I need to go to bed. From usatoday.com. Same website that runs the newspaper. Salute!
McDonald's thought it would get a little of that social media love it had been hearing about in January when it created the #McDstories hashtag -- asking customers to share their favorite McDonald's memories. Then it found out what happens when you give the Internet open access to your advertising effort. McDonald's yanked the campaign after just two hours and countless food-horror stories about fingernails, insects and bouts of food poisoning.
Spike Lee was, like many Twitter users, angered by the killing of Florida teen Trayvon Martin. Tweeting the home address of shooter George Zimmerman would have been questionable enough. But Lee mistakenly tweeted out the address of a couple who have a son by that name. They had to leave their home after being besieged by reporters and threats. Lee would later apologize and "reach an agreement" with the aggrieved family.
Something else I'll change later...maybe...
Friday
Titan Park
I hate riding through parts of South Philly.
The streets are narrow and the drivers are narrow-minded. This isn't true of all of them, of course, but I suspect that as a whole drivers in the South Philly neighborhoods don't care for bikers. It's just as well because bikers in the South Philly neighborhoods don't care for drivers. In fact I don't know if this is true either; however, when I'm down there I get tense. Because the streets are narrow, and the drivers have attitude.
I was hit by a cab, while harboring these very feelings in an attempt to bike mindfully. It was four a.m. in the morning, back in the first weekend of November. This isn't relevant, of course, but I'd like to insert it into my online history while I can. I didn't go to the hospital because I don't trust doctors. I couldn't bend my knee for a few days. I've gotten over it since. The knee does bother me from time to time, mostly when it is cold out, and when I'm feeling sorry for myself I blame myself for not getting professional help. This little digression is again not relevant to the story; In sharing with the manner from which I was dismounted from my bicycle, I'm going to toss this sentiment aside and move forward.
I hate riding through parts of South Philly, so when I'm down there I try to vary my route. Earlier this week I was riding on a narrow side street, just off of second or front or whatever runs slightly west and under the elevated Interstate, and several blocks south of Federal. It was that kind of side street that you can never possibly wander into again, because there are so many of them that to find the one you've taken before is to be struck in a different place by the same bolt of lightning.
Along this side street was, eventually, a small block of concrete space. The concrete space was smaller than a city block and probably even too small to be called a lot. Adults could probably build a house on it if they wanted too. Kids could, in no feasible way, play full-court basketball on it, or even a respectable game of half-court. It was that small.
A sign declared this itty, bitty space, with a few benches and some ugly concrete centerpiece, to be called, "Titan Park." I thought the name overextended the aesthetic boundaries of the park a little.
That same sign was a reminder to, "Keep Titan Park Green."
I'll admit there was not a piece of trash anywhere within the limited perimeter of Titan Park that I could see. But, if the message of this sign intended for recipients to help maintain Titan Park's vegetation, those responsible for the placard were too late: all of the greenery had been concreted over some decades ago.
Titan Park is, in this respect, a monument to bureaucracy.
Perhaps I simply misinterpreted what I was able to absorb in my quick drive by. When I'm riding through South Philly, I try to ride out as soon as possible.
The streets are narrow and the drivers are narrow-minded. This isn't true of all of them, of course, but I suspect that as a whole drivers in the South Philly neighborhoods don't care for bikers. It's just as well because bikers in the South Philly neighborhoods don't care for drivers. In fact I don't know if this is true either; however, when I'm down there I get tense. Because the streets are narrow, and the drivers have attitude.
I was hit by a cab, while harboring these very feelings in an attempt to bike mindfully. It was four a.m. in the morning, back in the first weekend of November. This isn't relevant, of course, but I'd like to insert it into my online history while I can. I didn't go to the hospital because I don't trust doctors. I couldn't bend my knee for a few days. I've gotten over it since. The knee does bother me from time to time, mostly when it is cold out, and when I'm feeling sorry for myself I blame myself for not getting professional help. This little digression is again not relevant to the story; In sharing with the manner from which I was dismounted from my bicycle, I'm going to toss this sentiment aside and move forward.
I hate riding through parts of South Philly, so when I'm down there I try to vary my route. Earlier this week I was riding on a narrow side street, just off of second or front or whatever runs slightly west and under the elevated Interstate, and several blocks south of Federal. It was that kind of side street that you can never possibly wander into again, because there are so many of them that to find the one you've taken before is to be struck in a different place by the same bolt of lightning.
Along this side street was, eventually, a small block of concrete space. The concrete space was smaller than a city block and probably even too small to be called a lot. Adults could probably build a house on it if they wanted too. Kids could, in no feasible way, play full-court basketball on it, or even a respectable game of half-court. It was that small.
A sign declared this itty, bitty space, with a few benches and some ugly concrete centerpiece, to be called, "Titan Park." I thought the name overextended the aesthetic boundaries of the park a little.
That same sign was a reminder to, "Keep Titan Park Green."
I'll admit there was not a piece of trash anywhere within the limited perimeter of Titan Park that I could see. But, if the message of this sign intended for recipients to help maintain Titan Park's vegetation, those responsible for the placard were too late: all of the greenery had been concreted over some decades ago.
Titan Park is, in this respect, a monument to bureaucracy.
Perhaps I simply misinterpreted what I was able to absorb in my quick drive by. When I'm riding through South Philly, I try to ride out as soon as possible.
Monday
How did...
How did we remember little things before we had a system of writing?
& Implications:
That Guy, for instance, who always got out of situations by, "forgetting"...well, as soon as we developed a system of writing that guy was shit out of luck. No more excuses.
I hope writing didn't simply evolve out of a need to keep That Guy in line...
