At work today, Ryan couldn't leave to get lunch because he was so backed up with orders, so I offered to call in and pick up some grub for him. Ryan's a real big kid, and I should have known how the proceedings would go but, even still, I was put off by his selection and the way he went about consuming it. This is hardly noteworthy stuff, but since when have I provided you with anything noteworthy? You're free to back out of this page any time you want; I'm basically writing this for myself so I'll have a written account of what transpired. However, if you're curious to know the answer to these two questions---1. What did Ryan have me order on his behalf? and 2. How did he go about eating it?--- then stick around because your curiosity will be satisfied.
So he had me call the Portugese sub-shop down the block from us and had me order him a large steak n' cheese sub with peppers and onions; ketchup and mustard; and extra cheese. I asked him if he wanted a can of chili on it, too, but after a minute of deliberation, he decided that adding chili might be a bit too much, even for him . I would have preferred it if he had desired something less gas-inducing, like toast, because the bathroom is less than three feet away from my desk. I don't think I need to elaborate.
He ate the sub next to me while I was at the computer working. I didn't watch him eat, because listening to his soggy chewing, lip smacking, and burping was bad enough. He sounded like a pack of hyenas going to town on a gazelle's carcass soaked in gravy, but with less manners. Four minutes hadn't gone by when he finished devouring the sub. It was an awe-inducing and disgusting display. I hope never to witness him eat again. I almost did, though, because when he finished inhaling the sub, he said he enjoyed it so much that he might order another one. My only thought to that statement was, to quote Murtaw, Danny Glover's crotchety detective in the Lethal Weapon movies, "I'm getting too old for this shit".
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
And if he tells us all he knows, about the way his river flows...
Around four o'clock today, my boss informed me that Al, our driver, screwed up and went to a location other than the one he was supposed to go to for a delivery. Consequently, Audaire and I had to make Al's deliveries for him, deep in the heart of Boston. The first place we went to was an easy drop off: sixty folding chairs and two small card tables on the first floor of a building. The second location was a pick up of eighteen conference tables at Anthony's Pier 4 about ten minutes away. When we got there, we were told the tables were on the second floor. So up and down we went, 'midst the upper class, with our heads bowed in meekness, low-born wretches through and through. The place had a wall of fame that extended all the way up the stairs to floor above, and I was equally impressed and disgusted by all the framed pictures of aging, wealthy, and white celebrities, political figures, and business magnates. The photo of Vincent Price standing next to the proprietor of the joint was my favorite, only because I learned that he was much taller than I thought he was.
We got back to work around six and I was dying to get home, but through some act of sorcery or plain bad luck, it took me twice as long to arrive there. Somehow, I ended up back at work after sifting through traffic and being jostled against my will from lane to lane by the swarming rage of fed up and dangerous drivers. Nervewracking and puzzling, butI kept my center and made it home eventually and read the letter my grandmother had sent me.
What I thought would be a nice letter from my Nana turned out to be a guilt trip about me not calling my parents enough. I don't call my parents that much, I admit---maybe once every one or two weeks---but they don't call me that much either. I love my parents and enjoy talking with them, I just sometimes don't get around to calling. Odd letter. I must now officially be the black sheep of the family, because every one else is married, has kids, and does all the family stuff with vigor and glee. Ah, but I have a pure heart, and these matters can't affect me in any negative way. Rock on, self: no one can hate on you.
We got back to work around six and I was dying to get home, but through some act of sorcery or plain bad luck, it took me twice as long to arrive there. Somehow, I ended up back at work after sifting through traffic and being jostled against my will from lane to lane by the swarming rage of fed up and dangerous drivers. Nervewracking and puzzling, butI kept my center and made it home eventually and read the letter my grandmother had sent me.
What I thought would be a nice letter from my Nana turned out to be a guilt trip about me not calling my parents enough. I don't call my parents that much, I admit---maybe once every one or two weeks---but they don't call me that much either. I love my parents and enjoy talking with them, I just sometimes don't get around to calling. Odd letter. I must now officially be the black sheep of the family, because every one else is married, has kids, and does all the family stuff with vigor and glee. Ah, but I have a pure heart, and these matters can't affect me in any negative way. Rock on, self: no one can hate on you.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Back in Black again, and other musings
Sometimes it's not easy to convey thoughts in this manner-- there are occasions I feel that the filter that divides mind and page is murky and clogged-- and after re-reading my last post, two aspects of it jumped out at me in their need for clarity. One, I used the word racist quite a bit, mostly in reference to the joke, but all the same, I cringe seeing it bandied about so much. It somehow seems like a careless action to me, though I'm not precisely sure why. Probably because it's such a powerful word--in our culture, especially-- and it should be used with caution. I've seen too many instances where someone is unjustly labeled a racist and it doesn't sit well with me. So, if it seemed that by labeling what others regard as a harmless, silly joke, racist, I was being extreme in my assessment, I concur, though only partly. I think the joke, by it's very nature, can be classified as racist, but because the joke is weak, even by a bigot's standards, and lacks bite, perhaps I could have used a word that matched its strength. But I didn't because, frankly, I couldn't summon one that fit as well. I'll stick by the decision for now and won't edit the word out.
The other aspect of the post that jumped out at me was the tone. If I came off as being excessively grim, that wasn't my intention. And it wasn't my intention in the emails surrounding the joke. Although I didn't find much humor in it, except for the fact that it was so absurd, and didn't like certain people's reactions to it, I never lost sleep over it . It's not like I've never heard or told an off-color (no pun intended) joke before, but it's usually between close friends and the laughter that results is at the expense of the ignorance and stupidity of the joke itself. But if someone unfamiliar with us witnessed the telling and its aftermath, it would appear as if we were laughing at the subject of the joke. And I think Kronos' major mis-step was in sharing the joke with a large group of people.
--
I keep hearing that plaintive moaning coming from my landlord's apartment every night and my curiosity over it's source is deepening by the day. My landlord is an old woman who, from what I'm told, is sickly. It pains me to think the moaning I hear is the result of her ailments. I don't think that's what it is, though, because the sound is always at the same pitch and meter. And that's what makes me wonder if what I'm hearing is her electric can opener or the squeaky hinges of her bathroom door. It's a mystery. Are the Hardy Boy's still alive? Because if they are, I have a case for them.
--
Just because I know you're keeping a log of my activities, I'll give you a little taste of what I've been doing today.
- I woke up around nine and made an onion bagel. I spread butter on the bagel and added some garlic powder, the most crucial ingredient. To accompany that, I had some coffee with vanilla-chai cream and a glass of orange juice diluted with purified water.
-I checked my emails while I ate. Nothing worth mentioning.
- I got a sinking feeling in my stomach when I read an article about the impending Iran crisis. Gulf of Tonkin, anyone?
-I played a game of Sony basketball and ruined the other team. Life is good.
- I threw out the trash because apparently I'm the only one who lives here who has the strength to carry it out the door. I say this because often when someone empties the trash in the kitchen and replaces the bag, they leave the outgoing bag on the kitchen floor, ostensibly for me to throw out. It seems I was erroneous in the belief that throwing out the trash was a one person operation.
- I did some laundry this morning. My basement, where the washer and dryer are, is creepy, and sometimes I wonder if there is a demon lying in wait in one of the dark, cobwebby corners. They exist, you know. Demons, I mean. Everyone knows cobwebby corners exist.
- My obsessively driveway- bound neighbor, Steve, is outside my window once again, doing something or other to his car. If I had to guess, I would say he spends more than half his day, hanging out in his driveway. Maybe he has a demon in his basement and is afraid to go anywhere near it. If this is the case, then I encourage his outdoor activities and sympathize with his plight.
