Went to an early birthday party for my dad and my aunt at my grandmother's house this morning. It wasn't a very good time. Everyone seemed like they would rather have been somewhere else. Or maybe I was just projecting. I ended up hanging out with my mom more than anyone and when it was time to go, I felt awkward saying goodbye to my grandmother. I hadn't spent much time with her.
--
I was just thinking about how great the Buzzcocks sound to me right now. If some one, maybe even you, were to ask me at this moment who my favorite band is, I'd probably say the Buzzcocks. But if this someone who may or may not be you, asked me the same question two weeks from now, I might say it's the Red House Painters who are my BFFs. That is why I don't care for, eschew even, that question. Know what I'm saying?
--
I managed to avoid doing anything significant today. I meant to do a little cleaning followed by some reading at some point. Didn't happen. I did, however, take a nap, but I don't think that would be many people's idea of significant. For what it's worth, the nap was a good, hearty one, and I felt refreshed upon waking.
--
When I spoke with Foley the other day, the topic of his pending divorce came up. He is not in the best of spirits currently and I tried to guide him towards visions of greener pastures, but who knows if it had any effect.
He brought up a song I had written a few years ago. He was curious to know if it was about someone whose identity I'm not inclined to share here. I told him I didn't know what the song was about, that the lyrics sidestepped my brain on their way to the paper. "Could be about her, I said. And the more I thought about it, I realized that it probably was about her.
--
I plan on watching Errol Morris's Standard Operating Procedure tonight. I've been intrigued by it ever since I read Ebert's review a few months back. I'll be surprised if I come out the other end of it none the wiser.
--
One thing of significance I did today was watch Oprah's interview with Cormac McCarthy. It was relatively softball, but because he never does interviews, it was worth watching. I still can't believe the only thing I've ever read of his was The Road. I enjoyed it very much. After watching the interview, I resisted the urge to go out to Barnes & Noble and buy something of his, probably Suttree or Blood Meridian, because I'm currently reading well over a handful of books right now and the last thing I need is another book to add to the clutter. But if the tug remains strong over the next week or so, I'll consider adding yet another book to the pile.
--
Enough of me. I've said all there is to be said tonight. The Buzzcocks record has concluded and I shall be on my merry way.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
All I have to give you is a love that never dies, the symptom of the universe is written in your eyes
I drove down to Salem to see Spira's band play. I had been hoping to make the trip with a friend or two but it wasn't to be. Luke Warm didn't return the call I made earlier in the day and Foley had other plans. And Mara, the only other person I thought would go, had already planned on seeing her friend Alister play.
When I saw her last, she had asked me if I wanted to go, but I declined, almost solely because I've already seen him play a bunch of times and, with all due respect to Alister and his fine songs, I needed a break. Mara goes to just about every one of his gigs, which are numerous, and I'm sure I'll be afforded the opportunity to see him play again. I think Mara wishes Alister wasn't married, but really though, where their relationship is concerned I know the words but not the music. One thing is evident: they have a bond that's quiet and strong, and it's nice to see.
It took me a while to find parking in Salem. The Halloween crowd was out and about and parking spaces were at a premium. Salem in October is an interesting experience. For some reason, I was drawing parallels between it and Burlington, Vermont. Must be the cobblestone streets they share.
Spira's band, Machine 475, is what Kraftwerk would have sounded like if they wrote songs for Madonna. They have an airy, nonthreatening, techno vibe and they often employ unlikely acoustic instruments like the didgeridoo, sitar, and harp, into their act, which ratchets up the enjoyment factor as far as I'm concerned. The guy playing the didge' looked like Devendra Banhart. He wore antlers and was draped in what looked to be an elk's hide. I imagine the get up had to do with Halloween, but he was so freaky that I can't be sure.
The band played well and Spira got to sing more this time around. I sat with Seany Boy and Emily, the guitarist's wife. Our waitress was cute and sincere -- she'd waited on my table before -- but I abolished any thought of the two of us together when I recalled the scene in Adaptation where Nicholas Cage gets rejected by the lively waitress he had fallen for after a discussion they had about orchids.
--
I felt under the weather all week and didn't really put much energy into thinking about Ann. At work, I put all my attention on the tasks before me and barely gave her, or anything else for that matter, a second's thought. Near the end of the week, I had drawn the conclusion that she wouldn't find the idea of us expanding our relationship very appealing. And I didn't care very much because I thought whatever flame I'd lit for her had been stamped out.
