Take the long way around the sea

It was Deb's last day today. We had a little going away party for her in the afternoon. We had Pad Thai and, at one point, Deb announced she was going to eat in the break room downstairs and asked if anyone wanted to join her. I declined because I was almost through eating. I noticed nobody else spoke up. I saw Therese leave the room with her and figured she'd be joining Deb.

About twenty minutes later, I was coming out of the bathroom and saw Deb leaving the break room by herself. I felt bad that she sat by herself at her own party and told her as much. If I had known that Therese wasn't with her, I would have joined her. She wasn't upset, but I still felt lousy.

Again, Ann was talkative with me. Even more so than yesterday. I don't know, maybe she's figuring out how much I bring the rock.

When it was time for her to leave, Deb couldn't hold back the tears. Jeff and Tim each gave her a big hug and I did as well a few minutes later. My desk was right next to her's and when I started she helped me learn the ropes of the job with patience and humor. Luke Warm says she laughs at everything and he's pretty much right. "Oh, boy, the copier is jammed" (laughter); "That guy never returned my call, the jerk!" (laughter); "My husband is having an affair with the babysitter" (laughter, only this time it's coming from me). I guess what I'm trying to say is that Deb isn't a downer. She will be missed.
--
I called my parents while I was stuck on 93 on my way home from work. It had been a few weeks since we last spoken. My mother gave me a bit of a guilt trip about it. I think she did this because she hasn't spoken to my sister in a while, either. I made sure to tell to her that I was fairly certain her phone had the capacity to make outgoing calls in addition to receiving them.
--

Before bed, I listened to an interview with Dr. Jeff Meldrum, the Bigfoot researcher. I fell asleep about ten minutes into it, which sucked because it was a riveting ten minutes. I'll give it another shot tonight. I love Jeff Meldrum. He is on my best and brightest list, joining Roger Ebert, Werner Herzog, David Ray Griffin, George RR Martin, and Charlie Kaufmann. There are others, but if you want to know who they are, it's going to cost you a five spot. Hey, it's the economy.
--

A death, not the one I was expecting, just occurred in Lonesome Dove. It was poetic and sad the way it was rendered. It stuck to me a while after I read it. I've got about fifty or so pages to go. Maybe tonight.

All of a sudden these days, happy throngs, take this joy wherever, wherever

Every Celtics game so far this season has had the atmosphere of a playoff game. Teams are gunning to take down the reigning champs but, so far, only Indiana has been able to do so. Tonight, the champs played the Hawks -- a young, competitive, team that had not lost a game all season. The Truth's game winning shot with only a half second left to play, ended, in dramatic fashion their winning streak.
--
I have minimal energy tonight. I went for a run earlier that left my body feeling taxed. All I feel like doing right now is getting under the covers and reading from Lonesome Dove. Last night, I finished Fatal Vision, a well-written account of the Macdonald murder case that encompassed two decades. Slowly, slowly, I am whittling away at the pile of books I need to finish.
--

Ann was talkative with me today. That is because yesterday I wrote that she has been shy around me . The Universe likes to keep me on my toes.
--

This morning, after Dianne had used the scanner, a device that eats paper like Jared eats Subway, I said "Wow, Dianne that was a smooth scan you had!" Her eyes widened and she smiled.

"What?"

Judging by her mildly shocked reaction, I realized that she thought I had said something different. "I was just commenting on the fact that your scan went smoothly. It didn't devour your paper."

"Oh, uh, yeah, you're right", she replied.

From the other room, Marcy said "I thought you said what smooth skin she had. I thought ' Ok, that's a little inappropriate.'

Everyone had a laugh about it, but inside I kind of wish I did tell Dianne she had smooth skin, because she does and probably would have enjoyed being told that. Maybe next time.

In the sun, in the sun I feel as one

I had in mind a different post than the one you're going to read. That is because my mind is scattered like buckshot and wants to do other things. What I wanted to write, an endeavor I may or may not ever get to, would have required a keen focus, a liberal amount of derring do, and a broad palette of ideas. I don't have it in me tonight.

What I can offer you is an idea that just came upon me: Spam haiku. Earlier tonight, as I was checking off the new spam emails I wanted to delete, I noticed that some of the subject lines had the look of poetry to them. I could use this to my advantage, I thought. Rather than feel repulsed, like I would with cockroaches, every time I see new spam, I could, while not fully ridding myself of my hatred for it, at least take away something positive.


Love the nature

View natural tits

It migrate


That was the first one that caught my attention. See what I'm talking about? Spam haiku, son! Here's another one that, I think you'll agree, touches the soul with delicate precision.

