that it doesn't want the criminals to be carrying heavier artillery than its police force?
The NRA is stupid, stupid, stupid. Where's my kevlar vest?
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Wednesday Annex (7/12)
I usually don't undercut my own posting, but these bites from Overheard in New York are too good to miss:
A blind Black man with a Star of David is holding court.
Black man: The Pope is a faggot. They molested my kids. I want to go to church, but I can't because they molested my kids...now all White people are faggots.
Hispanic guy #1: How come they have kids?
Black man: Silence, you will wait until I have finished speaking...can't no one hit the ball like Hank Aaron. That's why we all in prison and they trying to kill us, but we will kill them. Can't nobody sing like Luther Vandross.
Hispanic guy #1: But--
Black man: Wait until I have finished...now the Hispanic people, like Dominicans and Cubans are also the true Jews, and the lost tribes of Israel...now you may address me.
Hispanic guy #2: What about Black Puerto Ricans, are they from the lost tribe?
Black man: I can't stand Black Puerto Ricans!
--West Farms bus stop, The Bronx
Yuppie: If we just let them kill the Jews we wouldn't have this problem. Then we could buy oil for $6 a barrel.
--A train
Hobo: Excuse me, sir? You dropped some change.
Man: What? Where?
Hobo: Bam! In my cup!
--4th Avenue & 7th Street
Little girl: ...but Mom!
Mom: Say it one more time, motherfucker!
--Pathmark, Cherry Street
Girl #1: So when I was in Italy, I went to France.
Girl #2: What did you do there?
Girl #1: I went to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Girl #2: Still Italy.
Girl #1: Really?
Girl #2: Yeah. So what did you do in France?
Girl #1: I guess I didn't go to France, then...
--Toys R Us, Times Square
Crazy guy: And what do gay people do with the money they save on child support? The parade! They pay for the parade.
--53rd Street station
Guy on cell: No, I'm waiting for the ferry...No, not him; the boat that goes into the city.
--Staten Island Ferry Terminal, Staten Island
A blind Black man with a Star of David is holding court.
Black man: The Pope is a faggot. They molested my kids. I want to go to church, but I can't because they molested my kids...now all White people are faggots.
Hispanic guy #1: How come they have kids?
Black man: Silence, you will wait until I have finished speaking...can't no one hit the ball like Hank Aaron. That's why we all in prison and they trying to kill us, but we will kill them. Can't nobody sing like Luther Vandross.
Hispanic guy #1: But--
Black man: Wait until I have finished...now the Hispanic people, like Dominicans and Cubans are also the true Jews, and the lost tribes of Israel...now you may address me.
Hispanic guy #2: What about Black Puerto Ricans, are they from the lost tribe?
Black man: I can't stand Black Puerto Ricans!
--West Farms bus stop, The Bronx
Yuppie: If we just let them kill the Jews we wouldn't have this problem. Then we could buy oil for $6 a barrel.
--A train
Hobo: Excuse me, sir? You dropped some change.
Man: What? Where?
Hobo: Bam! In my cup!
--4th Avenue & 7th Street
Little girl: ...but Mom!
Mom: Say it one more time, motherfucker!
--Pathmark, Cherry Street
Girl #1: So when I was in Italy, I went to France.
Girl #2: What did you do there?
Girl #1: I went to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Girl #2: Still Italy.
Girl #1: Really?
Girl #2: Yeah. So what did you do in France?
Girl #1: I guess I didn't go to France, then...
--Toys R Us, Times Square
Crazy guy: And what do gay people do with the money they save on child support? The parade! They pay for the parade.
--53rd Street station
Guy on cell: No, I'm waiting for the ferry...No, not him; the boat that goes into the city.
--Staten Island Ferry Terminal, Staten Island
Wednesday Wasting (7/13)
Okay, before you jump all over my shit for being so lazy with posts, let me just say this: a whole bunch of new information has come to light, man, and if you were privy to the new shit, you'd be a lot more forgiving.
That said, let's move forward. I can't talk about any of our job situations, except to say that Karen' stress level has gone into the red. Not good.
Those who know, know that we have something interesting in the works. We are currently doing the groundwork, so the timeframe is yet to be determined.
My current dissatisfaction with my life has brought me back to Green Day, of all things. I didn't identify with all the angst and pissed off energy of Dookie when it came out but I did like the music. Now, stuck in traffic every day, I really understand and enjoy the frustration that lurks below the catchy punk-pop hooks. I like listening to it very loud. It helps.
As most people will identify themselves as a good driver, most will say that they are music lovers. Perhaps it's growing up, perhaps it's my new jaded nature, but 98% of music isn't doing it for me anymore. I'm just not a music lover. There are a few artists that I still have great respect for and will pay to see. Most music passes me with little to no impact...it's not interesting.
One of the most interesting music experiences came while working at the Hard Rock Cafe on summer. About once a day, Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" would come on the screens and speakers. No matter how chaotic the guests and staff were prior, the first notes of the piano would inspire a rapid calming action. The servers slowed down, guests relaxed immensely, and everyone seemed to be in agreement...if only for a few minutes. Most people would sing along and watch the video which included clips from Cameron Crowe's "Almost Famous". Every time. It was creepy yet wonderful.
I'm going to scroll through the iPod for Tiny Dancer...maybe it will get me through the morning.
That said, let's move forward. I can't talk about any of our job situations, except to say that Karen' stress level has gone into the red. Not good.
Those who know, know that we have something interesting in the works. We are currently doing the groundwork, so the timeframe is yet to be determined.