And then, at the end of the day today, when she sat at my desk and helped me search for something online, I knelt beside her and felt a renewed longing. And once again, it seemed as if she was into me, in fact I was certain she was. How could I have thought otherwise. I was inches from her long, black hair and I felt the same exact shyness I felt when I had my first crush back in the sandbox days. I can't tell if that's pathetic or endearing. Maybe it's both -- who knows? -- but there's no getting around the fact that she confounds me. I cannot pin her, or the way she feels about me, down. No one ever said these things are easy. Wait a minute, I think Glen Frey may have said something to that effect.
--
My friend Doug has started blogging again and I am thrilled. And so are you if you've read his work before. I have included a link to his page and I recommend you take a look. He is a gifted writer and if he killed a thousand golden retrievers after drawing and quatering my family, I'd still consider myself a huge fan. Now, even though I risk losing you, dear readers, I command you to visit his page. If you don't, I'll kill a thousand golden retrievers and draw and quarter my family.
I have finished watching The Office (UK) dvds and wish Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant would hurry up and put out another series. Like within the next week or two. Probably a tall order. Guess there's nothing for it but to rewatch Extras.
When I saw her last, she had asked me if I wanted to go, but I declined, almost solely because I've already seen him play a bunch of times and, with all due respect to Alister and his fine songs, I needed a break. Mara goes to just about every one of his gigs, which are numerous, and I'm sure I'll be afforded the opportunity to see him play again. I think Mara wishes Alister wasn't married, but really though, where their relationship is concerned I know the words but not the music. One thing is evident: they have a bond that's quiet and strong, and it's nice to see.
It took me a while to find parking in Salem. The Halloween crowd was out and about and parking spaces were at a premium. Salem in October is an interesting experience. For some reason, I was drawing parallels between it and Burlington, Vermont. Must be the cobblestone streets they share.
Spira's band, Machine 475, is what Kraftwerk would have sounded like if they wrote songs for Madonna. They have an airy, nonthreatening, techno vibe and they often employ unlikely acoustic instruments like the didgeridoo, sitar, and harp, into their act, which ratchets up the enjoyment factor as far as I'm concerned. The guy playing the didge' looked like Devendra Banhart. He wore antlers and was draped in what looked to be an elk's hide. I imagine the get up had to do with Halloween, but he was so freaky that I can't be sure.
The band played well and Spira got to sing more this time around. I sat with Seany Boy and Emily, the guitarist's wife. Our waitress was cute and sincere -- she'd waited on my table before -- but I abolished any thought of the two of us together when I recalled the scene in Adaptation where Nicholas Cage gets rejected by the lively waitress he had fallen for after a discussion they had about orchids.
--
I felt under the weather all week and didn't really put much energy into thinking about Ann. At work, I put all my attention on the tasks before me and barely gave her, or anything else for that matter, a second's thought. Near the end of the week, I had drawn the conclusion that she wouldn't find the idea of us expanding our relationship very appealing. And I didn't care very much because I thought whatever flame I'd lit for her had been stamped out.
And then, at the end of the day today, when she sat at my desk and helped me search for something online, I knelt beside her and felt a renewed longing. And once again, it seemed as if she was into me, in fact I was certain she was. How could I have thought otherwise. I was inches from her long, black hair and I felt the same exact shyness I felt when I had my first crush back in the sandbox days. I can't tell if that's pathetic or endearing. Maybe it's both -- who knows? -- but there's no getting around the fact that she confounds me. I cannot pin her, or the way she feels about me, down. No one ever said these things are easy. Wait a minute, I think Glen Frey may have said something to that effect.
--
My friend Doug has started blogging again and I am thrilled. And so are you if you've read his work before. I have included a link to his page and I recommend you take a look. He is a gifted writer and if he killed a thousand golden retrievers after drawing and quatering my family, I'd still consider myself a huge fan. Now, even though I risk losing you, dear readers, I command you to visit his page. If you don't, I'll kill a thousand golden retrievers and draw and quarter my family.
I have finished watching The Office (UK) dvds and wish Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant would hurry up and put out another series. Like within the next week or two. Probably a tall order. Guess there's nothing for it but to rewatch Extras.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
I'm too much with myself, I want to be someone else
Below are my answers to arbitrary questions, or if you prefer, my take on those wonderfully insightful surveys on MySpace. Speaking of arbitrary, I just read about the nature of the word on Wikipedia. I found the entry informative, especially how it illustrated that arbitrary is not quite the same as random. Fascinating stuff, by gum! If you don't believe me, take a peek for yourself. I'm sure you'll be glad you did. Ok, back to the point of this post.