Been occupied lately and haven't had much to share. Not feeling the overwhelming weight of inspiration. The season's started up again downtown and it's full steam ahead at the Restaurant for a little while. Picking up Verano again tonight, she's spent the weekend in LA. Things to do before she gets here. Need thirty-three fantasy points to win my football match this week.
Regards,
SEICL
& Implications:
That Guy, for instance, who always got out of situations by, "forgetting"...well, as soon as we developed a system of writing that guy was shit out of luck. No more excuses.
I hope writing didn't simply evolve out of a need to keep That Guy in line...
Been occupied lately and haven't had much to share. Not feeling the overwhelming weight of inspiration. The season's started up again downtown and it's full steam ahead at the Restaurant for a little while. Picking up Verano again tonight, she's spent the weekend in LA. Things to do before she gets here. Need thirty-three fantasy points to win my football match this week.
Regards,
SEICL
Friday
Tuesday
Final Week Update
Last night I finished the first draft of my first short play. It is called "Black Coffee." Will it be read on stage in February?
I also got in a game of Star Fox on my brand new used Nintendo 64. These consoles will be a bitch to find in ten years so I figured I'd get myself a headstart.
6:15. Sister Ray starts.
1. Music/iPod/Hard Drive
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing:Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short, Play Edits. More play edits!
4. Schedule
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Update bottle list
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
6. Cancel Magazines
7. Beer Description Doc
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
11. NFL Preseason & "Other Dates"
12. Dishes/Laundry
13. House Cleaning
14. Visit Karfliov
15. File Paperwork
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
29. Mail Verano's shirt
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
32. Get up by 10.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
34. Call Nanna.
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
24. Do something stupid
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
6:32. Sister Ray ends.
I also got in a game of Star Fox on my brand new used Nintendo 64. These consoles will be a bitch to find in ten years so I figured I'd get myself a headstart.
6:15. Sister Ray starts.
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing:
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
13. House Cleaning
16. Visit The Chain
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
Bad Stuff
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
Extra Credit
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
6:32. Sister Ray ends.
Sunday
Tonight we are maybe a California Gorilla!
Are you ever checking somebody out, maybe at a bar or from across the street, and you enjoy it until you realize it's your Ex? Not based on personal experience or anything, these are the thoughts I have while I'm checking somebody out.
I had a restaurant nightmare last night and I beat it. Let me explain: We in the business have horrid dreams where the demands of the job are hopelessly exaggerated. I'm sure other professions translate accordingly into freak nightmares, but the restaurant ones are nasty. You keep getting sat, or drink tickets keep rolling in. There's no food to serve. There's no alcohol to pour. There's no one to help you and you're drowning in a sea of responsibilities. If you fail, what happens to you?
It's bad enough that the work weighs heavy on us when we're on the clock. It's worse that we can't even get a good night's sleep after a long shift. This is why we drink so much.
Anywho, I had a restaurant nightmare last night--the first I've had in a while, I should add--and I beat it. This doesn't happen. I was managing a great big restaurant that filled up with people almost immediately. They all had shows to get to. I sent the servers to work--poor girls were overwhelmed, and I didn't know what to do myself. And then, I realized that we wouldn't be able to get all of these people out in time for their show. So I told them this. Many of them left and I was able to trim the restaurant down to a manageable number of patrons, who were fed and got out in time.
Success! After that I had a series of other restaurant-related dreams where I was doing a lot of work. I want to leave work at work, dammit. My restaurant dreams have gotten obnoxious. I need to have a talk with me about this.
I had a restaurant nightmare last night and I beat it. Let me explain: We in the business have horrid dreams where the demands of the job are hopelessly exaggerated. I'm sure other professions translate accordingly into freak nightmares, but the restaurant ones are nasty. You keep getting sat, or drink tickets keep rolling in. There's no food to serve. There's no alcohol to pour. There's no one to help you and you're drowning in a sea of responsibilities. If you fail, what happens to you?
It's bad enough that the work weighs heavy on us when we're on the clock. It's worse that we can't even get a good night's sleep after a long shift. This is why we drink so much.
Anywho, I had a restaurant nightmare last night--the first I've had in a while, I should add--and I beat it. This doesn't happen. I was managing a great big restaurant that filled up with people almost immediately. They all had shows to get to. I sent the servers to work--poor girls were overwhelmed, and I didn't know what to do myself. And then, I realized that we wouldn't be able to get all of these people out in time for their show. So I told them this. Many of them left and I was able to trim the restaurant down to a manageable number of patrons, who were fed and got out in time.
Success! After that I had a series of other restaurant-related dreams where I was doing a lot of work. I want to leave work at work, dammit. My restaurant dreams have gotten obnoxious. I need to have a talk with me about this.
Saturday
Friday
Black Dog
A lot to catch up on, so the first thing I'm gonna do Is get myself another glass of Tequila on the rx...
Number One is that I just hit Verano's bowl, which is capital-A-typical. Number Two are the dreams I've had for the last few nights. In one dream, I had to help a pair of dinosaurs which had been transported from the past to the present, and from their dinosaur bodies into human bodies. It's not easy to educate the grievously misplaced--I still can't explain how they understood rudimentary English. I likewise can't explain where this dream came from. Last night, I had a dream of revision--literally, a dream that rewrote memory. What balls said dream has! What happened was, at the beginning of the dream I thought I was in the shift I had worked the night prior (Wednesday night); a normal restaurant shift, to be sure, but in the Dream somebody drugged me, so that I woke up thinking that everything which had in fact happened (on Wednesday) had happened in a trippy stupor, and not in the malignant norm. Can't describe much about the trippy stupor but there was some space-floating. Bear with me; the Anejo I'm ingesting reassures me that this all makes sense.
Number Three: Week Update!