My current dissatisfaction with my life has brought me back to Green Day, of all things. I didn't identify with all the angst and pissed off energy of Dookie when it came out but I did like the music. Now, stuck in traffic every day, I really understand and enjoy the frustration that lurks below the catchy punk-pop hooks. I like listening to it very loud. It helps.
As most people will identify themselves as a good driver, most will say that they are music lovers. Perhaps it's growing up, perhaps it's my new jaded nature, but 98% of music isn't doing it for me anymore. I'm just not a music lover. There are a few artists that I still have great respect for and will pay to see. Most music passes me with little to no impact...it's not interesting.
One of the most interesting music experiences came while working at the Hard Rock Cafe on summer. About once a day, Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" would come on the screens and speakers. No matter how chaotic the guests and staff were prior, the first notes of the piano would inspire a rapid calming action. The servers slowed down, guests relaxed immensely, and everyone seemed to be in agreement...if only for a few minutes. Most people would sing along and watch the video which included clips from Cameron Crowe's "Almost Famous". Every time. It was creepy yet wonderful.
I'm going to scroll through the iPod for Tiny Dancer...maybe it will get me through the morning.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Saturday Sensation 7/9
Uhh, yeah, I've been a little busy lately, sorry to be so out of touch. Here's what I've been up to.
Today:
9:00 - Dentist appointment. Five cavities? What the hell is that?
10:30 - 1:00 - Soup kitchen in Newark.
1:00 - 1:30 - Race back to Red Bank, fight the fucking shore traffic.
1:30 - 2:30 - Frantically clean house before guests arrive.
2:30 - 6:30 - Entertain guests at home, then at restaurant, then at home again.
6:30 - 9:00 - Talk business with our business partners. Hammer out the marketing strategy; still need to spend some time on the pricing.
9:00 - 10:00 - Stare blankly.
10:00 - present - Look at houses for sale while updating the photo galleries. Check them out if you are so inclined. www.pbase.com/brooksy
Now it is time for bed; we have plans for tomorrow to meet up with other friends. I also need to spend some time with Dreamweaver. Teaching myself from the book is a bit time intensive...and I promised this site would go live at the end of the month. I'm brilliant.
Today:
9:00 - Dentist appointment. Five cavities? What the hell is that?
10:30 - 1:00 - Soup kitchen in Newark.
1:00 - 1:30 - Race back to Red Bank, fight the fucking shore traffic.
1:30 - 2:30 - Frantically clean house before guests arrive.
2:30 - 6:30 - Entertain guests at home, then at restaurant, then at home again.
6:30 - 9:00 - Talk business with our business partners. Hammer out the marketing strategy; still need to spend some time on the pricing.
9:00 - 10:00 - Stare blankly.
10:00 - present - Look at houses for sale while updating the photo galleries. Check them out if you are so inclined. www.pbase.com/brooksy
Now it is time for bed; we have plans for tomorrow to meet up with other friends. I also need to spend some time with Dreamweaver. Teaching myself from the book is a bit time intensive...and I promised this site would go live at the end of the month. I'm brilliant.
Friday, July 01, 2005
One more Friday
Since I'm posting so much today, I thought I'd copy a few clips from www.OverheardInNewYork.com, one of the funniest websites I've ever read. The link is to your left. Your OTHER left.
A Black kid and his Hispanic girlfriend are arguing on the train. The kid is holding her in the seat and she is trying to rip off his shirt. The entire car is watching, as if it were a car wreck.
Hispanic girl: You're always showing off!
Black kid: What?
Hispanic girl: Get off me!
Black kid: Stop it!
Hispanic girl: Get off me!
Black passenger guy: Man, why's it always gotta be our people pulling this shit? You never see White people pulling this shit. You never see Chinese people pulling this shit. Man!
--C train
Girl #1: They named their kid Lotus?
Girl #2: That's kind of cool.
Girl #1: How?
Girl #2: Well, it's got good connotations, you know? I mean, you'd never meet a bitch named Lotus.
Girl #1: Yeah, but...weren't they, like, a plague?
--John Fluevog, Mulberry Street
Guy #1: Hey man, how you been?
Guy #2: Good, man.
Guy #1: What you been up to?
Guy #2: ...Sorry man, just spaced out.
Guy #1: That's cool, I am coked out of my mind right now anyway.
--Cobble Hill
A Black kid and his Hispanic girlfriend are arguing on the train. The kid is holding her in the seat and she is trying to rip off his shirt. The entire car is watching, as if it were a car wreck.
Hispanic girl: You're always showing off!
Black kid: What?
Hispanic girl: Get off me!
Black kid: Stop it!
Hispanic girl: Get off me!
Black passenger guy: Man, why's it always gotta be our people pulling this shit? You never see White people pulling this shit. You never see Chinese people pulling this shit. Man!
--C train
Girl #1: They named their kid Lotus?
Girl #2: That's kind of cool.
Girl #1: How?
Girl #2: Well, it's got good connotations, you know? I mean, you'd never meet a bitch named Lotus.
Girl #1: Yeah, but...weren't they, like, a plague?
--John Fluevog, Mulberry Street
Guy #1: Hey man, how you been?
Guy #2: Good, man.
Guy #1: What you been up to?
Guy #2: ...Sorry man, just spaced out.
Guy #1: That's cool, I am coked out of my mind right now anyway.
--Cobble Hill
More Friday, 7/1
-Karen called to say she's been looking at houses in Alabama. No. NO, no, NO, no, NO! How would I tell my parents? I'd rather explain the finer points of my sex life to a priest while riding a school bus packed with every teacher I've ever had.
Vendredi, el primo de julio.
-Holiday weekend is nigh. I can smell it, and it smells patriotic. To quote Apu, celebrate your country's independence by blowing up a small piece of it. Or did he say large piece? Hmm, my Simpsons recall is failing me.
