Come on , baby, do you do more than dance?

I had a big, juicy post all ready to go yesterday, but there were posting issues and I couldn't publish it. Since it's already dated, I'll leave it be. However,I'll sum it up for you, just so you don't feel cheated.

Most of the post was about my job and my frustrations with it. I described a few incidents that made me believe my days there are numbered. And whether I get fired or not, I decided I should start looking around for another job, because this one is sucking the inherent goodness right out of my soul.

The rest of the post documented my problems with trying to pay off parking tickets and renew my registration. I devoted at least two fairly long paragraphs to bitching about it. Consider yourself lucky I wasn't able to post anything last night.

And that was pretty much it. I finally made it to the registry and renewed my registration and, after I get it inspected, the only thing I'll need to do with my car is drive it. And make out in it, of course. Inspiration Point is calling my name.

I called Mara tonight and, though I was a little nervous about calling her, I feel I acquitted myself well in the conversation and managed to secure a date for Saturday night. I'm feeling pretty good right now, I must say.
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KG and the Celtics once again made mincemeat out of the Hawks last night. And once again, KG was an insane motherfucker! I am very happy he's on our team.

I just received two movies from Netflix: Sweeney Todd and Before the Devil Knows You're Dead. I'm going to try and watch one of them tonight, but I'll probably just end up playing with my action figures. What, you don't play with yours anymore? All grown up, eh? Yeah, whatever.

When I cannot sing my heart, I can only speak my mind

As expected, the Celtics brutalized the Hawks at the Garden last night. KG brought his insanity level up a few notches for the occasion, scoring and rebounding at will, chattering constantly like a subway derelict, and, along with Sam Cassell, pounding on Leon Powe's chest, after Powe schooled Josh Smith at the rim with a crushing dunk. KG continued barking in Powe's ear well after the play was over. The Hawks watched this display with jaws agape. It will be looked upon as the exact moment when they realized there was absolutely no way they were going to win the series, that they were dealing with a force of nature in KG, and the Perfect Storm of a team in the Celtics. If the Hawks take a game in this series, it will be a miracle of the highest order. I'm not a betting man, but I predict a sweep.

And the Bruins have forced a game 7 with Montreal, which I don't think anyone, even the Bruins, could have seen coming. I convinced Spira to watch game 6 with me on Saturday night, and I'm glad she consented because it was an amazing game. I look forward to tonight, when the B's will attempt to force one of the biggest chokes since the last time these two teams met in the playoffs. The Bruins were the ones who choked in that series, so this would be all the more sweeter if they win the series.
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Netflix screwed up and sent me a couple of extra movies. One of them, Shoot 'Em Up, starring Clive Owen, I think I'll watch today. I need to finish watching The Tracker first, which, so far, has been a strange film, one I'm not sure I gel with. I do, however, appreciate its mystery and originality.

Old Joy was haunting and lyrical with beautiful imagery throughout and good acting. I've never seen a film with Will Oldham, one of my favorite songwriters, before, and I was duly impressed with his seemingly effortless performance.

I tried explaining the film to Mara, the woman I asked out the other night, but I didn't do a very good job. My description of it got all knotted up. I couldn't believe I had a difficult go at explaining such a simple, Zen-like film. It was actually a comical scene, albeit at my expense.The fact that she didn't excuse herself immediately afterwards is a good indication that she'll be able to, at least in doses, tolerate my sometimes frustrating ways. Ah, but you know, she'll be in the company of a guy with a pure heart, so how bad could it be?

And I will be alone again tonight with you

Went to the Somerville Museum last night to attend an exhibit of local artists. Spira and our friend Sarah each had a painting on display-- both very good, by the way -- and it was nice seeing their efforts being appreciated by the public. Wine and various food items were offered and, had I known I was going to be there a while, I would not have taken the course of abstention. Later on, as the din subsided and people made their way home, I looked at the table with all the empty wine bottles and food platters with regret. But, I was also in the process of asking a woman out on a date, so the regret was short-lived. I see I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to back track a bit.

Before we went to the museum, Spira and I hung out at her apartment and waited for her new boyfrie....no, too soon....uh, her new dating partner.....no, no, no, sounds too strange......ok, I've got it--- her new BFF. So we waited for her BFF, Sean, to arrive, and when he did, we walked over to the museum and met Sarah there.