1. Music/iPod/Hard Drive
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short,Play Edits. More play edits!
4. Schedule
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Update bottle list
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
6. Cancel Magazines
7. Beer Description Doc
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
11. NFL Preseason & "Other Dates"
12. Dishes/Laundry
13. House Cleaning
14. Visit Karfliov
15. File Paperwork
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
29. Mail Verano's shirt
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
32. Get up by 10.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
34. Call Nanna.
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
24. Do something stupid
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
I see what I have no time left to do!
Number One is that I just hit Verano's bowl, which is capital-A-typical. Number Two are the dreams I've had for the last few nights. In one dream, I had to help a pair of dinosaurs which had been transported from the past to the present, and from their dinosaur bodies into human bodies. It's not easy to educate the grievously misplaced--I still can't explain how they understood rudimentary English. I likewise can't explain where this dream came from. Last night, I had a dream of revision--literally, a dream that rewrote memory. What balls said dream has! What happened was, at the beginning of the dream I thought I was in the shift I had worked the night prior (Wednesday night); a normal restaurant shift, to be sure, but in the Dream somebody drugged me, so that I woke up thinking that everything which had in fact happened (on Wednesday) had happened in a trippy stupor, and not in the malignant norm. Can't describe much about the trippy stupor but there was some space-floating. Bear with me; the Anejo I'm ingesting reassures me that this all makes sense.
Number Three: Week Update!
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short,
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
13. House Cleaning
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
Bad Stuff
Extra Credit
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
I see what I have no time left to do!
Tonight's Scary Thought
"The Shining" Time Station.
All original artwork. Maybe I should pass on the next double.
Click to post every opportunity I've failed to take advantage of!
All original artwork. Maybe I should pass on the next double.
Click to post every opportunity I've failed to take advantage of!
Thursday
Interpretation.
Tonight's Deep Thought:
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush::What you've got is only worth half of what you could have.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush::What you've got is only worth half of what you could have.
Wednesday
That's All You Need, Part II
SECOND WEEK UPDATE
1. Music/iPod/Hard Drive
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short,Play Edits. More play edits!
4. Schedule
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Update bottle list
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
6. Cancel Magazines
7. Beer Description Doc
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
11. NFL Preseason & "Other Dates"
12. Dishes/Laundry
13. House Cleaning
14. Visit Karfliov
15. File Paperwork
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
29. Mail Verano's shirt
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
32. Get up by 10.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
34. Call Nanna.
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
24. Do something stupid
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short,
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
8. Go Home
10. Copyrights
13. House Cleaning
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
32. Get up by 10.
Bad Stuff
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
That's All You Need, Part I
Republished from Composition Book, August 27th, 2012.
"Last night I didn't dream; I was in my head. It was room on room of cavernous spaces, and in these spaces there were thousands of objects on the walls, just stuck there or on shelves. The objects were memories and knowledge and thoughts, and ranged in appearance from simple--a little blue toy horse, for instance--to abstract and indescribable. So I was wondering around these vast rooms, trying to connect the different objects I saw with what they might represent. Eventually I was in one of the lowest chambers, where my brain is connected at the spinal column I suspect, and there was a villainous mischief-maker who I had been summoned to thwart. We battled using mechanized suits and he defeated me, so I was evading him and worked my way to a large gun, which he had constructed in order to destroy a significant portion of the objects on the walls.
"The gun was black and probably twice as big as I was, and it was on a timer. When the clock counted down it would fire, no matter what it was pointed at. He started the timer just as I reached the gun and then he flew away. With no options I pointed the gun into a hole at the very bottom of the cavern, into a pool of brilliant red magma boiling beneath the cavern's surface, so that none of the the objects in the upper layers would be damaged by a blast (presumably I was pointing down into my spinal cord, where the damaging energy would be absorbed and thus not effective*). However, when the clock reached zero the gun did nothing, and the Trickster--a form of my own consciousness? an archetype, buried deep, deep within?--came back around. He was laughing. It had all been a hoax, of course. He just wanted company.
"Out of either frustration or accidental ignorance I pull on a handle while climbing upwards, which causes the lower chamber to start flooding. I climb back into the main caverns.
"Now I have to find the door to get out, but there are hundreds of doors dispersed in between the objects on the walls, and they all go to different places. I'm looking for one set of doors, of course, and I don't remember which ones they are. Something or someone reminds me that I've done this before. Along one of the thousands of shelves I find what I am looking for, a silver, rubbery sort of object that is mounted to the wall. It has a wavy symbol on it. I take it from its mount and press it into a mold on a different wall of the cavern. Above this mold there is a tiny pair of red doors, so small that I can barely open them. Above the doors is a placard that says, "Cere". The silver object acts as a key, and the doors unlock.
"Suddenly I can hear what's going on outside, in the real world, my external world. I wake up. By going through the doors I've restored myself to the helm of my body.
"But, for a little while and to what purpose I can't say, I was inside of my brain last night. There's a world, a kingdom and a people, in there."
I've explored it in previous dreams but never to this extent, I've never been to the source. I hope future visits explain a bit more of the mystery. I'll chronicle them here at Something Else as best I can.
Thought for the day: The Chinese Zodiac interprets personalities on a twelve year cycle, while the regular Zodiac interprets personalities on a twelve month cycle. What is the significance of this?
* Or would it?
"Last night I didn't dream; I was in my head. It was room on room of cavernous spaces, and in these spaces there were thousands of objects on the walls, just stuck there or on shelves. The objects were memories and knowledge and thoughts, and ranged in appearance from simple--a little blue toy horse, for instance--to abstract and indescribable. So I was wondering around these vast rooms, trying to connect the different objects I saw with what they might represent. Eventually I was in one of the lowest chambers, where my brain is connected at the spinal column I suspect, and there was a villainous mischief-maker who I had been summoned to thwart. We battled using mechanized suits and he defeated me, so I was evading him and worked my way to a large gun, which he had constructed in order to destroy a significant portion of the objects on the walls.