Elvis or The Beatles?
Always hated that question. Replace Elvis with The Rolling Stones in the equation and it's a much closer race. The Elvis/Beatles match up is so lame; I can't believe it's still has legs in our culture. Whatever. Anyhow, I'd pick The Beatles in both instances. That was easy, though. Give me a harder one.
Can or Neu?
Impossible to decide; they're both equally dear to me. Give me another.
Fallout Boy or Neu?
Hmmm..... Neu, I guess.
If they were to film a documentary at your job similar to The Office, how would you react to the idea?
I'd probably quit, or at least take a leave of absence during shooting. I don't want my job creeping into other areas of my life. And even if it's on a small scale, I don't want to risk being associated with something that barely reflects who I am.
Who do you respect most in the whole wide world?
Bonus Jonas
The best thing at McDonalds?
The filet-o-fish, son! Only 380 calories and 18 grams of fat. Sometimes they fuck it up and slop on way too much tartar sauce, but usually it's hella-good.
Which of your female friends would you most want to make whoopie with?
I'll give you two solid hints: she's not balding and there is at least one vowel in her name. And, if you still can't figure it out, I'll offer you one more hint: she's never played organized football.
When did you first hear the phrase "greasy spoon"?
As recently as a few years ago. I went decades without it in my vocabulary. Am I a late bloomer or is it pretty common not to hear about a greasy spoon for a good chunk of your life? I have no idea. Anyway, it was Monet, a woman I was once gaga over, who told me about it. Yeah, I know it's possible, probable even, that I heard about a greasy spoon at least a couple of times before that, but you know what, who gives a shit? Judging by what I've written above, though, it's evident that I at least gave a paragraph's amount of shit. That much we know is true. Next question.
Can you name five things you have at least once a week?
1. sushi
2. a paranoid thought accompanied by a mild wave of anxiety
3. an orgasm (don't say ewww!)
4. a pitch meeting at HBO
5. a physical altercation with a nerd, the lowest form of life
What's your primary sleep position?
I'm a side sleeper, son! We're the best of the best
Who fucking rocks?
I'll tell you who fucking rocks: Bonus Jonas!
What makes you question your intelligence?
Lots of things, but most recently when I spent more than a few minutes earlier tonight watching Road House. The only positive thing I took from the experience was seeing Ben Gazara, which reminded me I should watch Buffalo 66 again.
Would you rather go to the Museum of Science or hear a really good Bill Cosby impression?
I'm all about the Cos'. Especially if the impression involves one of his Pudding Pops commercials.
Okay, one more question and I'm out of here. It better be provocative.
What color is your hair?
Brown
Elvis or The Beatles?
Always hated that question. Replace Elvis with The Rolling Stones in the equation and it's a much closer race. The Elvis/Beatles match up is so lame; I can't believe it's still has legs in our culture. Whatever. Anyhow, I'd pick The Beatles in both instances. That was easy, though. Give me a harder one.
Can or Neu?
Impossible to decide; they're both equally dear to me. Give me another.
Fallout Boy or Neu?
Hmmm..... Neu, I guess.
If they were to film a documentary at your job similar to The Office, how would you react to the idea?
I'd probably quit, or at least take a leave of absence during shooting. I don't want my job creeping into other areas of my life. And even if it's on a small scale, I don't want to risk being associated with something that barely reflects who I am.
Who do you respect most in the whole wide world?
Bonus Jonas
The best thing at McDonalds?
The filet-o-fish, son! Only 380 calories and 18 grams of fat. Sometimes they fuck it up and slop on way too much tartar sauce, but usually it's hella-good.
Which of your female friends would you most want to make whoopie with?
I'll give you two solid hints: she's not balding and there is at least one vowel in her name. And, if you still can't figure it out, I'll offer you one more hint: she's never played organized football.
When did you first hear the phrase "greasy spoon"?
As recently as a few years ago. I went decades without it in my vocabulary. Am I a late bloomer or is it pretty common not to hear about a greasy spoon for a good chunk of your life? I have no idea. Anyway, it was Monet, a woman I was once gaga over, who told me about it. Yeah, I know it's possible, probable even, that I heard about a greasy spoon at least a couple of times before that, but you know what, who gives a shit? Judging by what I've written above, though, it's evident that I at least gave a paragraph's amount of shit. That much we know is true. Next question.