There was a lot of art on display and I silently admired how it was presented. I walked around by myself for a while and then met up with Sarah and was introduced to one of her friends who she'd been talking to. Turns out, this woman was the one who hung all the art. I complimented her on the job she'd done and told her that I had just been admiring her work, even though it probably sounded like I had said it just to be nice.

I proceeded to ask her a ton of questions that had been on my mind. In no particular order, here's a sampling: 1. When you were in the process of displaying all of this stuff, did you drop anything? 2. And if you did drop something and damage it, what would you tell the artist? 2a. Or would you keep silent? 3. Have you noticed anyone criticizing someone's work and the artist overhearing it? 4. Were there any restrictions concerning what the artists could submit?

I'll let you guess at how she answered because, for National Security reasons, I can't divulge what she said. Anyway, we talked for a while and I was a little surprised that we stuck together for as long as we did. Usually, women get their fill of me after a couple of minutes. At one point, she gave me a guided tour of the sub-par submissions, which I was ecstatic about because I knew for a fact that I was the only one privileged enough to receive such a service.

As the night progressed, I was again surprised to find that I was still hanging out with her. Spira and Sean had left (on their way out, Spira came up to me with a big conspiratorial smile and said, "I thought you wanted to leave early to go watch the Bruins?") I hadn't really thought much about asking this woman out, but everything was pointing in that direction, so I gave it some consideration.

She introduced me to some of the artists. One of them, a guy named Tasker, was a glass blower and I asked him a welter of questions regarding his craft. Then we talked about his Swiss Army timepiece and how he should wear it near his heart so that, if he ever got shot, it would save his life. I told him to wear it over his throat if I was around, because that's where I would shoot him.

After pretty much everyone had left, she announced that she was going to go home. And that's when I asked her out. She said yes and took me downstairs so that she could give me a business card with her number on it. I walked outside with her and we parted ways. Not a bad night.
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I had a busy, busy day at work and I'm too tired to write about some of the strange stuff that went down. Maybe I'll get to it another time. Oh, in case you're wondering, I did manage to catch the third period of the Bruins game and got to see them beat the habs. Of course, now there's another game on Saturday, when I have plans. Oh, well, maybe I'll get to watch some of it.

I adore mi amor

Alas, the Bruins lost to the habs last night and are now down 3-1 in the series. Can they come back? They're about as likely to come back as I am to laugh at a Dane Cook joke (which, believe it or not, has happened before, so perhaps the B's have a chance after all). Anyway, it doesn't matter what happens to the Bruins because the Celtics begin their playoff run Saturday night and they are going to bring the ruckus.
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We have a "Help Wanted" sign on our door at work that stays there whether we're looking for help or not. If it were up to me, I'd take the sign down when we're not hiring because, well, we're not hiring. So, when someone comes in and asks about the job and I tell him we're not hiring, nine times out of ten I'll get a valid response like, "So why the hell do you have a "Help Wanted" sign on your door?" Short of telling them I don't know why, I usually just tell them we haven't got around to taking the sign down yet, which is an admittedly lame response, but I never really know what else to say.

Anyway, on the back of the sign it says "No Positons Available", which can be read from the inside of the store. More times than I'd care to recount, people have come in inquiring about the job and, after reading the "No Positions Available" sign, have walked out in slump-shouldered dejection . Once, because I thought someone was being humorous about the dual nature of the sign, I told him the "Help Wanted" sign only applied to the parking lot and the "No Positions Available" sign only applied to the interior of the building. "So what do you need people in the parking lot for?", he asked.

I fear for humanity, I really do.
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Just received Old Joy, my first Netflix movie, and expect to receive The Tracker, the Australian film I've been dying to see for years but could never locate, some time today. Yeah, I know, most of the population have been Neflixing (I coin terms like nobody's business) for years now, but I've learned to live with being a few steps behind most things. You should take a look at my cell phone; it doesn't even have access to the internet or a camera.
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So, are you ready to hear me riff about creampies? No? Don't sweat it; it's not a topic one just dives into---well, for some of us it is, but......I guess what I'm trying to say is when you're ready, and there's no rush, we'll travel, hand in hand, to creampie country. And if you think you'll never be ready for the journey? Too fucking bad---as unpleasant as you may find it, you are going through with this, one way or another.
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Regarding symbols in literature, I used to wonder, and still do, how often they are intentionally planted in the text by the author. If someone, say your college professor, tells you a button in a drawer symbolizes apathy, where was that knowledge gleaned from? Unless the author comes out and says, "Oh yeah, the button represents apathy for sure", isn't it all guesswork on the reader's end? Maybe that's the point, and I'm just too obtuse to realize it, but I was always told what something symbolized, as if it was a known fact. It was never, "Now, I'm just taking a shot in the dark here, but I think that button Kelly kept in the drawer represents the apathy she harbored towards her sister". Ah, it's probably never so either/or. I'm figuring there are numerous combinations of possibilities, such as: 1. author intends symbol/reader doesn't pick up on it 2. author intends symbol/reader picks up on it 3. author does not intend symbol/ reader sees one anyway.