"The gun was black and probably twice as big as I was, and it was on a timer. When the clock counted down it would fire, no matter what it was pointed at. He started the timer just as I reached the gun and then he flew away. With no options I pointed the gun into a hole at the very bottom of the cavern, into a pool of brilliant red magma boiling beneath the cavern's surface, so that none of the the objects in the upper layers would be damaged by a blast (presumably I was pointing down into my spinal cord, where the damaging energy would be absorbed and thus not effective*). However, when the clock reached zero the gun did nothing, and the Trickster--a form of my own consciousness? an archetype, buried deep, deep within?--came back around. He was laughing. It had all been a hoax, of course. He just wanted company.
"Out of either frustration or accidental ignorance I pull on a handle while climbing upwards, which causes the lower chamber to start flooding. I climb back into the main caverns.
"Now I have to find the door to get out, but there are hundreds of doors dispersed in between the objects on the walls, and they all go to different places. I'm looking for one set of doors, of course, and I don't remember which ones they are. Something or someone reminds me that I've done this before. Along one of the thousands of shelves I find what I am looking for, a silver, rubbery sort of object that is mounted to the wall. It has a wavy symbol on it. I take it from its mount and press it into a mold on a different wall of the cavern. Above this mold there is a tiny pair of red doors, so small that I can barely open them. Above the doors is a placard that says, "Cere". The silver object acts as a key, and the doors unlock.
"Suddenly I can hear what's going on outside, in the real world, my external world. I wake up. By going through the doors I've restored myself to the helm of my body.
"But, for a little while and to what purpose I can't say, I was inside of my brain last night. There's a world, a kingdom and a people, in there."
I've explored it in previous dreams but never to this extent, I've never been to the source. I hope future visits explain a bit more of the mystery. I'll chronicle them here at Something Else as best I can.
Thought for the day: The Chinese Zodiac interprets personalities on a twelve year cycle, while the regular Zodiac interprets personalities on a twelve month cycle. What is the significance of this?
* Or would it?
Monday
I don't think my Neighbors like me.
Within the span of a week the third floor neighbors, called Neighbors, have likely made two phones calls on my behalf. The first one, in theory, was to the fire department with regards to my noisy, incessant smoke detector. I'm confident that they also propped the front doors open to let the firemen in and I probably own them a thank-you for saving my life.
The second one, confirmed, was to the property manager with regards to my desperation. I went out into the hallway this evening, wearing only a sky-blue pirate bath towel, in order to bring in my bicycle, because they were moving heavy furniture down the stairs. I locked my self out.
I was able to jiggle my way back into the apartment before the manager showed up, but it doesn't do much aside for two brilliant demonstrations of awkward idiocy. I think they're moving soon.
FIRST WEEK UPDATE
1. Music/iPod/Hard Drive
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short,Play Edits. More play edits!
4. Schedule
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Update bottle list
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
6. Cancel Magazines
7. Beer Description Doc
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
11. NFL Preseason & "Other Dates"
12. Dishes/Laundry
13. House Cleaning
14. Visit Karfliov
15. File Paperwork
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
29. Mail Verano's shirt
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
32. Get up by 10.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
34. Call Nanna.
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
24. Do something stupid
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
Monday is just not my day.
The second one, confirmed, was to the property manager with regards to my desperation. I went out into the hallway this evening, wearing only a sky-blue pirate bath towel, in order to bring in my bicycle, because they were moving heavy furniture down the stairs. I locked my self out.
I was able to jiggle my way back into the apartment before the manager showed up, but it doesn't do much aside for two brilliant demonstrations of awkward idiocy. I think they're moving soon.
FIRST WEEK UPDATE
1. Music/iPod/
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod. and St. Elmo's Fire, and Lords of the New Church, and Dreams & Desires
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short,
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
10. Copyrights
13. House Cleaning
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
29. Mail Verano's shirt
30. Get rid of lingering burning smell.
31. HH @ Local bar.
32. Get up by 10.
33. Dinner @ Good Luck China Town
34. Call Nanna.
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
Monday is just not my day.
Sunday
My Cat Just Demonstrated an Interesting Facility of His Memory
When it comes to an animal's cognitive ability, and even my Cat's, call me a skeptic. Not because I doubt. Maybe because I underestimate. But, most simply because I don't Know. The Cat is a smart The Cat, and I know this better than anyone else in the world. That established, I still don't understand some of his choices; and, as an philosophical human being (depending on how many I've had), I don't even know when he has choices. Or If he has choices. As evidence to the contrary, he is choosey about when he does and doesn't want to sit on the bottom shelf of the fridge, often to obnoxious ends; Let's accept that he makes willful choices.
Which brings me around to my original intention. He has a lot of quirks, and currently the most pertinent is his affinity for plastic. Wrap, bags, packaging: If it's clear plastic, he loves it. Verano and I entertain ourselves with theories. The top one is that if he eats enough of the stuff, the clear plastic, he believes he will also become invisible. This is very useful when you are a Russian Spy, like he is. Otherwise it's adorable, and that's currently the capacity his quirk seems to serve in.
Lately, I've been keeping a mouthguard in it's original plastic wrap in one of our milk crates in the bathroom. When I go into the bathroom he comes with me, and investigates the very plastic wrap. He leaves it alone when the house is empty: It's only when somebody is in the bathroom that he's all right with inspecting it.