The other aspect of the post that jumped out at me was the tone. If I came off as being excessively grim, that wasn't my intention. And it wasn't my intention in the emails surrounding the joke. Although I didn't find much humor in it, except for the fact that it was so absurd, and didn't like certain people's reactions to it, I never lost sleep over it . It's not like I've never heard or told an off-color (no pun intended) joke before, but it's usually between close friends and the laughter that results is at the expense of the ignorance and stupidity of the joke itself. But if someone unfamiliar with us witnessed the telling and its aftermath, it would appear as if we were laughing at the subject of the joke. And I think Kronos' major mis-step was in sharing the joke with a large group of people.
--
I keep hearing that plaintive moaning coming from my landlord's apartment every night and my curiosity over it's source is deepening by the day. My landlord is an old woman who, from what I'm told, is sickly. It pains me to think the moaning I hear is the result of her ailments. I don't think that's what it is, though, because the sound is always at the same pitch and meter. And that's what makes me wonder if what I'm hearing is her electric can opener or the squeaky hinges of her bathroom door. It's a mystery. Are the Hardy Boy's still alive? Because if they are, I have a case for them.
--
Just because I know you're keeping a log of my activities, I'll give you a little taste of what I've been doing today.
- I woke up around nine and made an onion bagel. I spread butter on the bagel and added some garlic powder, the most crucial ingredient. To accompany that, I had some coffee with vanilla-chai cream and a glass of orange juice diluted with purified water.
-I checked my emails while I ate. Nothing worth mentioning.
- I got a sinking feeling in my stomach when I read an article about the impending Iran crisis. Gulf of Tonkin, anyone?
-I played a game of Sony basketball and ruined the other team. Life is good.
- I threw out the trash because apparently I'm the only one who lives here who has the strength to carry it out the door. I say this because often when someone empties the trash in the kitchen and replaces the bag, they leave the outgoing bag on the kitchen floor, ostensibly for me to throw out. It seems I was erroneous in the belief that throwing out the trash was a one person operation.
- I did some laundry this morning. My basement, where the washer and dryer are, is creepy, and sometimes I wonder if there is a demon lying in wait in one of the dark, cobwebby corners. They exist, you know. Demons, I mean. Everyone knows cobwebby corners exist.
- My obsessively driveway- bound neighbor, Steve, is outside my window once again, doing something or other to his car. If I had to guess, I would say he spends more than half his day, hanging out in his driveway. Maybe he has a demon in his basement and is afraid to go anywhere near it. If this is the case, then I encourage his outdoor activities and sympathize with his plight.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Back in Black
A friend of mine sent this joke out as a mass email the other day, much to my bewilderment. This friend, let's call him Kronos, never, and I mean never, does the mass email thing. He's not that type of guy. So, when he finally said to himself, "wow, here's a joke that just begs to be shared with every one I know", he probably should have thought about it for awhile before clicking the send button. Because what resulted was not very pretty.When I opened my email and saw the picture, I immediately saw that it was racist and wondered why Kronos decided to send it to everyone. Though I felt the joke was racist, I don't for a second think Kronos is. I had to believe that he didn't see how the joke played off an awful stereotype of black people, that race didn't factor into it at all. So I let it go and left it at that.
A while later, I was talking with Spira about it (she received the email, too) and she felt the same as I did. She decided to give Kronos shit about it and sent off an email saying she couldn't believe he had the nerve to send everyone a blatantly racist joke and that she was offended. It was all true except the being offended part. Almost immediately afterward, Kronos issued an apology to everyone who received the joke. He stated that his intention was not to offend anyone and in hindsight, he could see why people would be offended by the joke. Kronos is for the most part a sweet and thoughtful guy, and this was in keeping with his character. Spira sent him a personal email explaining that she was just razzing him and she wasn't really offended. It looked like that would be the end of it. Then Karen came along.
Karen, a friend of Kronos' that Spira, nor practically anyone on the mailing list knows, sent her an expletive-ridden, abusive email, in response to her initial one. She told her to basically keep her mouth shut and stop making Kronos feel bad for wanting to make people laugh. She went on and on and on. I guess she was going for the "Shock and Awe" effect that our military pulled off with such brilliance at the onset of the Gulf War, Part II. Spira doesn't cotton much to being bullied, so she went tit for tat and let this woman Karen have it.
In addition to attacking Spira in a personal email, Karen issued a PG-13 rated one to the rest of us on the mailing list. In it she told "the haters" to "grow up and shut up" if we can't take a joke and " to get over ourselves". Basically, she was telling everyone, Bill O'reilly style, to keep silent unless we agree with her. Oh, and she also went on to say no one would be offended if the joke involved Betty and Kip choking on chardonnay at the country club. Uhhh, yeahhh...... Like Spira, I don't cotton much to being bullied, so I sent out an email of my own for all to read.
I let her know I felt the joke was racist, but that I didn't think Kronos was. I told her I agreed with her that there is such a thing as being too PC, but not in this instance. I ended by saying that if she couldn't see the distinction between the Sheniqua joke and the country club scenario, than she should sign up for a racial sensitivity course. She responded with her typical fury.
I'm not of a mind to recount the contents of all the emails that were sent back and forth, because there were a bunch more, all between Karen and me or Karen and Spira. And in between the cracks of these was Kronos sending out one or two sentence emails ordering the three of us to cease and desist. No one did. Another friend chimed in and shared Karen's view that we should lighten up. We all make fun of her husbands' accent (he's British), she wrote, and no one says that's racist. I had two thoughts when I read her email: 1. that everyone makes fun of his accent is news to me and 2. British=black? I could see where she was coming from, and that's what bothered me. I had entered the Bizzarro world.
Spira and I were the only ones who spoke out about the racist nature of the joke. I began to wonder if we were being overly PC and that maybe we should take everyone's advice and lighten up. As I said earlier, I wasn't offended by the joke. I thought it was obnoxious and ridiculous, but it didn't hurt me. And why would it? I'm not black. I didn't think it was appropriate, though, and shouldn't have been shared with a group of people. A friend pointed out to me that if someone on the list had received the joke at their work email, they could be in some serious trouble.
What bothered me most about the whole affair was the fact that no one seemed to notice that the joke was racially insensitive, and if they did, it didn't bother them. Luke Warm stopped over my house after things had cooled down and I showed him the chain of emails. Luke's one of the most liberal, inclusive people I know, and I thought if anyone would see the truth of the joke, it would be him. He didn't see it. Not at all. He thought it was just making fun of someone's accent. My jaw dropped. I explained to him that it was playing off an old sterotype of black people, but he couldn't see it. By his demeanor, I could tell that he was in agreement with the rest of them that I should lighten up.
Kronos sent out a final email saying how disappointed he was in Spira, Karen, and me. Up until that point, he had gotten off easy, in my estimation. Any one of us could have called him out as a racist if we had wanted to, but no one did. And here he was, saying he was disappointed in us? I couldn't let that rest, so I wrote him a message and so did Spira, both of us letting him know we weren't thrilled with his holier than thou shtick.
There's plenty more to this saga, but I don't have the energy to invest any more time in it. Maybe I'll repost some of the emails that went around, because some of them were hilarious.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Let the Sun shine in
There was an inordinate amount of negative tension at work today. Everyone was at cross-purposes with each other, drudging up every foul deed, real or perceived, that the object of their ire committed against them. And there I was, the new guy, still green and pure as the driven snow, in the middle of it all. No one aimed their negativity at me, they just used me as a therapist. I guess because I have an unblemished perspective. Forgive them Father, for they no not what they do.
Another early night for me, and thus a short post. Nighty night, readers.
Another early night for me, and thus a short post. Nighty night, readers.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
I'm relieved to be working again, but whenever I'm in the fist of a job that requires, like any other, at least forty hours of my time a week, a part of me rebels and whispers in my ear that I'll never find bliss living this way. But I've got to eat and I need a roof over my head, so I work and I'm thankful when I can take care of myself. I'm not lazy and so far I enjoy my job. It's just.....
Ahh, you know what I'm getting at. In an ideal world, we'd all be working less. Period. Unless of course you find fulfillment at your job, then by all means, work as much as you can. And that leads to me to why I can't bring myself to bitch too much. It may take some brainstorming and the taking of chances, but I believe it's possible for virtually anyone to find a career that qualifies more as play than work. Someday, I'll get a handle on it, but for now it remains something in between: plork, for lack of a better word (though, I'm not sure there is a better one).