So, in conclusion, I may never get to the bottom of this and, frankly, I don't care all that much if I ever do. What I'm more concerned about is Surri Cruise and her sudden descent into debauchery. Girl, you need to go to baby rehab before it's too late. Pacifier dependence is a serious, yet treatable, addiction.

Mi corazon suere y se llena de enojo

Kim was being a rotten fucking bitch today, which is to say I wasn't very pleased with her disposition. Whenever I asked her to do something, she'd level a contemptuous look at me, one that said, "I will do what you want me to, but only because, as the situation stands, you're my boss. But know this: I loathe you with every fiber of my being and find your managerial style to be comically ineffectual. Now why don't you go to Hell, you weak, weak man."

Unfortunately, I was too busy with my own stuff today to probe her about why she was being so icy towards me. I had the distinct feeling that someone had told her something negative I said about her yesterday when I had the day off. And because I do my best to keep my thoughts private in that nest of vipers I call work, whatever it was I said about her was most likely either greatly exaggerated or completely fabricated. And if something was said, and I hate to say it because we've been getting along, it was probably said by Gio.

Who knows if anything went down at all. My work environment lends itself to paranoia and Kim was probably just in a foul mood. As she was leaving tonight, I asked her if she had a problem with me and she told me she didn't, that she was just going through a bad time in her personal life. Do I believe her? I'm not sure, but I really don't care all that much, either. Maybe, if she was hot, I'd put more of an effort into keeping the peace, but she's not, so I guess we'll have to see how things play out. Is that shallow of me? You're right--- it most definitely is not.
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I'm planning on watching the Bruins tonight, though I don't have much faith they'll pull out another win against Montreal, who are clearly superior in almost every aspect (they're also better people in their personal lives). But I love rooting for the underdog, so I'm hoping the B's give them trouble.
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I've finally gotten around to watching the new version of Battlestar Galactica. When it first came out on SciFi, I imagined it was going to be sucky for two reasons: because it was a remake of an old corny tv show starring Dirk Benedict and because it was airing on Scifi, a station not exactly on par with HBO when it comes to producing quality shows.

After hearing how great it was from varied sources, I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about. My verdict? Fucking great show! They were right. Mature plotting, great acting, killer premise---it's got it all. I have to say, I'm impressed. And also, if there had been any doubt, a full fledged nerd. As you may know, that doesn't sit well with me because I fucking hate nerds! Oh, the complexity of life.--
I was just reading about a book called Experiments With Time, that was written in the 20's by J.W. Dunne, who I think was a physicist, or at the very least a scholarly chap. The basic premise of the book is that dreams are actually memories of future events. I can't tell you how many times I've had the feeling of deja vu and thought that it really was just a part of a dream that came to fruition. I'm going to have to check this book out, especially now that I'm a full fledged nerd.

Well, there's still hope for me. I am, after all, about to watch the brutal game of hockey and if I have time in the next day or two, I'm going to trade in my Taurus for a hulking, intimidating pick up truck. I'm going to be Ford tough, bitches. Look out.

Free love on the free love freeway, where the love is free and the freeway is long

I had a frustrating weekend at work and it had nothing to do with orders getting messed up or shitty customers. It was more the lack of confidence Karen showed in me. Her expectations of me, in some instances, are exceedingly high, and if I had the right staff and eight arms, I probably would be able to meet them. I stayed close to two hours late last night trying to put things in order, but I had the sinking feeling that my efforts wouldn't have an impact.

Gio, in his new position as Warehouse Manager, has been feeling the heat, as well, and if he sticks to his guns (something he's not been very successful at), he will relinquish said position and its added responsibilities and return to the simpler days of being a driver. Of course, he wasn't able to handle that job for very long before suffering some sort of break down, but everything is relative and the evil you know and all that jazz.