This afternoon I put it up, because I fear that he's going to chew on it one afternoon when the house is empty and choke while neither Verano nor I can do anything about it. That didn't stop him from checking out the action when I got home tonight. Only thing is, it wasn't where it usually is.
Seeing a cat confused about something that should be, is a cute thing indeed. It can make your night.
Conclusion: Right now he is in his chair, and things are largely as they should be. He is smiling. Verano is in Los Angeles, which is off, but he understands why. He's very comfortable in his chair. That, above all else, makes things okay.
Get a cat and make it happy.
Which brings me around to my original intention. He has a lot of quirks, and currently the most pertinent is his affinity for plastic. Wrap, bags, packaging: If it's clear plastic, he loves it. Verano and I entertain ourselves with theories. The top one is that if he eats enough of the stuff, the clear plastic, he believes he will also become invisible. This is very useful when you are a Russian Spy, like he is. Otherwise it's adorable, and that's currently the capacity his quirk seems to serve in.
Lately, I've been keeping a mouthguard in it's original plastic wrap in one of our milk crates in the bathroom. When I go into the bathroom he comes with me, and investigates the very plastic wrap. He leaves it alone when the house is empty: It's only when somebody is in the bathroom that he's all right with inspecting it.
This afternoon I put it up, because I fear that he's going to chew on it one afternoon when the house is empty and choke while neither Verano nor I can do anything about it. That didn't stop him from checking out the action when I got home tonight. Only thing is, it wasn't where it usually is.
Seeing a cat confused about something that should be, is a cute thing indeed. It can make your night.
Conclusion: Right now he is in his chair, and things are largely as they should be. He is smiling. Verano is in Los Angeles, which is off, but he understands why. He's very comfortable in his chair. That, above all else, makes things okay.
Get a cat and make it happy.
Tuesday
Skin I'm In
iPod shuffle just played Fresh Flesh (Lords of the New Church) and In the Flesh (Blondie) back to back. Hm...
p.s. does not stand for Golden Monkey.
I've grossly miscalculated how difficult it will be to drink an entire sixer of the stuff, which is a challenge I equate to a Jersey Lunch Truck sandwich, the kind they'll name after you; or a Philly taco; a twelve-egg omelet; you get the idea.
The Five Week List:
1. Music/iPod/Hard Drive
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short, Play Edits.
4. Schedule
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Update bottle list
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
6. Cancel Magazines
7. Beer Description Doc
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
11. NFL Preseason & "Other Dates"
12. Dishes/Laundry
13. House Cleaning
14. Visit Karfilov
15. File Paperwork
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
24. Do something stupid
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
Editor's note: Item 24. was added after the fact, as both a benchmark and a warning. Let's not repeat, at least not while we're unsupervised.
The Five Week List:
1. Music/iPod/Hard Drive
It's Raining Men can come off of the iPod
2. NFL Stats/Draft Party
The Draft Party is on the 26th. Should be a good night.
3. Writing: Black Coffee, Oxbow Lake, Sitcom Show, Untitled Short, Play Edits.
4. Schedule
Take off days Wed Sept. 12
5. Fall Restaurant Event
Update bottle list
Manager Meeting (Consolidate notes)
7. Beer Description Doc
Styles Guide
8. Go Home
9. Watch Jaws/Matrix/Shining?
10. Copyrights
11. NFL Preseason & "Other Dates"
12. Dishes/Laundry
13. House Cleaning
14. Visit Karfilov
15. File Paperwork
16. Visit The Chain
17. Mad Blog (in progress)
18. Cross off things on other lists
19. Call Ma (surgery)
20. Call Pappy
Bad Stuff
21. Cigarettes
22. PNP
23. Cutty Sark
Extra Credit
25. Jeans
26. Haircut
27. Shoes
28. Upgrade Verano's home flight.
29. Thank the girl upstairs for saving my life.
Editor's note: Item 24. was added after the fact, as both a benchmark and a warning. Let's not repeat, at least not while we're unsupervised.
Too Many Golden Monkeys
Verano is in LA for five weeks starting yesterday. I have a bucket list which I'll post, starting with item number last, which I've already crossed off the list:
Do something stupid.
In anticipation of her trip I purchased a case of Golden Monkey, which is my favorite beer. It's a golden Belgian tripel which, weighing in at a nasty 9.5% alcohol-by-volume, is not a beer to dick around with. But I did anyway. I was four-and-a-third of these babies in when I put some water on the boil. I was four-and-a-half in when I put the rice on and dropped the chicken. I was still four-and-a-half in when I was woken up by a swarm of buzzing firemen. I don't even think I could remember my name last night. They ventilated the place but it still smells like meat and starch stuck to the bottom of a pan. And, between the noisy fire alarms and the smoke, the Cat is not only ticked off, he's a little nervous. I don't like making my cat nervous.
Somebody else paid my tab last night and I'm grateful for that. But maybe the bar should have thrown me out instead. Lesson learned: get something else to drink after that third one. Like water.
Oh, the icing on the cake was the Doves song that was playing as I came to. Great, just rub it in, barman.
Do something stupid.
In anticipation of her trip I purchased a case of Golden Monkey, which is my favorite beer. It's a golden Belgian tripel which, weighing in at a nasty 9.5% alcohol-by-volume, is not a beer to dick around with. But I did anyway. I was four-and-a-third of these babies in when I put some water on the boil. I was four-and-a-half in when I put the rice on and dropped the chicken. I was still four-and-a-half in when I was woken up by a swarm of buzzing firemen. I don't even think I could remember my name last night. They ventilated the place but it still smells like meat and starch stuck to the bottom of a pan. And, between the noisy fire alarms and the smoke, the Cat is not only ticked off, he's a little nervous. I don't like making my cat nervous.