After watching The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser last night, probably my fifth time through it, I'm seriously considering writing an all things Herzog blog, an idea I toyed with in a previous blog. There's so much to write about, though I'm not confident I'm up to the task. It's sacred stuff and should not be approached lightly.
I keep having dreams about Mandy, the sweet dog of my youth. I'm determined to get a dog as soon as I can. I'm setting a goal here: before two years pass, I will have a canine companion. Well, alright then.
Ahh, you know what I'm getting at. In an ideal world, we'd all be working less. Period. Unless of course you find fulfillment at your job, then by all means, work as much as you can. And that leads to me to why I can't bring myself to bitch too much. It may take some brainstorming and the taking of chances, but I believe it's possible for virtually anyone to find a career that qualifies more as play than work. Someday, I'll get a handle on it, but for now it remains something in between: plork, for lack of a better word (though, I'm not sure there is a better one).
After watching The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser last night, probably my fifth time through it, I'm seriously considering writing an all things Herzog blog, an idea I toyed with in a previous blog. There's so much to write about, though I'm not confident I'm up to the task. It's sacred stuff and should not be approached lightly.
I keep having dreams about Mandy, the sweet dog of my youth. I'm determined to get a dog as soon as I can. I'm setting a goal here: before two years pass, I will have a canine companion. Well, alright then.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
A day away from the grind
I had today off from work and tried to mix the chores that needed to be done----laundry, banking, grocery shopping--with relaxation. It was a successful venture; I completed my chores and found time to do some reading, rip some CDs to my computer, and even take a brief nap. I also managed to watch a lecture on Google Video by David Ray Griffin, a member of Scholars For 9/11 Truth. His topic was the lies, distortions, and omissions found in the 9/11 Commission Report. His presentation was well thought out and riveting. Unlike the official story of what went down on 9/11, Griffin backs up his assertions. I recommend you check him out.
--
We rent a karaoke machine at work and I'm going to use it for a party in April that I'm planning. I am fascinated with karaoke, though I never go out and do it. I've only done it once, actually: years ago, Amanda and I performed a stirring duet of "Stop Dragging My Heart Around", by Tom Petty and Stevie Nicks at some dive bar in Woburn. We tried to get Luke Warm to have a go at Coolio's Grammy winning masterpiece, "Gangster's Paradise", but he refused. What a party pooper. Ever since that night, I've associated karaoke with merriment. You can't go wrong: if someone sucks at it, it's hilarious; and if someone pulls a song off with skill, well, then, you get to hear some nice singing. I prefer the crappy renditions, but it's all good. I've done the math, and if I have karaoke at my party it will make it eleven times more fun. Amanda must have intercepted my thoughts on the matter, because she just emailed me announcing her intentions to throw a karaoke party in her living room. With two karaoke parties on the horizon, we may finally get to hear Luke Warm perform "Gangster's Paradise".
--
Because I'm working again, I've had less time to practice yoga and meditate. When I first started yoga, I had visions of doing it every day before I left for work. I wake up at six thirty every morning. If I was to practice yoga in addition to my normal morning routine, I'd have to get up around five thirty. Not impossible, and I think it would eventually propel me to new physical and spiritual heights, but convincing myself in the dark fog of morning to do much of anything is a daunting task.
--
This afternoon, the thought hit me that, by some strange twist of fate, my past could prove to be my future. Probably not, but sometimes you have to lay back and be wistful. I'm being purposefully vague, but maybe not for long. Mystery abounds.
--
We rent a karaoke machine at work and I'm going to use it for a party in April that I'm planning. I am fascinated with karaoke, though I never go out and do it. I've only done it once, actually: years ago, Amanda and I performed a stirring duet of "Stop Dragging My Heart Around", by Tom Petty and Stevie Nicks at some dive bar in Woburn. We tried to get Luke Warm to have a go at Coolio's Grammy winning masterpiece, "Gangster's Paradise", but he refused. What a party pooper. Ever since that night, I've associated karaoke with merriment. You can't go wrong: if someone sucks at it, it's hilarious; and if someone pulls a song off with skill, well, then, you get to hear some nice singing. I prefer the crappy renditions, but it's all good. I've done the math, and if I have karaoke at my party it will make it eleven times more fun. Amanda must have intercepted my thoughts on the matter, because she just emailed me announcing her intentions to throw a karaoke party in her living room. With two karaoke parties on the horizon, we may finally get to hear Luke Warm perform "Gangster's Paradise".
--
Because I'm working again, I've had less time to practice yoga and meditate. When I first started yoga, I had visions of doing it every day before I left for work. I wake up at six thirty every morning. If I was to practice yoga in addition to my normal morning routine, I'd have to get up around five thirty. Not impossible, and I think it would eventually propel me to new physical and spiritual heights, but convincing myself in the dark fog of morning to do much of anything is a daunting task.
--
This afternoon, the thought hit me that, by some strange twist of fate, my past could prove to be my future. Probably not, but sometimes you have to lay back and be wistful. I'm being purposefully vague, but maybe not for long. Mystery abounds.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Neon Bruno
I've been listening to the new Arcade Fire constantly, and the way I feel about it changes with each listen. Sometimes, I think it's more complete than their debut, but I think I'm only basing that on the fact that the songs are more alike. Funeral, their debut album, is not all over the place as far as song structure goes, but the songs seem to stand apart from each other more than they do on Neon Bible, where the sum is greater than its parts. I'm not married to that claim, though. As I said, my feelings about the new record are not concrete. One thing is certain though: just as on the first album, they inject every minute of every song with conviction. And that, I do believe, is what separates them from the pack.
--
I'm tired. It was a busy day at work and once again, my brain is dull. I have tomorrow off, though, and I'll be re-energized and ready to produce another bloated post, like you've grown accustomed to. I'm itching to write about Bruno S., the enigmatic star of two of Werner Herzog's films, but I'm not sure when or if I'll get around to it. I'm thinking, because Herzog is the Man, to start up a blog devoted to him. Would it be read, I wonder? I think Doug is the only Herzog fan I know, other than myself, so maybe I'll have at least one reader. I can live with that.
--
I'm tired. It was a busy day at work and once again, my brain is dull. I have tomorrow off, though, and I'll be re-energized and ready to produce another bloated post, like you've grown accustomed to. I'm itching to write about Bruno S., the enigmatic star of two of Werner Herzog's films, but I'm not sure when or if I'll get around to it. I'm thinking, because Herzog is the Man, to start up a blog devoted to him. Would it be read, I wonder? I think Doug is the only Herzog fan I know, other than myself, so maybe I'll have at least one reader. I can live with that.
Monday, March 19, 2007
See Vu play
Short post because I've been writing emails all night and my brain is dull. I had a frustrating day at work today because I'm still green and I don't want to be. But life is good and my egg is hatching to a new phase in my life. It's begun and I can do naught but go forward. A little scary, but also appealing in its newness. I'm curious to see how things pan out, and that is what propels me forward. That, and I'm way happier than I was just a few weeks ago. Not bad, because even then, in the eye of a shitstorm, I was still pretty happy. I'm just a big ol' bag of happy, aren't I?
I leave you now, marveling at the weave of life, at how it's not predictable and definable, but something deeper, ineffable and abiding.
I leave you now, marveling at the weave of life, at how it's not predictable and definable, but something deeper, ineffable and abiding.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Strange days have tracked us down
Spira burned me a copy of the new Arcade Fire album, and I'm giving it a second listen now. So far I think it's a decent album, but nothing has really jumped out at me. Yet. If I remember correctly, Doug advised multiple listens for it to really sink in. I suspect he's right; with every listen I'm enjoying it more.