-Karen's father will be in town tonight, and possibly tomorrow. I keep forgetting about this because I forget about most things. It's my defense mechanism against the onslaught of repetitive weeks. This way I can be refreshingly surprised by the smallest of events.
-There is a Carta meeting this weekend. As 25% stakeholder, I'm expected to be there with ideas. And basketball shoes.
-I realized, again, that I would love to stay in Red Bank. It's really a nice change from the Generica of most places. There is no Taco Bell or McDonald's in town, and the nearest Chili's/Applebees/Friday's/Outback is several miles away. The only chain on Broad St is a subdued Starbucks, new Coldstone Creamery, and easily missed Restoration Hardware. To buy a house here will require finding a stack of bearer bonds taped to the bottom of my couch. Didn't find any yesterday. I'll check again tonight.
-Managed to put some good pages down last night in between defending myself against a brutal attack on the VA boards. And no, that's not a basketball reference.
-Could I write a book? Yes. Would it be good? Maybe? Do I want to? Ask again later...
-Things that I'm considering, in random order:
*writing a book (didn't see that one coming?)
*going to law school after all
*being a teacher (summers to write)
*staying up all weekend to finish this script
*opening PS to finish those photos for a gallery show
*taking more pictures to adequately fill said show
*playing more poker for money
*risking financial ruin to shoot my own feature next summer
*never making a list like this again
*starting an indie film review zine (hate that word, zine)
-Karen's father will be in town tonight, and possibly tomorrow. I keep forgetting about this because I forget about most things. It's my defense mechanism against the onslaught of repetitive weeks. This way I can be refreshingly surprised by the smallest of events.
-There is a Carta meeting this weekend. As 25% stakeholder, I'm expected to be there with ideas. And basketball shoes.
-I realized, again, that I would love to stay in Red Bank. It's really a nice change from the Generica of most places. There is no Taco Bell or McDonald's in town, and the nearest Chili's/Applebees/Friday's/Outback is several miles away. The only chain on Broad St is a subdued Starbucks, new Coldstone Creamery, and easily missed Restoration Hardware. To buy a house here will require finding a stack of bearer bonds taped to the bottom of my couch. Didn't find any yesterday. I'll check again tonight.
-Managed to put some good pages down last night in between defending myself against a brutal attack on the VA boards. And no, that's not a basketball reference.
-Could I write a book? Yes. Would it be good? Maybe? Do I want to? Ask again later...
-Things that I'm considering, in random order:
*writing a book (didn't see that one coming?)
*going to law school after all
*being a teacher (summers to write)
*staying up all weekend to finish this script
*opening PS to finish those photos for a gallery show
*taking more pictures to adequately fill said show
*playing more poker for money
*risking financial ruin to shoot my own feature next summer
*never making a list like this again
*starting an indie film review zine (hate that word, zine)
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Tuesday Tuesday Tuesday 6/28
-Losing my fucking mind today.
-I probably need an attitude adjustment, at least that's what I've been told in the past. Not since the early 90's, but the situation is similar enough.
-Some people don't have to go through this...
-Just returned from lunch at Subway. After I got my sandwich and sat down, they quickly ran out of all bread except honey oat and wheat. A woman came in and looked at the bread selection.
"I'll have a footlong chicken bacon melt on Italian," she said.
"I'm sorry, we only have honey oat and wheat left," replied the courteous sandwich artist.
"Honey oat wheat?"
"No, honey oat or wheat."
"Do you have hearty Italian?"
"No, we only have honey oat or wheat."
"Do you have anything else?"
This is quite true. The sound of my eyes rolling probably echoed for blocks.
-I may have scared a few people in the building today. Everyday, I have an apple for breakfast. Due to my unfortunate childhood accident (so cold...), I am unable to bite into an apple with my front teeth. Naturally, I cut it into wedges before leaving for work.
Today, running later than normal, I didn't have time for such luxuries. Still wanting my apple, I grabbed the only clean tool out of the block: an 8 inch filet knife. Wrapped it with the granny smith and rushed to drop the wife at the train station. Got to work, cut my apple, ate it. Perfecto.
In between 8 and lunch, I started losing my mind and wishing for a meteor to fall from the gods and end my work day. Under much stress, I left for lunch carrying the knife (better to leave it in the car). In my slightly distracted state, I made it all the way to the parking lot before realizing that I had a serial killer's grip on the handle. From a wide enough angle, my scowl and deadly weapon probably looked good enough to call the cops over. I wasn't going to murder anyone, it just appeared that way. I swear.
-I probably need an attitude adjustment, at least that's what I've been told in the past. Not since the early 90's, but the situation is similar enough.
-Some people don't have to go through this...
-Just returned from lunch at Subway. After I got my sandwich and sat down, they quickly ran out of all bread except honey oat and wheat. A woman came in and looked at the bread selection.
"I'll have a footlong chicken bacon melt on Italian," she said.
"I'm sorry, we only have honey oat and wheat left," replied the courteous sandwich artist.
"Honey oat wheat?"
"No, honey oat or wheat."
"Do you have hearty Italian?"
"No, we only have honey oat or wheat."
"Do you have anything else?"
This is quite true. The sound of my eyes rolling probably echoed for blocks.
-I may have scared a few people in the building today. Everyday, I have an apple for breakfast. Due to my unfortunate childhood accident (so cold...), I am unable to bite into an apple with my front teeth. Naturally, I cut it into wedges before leaving for work.
Today, running later than normal, I didn't have time for such luxuries. Still wanting my apple, I grabbed the only clean tool out of the block: an 8 inch filet knife. Wrapped it with the granny smith and rushed to drop the wife at the train station. Got to work, cut my apple, ate it. Perfecto.