So what does this mean for me, if he demotes himself? It means more fucking headaches, that's what it means. It also means I better start gathering my gear because this son of a bitch needs to abandon ship.
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You know the type of guy I'd like to be? No, not a handsome, erudite, pure-hearted, and erotically dangerous one, because, as you are well aware, I'm already that guy. The guy I'd like to be is the guy who, when being followed stealthily, stops at some point and says casually, "Ok, you can come out now". See, that would be amazing to be that guy because he should not have known he was being followed because, and I neglected to mention this, he was being stalked by Native American's who have been tracking their entire lives and were also Navy Seals. Yeah, that's the guy I want to be. Also, I'd like to have lasers shoot out of my eyes.
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I'm not sure why, but I've been waking up the last few days with the chorus to Build Me Up, Butter Cup looping in my head. I can't say I'm a fan of the song, but it's better than You're Still the One and it is pretty uplifting. That could bode well for me. But who is this Butter Cup I'm telling to lift me up? Hmmmmm..........
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Netflix is dangerous. One can spend hours browsing its library and toying with one's queue. Last night, I found myself deep in the trenches of possibilities. What should I have follow City Lights? Oh, I know, I'll follow it with Elizabeth because somehow Chaplin and Cate Blanchett will pair up nicely. And should Band of Brothers be sandwiched between The Passion of Joan of Arc and Sword of Doom? Hmm, I don't know. Maybe I should go for a walk and contemplate this.

Yes, Netflix is dangerous.

I'm waiting for you in the gloom and the blazing

I awoke shortly after four o'clock this morning to the dull throbbing of music coming from somewhere in the house. All I heard were two notes favoring the low end of the spectrum. Duum dooom, duum dooom, dum dooom, over and over again. I managed to fall back asleep, but only for about fifteen minutes before I awoke again to the insistent pulse of duum dooom, duum dooom, duum dooom.

How could this song still be playing, I asked myself. I questioned whether it was a song at all. Maybe it was from my fan or computer. Maybe I was imagining it. As curious as I was, I needed to go back to sleep. I wasn't feeling so hot earlier in the evening and I tried to make a point to get as much sleep as possible. The way things were shaping up, my plan wasn't going to come to fruition. So, I put on my sound machine in an attempt to drown out the throbbing bass notes coming from who the hell knew where.

Didn't work. A little after five, I got up to investigate. I went out in the hallway and discovered where the sound was coming from---Craig's room. I determined that he had fallen asleep while watching a dvd and when whatever he was watching (my guess was Legally Blond, his all time favorite movie besides K-9) had finished, the menu reappeared and looped the fuck out of a piece of music from the film.

I knocked on his door, but he didn't respond. I heard him snoring and I knocked again. No response, just snoring. I thought about banging louder (that's what she said), but I didn't want to wake Rich up (See how considerate I am? That's what having a pure heart does for you, bitches). I went back to my room and banged on the wall a couple of times. Nope. Nothing.

At this point, it was getting close to six and I was going to have to get up soon. I got out of bed and banged on the wall again. This was to be my last attempt at waking Mr. Stilskin. And you know what? It worked! He got up, turned the tv off and went downstairs to the bathroom to rid himself of some waste his body had accumulated. That was all well and good, but it was too late to go back to sleep, so I hung out in bed for a few minutes before getting up. I'm not going to lie to you, I was pretty effing tired.

Craig and I laughed about the whole thing earlier this evening. I guess the experience was a karmic debt I had to pay because not so long ago I fell asleep to an Alan Partridge dvd that, when the menu reappeared, kept looping the chorus to Abba's Knowing Me, Knowing You. Rich had to suffer through it before I finally woke up and shut it off. I guess if it was a karmic debt, it would make more sense if Craig was the one disturbed by the sound and not Rich, but I'm too tired to argue with you about it, ok? Just leave it be.
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If I'm not mistaken, The Office is back from its hiatus and there will be a new episode tonight. I may end up missing it because I can't get NBC in my room and when I asked Rich if he any designs on the TV , he said he was thinking about watching the Bruins. I had the same idea, but The Bruins always let me down and The Office never has.

I've been watching The Office (UK) and the more I watch it, the more I realize how truly genius it is. It is one of the most perfectly constructed shows I've ever seen. I am hoping Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant put out a new show soon because I need more funny. How I Met Your Mother is just not cutting it.
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I thought of her today and wondered if she knows. Something tells me she does, but what the fuck do I know? Maybe instead of sitting in my car in front of her place every night, I should go knock on her door and tell her what's what. Nah, that would be creepy.