A young cutie

Is swallowing a big black hose

Is munitions


Don't bother trying to derive meaning; it'll arrive when you're ready. For now, just ride the waves of bliss the words provide. Feels good, doesn't it? Here's one more to launch you straight into the navel of ecstasy.

Brush her teeth

With your love instrument

Do inaccurate.



I most certainly will. Paul Stanley couldn't have said it better.
--

At work the other day, it came to me how shy Ann can be. She was is in front of Ellen's desk dancing-- no, more casually swaying in time with, the music coming from the radio (which reminds me of something irritating I think I'll mention further down). As she was doing this, I entered the room. I must have surprised her because, once she was alerted to my presence, she stopped swaying and gave me an embarrassed look.

She is not a wall flower, but I've noticed she doesn't often make conversation. She's involved and assertive if you engage her in one, though. This means that on the days I'm not feeling very talkative, it's likely there won't much, if any, interaction with Ann. I'm ok with that.

I'm in no rush to, and I'm not sure I ever will, pursue something with her. Matters would accelerate if I was more driven regarding her, but I'm not and so they won't. But my life isn't a romantic comedy-- though if it were, I would want it to be like You've Got Mail -- and people don't always pair up, even if they're compatible. So, we'll see with Ann and anyone else that catches my fancy.
--

Before I end this, and shortly I will, I just want to get something off my chest. For years, I've been hearing that Dishwalla song, "Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God", and I just want the world -- God, too -- to know how shitty I think it is. I don't care to get into the numerous ways the song makes me ill because I don't want to feel nauseous the rest of the night. I just need to vent a little.

Must have been mid afternoon
I could tell by how far the child's shadow stretched out
He walked with a purpose
In his sneakers, down the street
He had many questions
Like children often do
He said,
"Tell me all your thoughts on God"
"Tell me am I very far?"


"You're not very far from getting a slap in the face, you little fuck" is the only reply that child would get from me. Fuck you, Dishwalla! Leave the profundity to those who know what to do with it: the writers of spam haiku.

Yesterday a morning came, a smile upon your face

Luke Warm came over to record with Craig yesterday, and Spira, feeling the anguish of a fresh break up and needing the calming presence of friends, came by in the afternoon. It was a day spent with some of my favorite people.

While Craig and Luke Warm recorded in his bedroom, I hung out in mine with Spira, doing my best to be a patient listener as she vented her feelings about her defunct relationship with Seany Boy. I won't go into the details of the break up, except to say that in the end it was probably just a matter of when the relationship was going to end. "If", unfortunately, never really factored into the equation. Of course, for all I know they could have reconciled by the time you read this. If so, good having you back, Seany Boy. If not, well it was nice knowing you.

In the afternoon, we got some take out from Yoshis. Spira and I had some black dragon --- not much of a surprise there --- Craig went with some beef teriyaki that he gave a big thumbs up to, and Luke Warm had a dish with such an unnatural, at least to my western eyes, array of vowels and consonants I'm not going to bother trying to spell it. Just know that it had tofu and a bunch of vegetables and looked like a Greek salad if you glanced at it quickly. Binbidibobybiback? Oh, hell, I don't know.

After dinner, I sat with Spira in the living room while the lads finished recording. I put in a dvd of The Office, figuring she needed some cheer to counterbalance the melancholy. She laughed heartily more than once, so I considered the gambit to be a success.

When the guys were done recording, Luke joined me in the living room to watch the second half of the Celtics game. Spira headed home not long after. I felt bad that she was not having a very good day, but she needed to go through it. She'll be alright; she's a resilient little shit.
--
I went to Olympia Sports this afternoon to buy a pedometer. I was hesitant to go there because of the aggressive sales staff, but I was tired and had already gone to a couple of places looking for one. I was hoping for a smooth experience.

The salesman assisting me was initially pretty laid back and helpful, but once I had decided on a pedometer and began paying for it, he started in with the hard sell. Paying for it took on a whole new meaning.

I thought I was in the clear, but the rat-faced bastard just couldn't keep his maw shut.

"Would you like to save 10% on your purchase today?", he asked as he rang me up.

You just had to do it, didn't you, you little fuck? "Nah, I'm all set."

"Are you sure? You'd be saving money. It's really simple to--"

Am I sure? I'm sure until I inform you otherwise! How dare you question me, worm? "Uh, really I'm all set. Just the pedometer."