Can you name five things you have at least once a week?
1. sushi
2. a paranoid thought accompanied by a mild wave of anxiety
3. an orgasm (don't say ewww!)
4. a pitch meeting at HBO
5. a physical altercation with a nerd, the lowest form of life
What's your primary sleep position?
I'm a side sleeper, son! We're the best of the best
Who fucking rocks?
I'll tell you who fucking rocks: Bonus Jonas!
What makes you question your intelligence?
Lots of things, but most recently when I spent more than a few minutes earlier tonight watching Road House. The only positive thing I took from the experience was seeing Ben Gazara, which reminded me I should watch Buffalo 66 again.
Would you rather go to the Museum of Science or hear a really good Bill Cosby impression?
I'm all about the Cos'. Especially if the impression involves one of his Pudding Pops commercials.
Okay, one more question and I'm out of here. It better be provocative.
What color is your hair?
Brown
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The woman I'm thinking of, she love me all up, but I'm so down today
To say I had a shitty day yesterday would be inaccurate, but there was a period of time from when I left work for the day until I got home that could certainly be labeled as such. Up until about fifteen minutes to quitting time, things were fine, but when Marcy came over to my desk with some last minute paperwork, they henceforth spiraled in a southerly direction.
I wasn't miffed at the work she gave me; in fact, there wasn't much of it and, if I timed it just right, I'd finish it before quitting time with a couple of minutes to spare. Well, I wasn't on my game at that point, because I made a series of mistakes with the paperwork that, though easily remedied, kept me at work fifteen minutes past the hour. That may not sound like much, and usually I'd agree, but in this instance, I was aching to go home not long after I arrived at work. Fifteen minutes felt like forty five.
Still, I wasn't irritated at staying a bit late. I left work, got in my car and backed out of my spot perpendicular to the curb and heard a scraping sound --- my front end obviously hadn't cleared the curb. I saw a strip of rubber on the ground where my bumper had just been and, after a quick inspection of said bumper, I tossed the article in my back seat and drove away.
On the road, I discovered I needed gas. I went to the only gas station I knew of in that area of town and, upon opening my wallet, discovered it was empty. Oh well, I thought, I'll just use the ATM. The gods weren't favoring me at that moment, because, as it happened, the ATM was down for the count. Guess I'll use the credit card.
In keeping with the way things were going, I had left my card at home. Damn! I ran across the street in the rain to the White Hen, used their ATM, and ran back to the gas station. In line, I managed to get behind a guy who looked to be buying a pack of cigarettes using about six methods of payment. I'm not sure, but I think I saw some dubloons in the mix. Anyway, it was a lengthy process. When he was through, it was my turn to pay, an act I was eager to complete. From behind me, I heard a guy say "Put thirty on pump eight" to the cashier, as he tossed his credit card on the counter.
I watched this fucking hick make his way to the pump and thought what a dumb, arrogant prick he was. Oh well, he'll still have to wait his turn, I thought. When I returned my attention to the cashier, a middle-aged, dim-witted woman I've had a couple of frustrating encounters with before, I saw that she was processing the guy's card. I stood there dumbfounded. The guy had clearly been behind me in line, but here she was attending to him first. As she failed again and again to process his card, I stood there bewildered.
After a few minutes had passed, she figured it out and said "Oh, I'm sorry. I can never figure out how to use this damn thing". The only response I could muster was an icy stare. Though there were numerous ways I could have lashed out at her, and believe me, I spent much of the ride home devilshly coming up with a few, all I could do then was maintain the stare. I was starting to feel spent and just wanted to go home.
By the time I hit the highway, it was almost six o'clock. I should have been home already. Once in town and sitting in traffic, I called my sister to ask her a couple of questions. Not five minutes into the conversation, BAM!, I was hit from behind. I pulled over and inspected the damage. Nothing much, just a few scrapes on the bumper. It wasn't so long ago that I had been inspecting another bumper. What a day!
The woman who had hit me with her hulking SUV was nice enough. We exchanged information and went our separate ways. I called my sister back and we laughed at my crappy ride home. She suggested I go straight home and get in bed, lest more bad luck befall me. I didn't heed her advice, though ---I needed to stop at the grocery store, where, thankfully, nothing bad occurred.