In between 8 and lunch, I started losing my mind and wishing for a meteor to fall from the gods and end my work day. Under much stress, I left for lunch carrying the knife (better to leave it in the car). In my slightly distracted state, I made it all the way to the parking lot before realizing that I had a serial killer's grip on the handle. From a wide enough angle, my scowl and deadly weapon probably looked good enough to call the cops over. I wasn't going to murder anyone, it just appeared that way. I swear.
Monday, June 27, 2005
More Monday for the offering
-Winter is the time for work; summer for play. This is the message ingrained on my psyche by years of experience. It is once again summer, and I am trapped.
Most people tend to romanticize the past and I am no exception. Last summer was a whirlwind of planning and travel for the wedding and honeymoon. There isn't a question in my mind; I would trade anything to go back.
-Before that was 2003, a summer Karen and I spent in the tiny spare room of my mother's house in Buffalo. No air conditioning, barely enough room for two of us on the bed. I loved it. She worked at a local restaurant, I worked at the Hard Rock Cafe. We spent warm nights in the city with friends, ate our favorite foods, and I proposed to her on the marble steps of Albright-Knox. A summer of magic.
-In 2002 Karen lived with her mother and with friends in New Jersey. I went to Buffalo and worked at the Hard Rock. Getting there was a 30 minute drive along the Niagara River under a beautiful summer sky. The work was hard and money adequate. This was before my friends had 'real' jobs; we spent so many mornings at the $8 golf course and so many late nights at Matt's apartment, playing video games and hanging out. One night, at Holly's Parkside house, we got pulled into a late night game of croquet in Delaware Park. We went over and under the wrought iron fence to utilize the well manicured croquet and bocce lawns. Under the lights and through the dew we swung mallets until park security showed up. A few minutes of making nice and we get off with a warning, and he didn't throw us out. The best night of that summer was my impulsive drive to NJ to see my future wife. I showed up, unannounced, to spend two days with her and her friends. The following school year proved to be the absolute low point of my life and relationship, yet that late night burn over to the Jersey state will always stick out on the highlight reel of life.
-Now, summer of 2005. I don't recognize my own life. I have Karen, and that's the most important thing, but neither of us are happy with how things are working out. You say it's our first year working, and the dues need to be paid. Yes, but what is the reward? More money and more work? Perhaps I need to look at the fine print again. She's miserable, I'm out of energy. How do you add kids to this mix?
-I sit here, watching the minutes of my lunch hour tick down to zero and I can't help staring at the rain soaked window. In my former life I wouldn't hesitate to venture into the warm drops and hit golf balls. "The rain gets harder, making the 250 yard marker hard to read. Water rolls from my forehead to my nose, pauses for a moment before plummeting to the green turf between my feet. I keep my head down, adjust my grip for the water and pull the driver back, slowly at first. At the apex, I switch directions and pull the club along its path, never taking my eyes off the ball. The rain thunders down as the club head connects with the ball, launching it into the distance where it will fight vainly against the falling water to maintain its loft. I tee up another ball, soaked." Now, if you could see this in my head, you'd hear a song by the Shins and much of my action would be in dramatic slow motion, including several insert shots of rain drops splashing against the club head and turf mat. I could shoot this in a day, and it would be really fucking good, because I am that good. And I'm doing what with my life?
-I won't do any of this. My Polo shirt and Nautica khakis would be soaked; I'd have to sit in my cube like this...and the soundtrack to that part of my day wouldn't have nearly the dramatic effect. And is life about anything other than dramatic effect? That's all we want, to know that someone else feels the same thing that we do; that maybe for a moment we can be something other than alone.
Most people tend to romanticize the past and I am no exception. Last summer was a whirlwind of planning and travel for the wedding and honeymoon. There isn't a question in my mind; I would trade anything to go back.
-Before that was 2003, a summer Karen and I spent in the tiny spare room of my mother's house in Buffalo. No air conditioning, barely enough room for two of us on the bed. I loved it. She worked at a local restaurant, I worked at the Hard Rock Cafe. We spent warm nights in the city with friends, ate our favorite foods, and I proposed to her on the marble steps of Albright-Knox. A summer of magic.
-In 2002 Karen lived with her mother and with friends in New Jersey. I went to Buffalo and worked at the Hard Rock. Getting there was a 30 minute drive along the Niagara River under a beautiful summer sky. The work was hard and money adequate. This was before my friends had 'real' jobs; we spent so many mornings at the $8 golf course and so many late nights at Matt's apartment, playing video games and hanging out. One night, at Holly's Parkside house, we got pulled into a late night game of croquet in Delaware Park. We went over and under the wrought iron fence to utilize the well manicured croquet and bocce lawns. Under the lights and through the dew we swung mallets until park security showed up. A few minutes of making nice and we get off with a warning, and he didn't throw us out. The best night of that summer was my impulsive drive to NJ to see my future wife. I showed up, unannounced, to spend two days with her and her friends. The following school year proved to be the absolute low point of my life and relationship, yet that late night burn over to the Jersey state will always stick out on the highlight reel of life.
-Now, summer of 2005. I don't recognize my own life. I have Karen, and that's the most important thing, but neither of us are happy with how things are working out. You say it's our first year working, and the dues need to be paid. Yes, but what is the reward? More money and more work? Perhaps I need to look at the fine print again. She's miserable, I'm out of energy. How do you add kids to this mix?