"Alright, but this is part of our--"

"All set, thanks"

"--rewards program. You'd get a bunch of--"

"No thanks"

"coupons in the deal. Really, you don't want to check it out?"

What I want to do is make you kneel before me in obeisance. What I want to do is command you to shut the fuck up after declaring that I am your master in all things and my every wish is your command. And then, before I leave the store, I want you to round up every god damn coupon in the store and cram them up your pasty ass. "Uh, no thanks -- like I said, just the pedometer."

I left the store determined never to set foot in there again. Listen, I've worked in retail and know this guy, like the others I've dealt with, was just doing what he was taught to do, which is the hard sell. Still doesn't change the fact that I want to tear the throats out of these punks when they get pushy with me. Ah, but you know the feeling, don't you?
--

Almost done Lonesome Dove, though I probably won't finish it tonight; the C's are on and I'd like to work on some music. And with that, I'm out of here, bitches.

I dreamed of 747's over geometric farms

I just had to make a change in the music I was listening to. I was a couple of songs into AC/DC's Back in Black, but it didn't fit the atmosphere I wanted to convey, so I switched over to Travelogue, Joni Mitchell's orchestral leap into the sublime. It was the right choice. It's late Sunday morning, the one time of the week when one's tastes should be refined. It's a time for quiet reflection, NPR, coffee, jazz, the paper. And Joni Mitchell. I'm sure Craig, who's fast asleep in the next room, appreciates the change in music.
--

I got a call from Spira as I was on my way to the grocery store yesterday morning. She wasn't feeling very well -- a little bit of heartache -- and asked me to come over and help her work through her malaise. So, after getting my groceries, I grabbed a couple of lattes at Starbucks and headed over to her apartment.

It was evident, after talking with her a while, that she would benefit from a run. She was tense and her mind furiously orbited the events that led her to this depressed state. She needed the healthy distraction a run would provide. Earlier in the week, I had mentioned to Spira that I wanted to expand the geography of my runs. One place I had in mind was the Middlesex Fells Reservation over in Medford. "We're going to the Fells for a run", I told her yesterday. "I can't think of a more suitable elixir."

So to the Fells we went. Neither of us had been there before, even though it's close by. I had heard about it from Sara, who had gone there on a first date and gotten lost within it's grip. When we got there we approached a sign that had a map of the area. We picked a trail that looped around a series of small lakes back to our starting location. I silently hoped we wouldn't share Sara's fate.

It was a great experience. We walked, ran, and hiked at various intervals. It was a satisfying, almost transcendent, feeling being out in the woods and away from the city. At one point, deep into our trip, I noticed a profound change in Spira's physiology. She was enjoying herself.

We almost got lost thanks to poorly marked trails, but we made it out okay. As we approached my car in the parking lot, Spira announced, after consulting her pedometer, that we had travelled nearly five miles. It was only last week when we marveled at running three miles. I offered up a high five (My policy regarding high fives, by the way, is to distribute them only after legitimate accomplishments. You will not see me high fiving someone over the fact that Pepsi has a new-look logo or because I had just expelled an impressive bowel movement). It was one of the more rewarding workout experiences I've ever had. I basked in the memory of, and its implications, for the rest of the day.
--

I've decided, because money is tight, but more because I was really getting ahead of myself, to lay off purchasing books for a while. I have a lot I need to finish and many I haven't even started. For the past few weeks, I've put some effort into remedying the problem.

To that end, I finished reading Watchmen the other day. Kind of a disappointment, truth be told, though there was much to like about it. I wasn't thrilled with the illustrating and for such a convoluted plot, it didn't seem to have much substance. I say that with some doubt, however. I'm not sure it's a very fair assessment because, although the story didn't resonate with me as much as I hoped it would have, doesn't mean it lacked substance. Anyway, whatever the cause, I came out the other end of the book feeling a little robbed of what could have been.

I'm almost done reading Lonesome Dove, a book I've been savoring for the last several months. I hope to finish it over the next week. It's such a good read that I know it will be a bittersweet experience when I reach the end. O' Augustus, I know of your fate --some asshole posted it on a web page I visited -- but I somehow believe, by sheer force of will or imagination, I'll be able to save you. So naive.

And there are other books that beg my attention. I hope I have the sack to read a good many of them before I break down and buy another book. We will see.
--

It is approaching one o'clock and I was just informed by Craig, who has just awoken from his slumber, that Luke Warm is scheduled to make an appearance here today. I better go freshen up. Have to look and smell good for the guests. Especially one as dreamy as Luke Warm.