My plan, once at home, was to relax. I had intended to call Mara at some point, but I figured I'd call her today, when, hopefully, my spirits would be higher. She ended up calling me, though, and I met up with her at Mr. Crepes in Davis Sq. I effing love their crepes, but, alas, I had already eaten, so I watched Mara eat, instead.
Afterwards, we went back to her place and hung out for a while. Around ten thirty, I made it back home and watched some of the Office (UK), marveling once again at the genius of the show.
--
Tonight I plan on watching Little Children and maybe working on a song or two. And, if you'll not be needing me for anything else this evening, I'd like to excuse myself and see to other, more pressing, matters.
I wasn't miffed at the work she gave me; in fact, there wasn't much of it and, if I timed it just right, I'd finish it before quitting time with a couple of minutes to spare. Well, I wasn't on my game at that point, because I made a series of mistakes with the paperwork that, though easily remedied, kept me at work fifteen minutes past the hour. That may not sound like much, and usually I'd agree, but in this instance, I was aching to go home not long after I arrived at work. Fifteen minutes felt like forty five.
Still, I wasn't irritated at staying a bit late. I left work, got in my car and backed out of my spot perpendicular to the curb and heard a scraping sound --- my front end obviously hadn't cleared the curb. I saw a strip of rubber on the ground where my bumper had just been and, after a quick inspection of said bumper, I tossed the article in my back seat and drove away.
On the road, I discovered I needed gas. I went to the only gas station I knew of in that area of town and, upon opening my wallet, discovered it was empty. Oh well, I thought, I'll just use the ATM. The gods weren't favoring me at that moment, because, as it happened, the ATM was down for the count. Guess I'll use the credit card.
In keeping with the way things were going, I had left my card at home. Damn! I ran across the street in the rain to the White Hen, used their ATM, and ran back to the gas station. In line, I managed to get behind a guy who looked to be buying a pack of cigarettes using about six methods of payment. I'm not sure, but I think I saw some dubloons in the mix. Anyway, it was a lengthy process. When he was through, it was my turn to pay, an act I was eager to complete. From behind me, I heard a guy say "Put thirty on pump eight" to the cashier, as he tossed his credit card on the counter.
I watched this fucking hick make his way to the pump and thought what a dumb, arrogant prick he was. Oh well, he'll still have to wait his turn, I thought. When I returned my attention to the cashier, a middle-aged, dim-witted woman I've had a couple of frustrating encounters with before, I saw that she was processing the guy's card. I stood there dumbfounded. The guy had clearly been behind me in line, but here she was attending to him first. As she failed again and again to process his card, I stood there bewildered.
After a few minutes had passed, she figured it out and said "Oh, I'm sorry. I can never figure out how to use this damn thing". The only response I could muster was an icy stare. Though there were numerous ways I could have lashed out at her, and believe me, I spent much of the ride home devilshly coming up with a few, all I could do then was maintain the stare. I was starting to feel spent and just wanted to go home.
By the time I hit the highway, it was almost six o'clock. I should have been home already. Once in town and sitting in traffic, I called my sister to ask her a couple of questions. Not five minutes into the conversation, BAM!, I was hit from behind. I pulled over and inspected the damage. Nothing much, just a few scrapes on the bumper. It wasn't so long ago that I had been inspecting another bumper. What a day!
The woman who had hit me with her hulking SUV was nice enough. We exchanged information and went our separate ways. I called my sister back and we laughed at my crappy ride home. She suggested I go straight home and get in bed, lest more bad luck befall me. I didn't heed her advice, though ---I needed to stop at the grocery store, where, thankfully, nothing bad occurred.
My plan, once at home, was to relax. I had intended to call Mara at some point, but I figured I'd call her today, when, hopefully, my spirits would be higher. She ended up calling me, though, and I met up with her at Mr. Crepes in Davis Sq. I effing love their crepes, but, alas, I had already eaten, so I watched Mara eat, instead.
Afterwards, we went back to her place and hung out for a while. Around ten thirty, I made it back home and watched some of the Office (UK), marveling once again at the genius of the show.
--
Tonight I plan on watching Little Children and maybe working on a song or two. And, if you'll not be needing me for anything else this evening, I'd like to excuse myself and see to other, more pressing, matters.