Somebody else paid my tab last night and I'm grateful for that. But maybe the bar should have thrown me out instead. Lesson learned: get something else to drink after that third one. Like water.
Oh, the icing on the cake was the Doves song that was playing as I came to. Great, just rub it in, barman.
Saturday
Turn off one of the women and put some more ice on the fire!
The Chinese discovered gunpowder by accident while trying to invent a potion that would alchemically lengthen life.
It is unclear what the Chinese were trying to invent when they discovered spaghetti. Perhaps the spaghetti noodle, too, was a byproduct of longevity research, of an effort to live a won, won ton; a futile attempt to avoid facing the question, "Who's going to chop your suey when I'm gone?"
--Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume
It is unclear what the Chinese were trying to invent when they discovered spaghetti. Perhaps the spaghetti noodle, too, was a byproduct of longevity research, of an effort to live a won, won ton; a futile attempt to avoid facing the question, "Who's going to chop your suey when I'm gone?"
--Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume
Sunday
An Old Consolation
I've been living down the street from Honest Tom's Taco Store (Store? Shop? Place?) for nearly eight months now. Reviewing ye olde posts, I discover I never made it to Tom's honest wagon. If his store shop place is any indication, however, I missed out on a good thing a long time ago. Vives los Tacos de Tom!
Nothing says Trash like Yum!
POTENTIALLY SOPHISTICATED:
Ingredients: Cucumber, pasta sauce, spices.
Warm moderate portion of pasta sauce in sauce pan. While it simmers, cut cucumber into desired number of round slices. Arrange on plate. Top each slice with a measure of the heated sauce. Spice to taste; recommendations include Parsley, Basil, Garlic Powder, Cayenne Pepper, Ground Pepper, Marjoram, Paprika, Parmesan, etc. Sky's the limit.
NOT SOPHISTICATED:
Do all of the above, but put a layer of mustard or mayonnaise between the cucumber and the pasta sauce.
BONUS ROUND:
Lick the plate when you are done.
Ingredients: Cucumber, pasta sauce, spices.
Warm moderate portion of pasta sauce in sauce pan. While it simmers, cut cucumber into desired number of round slices. Arrange on plate. Top each slice with a measure of the heated sauce. Spice to taste; recommendations include Parsley, Basil, Garlic Powder, Cayenne Pepper, Ground Pepper, Marjoram, Paprika, Parmesan, etc. Sky's the limit.
NOT SOPHISTICATED:
Do all of the above, but put a layer of mustard or mayonnaise between the cucumber and the pasta sauce.
BONUS ROUND:
Lick the plate when you are done.
Monday
Sound Off!
Acts that have become Incalculably Influential with just Three Albums:
The Stooges
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Nirvana
Alice In Chains
(i'm missing a big one here and it's going to bother me for a while.)
The Stooges
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Nirvana
Alice In Chains
(i'm missing a big one here and it's going to bother me for a while.)
History is Irrelevant
I think young souls are lucky souls...
Stupid, but lucky.
On tonight's bikeride I decided that history is irrelevant. It's fascinating, but has very little bearing on the present. Now, some say that we learn from our History, which I believe to be true. Mistakes we have made in the past, as a society, a humanity, and as individuals, have been significant lessons. But, my opinion is that you can only prepare for the present by experiencing it - reading about what once was can inform your decision, but ultimately won't affect the outcome beyond your ability to execute your intentions.
This is supposed to be a deeper philosophy but I'm less capable when it's hours later and I'm not on my bicycle. I think I should get a tape recorder, especially since I had another thought on the ride home and I've lost that one entirely. Oh, Restaurants should hire contractually. That wasn't the thought I lost, but as a separate idea from earlier in the shift tonight it's a thought I want to record. "What if restaurants were like baseball?" I ventured to one of my comrades. You are hired for a salary, for a certain period of time, and you can be traded to other restaurants. Just like they do in the major leagues."
It's not an awful idea. It would be a lot like shipping out on a seafaring voyage, like Ishmael does in Moby Dick. At the end of three years you resign or find a new ship. New team. Whichever metaphor you want to go with. A restaurant is a lot like a sailing vessel, and less like a baseball team, although I can make the pitcher/catcher/infield/outfield comparison last through at least seven innings.
Stupid, but lucky.
On tonight's bikeride I decided that history is irrelevant. It's fascinating, but has very little bearing on the present. Now, some say that we learn from our History, which I believe to be true. Mistakes we have made in the past, as a society, a humanity, and as individuals, have been significant lessons. But, my opinion is that you can only prepare for the present by experiencing it - reading about what once was can inform your decision, but ultimately won't affect the outcome beyond your ability to execute your intentions.
This is supposed to be a deeper philosophy but I'm less capable when it's hours later and I'm not on my bicycle. I think I should get a tape recorder, especially since I had another thought on the ride home and I've lost that one entirely. Oh, Restaurants should hire contractually. That wasn't the thought I lost, but as a separate idea from earlier in the shift tonight it's a thought I want to record. "What if restaurants were like baseball?" I ventured to one of my comrades. You are hired for a salary, for a certain period of time, and you can be traded to other restaurants. Just like they do in the major leagues."
It's not an awful idea. It would be a lot like shipping out on a seafaring voyage, like Ishmael does in Moby Dick. At the end of three years you resign or find a new ship. New team. Whichever metaphor you want to go with. A restaurant is a lot like a sailing vessel, and less like a baseball team, although I can make the pitcher/catcher/infield/outfield comparison last through at least seven innings.