--
Today I received a message on MySpace from an old friend from high school. When we met, we became fast friends. The last time I saw her was at our Senior banquet. We shared a slow dance and I confessed to her my regret that I'd never asked her out. I had always wanted to, but my fear of rejection had control of the ship. But there on the dance floor, our time at school at an end, and her looking so pretty, I spilled my guts. I left it at that, and my memory is foggy as to what her reaction was. I'm not sure precisely why it was left at that---maybe she was seeing someone at the time, or maybe I didn't have the sack to do the natural thing and ask her out. Maybe she'll help fill in the blanks.
There is more to tell about this recent development, including a remarkable instance of synchronicity, but I'd like to keep that part private for now. What a day.
--
Today I received a message on MySpace from an old friend from high school. When we met, we became fast friends. The last time I saw her was at our Senior banquet. We shared a slow dance and I confessed to her my regret that I'd never asked her out. I had always wanted to, but my fear of rejection had control of the ship. But there on the dance floor, our time at school at an end, and her looking so pretty, I spilled my guts. I left it at that, and my memory is foggy as to what her reaction was. I'm not sure precisely why it was left at that---maybe she was seeing someone at the time, or maybe I didn't have the sack to do the natural thing and ask her out. Maybe she'll help fill in the blanks.
There is more to tell about this recent development, including a remarkable instance of synchronicity, but I'd like to keep that part private for now. What a day.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Here we go again: another post describing a dream
I've been having some great dreams lately. I had one this morning in which I was at a friend's party and various female friends of mine were vying for my attention. At one point, I overheard Spira talking to one of them, who shall remain nameless, and it was made apparent that she wanted to be with me, especially since I just got a job. I was was thrilled at this development because I'd always wanted that to happen, in my waking life that is. Later on in the dream, other women I know were all over me, but all of that paled in comparison to what I overheard the-one-who-shall-remain-nameless-say. If only.......
---
I'm not happy with the snow, especially after being fooled into believing that Spring had arrived earlier in the week. That's all I have to say about that.
---
It's Friday night but I'm going to be in bed through a substantial chunk of it. I have to work in the morning and I'm beat. So on that note...
---
I'm not happy with the snow, especially after being fooled into believing that Spring had arrived earlier in the week. That's all I have to say about that.
---
It's Friday night but I'm going to be in bed through a substantial chunk of it. I have to work in the morning and I'm beat. So on that note...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
No more workhorse blues
It was pretty busy at work today (after being unemployed for so long, it feels strange saying that) and my workload was increased substantially. Because I'm still green, it was a shade unnerving having to accomplish tasks quickly, but it produced an acceleration in growth, which suited me just fine. The sooner I can wriggle free of my metaphorical diapers, the better. Knowing next to nothing isn't a pleasant affair, especially when dealing with customers who aren't very cozy with the English language, or people who have to know every fineprint detail about of our business for them to be satisfied that we are not some Three Card Monty operation looking to swindle them out of their last few pennies. Even still, I'm satisfied with the way things have been going.
Every day a homeless person comes in briefly to say hi and make awkward small talk. Karen told me he started doing that in the winter in order to warm up. Today he came in and introduced himself to me and shook my hand. His nails dug into my palm, they were long and jagged, and once he left I couldn't get myself to the bathroom fast enough to wash my hands. For future reference, Karen advised me I should tell him I have a cold, like she does, when he goes to shake my hand. I will take her advice.
--
Luke Warm and I made it to our seats just as the game started last night. We were waaaayyyy up in the balcony behind the net and it took and it took a few minutes for the vertigo to abate. Our seats were at such a sharp angle to the floor below, I felt like I should we should have been strapped in to our seats.
About five minutes into the game, a guy sitting a couple of rows behind us would bellow "D-up, D-up, play some DEFENSE!", at the top of his lungs, every time the Celtics were on defense. Every time. Every....single.....time. He pissed off every row in front of him, but no one said anything, probably for the same reason that I didn't: he was a big man who looked like he enjoyed enacting violence on anyone who gave him even the slightest reason to. He eventually gave up his roll as the Celtics remote defensive coach when he discovered he wasn't having much of an effect on their play.
At half time, Luke and I changed our seats. We had scoped out a section on the floor that no one was sitting in and made our way there. No one stopped us and our seats were a dramatic improvement over our original ones. We were so close to the players that we could hear them talking. It was incredible. I'd never sat so close to the action before. And the whole thing was free. Thanks for the tickets, Chris.
I'm tired and will go to bed earlier than I did last night, which was some time after midnight. I need to be refreshed tomorrow in order to face the snow that will be wreaking havoc on the day.
Every day a homeless person comes in briefly to say hi and make awkward small talk. Karen told me he started doing that in the winter in order to warm up. Today he came in and introduced himself to me and shook my hand. His nails dug into my palm, they were long and jagged, and once he left I couldn't get myself to the bathroom fast enough to wash my hands. For future reference, Karen advised me I should tell him I have a cold, like she does, when he goes to shake my hand. I will take her advice.
--
Luke Warm and I made it to our seats just as the game started last night. We were waaaayyyy up in the balcony behind the net and it took and it took a few minutes for the vertigo to abate. Our seats were at such a sharp angle to the floor below, I felt like I should we should have been strapped in to our seats.
About five minutes into the game, a guy sitting a couple of rows behind us would bellow "D-up, D-up, play some DEFENSE!", at the top of his lungs, every time the Celtics were on defense. Every time. Every....single.....time. He pissed off every row in front of him, but no one said anything, probably for the same reason that I didn't: he was a big man who looked like he enjoyed enacting violence on anyone who gave him even the slightest reason to. He eventually gave up his roll as the Celtics remote defensive coach when he discovered he wasn't having much of an effect on their play.
At half time, Luke and I changed our seats. We had scoped out a section on the floor that no one was sitting in and made our way there. No one stopped us and our seats were a dramatic improvement over our original ones. We were so close to the players that we could hear them talking. It was incredible. I'd never sat so close to the action before. And the whole thing was free. Thanks for the tickets, Chris.
I'm tired and will go to bed earlier than I did last night, which was some time after midnight. I need to be refreshed tomorrow in order to face the snow that will be wreaking havoc on the day.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
There is nowhere that you are not
Today is my first day off. Not bad after only two days of work. It's another gorgeous day and I'm in great spirits. This morning, I walked over to Ball Sq. to meet up with Chris at Kelly's diner to get the Celtics tickets and then got some coffee at TrueGrounds. On my way back, I kept myself amused by imagining people I know appearing out of nowhere and dancing in step with"Eli's Coming", the up-tempo and dance-able song by Laura Nyro that I was listening to on my trusty MP3 player. Everyone had their own moves that vaguely represented the way I perceive them, much like Felini did with his cast in 8 1/2. Picturing my parents doing enthusiastic cartwheels on the sidewalk amused me to no end. I laughed all the way home.
--
Neil, the other new guy, and I took lunch at the same time yesterday, and when I returned from mine, he wasn't there. Ten minutes later, he still wasn't back yet. Then twenty. Karen didn't say anything about his lateness, so I didn't. Finally, she told me she let Neil go. He wasn't right for the job, she said. And I agreed with her. He was a nice enough guy, a little annoying, but he was probably better off in a different environment. Karen felt bad about firing him, but not too bad because she didn't want to hire him in the first place and only did so because he kept calling back after she repeatedly told him he wasn't right for the job. His tenacity got him the job, but it wasn't meant to be. I admit I was kind of relieved, because I had only worked with him two days, and my fist was already beginning to develop a crush on his jaw. That notwithstanding, I wish him well.
--
Spira took ill yesterday and stayed home from work. Her stomach was having a bad acid trip which kept her in the bathroom for most of the previous night and into the morning. When I came home for lunch she was nursing a bagel that wasn't going to be fully eaten. She was in rough shape. Last night, Luke Warm came over to watch the Celtics game, and Spira joined us in the living room, still looking weak. Then she broke out the honey barbecue potato chips. She's an enigma, that one.