-I sit here, watching the minutes of my lunch hour tick down to zero and I can't help staring at the rain soaked window. In my former life I wouldn't hesitate to venture into the warm drops and hit golf balls. "The rain gets harder, making the 250 yard marker hard to read. Water rolls from my forehead to my nose, pauses for a moment before plummeting to the green turf between my feet. I keep my head down, adjust my grip for the water and pull the driver back, slowly at first. At the apex, I switch directions and pull the club along its path, never taking my eyes off the ball. The rain thunders down as the club head connects with the ball, launching it into the distance where it will fight vainly against the falling water to maintain its loft. I tee up another ball, soaked." Now, if you could see this in my head, you'd hear a song by the Shins and much of my action would be in dramatic slow motion, including several insert shots of rain drops splashing against the club head and turf mat. I could shoot this in a day, and it would be really fucking good, because I am that good. And I'm doing what with my life?
-I won't do any of this. My Polo shirt and Nautica khakis would be soaked; I'd have to sit in my cube like this...and the soundtrack to that part of my day wouldn't have nearly the dramatic effect. And is life about anything other than dramatic effect? That's all we want, to know that someone else feels the same thing that we do; that maybe for a moment we can be something other than alone.
Monday Malaise 6/27
-Another weekend, over. Another paradise, lost. While driving home from work last Wednesday I saw a disturbing sight in the water off one of the larger bridges of my commute. Out there, in the channel, were sailboats. And they were sailing. I spend my whole week in a four sided beige hell and some ass-clown is spending the day sailing? Where is the justice? I previously spoke of a blue collar romance, but I'm getting greedier by the minute; I want to spend my days sailing or golfing or spitting on poor people or whatever these rich folk do. I can't beat 'em, so I think I'll join 'em. Now I just need some help on the 'joining' process.
-I forgot to mention this tidbit from the Yankee's game: outside the bleacher entrance (we had real seats, thank you very much), I nearly bumped into a gang of orthodox jewish teenage boys. And they were leaning against the wall and smoking. Does this strike anyone else as hypocritical? You can't eat pork, can't keep meat and milk in the same room, can't flush toilets on holidays, yet sucking down the cancerous tar of North Carolina's finest is kosher? On that logic I would expect to see a group of nuns shooting dice against the outside of Madison Square Garden.
-We took my dad to New York for a quick tour of the city on Saturday afternoon. Did the usual circuit of chinatown, city hall, tribeca, downtown, the village, midtown, upper east side, and central park. Once again I fell madly in love with the West Village and swore that I would live there for some period of my life, even if it's short. Stopped to see Russell and his new abode on W 61st. Small by real standards, but somewhat above average for what he's paying and location. Small problem with the hallways though; at 3-4 feet wide, moving in furniture would be a real bitch. Then again, moving furniture up to the fourth floor without an elevator might suck just as bad. Even though it was upper 90's in the shade, the day was a success.
-Now it's time to swallow my sanity and get through the day. It's like nails on a fucking chalkboard.
-I forgot to mention this tidbit from the Yankee's game: outside the bleacher entrance (we had real seats, thank you very much), I nearly bumped into a gang of orthodox jewish teenage boys. And they were leaning against the wall and smoking. Does this strike anyone else as hypocritical? You can't eat pork, can't keep meat and milk in the same room, can't flush toilets on holidays, yet sucking down the cancerous tar of North Carolina's finest is kosher? On that logic I would expect to see a group of nuns shooting dice against the outside of Madison Square Garden.
-We took my dad to New York for a quick tour of the city on Saturday afternoon. Did the usual circuit of chinatown, city hall, tribeca, downtown, the village, midtown, upper east side, and central park. Once again I fell madly in love with the West Village and swore that I would live there for some period of my life, even if it's short. Stopped to see Russell and his new abode on W 61st. Small by real standards, but somewhat above average for what he's paying and location. Small problem with the hallways though; at 3-4 feet wide, moving in furniture would be a real bitch. Then again, moving furniture up to the fourth floor without an elevator might suck just as bad. Even though it was upper 90's in the shade, the day was a success.
-Now it's time to swallow my sanity and get through the day. It's like nails on a fucking chalkboard.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Freakin' Friday 6/24
-Whew, that was a long night. Went to the Yankees game with my Dad last night; had a great time. Tickets, free. Parking, $12. Two sodas, one hotdog, one pretzel, $18.50. Taking my Dad to Yankees stadium for the first time, priceless.
-There were four guys sitting behind us that didn't shut up. Thankfully they were 30-something contractors from Lawn G'Island and it was hilarious to hear them bicker. Definitely the kind of stuff you can't make up.
The guy on the aisle was named Blubber, because he was huge. So big that he had to have the aisle on one side and an empty seat on the other. Yankee Stadium seats aren't the most accommodating, so this guy might find himself paying for two tickets next time. Can you imagine dropping a couple hundred bucks on World Series tickets and having to sit next some guy already using half your seat?
The stadium vendors quickly realized that these guys were a gold mine. They didn't pass on a single thing, except for the guy selling soda. Thirty dollar rounds of beer, $5 Crackerjack, $6 peanuts, $4 hot dogs, more beer...it didn't matter. They must have dropped $150 on snacks. You could have sold them anything:
"Timeshares, get your timeshares."
"Yo, we'll take four."
"Human kidneys, human kidneys, who wants a kidney."
"Hey pal, two each over here."
"Angel dust, get positively destroyed on Angel Dust."
"Buddy, up here, set us up with a taste."
Blubber was by far the most vocal and my only regret is that I didn't have anything to record them with. Here are my favorite bits (that I can remember):
"Look at that, the (girl in the) pink hat. Yo, I bet that bitch has a stinky box."
(Discussing a major league pitcher their friend knows) "He got divorced and the bitch took him for a fuckin' ride. But you should see the whore he's got now. Fuckin' incredible."
"What, you seen this bitch?"