How can you smile and forecast weather's getting better if you've never let a girl rain all over you

I called Spira on my way home from work to see if she was up for a run. She did not pick up. Maybe she's being a chicken baby, I thought, and is petrified of being out in the rain. Either way, I'll razz her about it the next time we talk. I'd be shirking my duty as a friend if I did otherwise.

I, however, was not a chicken baby; I braved the elements and went for a run. Whenever I passed someone all bundled up under an umbrella, I imagined they either thought I was an idiot or a dedicated athlete when they saw me in shorts, a couple of shirts, and baseball cap. The truth lies somewhere in between, I think, slightly favoring the idiot side of the equation. It was a good run, though; it means a lot that I'm willing to exercise in less than ideal elements.
--
I ran into Ellen in the parking lot as I was coming back from break yesterday. I've had similar encounters with her before and every time we meet she uses the occasion, almost as if we planned it ahead of time, to complain about the job. Yesterday it was "I don't blame Deb for leaving. I wake up every day debating whether I should come in."

I do not share her view of the job. I've worked in some absolutely crummy places, with some terrible, maladjusted people. I've worked in conditions so cold I once resorted to stuffing paper towels in my boots to warm up my feet. More than once I've had my physical well being threatened at a job. Christ, I bet everyone I know shares similar and probably worse experiences. So, yesterday, when Ellen told me she's never been in a work environment as toxic as this one, I thought of perspective and how it shapes us.

You see, my job, compared to some of the beauts I've had, is hardly what I consider to be toxic. When Ellen said that, images of Jeff thanking us for doing our jobs as we leave every day appeared in my mind. Already, they've bought me lunch more times than my last few jobs combined. No, this job is not toxic. If Ellen truly believes that it is, then she must have worked at some pretty comfy places and should consider herself blessed.
--
Well, I'm about done with you. I'm going to watch last night's episode of The Office, the funniest show on TV, past and present. Bold claim, huh? Later on, I'll probably regret making it, even though history may prove that I'm right.

Before I leave you, I'd like to welcome Janelle, one of the loveliest people I've ever known and a fine writer, to this site. I've posted a link to her page in the sidebar--I hope she doesn't mind-- and I encourage you to check out her writing because, as many of you already know, you're in for a treat. I don't know how frequently she'll post, but I'll be checking in daily and will devour whatever she offers.

And one more thing about my dear friend. Though I see her little these days, I think about her often, with fondness and admiration. She is one of the few people I'd go on a long road trip with because I know we'd have some meaty, thoughtful conversations. Her well is deep, my friends. And this speaks to why I love her so much and why I eagerly anticipate reading her work on a (hopefully) consistent basis.

I will now, after discovering that The Office didn't air a new episode this week, set my sights on finishing The Trials of Henry Kissinger.

I had money, and I had none, but I never been so broke that I couldn't leave town

Again, I'm going to beg off offering my pearls of wisdom regarding the election. I just can't; not tonight. I will offer slightly more, however, than I did in yesterday's post, which should be easy because I didn't offer a damn thing. So here goes: Obama is President; I can carry up to an ounce of Marley but I can't buy or sell it (Is that progress or a bizarre-as-fuck lateral move? I do not know); an alarming amount of people -- I'm sure of it -- cast their votes without knowing where their candidate stood on the issues; Obama may prove to be our damnation, for all we know, but at least he's easier on the eyes and ears than the demon leaving office. And that makes all the difference.
--

Saw Changeling with Mara tonight. Initially, when we were deciding on a film to watch, she thought this one was Charlie Kaufman's latest, and sold it to me as such. Being a big Kaufman fan, I enthusiastically voted in favor of seeing it. Well, when I was checking movie times, I read a quick synopsis of the film and discovered that Charlie Kaufman had nothing to do with this film, but Clint Eastwood, who directed and scored it, had plenty. Clint, or Easty as I like to call him, is no slouch, so I wasn't too devastated about the mix up.

It was very well done. Long, though. I was starting to feel a little fidgety after the two hour mark (it ended twenty minutes later), but I think if I watch it in a different setting, I'd react differently. So here's the story, and it was a true one.

Woman (Angelina Jolie) in 1920's California discovers her son is kidnapped. Cops recover boy, only he's not the woman's son. Cops, trying to elevate a shoddy reputation and not wanting their work to look sloppy, insist that the boy is indeed her son. Woman refuses to accept their claim and for her troubles gets tossed into a sanitarium.

You're correct in thinking that doesn't sound very funny. Don't let that prevent you from seeing it, though-- it's meant to be a drama and not a hilarious comedy. Check it out.