--
My friend Janelle published a blog on Myspace this morning that floored me. I wasn't surprised it was that good---her writing has always impressd me---but she writes so infrequently that when I read something new of hers it's almost startling, her talent. I'm reminded of how gifted she is and I want to shake her until she promises me she'll write all the time, if only to satisfy my demand. Here's how her latest blog began (forgive me, Janelle, for reproducing a bit of your writing here, but I feel compelled to share it):
--
Great stuff. The entire entry is engaging and rich in metaphor. I love being inspired by other writers, especially the ones I know, like Janelle and Doug.
I'm going to El Fin this and go play basketball on my Playstation. And don't think I forgot that I was supposed to tell you which Herzog film I watched, because I haven't. I know how anxious you must be to find out. I decided to watch one of his docs, The Great Ecstassy of Sculptor Steiner. So there you have it. If you want to know more about the film, look it up on the net, because I've had enough of writing for today.
--
Neil, the other new guy, and I took lunch at the same time yesterday, and when I returned from mine, he wasn't there. Ten minutes later, he still wasn't back yet. Then twenty. Karen didn't say anything about his lateness, so I didn't. Finally, she told me she let Neil go. He wasn't right for the job, she said. And I agreed with her. He was a nice enough guy, a little annoying, but he was probably better off in a different environment. Karen felt bad about firing him, but not too bad because she didn't want to hire him in the first place and only did so because he kept calling back after she repeatedly told him he wasn't right for the job. His tenacity got him the job, but it wasn't meant to be. I admit I was kind of relieved, because I had only worked with him two days, and my fist was already beginning to develop a crush on his jaw. That notwithstanding, I wish him well.
--
Spira took ill yesterday and stayed home from work. Her stomach was having a bad acid trip which kept her in the bathroom for most of the previous night and into the morning. When I came home for lunch she was nursing a bagel that wasn't going to be fully eaten. She was in rough shape. Last night, Luke Warm came over to watch the Celtics game, and Spira joined us in the living room, still looking weak. Then she broke out the honey barbecue potato chips. She's an enigma, that one.
--
My friend Janelle published a blog on Myspace this morning that floored me. I wasn't surprised it was that good---her writing has always impressd me---but she writes so infrequently that when I read something new of hers it's almost startling, her talent. I'm reminded of how gifted she is and I want to shake her until she promises me she'll write all the time, if only to satisfy my demand. Here's how her latest blog began (forgive me, Janelle, for reproducing a bit of your writing here, but I feel compelled to share it):
One time...I saw Zorro.
It's true, I saw him. It was a gray, clear, wintry day in Maine where I grew up. I was at home, it was mid-morning and inside the house we were a collection of separate existences. My brothers were each in different rooms, playing quietly by themselves, my mother was upstairs in her little room sewing or despairing or both. My Dad was outside fixing something, I am sure.
--
Great stuff. The entire entry is engaging and rich in metaphor. I love being inspired by other writers, especially the ones I know, like Janelle and Doug.
I'm going to El Fin this and go play basketball on my Playstation. And don't think I forgot that I was supposed to tell you which Herzog film I watched, because I haven't. I know how anxious you must be to find out. I decided to watch one of his docs, The Great Ecstassy of Sculptor Steiner. So there you have it. If you want to know more about the film, look it up on the net, because I've had enough of writing for today.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Day one of the first day
One of my talents, and there are many, dear readers, is the uncanny ability to wake up when I want, the way I want . Now, when I say wake up, I' mean from sleep; I'm not referring to spiritual enlightenment, because I'm almost positive you only need to wake up once to achieve that. At least that's what Baba Ram Dass told me over coffee and donuts a few years back. Anyway, back to my point.
Last night, for example, I went to bed earlier than usual because I had to get up at six thirty. To soften the blow of waking up to the clarion call of my alarm, I set my internal alarm clock to go off periodically throughout the night, so by waking up at say, four thirty, like I actually did, I could go back to sleep knowing I had a couple of hours left. It may not seem like much, but it's quite the psychological victory. Time, you are my plaything.
My first day went well, better than most other first days at new jobs that I've had. It helped that it was a gorgeous day. I seemed to gel with my boss Karen and the crew, though it's always hard to tell how people will be when you've just met them. Neil, who started a week before I did, made me laugh a few times, though unintentionally. One of those times was when I was at the computer with Karen and he approached us and said to her, " Sorry if I seem out of it today. I only got an hour of sleep last night because I was partying pretty hard." When he walked away, Karen looked at me and said, "Why did he just tell me that? Couldn't he have just left it at 'I didn't get much sleep'? You don't tell your new boss that!" I thought pretty much the same thing and added, " No kidding! I spent the night in jail on a drug charge, but you don't hear me talking about it."
Tonight is going to be a Herzog night, I can feel it. My mood is just right for one of his films: I'm sleepy, but my mind is sharp. Perhaps, it will be Aguirre that will beckon. Or Kaspar Hauser. I'll let you know which it is in my next entry. I'm sure you'll be dying to know.
To cap off a pleasant day, I received a voice-mail from my friend Chris today offering me two free tickets to Wednesday night's Celtics game. He has a wake to go to and won't be able to make it. I called Luke Warm and asked him if he'd like to go and, being the big Celtics fan that he is, he accepted. They're playing the shitty Hawks, so maybe the Celts will pull off a rare victory.
Last night, for example, I went to bed earlier than usual because I had to get up at six thirty. To soften the blow of waking up to the clarion call of my alarm, I set my internal alarm clock to go off periodically throughout the night, so by waking up at say, four thirty, like I actually did, I could go back to sleep knowing I had a couple of hours left. It may not seem like much, but it's quite the psychological victory. Time, you are my plaything.
My first day went well, better than most other first days at new jobs that I've had. It helped that it was a gorgeous day. I seemed to gel with my boss Karen and the crew, though it's always hard to tell how people will be when you've just met them. Neil, who started a week before I did, made me laugh a few times, though unintentionally. One of those times was when I was at the computer with Karen and he approached us and said to her, " Sorry if I seem out of it today. I only got an hour of sleep last night because I was partying pretty hard." When he walked away, Karen looked at me and said, "Why did he just tell me that? Couldn't he have just left it at 'I didn't get much sleep'? You don't tell your new boss that!" I thought pretty much the same thing and added, " No kidding! I spent the night in jail on a drug charge, but you don't hear me talking about it."
Tonight is going to be a Herzog night, I can feel it. My mood is just right for one of his films: I'm sleepy, but my mind is sharp. Perhaps, it will be Aguirre that will beckon. Or Kaspar Hauser. I'll let you know which it is in my next entry. I'm sure you'll be dying to know.
To cap off a pleasant day, I received a voice-mail from my friend Chris today offering me two free tickets to Wednesday night's Celtics game. He has a wake to go to and won't be able to make it. I called Luke Warm and asked him if he'd like to go and, being the big Celtics fan that he is, he accepted. They're playing the shitty Hawks, so maybe the Celts will pull off a rare victory.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Sleepy time
I watched The Science of Sleep last night by myself. Spira opted out, choosing to look online for furniture for her new place. That's ok, I haven't really been fond of her disposition lately. Like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Science of Sleep is bursting with exuberant creativity. The director, Michel Gondry, is forty three years old, but you'd never know it by watching his films. Much of what he puts into his work is culled from his childhood. This is especially true with The Science of Sleep. Roughly, the film is about a man who can barely distinguish between his normal, every day life, and the active dream state he experiences when he's asleep. Gondry depicts this flexible sense of reality with zeal, peppering the scenes with cities made of toilet paper rolls; an electric razor that becomes animate; a time machine that positions you either one second in the past or one second in the future; and other oddities. There aren't many films made like this and that's one of the reasons why I enjoyed it so much.
Speaking of dreams, I had a lengthy one that kept me in bed until after ten yesterday morning. If you've read my Myspace blog, you may recall an entry I wrote about various reoccurring dreams I've had. One of them, probably the most frustrating of all, involves me being denied sex because I'm distracted by other things. And when I realize I have a woman or women waiting for me in bed, I stop what I'm doing and rush back to the bedroom. This is usually when I wake up. Frustrated, I try in vain to fall back asleep and finish what I started. Very frustrating! Yesterday's dream was different.