"I seen her picture."
(Discussing a friend named Underwear, who apparently came into some money) "And you know that light blue Pontiac? He paid for that. You know Dawn Fratangelo? He bought her car and put teeth in her head. Right into her fuckin' jaw."
-There were four guys sitting behind us that didn't shut up. Thankfully they were 30-something contractors from Lawn G'Island and it was hilarious to hear them bicker. Definitely the kind of stuff you can't make up.
The guy on the aisle was named Blubber, because he was huge. So big that he had to have the aisle on one side and an empty seat on the other. Yankee Stadium seats aren't the most accommodating, so this guy might find himself paying for two tickets next time. Can you imagine dropping a couple hundred bucks on World Series tickets and having to sit next some guy already using half your seat?
The stadium vendors quickly realized that these guys were a gold mine. They didn't pass on a single thing, except for the guy selling soda. Thirty dollar rounds of beer, $5 Crackerjack, $6 peanuts, $4 hot dogs, more beer...it didn't matter. They must have dropped $150 on snacks. You could have sold them anything:
"Timeshares, get your timeshares."
"Yo, we'll take four."
"Human kidneys, human kidneys, who wants a kidney."
"Hey pal, two each over here."
"Angel dust, get positively destroyed on Angel Dust."
"Buddy, up here, set us up with a taste."
Blubber was by far the most vocal and my only regret is that I didn't have anything to record them with. Here are my favorite bits (that I can remember):
"Look at that, the (girl in the) pink hat. Yo, I bet that bitch has a stinky box."
(Discussing a major league pitcher their friend knows) "He got divorced and the bitch took him for a fuckin' ride. But you should see the whore he's got now. Fuckin' incredible."
"What, you seen this bitch?"
"I seen her picture."
(Discussing a friend named Underwear, who apparently came into some money) "And you know that light blue Pontiac? He paid for that. You know Dawn Fratangelo? He bought her car and put teeth in her head. Right into her fuckin' jaw."
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Wednesday Wealth (6/22)
-I don't do this often, but take a look at this article in New York Magazine: Con Man. Long, but very interesting.
-More later.
-It's later, and it took me 110 minutes to drive home. Fantastic. What did I do with Kevorkian's number? It was here somewhere...
-More later.
-It's later, and it took me 110 minutes to drive home. Fantastic. What did I do with Kevorkian's number? It was here somewhere...
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Tuesday Tussle (6/21)
-Dad gets here on Thursday. We're going straight to the Yankees game from my office. He is more excited than I think I've ever seen him. Apparently he's some sort of closeted Yanks fan. Who knew?
-I sat Gunfighter at lunch today. Subway can be a dangerous place. Confused? Good, class is about to begin for those who don't know. The rest of you can take five or skip to the next bullet point.
When you enter a room and are faced with a wide variety of potential seating areas, you are making unconscious choices that say a lot about your personality. Imagine a high school cafeteria with one main door. You enter holding your PBJ and Snapple. Where do you sit?
If you sit in the seat closest to, and facing the door, you are a greeter. Not like Wal-Mart, but close. You want people to see you and you want to see everyone who enters. If you sit in the same seat, facing away from the door, you are a monitor (see: lunch lady). It's more important for you to see what's going than for people to see you on their way in. You are inquisitive, or maybe even a nosy shit.
If you sit in the dead center of the room, regardless of direction, you are desperate for contact. You probably can't shut up and have to be the literal center of attention.
If you take a seat in the farthest 1/3 of the room, facing the door, you are practicing gunfighter style. You see who's come in and where they go; you are ready for anything. A variation is sitting in the farthest corner from the door. This is called true gunfighter. You are a bad mo'fo' encouraging some ill shit. If someone has a grudge, you are clearly in a vulnerable position and an attack is likely.
The last position is when you take a seat farthest from the door, facing a wall or corner. You don't want to look at anyone, but you want them to look at you. This is referred to as "God is Dead", named for a friend of mine with a penchant for depressing German philosophy. You are not someone to be trifled with.
Class dismissed.
-Now I have to go...I shouldn't admit this, but I'm going to watch the Hilton reality show. Why do I fall for this crap?
-I sat Gunfighter at lunch today. Subway can be a dangerous place. Confused? Good, class is about to begin for those who don't know. The rest of you can take five or skip to the next bullet point.
When you enter a room and are faced with a wide variety of potential seating areas, you are making unconscious choices that say a lot about your personality. Imagine a high school cafeteria with one main door. You enter holding your PBJ and Snapple. Where do you sit?
If you sit in the seat closest to, and facing the door, you are a greeter. Not like Wal-Mart, but close. You want people to see you and you want to see everyone who enters. If you sit in the same seat, facing away from the door, you are a monitor (see: lunch lady). It's more important for you to see what's going than for people to see you on their way in. You are inquisitive, or maybe even a nosy shit.
If you sit in the dead center of the room, regardless of direction, you are desperate for contact. You probably can't shut up and have to be the literal center of attention.
If you take a seat in the farthest 1/3 of the room, facing the door, you are practicing gunfighter style. You see who's come in and where they go; you are ready for anything. A variation is sitting in the farthest corner from the door. This is called true gunfighter. You are a bad mo'fo' encouraging some ill shit. If someone has a grudge, you are clearly in a vulnerable position and an attack is likely.
The last position is when you take a seat farthest from the door, facing a wall or corner. You don't want to look at anyone, but you want them to look at you. This is referred to as "God is Dead", named for a friend of mine with a penchant for depressing German philosophy. You are not someone to be trifled with.
Class dismissed.
-Now I have to go...I shouldn't admit this, but I'm going to watch the Hilton reality show. Why do I fall for this crap?