Monday, October 20, 2008
You said go slow, I fall behind, the second hand unwinds
Luke Warm spent most of the weekend at our house --- he was recording with Craig --- and, consequently, I got to hang out with him more than usual. When they weren't recording, Luke and I played basketball on my Playstation (something I hadn't done in months) and gossiped about The Hills (he looovvvveeeesss that show).
As for what Luke recorded, I haven't heard much yet, save for some pastoral guitar parts, duck-like calls (!), and some Dwight Shrute-esque recorder melodies bleeding through the wall that separates Craig's and my bedroom. Whatever the finished product turns out to be, it most certainly won't be worthy of being labeled typical.
Rich stayed home from work today. I had a feeling he was going to, based on the negative comments he was making about his job last night while we were watching the Red Sox. He takes off a lot of Mondays. I'm surprised he hasn't been spoken to about that. Who knows, maybe he has.
Speaking of Rich, I've come to realize that he's all about bleach. Yes, you read that correctly, he loves him some bleach. He's always spraying it in the bathroom, but the funny thing is, the bathroom never looks any cleaner. I have no idea where or why he's spraying it. Craig guessed that maybe he's spraying down the shower curtain. Good guess, but I'm not so sure; today I entered the bathroom after him and the odor of bleach was strong. He hadn't exited the bathroom more than two minutes before I went in there. I inspected the shower curtain. It was bone dry.
I sniffed around the bathroom, careful not to poke my nose to close to the toilet in the process, and I came up empty. The bathroom was as unkempt as it was before he went in there. The only explanation I could come up with, and it's one I've thought of before, is that either before or after he uses the toilet, he bleaches it. It's also possible he does it both before and after, but the general idea is that he does it. For all I know, he's bleaching everything he's going to touch --- the doorknob, the toilet, the flush mechanism, the sink, etc. Maybe he's germphobic.
Anyway, he likes the bleach and perhaps feels more secure with it around. I know that he keeps it in his room, because earlier, when I smelled the bleach in the bathroom, he had left the bottle behind. When I used the bathroom later on, it was gone. Curious, I checked around the house for it; it was nowhere to be seen. I did, however, discover another bottle of bleach by the back door, one I hadn't seen before.
The way it seems right now is that he's got at least two bottles going and he's keeping them in his room (the second bottle was gone when I walked by it's location earlier this evening. I checked under the sink and in the bathroom but came up empty). Why this is the case is beyond me, but it's a head scratcher, it is.
So I don't know what's up with the bleach situation. I probably won't ever get around to asking him about it --- I get the sense it would make him and, to a degree, me uncomfortable --- but of course I'd like to know what the scoop is. The thing I find the most perplexing about this matter is that Rich is anything but a neat freak. He's not a disgusting slob, but he's not that far removed from being one. So why all the bleach? I don't know and I'm done trying to figure it out right now because it's ABSURD. The whole fucking thing is absurd and it's time to put that baby in the crib and move on to something else.
I watched Mongol today and it was a little disappointing. I was expecting a huge epic recounting the life of Genghis Khan, but what I got was a pretty boring movie. Sure, there was tons of bloodshed and adventure---who wouldn't like that ? --- but it got old fast. Basically, the entire movie involved him escaping from a place, getting caught, escaping again, getting caught again, ad nauseum. I actually fell asleep during the battle that took up a good chunk of the third act. That should not have happened. Anyway, I give the film a C minus, overall. As a sleep aid, I give it a B+.
Okay, I've got some laundry and other sexy stuff to attend to, so ciao, bitches.
As for what Luke recorded, I haven't heard much yet, save for some pastoral guitar parts, duck-like calls (!), and some Dwight Shrute-esque recorder melodies bleeding through the wall that separates Craig's and my bedroom. Whatever the finished product turns out to be, it most certainly won't be worthy of being labeled typical.
Rich stayed home from work today. I had a feeling he was going to, based on the negative comments he was making about his job last night while we were watching the Red Sox. He takes off a lot of Mondays. I'm surprised he hasn't been spoken to about that. Who knows, maybe he has.
Speaking of Rich, I've come to realize that he's all about bleach. Yes, you read that correctly, he loves him some bleach. He's always spraying it in the bathroom, but the funny thing is, the bathroom never looks any cleaner. I have no idea where or why he's spraying it. Craig guessed that maybe he's spraying down the shower curtain. Good guess, but I'm not so sure; today I entered the bathroom after him and the odor of bleach was strong. He hadn't exited the bathroom more than two minutes before I went in there. I inspected the shower curtain. It was bone dry.