In it, I was lying in bed with someone talking (I won't reveal her name because it's someone I know and she may read this) and having sex was the furthest thing from my mind. But then she started massaging my neck. Soon after, she asked me if I'd like to go to her bedroom (we needed privacy because the bed we were on was in the kitchen and my mother was sharing it with us. Don't ask.) and have sex. I consented immediately and we made it to the bedroom. Now, here is where this dream differs from the others. I suddenly found myself in a lucid state, aware that I was dreaming. I was conscious of the fact that, if the other dreams were any indication, I'd soon be distracted and wake up. I made it a priority to prevent that outcome.
I was tested immediately.
The woman I was with asked me to get her a drink before we began. I knew it was a trap, but I figured that since I was aware that it was a trap, I wouldn't be caught in it. So I went to get her a drink and whispered my mantra, "don't wake up", over and over. I managed to pour the drink and feeling victorious, made my way back to the bedroom. When I got to the door, I woke up. The trap was sprung.
This development, though I should have expected it, didn't please me. I knew the odds were against me if I made an attempt to return to the dream, but I tried anyway. And it worked! I fell back asleep and continued right where I left off. I finally got to have dream sex! It was great. It was vivid. And I bucked the trend. Now I just have to work my magic in my waking life.
Speaking of dreams, I had a lengthy one that kept me in bed until after ten yesterday morning. If you've read my Myspace blog, you may recall an entry I wrote about various reoccurring dreams I've had. One of them, probably the most frustrating of all, involves me being denied sex because I'm distracted by other things. And when I realize I have a woman or women waiting for me in bed, I stop what I'm doing and rush back to the bedroom. This is usually when I wake up. Frustrated, I try in vain to fall back asleep and finish what I started. Very frustrating! Yesterday's dream was different.
In it, I was lying in bed with someone talking (I won't reveal her name because it's someone I know and she may read this) and having sex was the furthest thing from my mind. But then she started massaging my neck. Soon after, she asked me if I'd like to go to her bedroom (we needed privacy because the bed we were on was in the kitchen and my mother was sharing it with us. Don't ask.) and have sex. I consented immediately and we made it to the bedroom. Now, here is where this dream differs from the others. I suddenly found myself in a lucid state, aware that I was dreaming. I was conscious of the fact that, if the other dreams were any indication, I'd soon be distracted and wake up. I made it a priority to prevent that outcome.
I was tested immediately.
The woman I was with asked me to get her a drink before we began. I knew it was a trap, but I figured that since I was aware that it was a trap, I wouldn't be caught in it. So I went to get her a drink and whispered my mantra, "don't wake up", over and over. I managed to pour the drink and feeling victorious, made my way back to the bedroom. When I got to the door, I woke up. The trap was sprung.
This development, though I should have expected it, didn't please me. I knew the odds were against me if I made an attempt to return to the dream, but I tried anyway. And it worked! I fell back asleep and continued right where I left off. I finally got to have dream sex! It was great. It was vivid. And I bucked the trend. Now I just have to work my magic in my waking life.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
A surprise visitor
Spira and I went out to get some groceries tonight, and when we came back we were met by our cat friend from earlier in the day. He followed us into the house and he's still here hanging out. I'm going to ask him if he wants to watch The Science of Sleep with us. Too late. I just went downstairs and Spira informed me she let the cat out. I was taken aback because I did not authorize the action. But, being the jovial, quick witted man that I am, I made light of her crime by saying, "You're telling me you let the cat out. You let the cat out that door. The back door. You let the cat out of the back!"
Silence.
"Get it?", I asked gleefully.
More silence.
I guess she didn't get it.
Silence.
"Get it?", I asked gleefully.
More silence.
I guess she didn't get it.
Damn!, or something
Last night I went to Kowloons, a hotel-sized Chinese food restaurant in Saugus, with some of my former co-workers. I didn't feel as terrible about being frivolous with my spending as I would have if I was still unemployed; even still, when the check came I winced. I could have had my meal payed for and had some cash left over if I had wanted to. A couple of the guys put forty three dollars on the table for anyone willing to drink a ramekin of hot mustard. When it appeared that I was the only one considering it ---I can recognize a good bet when I see one--- they focused their energy on convincing me to do it. I had already tasted the mustard and it was more potent than most others I've had and I was pretty sure if I took the bet I'd be a walking furnace for the rest of the night. And without doubt, there would be vomiting involved. I looked at Mike, who was sitting beside me, and said "You realize that in essence, you'll be paying me to puke all over you and your food, don't you? Because I'm 99% sure that will be the outcome." He thought about it for a minute and replied, "Yeah, I'm cool with that". As it happened, I wasn't. Tempting as it was, I declined the bet and came home with a thinner wallet.
--
Spira and I walked to TrueGrounds for some white mocha lattes this morning and I was pleased beyond measure that it was warm and sunny outside. As we were ordering our lattes, Spira razzed me about having mine with soy milk, rather than whole . She pointed out that real men drink whole milk. "Maybe you're right", I told her. " I have seen an inordinate amount of surly looking fellows at the local speakeasy, nursing glasses of milk as they hurled insults at each other." This earned me a laugh from the girl at the counter. Kevin: 1. Spira: a big, fat goose egg. Who's the man, now?
When we got back to the house, one of the neighborhood cats, a friendly tabby, was waiting for us on our porch. We spent some time with him ( I know it was a male because I checked. Thoroughly.) as we sipped our drinks and talked. A fine morning.
This afternoon I watched Bullit for the first time ever. I was engaged for the first forty minutes, or so, and then became bored. Too bad, I had expected to like it. Next up is The Science of Sleep. I'm pretty sure I'm going to love that film. If I don't, I'm going to do something drastic, like whisper "Damn!", or something.
--
Spira and I walked to TrueGrounds for some white mocha lattes this morning and I was pleased beyond measure that it was warm and sunny outside. As we were ordering our lattes, Spira razzed me about having mine with soy milk, rather than whole . She pointed out that real men drink whole milk. "Maybe you're right", I told her. " I have seen an inordinate amount of surly looking fellows at the local speakeasy, nursing glasses of milk as they hurled insults at each other." This earned me a laugh from the girl at the counter. Kevin: 1. Spira: a big, fat goose egg. Who's the man, now?
When we got back to the house, one of the neighborhood cats, a friendly tabby, was waiting for us on our porch. We spent some time with him ( I know it was a male because I checked. Thoroughly.) as we sipped our drinks and talked. A fine morning.
This afternoon I watched Bullit for the first time ever. I was engaged for the first forty minutes, or so, and then became bored. Too bad, I had expected to like it. Next up is The Science of Sleep. I'm pretty sure I'm going to love that film. If I don't, I'm going to do something drastic, like whisper "Damn!", or something.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Employed at last!
I met with Karen at Taylor Rental yesterday and she offered me the job without actually offering it to me. She told me she'd get back to me later in the day with her decision. I was hoping she'd tell me then, so I wouldn't have to spend the rest of the day wondering, but it all worked out. When she called me later on, she offered me the job officially, and at a much higher pay scale than I anticipated. I was a ball of relief when I got off the phone with her. I realized afterward that if I didn't get this job, I would have been screwed. Even if I got another interview set up, it would have been too late in the game for me to recover financially. I'm still glowing a day later at my good fortune. I start Monday.
It's been a tumultuous six months for me and things are finally getting better. I take full responsibility for the problems I faced, just as I give myself a good amount of credit for sticking this out and keeping a healthy attitude. For the most part. There were periods when my outlook soured considerably, but considering what I was facing, and still am to a degree, I'm proud of myself for not letting it get worse.
Spring is approaching and change is in the air. Spira is moving and soon Bob TV and I will be living with someone else. And with the warmer weather, I'll be taking my walks again and enjoying the city. Ahhhhhh.