Monday, June 20, 2005
Monday Mania (6/20)
Remembering the already lost weekend: Kevin and I discussed a the romance of a blue collar life. It's fun to imagine working somewhere remotely near your home, punching the clock at 5, home by 5:20. Play with the kids, presumably drink a beer, basically spend time with your family for once instead of the commuters. It's a bit fantastical though; I don't want to explain to my kids why they will have 100k of student loan debt because I felt like having a less stressful job. Or why we can't take vacations like some of their friends. There is no romance to juggling bills and having to tap into your retirement account to cover the roofing work.
So what's the alternative? Leave at 6 in the morning and come home at 7. In bed by 10. That's three hours to spend between your wife and kids. You can make a lot of money though, take care of the ones you love. Seems like I'm chasing my own tail.
I should have gone to law school and became a suburban divorce lawyer. 40-50 hours a week, decent living, and enough balance that my kids will recognize me.
Where the hell is this post going?
So what's the alternative? Leave at 6 in the morning and come home at 7. In bed by 10. That's three hours to spend between your wife and kids. You can make a lot of money though, take care of the ones you love. Seems like I'm chasing my own tail.
I should have gone to law school and became a suburban divorce lawyer. 40-50 hours a week, decent living, and enough balance that my kids will recognize me.
Where the hell is this post going?
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Weekend Uptime 6/19
-I took a good look at my own under-arm hair today, and, I have to say, I'm a little freaked out. There isn't a good reason for this feeling. Just random discomfort with a physical feature that I should be used to by now. Could be worse, I could have hair in all similar crevice like areas such as between my fingers and toes. Maybe I'll skip dinner...lunch is creeping back into my mouth.
-Had a great Saturday. Slept in fairly long for a change. We're supposed to head over to Kevin and Jenny's at 2 to show them the samples. Problem is that we still haven't received one of the main ingredients in the mail. Mail comes, no package from Utah. Filthy stinking mormons. With an hour til departure, I find myself driving up and down the shore to search the craft retailers for the missing item. No luck, show must go on.
-We hang out and do our usual shooting-of-the-shit and some snacking. Jenny made a delicious cheese and bean and some other stuff type dip. And wings, and pizza bagels. And not only am I getting husky (fat), I'm totally destroying my no-dairy trial diet. Sorry doc.
-After dinner we go to play basketball. Kevin and I are shooting terribly and the wives won't stop teasing us about it. Unfair. Neither of us have played since last year. Have a heart. We start playing one on one...and he's beating me. All four games were close, but I only won one of them. Nish nish. He couldn't stop my outside shot but I couldn't stop his drive. My complete lack of endurance and the aforementioned delicious dip's insistence on an encore performance slowed my defensive step. Hey, this is streetball, nobody plays D.
-The doc had me on a no-dairy diet and I broke it. I need a 'you're getting flubbly diet'. I'm not overweight on the whole; I just have too much of my weight centered around my middle. Only ten pounds off my fighting weight...I can lose it.
-The link to my pictures has changed. Look to the left side of the screen if you need to. There are some new ones including my first effort into digital BW.
-Aight, let's all pretend that I don't have to go back to work tomorrow. Maybe if we all believe hard enough it will come true.
-Had a great Saturday. Slept in fairly long for a change. We're supposed to head over to Kevin and Jenny's at 2 to show them the samples. Problem is that we still haven't received one of the main ingredients in the mail. Mail comes, no package from Utah. Filthy stinking mormons. With an hour til departure, I find myself driving up and down the shore to search the craft retailers for the missing item. No luck, show must go on.
-We hang out and do our usual shooting-of-the-shit and some snacking. Jenny made a delicious cheese and bean and some other stuff type dip. And wings, and pizza bagels. And not only am I getting husky (fat), I'm totally destroying my no-dairy trial diet. Sorry doc.
-After dinner we go to play basketball. Kevin and I are shooting terribly and the wives won't stop teasing us about it. Unfair. Neither of us have played since last year. Have a heart. We start playing one on one...and he's beating me. All four games were close, but I only won one of them. Nish nish. He couldn't stop my outside shot but I couldn't stop his drive. My complete lack of endurance and the aforementioned delicious dip's insistence on an encore performance slowed my defensive step. Hey, this is streetball, nobody plays D.
-The doc had me on a no-dairy diet and I broke it. I need a 'you're getting flubbly diet'. I'm not overweight on the whole; I just have too much of my weight centered around my middle. Only ten pounds off my fighting weight...I can lose it.
-The link to my pictures has changed. Look to the left side of the screen if you need to. There are some new ones including my first effort into digital BW.
-Aight, let's all pretend that I don't have to go back to work tomorrow. Maybe if we all believe hard enough it will come true.
Friday, June 17, 2005
More Friday
Did I say that I don't like baseball, except at the park? Well the boss just gave me Yankees tickets for next week. Apparently I am aligned with the universe. Let's see how far this will go:
I don't like Ferrai F430's, except in black.
We'll see what happens.
Today's vocab word:
execrable
1. Extremely inferior; very bad
2. Unequivocally detestable
3. Deserving a curse
The traffic on my daily commute is execrable.
I don't like Ferrai F430's, except in black.
We'll see what happens.
Today's vocab word:
execrable
1. Extremely inferior; very bad
2. Unequivocally detestable
3. Deserving a curse
The traffic on my daily commute is execrable.
Friday Fantasy 6/17
My fantasy is that this weekend never ends.
Yes, I'm blogstipated. I'll try to spend some time updating when I get a chance.
I only like baseball if I'm at the park, and I hate when I get anything sticky on my hands while driving. I'm afraid it will spread to the steering wheel and I can't live with that.