I sniffed around the bathroom, careful not to poke my nose to close to the toilet in the process, and I came up empty. The bathroom was as unkempt as it was before he went in there. The only explanation I could come up with, and it's one I've thought of before, is that either before or after he uses the toilet, he bleaches it. It's also possible he does it both before and after, but the general idea is that he does it. For all I know, he's bleaching everything he's going to touch --- the doorknob, the toilet, the flush mechanism, the sink, etc. Maybe he's germphobic.
Anyway, he likes the bleach and perhaps feels more secure with it around. I know that he keeps it in his room, because earlier, when I smelled the bleach in the bathroom, he had left the bottle behind. When I used the bathroom later on, it was gone. Curious, I checked around the house for it; it was nowhere to be seen. I did, however, discover another bottle of bleach by the back door, one I hadn't seen before.
The way it seems right now is that he's got at least two bottles going and he's keeping them in his room (the second bottle was gone when I walked by it's location earlier this evening. I checked under the sink and in the bathroom but came up empty). Why this is the case is beyond me, but it's a head scratcher, it is.
So I don't know what's up with the bleach situation. I probably won't ever get around to asking him about it --- I get the sense it would make him and, to a degree, me uncomfortable --- but of course I'd like to know what the scoop is. The thing I find the most perplexing about this matter is that Rich is anything but a neat freak. He's not a disgusting slob, but he's not that far removed from being one. So why all the bleach? I don't know and I'm done trying to figure it out right now because it's ABSURD. The whole fucking thing is absurd and it's time to put that baby in the crib and move on to something else.
I watched Mongol today and it was a little disappointing. I was expecting a huge epic recounting the life of Genghis Khan, but what I got was a pretty boring movie. Sure, there was tons of bloodshed and adventure---who wouldn't like that ? --- but it got old fast. Basically, the entire movie involved him escaping from a place, getting caught, escaping again, getting caught again, ad nauseum. I actually fell asleep during the battle that took up a good chunk of the third act. That should not have happened. Anyway, I give the film a C minus, overall. As a sleep aid, I give it a B+.
Okay, I've got some laundry and other sexy stuff to attend to, so ciao, bitches.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Hope for me, I hope for you, we're snow drops falling through the night
After work, Spira came over and we went to Yoshi's for some Black Dragon and whatever else caught our fancy (avocado maki, fried tofu, and miso soup, in case you were wondering). Once the check came, one of the waiters kept coming by every two minutes to collect it. I eventually had to tell him to give us a little space. Don't worry, Yoshi's, we still love you.
From Yoshi's we went to Starbucks in Davis Sq for some coffee. We had some good conversations that ranged in topic from LARPING to dealing with aggressive drivers. She's still recovering from a week-long illness, so we parted ways relatively early. And it wasn't just her that was ready to retire---I've been a sleepy lad all day and visions of laying in bed with a book danced like sugar plums in my head. Alas, I just saw that the C's were on, so I may be putting off the book for a little while.
Not sure if I'll watch one of them tonight, but I just got a couple of movies from Netflix--- Little Children and Mongol --- and I'm eager to watch them. Maybe not tonight, my eyes are watering and I'm yawing freely. Oh, that's right --- last night's episode of The Office should be online!!
Seacrest out, bitches!!!
From Yoshi's we went to Starbucks in Davis Sq for some coffee. We had some good conversations that ranged in topic from LARPING to dealing with aggressive drivers. She's still recovering from a week-long illness, so we parted ways relatively early. And it wasn't just her that was ready to retire---I've been a sleepy lad all day and visions of laying in bed with a book danced like sugar plums in my head. Alas, I just saw that the C's were on, so I may be putting off the book for a little while.
Not sure if I'll watch one of them tonight, but I just got a couple of movies from Netflix--- Little Children and Mongol --- and I'm eager to watch them. Maybe not tonight, my eyes are watering and I'm yawing freely. Oh, that's right --- last night's episode of The Office should be online!!
Seacrest out, bitches!!!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
That is why I pack my 25, where nobody knows, right above my boot
Within the last few months my email has been inundated with spam. Gone are the days when I feel the slight rush of seeing that I have several new messages when I check my email. Now, it's almost all spam and nothing of a personal nature. Rather than get depressed over this fact, I've decided to embrace it. Let's see what this spam is all about, I say. Why is the first impulse to disregard and delete it?