---
My neighborhood is generally quiet, but my neighbor Steve isn't. He's a nice, soft spoken guy, but he likes to hang around outside in his driveway, which is directly under my bedroom window, pretty much all day every day. What does he do, you ask? Well, some days he'll work on one of the cars that sits in his driveway. And by that , I mean he likes to take a big ol' wrench and bang it on the engine block, for, I don't know, several hours at a clip. Even when it's frightfully cold out, Steve's out there revving the car's engine (like he's doing right now) or banging away with his wrench. He also likes to break apart the ice in the driveway, break apart the ice on his trash barrels, and other activities that result in a lot of noise making. I especially enjoy his ruckus when I'm trying to read, perform yoga, or meditate. He works the night shift somewhere, so maybe I'll have to return the favor sometime when he's trying to sleep. Anyone have a drum set you're willing to part with?
It's been a tumultuous six months for me and things are finally getting better. I take full responsibility for the problems I faced, just as I give myself a good amount of credit for sticking this out and keeping a healthy attitude. For the most part. There were periods when my outlook soured considerably, but considering what I was facing, and still am to a degree, I'm proud of myself for not letting it get worse.
Spring is approaching and change is in the air. Spira is moving and soon Bob TV and I will be living with someone else. And with the warmer weather, I'll be taking my walks again and enjoying the city. Ahhhhhh.
---
My neighborhood is generally quiet, but my neighbor Steve isn't. He's a nice, soft spoken guy, but he likes to hang around outside in his driveway, which is directly under my bedroom window, pretty much all day every day. What does he do, you ask? Well, some days he'll work on one of the cars that sits in his driveway. And by that , I mean he likes to take a big ol' wrench and bang it on the engine block, for, I don't know, several hours at a clip. Even when it's frightfully cold out, Steve's out there revving the car's engine (like he's doing right now) or banging away with his wrench. He also likes to break apart the ice in the driveway, break apart the ice on his trash barrels, and other activities that result in a lot of noise making. I especially enjoy his ruckus when I'm trying to read, perform yoga, or meditate. He works the night shift somewhere, so maybe I'll have to return the favor sometime when he's trying to sleep. Anyone have a drum set you're willing to part with?
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
All is bliss, all is bliss
I had an interview at Taylor Rental on Monday and I think I may have the job. Yesterday,I heard back from the woman I interviewed with and she wants to meet with me tomorrow. I don't know, or care much at this point, what the pay will be; my main concern is finding work. It's a management position, so I don't expect the pay will be too low. The place is only minutes from my apartment, which would make for a nice commute. I'm crossing my fingers.
The hour or so leading up to my interview was a little nervewracking. It started when I stepped out the shower. I heard someone knocking rather loudly on my door and immediately I figured it was my landlord, Marie, because: a) she had done this to me before and in the exact same fashion while I was getting ready to go on another interview, and as I've had my dealings with synchronicity in the past, I figured that's what I was dealing with here. And b) : the only other person who knocks on my door during the day is Luke Warm, but I ruled him out because I had just spoken with him and he knew I was going on an interview. After skulking around the house, cursing the timing of this development, I saw someone peering through the window of my back door. It was Luke Warm.
He stopped by to use my printer and while he was hooking it up (I've had it for over five years and have never taken it out of the box) I continued to get ready. Shortly after, I was ready to go, and as I applauded myself for being on schedule for a change, I noticed that my dress shirt had splotches of what looked like olive oil on the sleeves. I had to scramble to find another clean shirt and made it to my interview just in time. Whew! (For those of you who are curious about what substance tainted my shirt, I will be conducting an investigation when things settle down. If it turns out I was the victim of foul play, some heads are going to roll. That shirt meant a lot to me.)
Things are back to normal with Spira and me. She approached me the other day, acting as if nothing happened. Generally, if I've had conflict with someone, I prefer to talk it out so there's no lingering ill-will, but I went with the flow this time and I'm certain I made the right choice. When you've known someone for as long as I've known Spira, sometimes it's better to leave things unsaid. Last night, I went with her to check out an apartment she was interested in and because she's looking to live alone, every place she's checked out has been expensive. And this place was no exception. It was kind of dumpy and neither of us thought it was suitable, but in the end it didn't matter because she found another, more preferable apartment. She won't be my roommate anymore, but she'll be living a few minutes away, so I'll still get to see her fairly often. If Bob TV and I find a male replacement, we'll finally be able to walk around nude and throw beer cans at each other in comfort.
Things are looking better. I just talked with Kreg and it looks like I'll be able to pick up some hours at his brother's liquor store. Before the week is up, I may have two jobs lined up. Not too shabby for a guy who was just recently lamenting the fact that he couldn't even secure an interview, never mind a job.
I watched The Prestige last night and enjoyed it immensely. I'm a big Christopher Nolan fan and Christian Bale is one of my favorite actors. I can't wait to see him in Rescue:Dawn, the film he made with Herzog, which was adapted from the moving Little Dieter Needs to Fly. I also watched Children of Men, another great movie. Maybe I liked both films because Michael Caine was in them. Tonight I'm planning on watching Paris, Texas or some shorts by David Lynch that Bob TV just purchased. Or maybe I'll watch Wings of Desire, another Bob TV purchase.
My life is improving every day. I can feel it.
All is bliss, all is bliss.
The hour or so leading up to my interview was a little nervewracking. It started when I stepped out the shower. I heard someone knocking rather loudly on my door and immediately I figured it was my landlord, Marie, because: a) she had done this to me before and in the exact same fashion while I was getting ready to go on another interview, and as I've had my dealings with synchronicity in the past, I figured that's what I was dealing with here. And b) : the only other person who knocks on my door during the day is Luke Warm, but I ruled him out because I had just spoken with him and he knew I was going on an interview. After skulking around the house, cursing the timing of this development, I saw someone peering through the window of my back door. It was Luke Warm.
He stopped by to use my printer and while he was hooking it up (I've had it for over five years and have never taken it out of the box) I continued to get ready. Shortly after, I was ready to go, and as I applauded myself for being on schedule for a change, I noticed that my dress shirt had splotches of what looked like olive oil on the sleeves. I had to scramble to find another clean shirt and made it to my interview just in time. Whew! (For those of you who are curious about what substance tainted my shirt, I will be conducting an investigation when things settle down. If it turns out I was the victim of foul play, some heads are going to roll. That shirt meant a lot to me.)
Things are back to normal with Spira and me. She approached me the other day, acting as if nothing happened. Generally, if I've had conflict with someone, I prefer to talk it out so there's no lingering ill-will, but I went with the flow this time and I'm certain I made the right choice. When you've known someone for as long as I've known Spira, sometimes it's better to leave things unsaid. Last night, I went with her to check out an apartment she was interested in and because she's looking to live alone, every place she's checked out has been expensive. And this place was no exception. It was kind of dumpy and neither of us thought it was suitable, but in the end it didn't matter because she found another, more preferable apartment. She won't be my roommate anymore, but she'll be living a few minutes away, so I'll still get to see her fairly often. If Bob TV and I find a male replacement, we'll finally be able to walk around nude and throw beer cans at each other in comfort.
Things are looking better. I just talked with Kreg and it looks like I'll be able to pick up some hours at his brother's liquor store. Before the week is up, I may have two jobs lined up. Not too shabby for a guy who was just recently lamenting the fact that he couldn't even secure an interview, never mind a job.
I watched The Prestige last night and enjoyed it immensely. I'm a big Christopher Nolan fan and Christian Bale is one of my favorite actors. I can't wait to see him in Rescue:Dawn, the film he made with Herzog, which was adapted from the moving Little Dieter Needs to Fly. I also watched Children of Men, another great movie. Maybe I liked both films because Michael Caine was in them. Tonight I'm planning on watching Paris, Texas or some shorts by David Lynch that Bob TV just purchased. Or maybe I'll watch Wings of Desire, another Bob TV purchase.
My life is improving every day. I can feel it.