Saturday
Tuesday
Wave of Mutilation
Last night's dream weighed anchor in unchartered waters: the oceans of metaphorical interpretation. I start as a passenger aboard a commercially-designed clipper; even the guests wear old fashionede rags, to keep the voyage somewhere in the vicinity of the authentic. I was wearing teal. Through a series of misfortunes and by the commander officer's extreme dislike for me, however, I turn from happy-go-lucky modern passenger to archaic, brig-chained prisoner - in teal underwear. I'm not so sure about the teal, but the dream is definitely a subconscious poke at my feelings toward the restaurant, and my boss. Hmph.
Friday
Automatic
twenty-five. today. not much to say about it, a few bad liquor recipes on my mind but at least one good one, outside of my tasty margarita: juice of one fresh squeezed orange, dash of dry vermouth, measure of Captain Morgan. yes, I say Captain Morgan: it was a birthday present and in making the best of it I think I've managed to make it taste pretty good. Might be the orange juice.
Little Brother is living in New York for five more weeks so we visited him today, he's in Chelsea; tiny digs, but the Mainline is pretty damn cool and he's within sight of that, so he's in good.
Feeling in a weird place. Somebody died in my dream last night but now I don't remember who, might have been Little Brother. Had deja vu today--always nice, a sweet note in the symphony of life--but it wasn't anything remarkable, for what it's worth. Ran into Kansas on the trolley this morning and my free-fare got expensive: I'm not sure Verano thought her trip with me entirely worth it, and I've been reeling all day. For the last two days, maybe. I feel twenty-five, If my instincts are correct. I've never been twenty-five before so it's hard to tell, but I feel like I'm old enough that I don't have any excuses anymore, and I'm dead afraid that by answering to all of my mistakes I'm locked in to life for life. Resolutions: 1) dRINK as much as I want; 2) flirt more, but entirely lead on; 3) write, god dammit. ; 4) you have a family out there, somewhere. Be a positive influence on life. 5) Don't make excuses for yourself. Be who you think you are, say what you want. It's not going to get any simpler now, if you don't grow balls while you have the energy to it's never going to happen, and you don't want to be what you've seen.
Enough said. Sleep, Huevos de Benedict de Verano. A good day, indeed.
Little Brother is living in New York for five more weeks so we visited him today, he's in Chelsea; tiny digs, but the Mainline is pretty damn cool and he's within sight of that, so he's in good.
Feeling in a weird place. Somebody died in my dream last night but now I don't remember who, might have been Little Brother. Had deja vu today--always nice, a sweet note in the symphony of life--but it wasn't anything remarkable, for what it's worth. Ran into Kansas on the trolley this morning and my free-fare got expensive: I'm not sure Verano thought her trip with me entirely worth it, and I've been reeling all day. For the last two days, maybe. I feel twenty-five, If my instincts are correct. I've never been twenty-five before so it's hard to tell, but I feel like I'm old enough that I don't have any excuses anymore, and I'm dead afraid that by answering to all of my mistakes I'm locked in to life for life. Resolutions: 1) dRINK as much as I want; 2) flirt more, but entirely lead on; 3) write, god dammit. ; 4) you have a family out there, somewhere. Be a positive influence on life. 5) Don't make excuses for yourself. Be who you think you are, say what you want. It's not going to get any simpler now, if you don't grow balls while you have the energy to it's never going to happen, and you don't want to be what you've seen.
Enough said. Sleep, Huevos de Benedict de Verano. A good day, indeed.
Monday
Mad Sex Orgy Lesbians Cock Cum Hot Nude
Eighteen people have been disappointed by clicking to a post entitled, "The Cunnilingus Pun"; why not add a few more to the list?
Or am I cheating by putting it all out there?
The ghost in my dream, the dream I alluded to a few posts back, was named Judith Myers. On a wall of the hotel in the dream hung two portraits; the portrait of Judith Myers--her name enscribed on the decorative frame--was empty while its ghost wandered about the hotel.
Deja Vu. This must be, as some say, a significant moment in my life. The dream wasn't Deja Vu, I'm having it while I sit here and write.
The second portrait was of the former keeper. I had to wake this portrait up by knocking on the wall; and when I did, that benevolent woman--I don't remember her name, although perhaps I should--managed to reign in the malevolent spirit that wandered the hotel.
But, for those who visit Something Else with base intentions, and have, despite today's title, stayed with it until now, I don't like to disappoint: There were three women in this dream that were staying in the hotel, and before they were terrorized by Judith Myers they were having sex with each other, and drinking the tequila.
My mind is a platform of contrived horror formula. I'm pretty sure the ghost wasn't named Judith, either, the name on the gilded wood started with an 'A'; but, Judith is the best I was able to retrieve from the recesses of my lumpy lump, before wake closed off the narrow passageways that allow the conscious to traverse in to the deep and unknown, and loot from that which is otherwise guarded and locked.
Or am I cheating by putting it all out there?
The ghost in my dream, the dream I alluded to a few posts back, was named Judith Myers. On a wall of the hotel in the dream hung two portraits; the portrait of Judith Myers--her name enscribed on the decorative frame--was empty while its ghost wandered about the hotel.
Deja Vu. This must be, as some say, a significant moment in my life. The dream wasn't Deja Vu, I'm having it while I sit here and write.
The second portrait was of the former keeper. I had to wake this portrait up by knocking on the wall; and when I did, that benevolent woman--I don't remember her name, although perhaps I should--managed to reign in the malevolent spirit that wandered the hotel.
But, for those who visit Something Else with base intentions, and have, despite today's title, stayed with it until now, I don't like to disappoint: There were three women in this dream that were staying in the hotel, and before they were terrorized by Judith Myers they were having sex with each other, and drinking the tequila.