For example, I was recently sent one from jeffrey jacqueline. The subject line was "Fantasy between her folds". Ordinarily, I'd delete the fuck out of that email, but when I thought about it, I realized I'd be crazy not to investigate this fantasy. I haven't entered the body of the message yet, but you better believe I'll be all over it once I'm done here.
Another one I received tickled my imagination and got the ol' blood pumping like you wouldn't believe. The heading was "Ocean dips in Britneys bra and panties, exposing her nipples and late night romp with a college guy". This isn't someone trying to get me to buy something. No, this is the news, son! And it's being delivered old school, grass-roots style. People need to be informed, to be told what's really going on in the world. I think I may write zelkity zicks back and thank him/her for the info. Fuck the economy, Britney's nipples have been exposed! More at eleven.
I had many moments alone with Ann at work yesterday and I didn't speak to her as much as I probably could have, but we weren't at a bar or a dinner party, so I'm not going to beat myself up over missed opportunities. When I did talk with her, I wasn't on my game. Several times, as words were pouring out of my mouth, I wondered who was feeding me these shitty lines. I was as perplexed at what I was saying as Ann must have been. It wasn't until the end of the day when I recovered and had a good conversation with her. Overall, it wasn't so bad. My grade: B-.
As the Rays were schooling the Red Sox last night, I had the Celtics/Cavs game on. Sure, it's still preseason, but what a game! These guys met in the Eastern Conference finals last year and their meeting last night felt like a playoff game. The C's emerged victorious and I can't wait for the regular season to begin.
So far, this season of The Office has been very good. Last season had its moments but it wasn't as good as previous seasons. It got a little too broad a little too often. Still, it was great stuff, especially when held up to other so-called comedies on television.
I watched Hitman the other night and it kind of sucked. The only reason I watched it was because Roger Ebert gave it a favorable review and it starred Timothy Olyphant from Deadwood, one of the greatest shows ever. He was just about the only thing worth watching in the film.
Had one of the best runs I've ever had last night. Thought it was going to be grueling because I had taken a few days off, but I had a ton of energy and drive. Apparently, the layoff was a good thing. Let's see how I feel when I go at it again tomorrow night.
For example, I was recently sent one from jeffrey jacqueline. The subject line was "Fantasy between her folds". Ordinarily, I'd delete the fuck out of that email, but when I thought about it, I realized I'd be crazy not to investigate this fantasy. I haven't entered the body of the message yet, but you better believe I'll be all over it once I'm done here.
Another one I received tickled my imagination and got the ol' blood pumping like you wouldn't believe. The heading was "Ocean dips in Britneys bra and panties, exposing her nipples and late night romp with a college guy". This isn't someone trying to get me to buy something. No, this is the news, son! And it's being delivered old school, grass-roots style. People need to be informed, to be told what's really going on in the world. I think I may write zelkity zicks back and thank him/her for the info. Fuck the economy, Britney's nipples have been exposed! More at eleven.
I had many moments alone with Ann at work yesterday and I didn't speak to her as much as I probably could have, but we weren't at a bar or a dinner party, so I'm not going to beat myself up over missed opportunities. When I did talk with her, I wasn't on my game. Several times, as words were pouring out of my mouth, I wondered who was feeding me these shitty lines. I was as perplexed at what I was saying as Ann must have been. It wasn't until the end of the day when I recovered and had a good conversation with her. Overall, it wasn't so bad. My grade: B-.
As the Rays were schooling the Red Sox last night, I had the Celtics/Cavs game on. Sure, it's still preseason, but what a game! These guys met in the Eastern Conference finals last year and their meeting last night felt like a playoff game. The C's emerged victorious and I can't wait for the regular season to begin.
So far, this season of The Office has been very good. Last season had its moments but it wasn't as good as previous seasons. It got a little too broad a little too often. Still, it was great stuff, especially when held up to other so-called comedies on television.
I watched Hitman the other night and it kind of sucked. The only reason I watched it was because Roger Ebert gave it a favorable review and it starred Timothy Olyphant from Deadwood, one of the greatest shows ever. He was just about the only thing worth watching in the film.
Had one of the best runs I've ever had last night. Thought it was going to be grueling because I had taken a few days off, but I had a ton of energy and drive. Apparently, the layoff was a good thing. Let's see how I feel when I go at it again tomorrow night.
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