Yes, I'm blogstipated. I'll try to spend some time updating when I get a chance.
I only like baseball if I'm at the park, and I hate when I get anything sticky on my hands while driving. I'm afraid it will spread to the steering wheel and I can't live with that.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Thursday the 16th, TPS reports?
-Someone came into the office today to clean the water cooler. There's a problem. I had filled my water bottle an hour before. In six months of working here, this is the first time I've seen this thing being cleaned. How often do they do it?
Let's assume they last cleaned it in June of 2004. And that might be perfectly okay. The water cooler has gotten progressively dirtier every day since then. Which brings me to the real problem; I'm drinking the dirtiest water possible. The water will never be dirtier than just before it is cleaned. Do you follow?
Let's assume they last cleaned it in June of 2004. And that might be perfectly okay. The water cooler has gotten progressively dirtier every day since then. Which brings me to the real problem; I'm drinking the dirtiest water possible. The water will never be dirtier than just before it is cleaned. Do you follow?
Friday, June 10, 2005
Thankless Thursday
-The days are blending together...can't remember...never ever.
-Spent a total of three hours on the phone with Sallie Mae. They promised me a chunky cash rebate on my student loans. Now they say I didn't choose the correct email notification preferences and I'm now disqualified. My reaction? "I'm being screwed out of a thousand dollars because I didn't want your spam? Fine, spam me. I'll give you my email, my mother's email, and my grandmother's email. I'll even give you Jesus Christ's personal email (Google mail), just give me my money. Send us all newsletters and ads for products that you think we might be interested in; fuck it, you can send me viruses. Send gay porn, I don't care. But send my fucking money!"
-Watched Ocean's 12. Not as fun as the first, but well done in its own way. The story is alright, not as fresh as the first, and the locations are great. Vincent Cassell is, as always, a badass. The biggest thing lacking was the enthusiasm of the actors. It just didn't have the same spark. Are they world weary? Is it like when Saved By The Bell goes to the beach for the summer?
-Word of the day:
subsume (v) 1: contain or include; "This new system subsumes the old one"
-Spent a total of three hours on the phone with Sallie Mae. They promised me a chunky cash rebate on my student loans. Now they say I didn't choose the correct email notification preferences and I'm now disqualified. My reaction? "I'm being screwed out of a thousand dollars because I didn't want your spam? Fine, spam me. I'll give you my email, my mother's email, and my grandmother's email. I'll even give you Jesus Christ's personal email (Google mail), just give me my money. Send us all newsletters and ads for products that you think we might be interested in; fuck it, you can send me viruses. Send gay porn, I don't care. But send my fucking money!"
-Watched Ocean's 12. Not as fun as the first, but well done in its own way. The story is alright, not as fresh as the first, and the locations are great. Vincent Cassell is, as always, a badass. The biggest thing lacking was the enthusiasm of the actors. It just didn't have the same spark. Are they world weary? Is it like when Saved By The Bell goes to the beach for the summer?
-Word of the day:
subsume (v) 1: contain or include; "This new system subsumes the old one"
Wednesday Wuthering (6/8)
-A little sleepy today. Okay, a lot.
-Word of the day: apprise (v) To give notice to; inform: apprised us of our right to wear tight pants.
-Word of the day: apprise (v) To give notice to; inform: apprised us of our right to wear tight pants.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Dateline Tilsday (6/7)
First thing this morning: Jamie calls to say that her flight out of Philly didn't leave until well after midnight. Poor girl...she spent the entire day in a plane without going anywhere. She called from her car, nearly home after arriving in Charlotte in the middle of the night. I would understand if she chose never to fly commercial again. Continental sucks...just plain shit. Every experience I've personally had with them was subpar, and now this.
Exhausted...I need a week in the Mediterranean to unwind, to really find my center.
While I'm thinking about it, I need some feedback. Both my wife and sister declared that dropping the deuce in a public bathroom is unacceptable under any terms. I think it is a somewhat necessary evil. Perhaps I'm too much of a regular guy but I can't modify my bodily functions to wait for 6:30pm and home-court advantage. There, I've said it. I drop the deuce at work. It's unavoidable. Why should I be declared an untouchable for such a human condition?
The confusion is that both these women in my life use the public commode for #1, but shun part deux. They are already sitting down...so where is the decency disconnect that makes the second stop so taboo? It should be worse for me; I can get in and out without having to touch anything but myself, and I will personally attest to my own sanitation. In my eyes, touching a public doorknob is dirtier than taking a leak.
Now, I was unreasonably terrified of throwing up in any place other than my bathroom. That goes for school, work, rest stop, mosque, Dunkin' Donuts, etc. That was my big hangup. No chunder. No sir.
Exhausted...I need a week in the Mediterranean to unwind, to really find my center.
While I'm thinking about it, I need some feedback. Both my wife and sister declared that dropping the deuce in a public bathroom is unacceptable under any terms. I think it is a somewhat necessary evil. Perhaps I'm too much of a regular guy but I can't modify my bodily functions to wait for 6:30pm and home-court advantage. There, I've said it. I drop the deuce at work. It's unavoidable. Why should I be declared an untouchable for such a human condition?
The confusion is that both these women in my life use the public commode for #1, but shun part deux. They are already sitting down...so where is the decency disconnect that makes the second stop so taboo? It should be worse for me; I can get in and out without having to touch anything but myself, and I will personally attest to my own sanitation. In my eyes, touching a public doorknob is dirtier than taking a leak.
Now, I was unreasonably terrified of throwing up in any place other than my bathroom. That goes for school, work, rest stop, mosque, Dunkin' Donuts, etc. That was my big hangup. No chunder. No sir.
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