All is bliss, all is bliss.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Yuck (but help is on its way)
This weekend, I meditated and practiced yoga, which kept me centered, but tiny setbacks and annoyances buzzed around me, with the aim of disturbing my peace. I know that, ultimately, from quanta on up, we create our own realities and are responsible for the condition we find them in. I believe this---really, I do--- but I still sometimes find myself trying my best to convince myself and others, in various and surreptitious ways, that I was dealt a poor hand in life and because of that I should be given mucho sympathy. As low and embarrassing and shameful and frustrating and ahhhhh!!! as things get---and they sure have gotten---I'm still the one at the controls. But, man, would I love to pin this mess I'm in on someone else.
As far as my living situation goes, Bob TV has proved to be sympathetic to my plight and has been supportive. More and more, I'm seeing what a good guy he is. Spira's another story. It's been tough going between us over the past days and it doesn't appear to be getting any better. Although I've been irritated and perplexed by some of her actions and reactions lately, I bet she's been doubly irritated and perplexed by some of mine . And I should also keep in mind that, just like me, she has other issues on her plate besides our little spat. Not everything is about you, Kevin.
I'll end this with a corny literary device and I extend my apologies in advance to those of you who find my sensibilities distasteful. Believe me, I'm right there with you, but I've got to do this and it has to be done in this way. Hey, I'm trying to be one of the good ones, despite or because of my shortcomings. Here I go:
Spira,
I'm choosing this method to convey to you, even though we've hit a rough patch---or maybe we haven't, I don't know how to read you sometimes---that I love you. And I love me. I have done and will do stupid stuff. I will chase my tail like a pup and eat my own shit--- also like a pup. I will think I'm right about something and learn, to my bewilderment, that I'm not---not so much like a pup. I will think I'm at fault in a situation when, in fact, I'm not. I will fuck up. I will triumph. I'm human. So are you. So what am I saying? I guess I'm saying it's late and I'm deep in my head but there's a bright light on. I feel relaxed---better than I did earlier---and things will get better. I hate not feeling close to you, but that will change. When you come to your senses and see how very wrong you've been about everything, that is. You know I'm joking, right? I wish I had a smiley face emoticon at my disposal; it would clear everything up.
Your friend,
Kevin
Awwwwwww!! Wasn't that sweet?
Not only will I look back at this time in my life and think it's comical, I'm at that point now. And before I go, I may as well address any of you reading this who I may have embarrassed or offended with the way I've conducted my life of late. If you're out there, I'm sorry and will try to earn back your respect, even if it takes years and involves a brutal murder or two. Now, fuck off and let me relax.
As far as my living situation goes, Bob TV has proved to be sympathetic to my plight and has been supportive. More and more, I'm seeing what a good guy he is. Spira's another story. It's been tough going between us over the past days and it doesn't appear to be getting any better. Although I've been irritated and perplexed by some of her actions and reactions lately, I bet she's been doubly irritated and perplexed by some of mine . And I should also keep in mind that, just like me, she has other issues on her plate besides our little spat. Not everything is about you, Kevin.
I'll end this with a corny literary device and I extend my apologies in advance to those of you who find my sensibilities distasteful. Believe me, I'm right there with you, but I've got to do this and it has to be done in this way. Hey, I'm trying to be one of the good ones, despite or because of my shortcomings. Here I go:
Spira,
I'm choosing this method to convey to you, even though we've hit a rough patch---or maybe we haven't, I don't know how to read you sometimes---that I love you. And I love me. I have done and will do stupid stuff. I will chase my tail like a pup and eat my own shit--- also like a pup. I will think I'm right about something and learn, to my bewilderment, that I'm not---not so much like a pup. I will think I'm at fault in a situation when, in fact, I'm not. I will fuck up. I will triumph. I'm human. So are you. So what am I saying? I guess I'm saying it's late and I'm deep in my head but there's a bright light on. I feel relaxed---better than I did earlier---and things will get better. I hate not feeling close to you, but that will change. When you come to your senses and see how very wrong you've been about everything, that is. You know I'm joking, right? I wish I had a smiley face emoticon at my disposal; it would clear everything up.
Your friend,
Kevin
Awwwwwww!! Wasn't that sweet?
Not only will I look back at this time in my life and think it's comical, I'm at that point now. And before I go, I may as well address any of you reading this who I may have embarrassed or offended with the way I've conducted my life of late. If you're out there, I'm sorry and will try to earn back your respect, even if it takes years and involves a brutal murder or two. Now, fuck off and let me relax.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Morning Dew
Ahhh, Jeff Beck. To accompany the writing of this drivel, I threw in his masterpiece, Blow By Blow, and I'm glad I did. Beginning in high school, around my freshman year, I was exposed to Jeff Beck. I had heard him before that in The Yardbirds, but since I couldn't have told you what instrument he played if you told me his name, I'll venture to say it wasn't a true introduction. My sister owned a copy of Truth, his first solo album, on vinyl--- hell, everything was on vinyl--- and used to play it for me. I love that record. Rod Stewart kills on that record. "Morning Dew" is gorgeous and my love of the song has not wavered in twenty years. It still gives me the chills. (Originally, the above was expressed differently. I omitted it for reasons that will become apparent. This is what I had written: "Morning Dew is gorgeous. It's like scooping up a pile of fresh soil and burying your face in it.' I don't know where that came from.)
Jeff Beck is one of the most tasteful and economical guitar players I've ever heard. There is no fat in his playing. Back in my formative years as a guitarist, my guitar buddies and I would occasionally refer to each other as "having more fluid than Jeff Beck" when the situation called for a compliment. We took the line from a Frank Zappa tune, though I'm at a loss right now as to which one it is. It's on the Live in New York record, if you're interested. You're not though, I can tell. Too bad, it's a good Zappa album. So, what's the moral of this paragraph? I don't know, but I'll sum it up: Jeff Beck is tasteful and Frank Zappa name-drops him in a sexual context that my friends and I ignored in favor of a guitar-related one that we used to compliment each other on our good guitar playing.
I was going to write about something completely different tonight, but the thrill of listening to Blow By Blow set me off in another direction. It's probably better this way because Spira and I had a fight over the phone about our parking situation and I didn't feel too good about it during and after. I feel good now, though: enough time has passed and the whole affair seems a bit silly to me . I hope it does to her, too. I approached her earlier this evening and asked her if she had a minute or two to talk, but she told me she couldn't because she was in the middle of watching a movie. She was pleasant enough, but I think she wants me to stew in my juices for a while.
So, no retelling of what happened. I apologize. When the situation gets resolved, or doesn't get resolved, I'll report back with details. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish listening to what Mr. Beck has to say.
Jeff Beck is one of the most tasteful and economical guitar players I've ever heard. There is no fat in his playing. Back in my formative years as a guitarist, my guitar buddies and I would occasionally refer to each other as "having more fluid than Jeff Beck" when the situation called for a compliment. We took the line from a Frank Zappa tune, though I'm at a loss right now as to which one it is. It's on the Live in New York record, if you're interested. You're not though, I can tell. Too bad, it's a good Zappa album. So, what's the moral of this paragraph? I don't know, but I'll sum it up: Jeff Beck is tasteful and Frank Zappa name-drops him in a sexual context that my friends and I ignored in favor of a guitar-related one that we used to compliment each other on our good guitar playing.
I was going to write about something completely different tonight, but the thrill of listening to Blow By Blow set me off in another direction. It's probably better this way because Spira and I had a fight over the phone about our parking situation and I didn't feel too good about it during and after. I feel good now, though: enough time has passed and the whole affair seems a bit silly to me . I hope it does to her, too. I approached her earlier this evening and asked her if she had a minute or two to talk, but she told me she couldn't because she was in the middle of watching a movie. She was pleasant enough, but I think she wants me to stew in my juices for a while.
So, no retelling of what happened. I apologize. When the situation gets resolved, or doesn't get resolved, I'll report back with details. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish listening to what Mr. Beck has to say.
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