My mind is a platform of contrived horror formula. I'm pretty sure the ghost wasn't named Judith, either, the name on the gilded wood started with an 'A'; but, Judith is the best I was able to retrieve from the recesses of my lumpy lump, before wake closed off the narrow passageways that allow the conscious to traverse in to the deep and unknown, and loot from that which is otherwise guarded and locked.
The Cunnilingus Pun, Prt. II
So, apparently, if you've titled your post, The Cunnilingus Pun, you invite at least one page view on a day like today. Sorry to disappoint whoever Googled Cunnilingus and got Something Else instead. Haha.
Some thoughts.
Firstly, I've just been introcuted to Tony Robbins. I'm sorry, I've just been introduced; I don't know what introcuted means. And, I've been introduced to Tom Robbins, not Tony Robbins. Tony Robbins is a motivational speaker. Tom Robbins is a brilliant writer. So perhaps I've been introcuted to Tony Robbins after all, since I wouldn't know exactly what that entails. Inanity aside, Jitterbug Perfume has hit me like a healthy beet to the head, and the lump that's swelling there is a welcome one.
That said, I had an unusual sex dream last night. "Leave it to dreams to do what our hands or partners have not." It started as a 64-bit Legend-of-Zelda style minigame of chicken, in which (young) Link has to collect more rupees than the Centipede. The rupees are all on a platform that is sinking. If he stays on it too long he gets sucked into a vortex, but you have to collect rupees until the very last second if you want to beat the Centipede. When you have enough you swim upwards, and win the game. It took me three tries.
After you win the Centipede gives you a majic mirror-lantern that releases a bright light. The mirror turned into striptease, which turned into a couple having sex. I had trouble going back to sleep after I woke up from this.
Part of the reason is because, when I did finally lay back down, Jim Carey was in the back of my brain, having a tantrum and trying to break his way out. When that subsided, I was left having a conversation with a disembodied Robin Williams, who sounded a bit like Robert DeNiro. This was broken up when a troupe of Russians sidled up to my brain, coming in from the cold, and asked for a drink. A Yuppie showed up and was annoyed because the bar didn't serve coffee. After last call I had to shepherd a herd of people out of my head, and when it was finally empty I was left in my restaurant, quiet and dark. I finally fell back asleep.
"Idiots are the ones who, while the ship is sinking, wait in line to use the bathroom."
Why did I abbreviate "Part II" as "Prt. II"? Just WHAT is the point of leaving out a single A? We my never know...
I think I'm going to start calling farm veterinarians Bull Mechanics.
I began to read Moby Dick again, which is a fantastic novel. However, whales have now begun to breach the surface of my tedium. Where they always there? In two weeks I have had unusual instances of whales, which I will lay down here, ハーマン·メルヴィルの書き込みと同じように。
(That's Japanese, which I don't even pretend to speak. But, if the translation is good, which I doubt, it's a suitable way to end the thought.)
1. Marcel LeFever of Jitterbug Perfume wears a whale mask.
2. There is a Spermaceti on the base of the North Coast PranQster tap handle at work.
3. I saw a tourism commercial that touted Whale Watching on the Pacific Coast on the big screen one evening at work. I have never seen this commercial before.
4. Er, there was a fourth but it got away.
Am I finally noticing whales that have been there all along, or I am I a-whale hunting as a member of the Pequod's crew? Ahab thinks of nothing but whales, and most significantly, the White Whale. I've been trying to compare myself to Starbuck, but I have to decide if my boss is Ahab, or if I am. I don't think I'm crazy enough, yet, and Robin Williams by way of Robert DeNiro agrees.
2010: Moby Dick, by the way, is an awful, awful, little bit of cinematography. No White Whale there. Metaphorically, or literally. The whale in the movie is black, which just goes to show that the harpooners taking aim at that film really missed their marks.
Some thoughts.
Firstly, I've just been introcuted to Tony Robbins. I'm sorry, I've just been introduced; I don't know what introcuted means. And, I've been introduced to Tom Robbins, not Tony Robbins. Tony Robbins is a motivational speaker. Tom Robbins is a brilliant writer. So perhaps I've been introcuted to Tony Robbins after all, since I wouldn't know exactly what that entails. Inanity aside, Jitterbug Perfume has hit me like a healthy beet to the head, and the lump that's swelling there is a welcome one.
That said, I had an unusual sex dream last night. "Leave it to dreams to do what our hands or partners have not." It started as a 64-bit Legend-of-Zelda style minigame of chicken, in which (young) Link has to collect more rupees than the Centipede. The rupees are all on a platform that is sinking. If he stays on it too long he gets sucked into a vortex, but you have to collect rupees until the very last second if you want to beat the Centipede. When you have enough you swim upwards, and win the game. It took me three tries.
After you win the Centipede gives you a majic mirror-lantern that releases a bright light. The mirror turned into striptease, which turned into a couple having sex. I had trouble going back to sleep after I woke up from this.
Part of the reason is because, when I did finally lay back down, Jim Carey was in the back of my brain, having a tantrum and trying to break his way out. When that subsided, I was left having a conversation with a disembodied Robin Williams, who sounded a bit like Robert DeNiro. This was broken up when a troupe of Russians sidled up to my brain, coming in from the cold, and asked for a drink. A Yuppie showed up and was annoyed because the bar didn't serve coffee. After last call I had to shepherd a herd of people out of my head, and when it was finally empty I was left in my restaurant, quiet and dark. I finally fell back asleep.
"Idiots are the ones who, while the ship is sinking, wait in line to use the bathroom."
Why did I abbreviate "Part II" as "Prt. II"? Just WHAT is the point of leaving out a single A? We my never know...
I think I'm going to start calling farm veterinarians Bull Mechanics.
I began to read Moby Dick again, which is a fantastic novel. However, whales have now begun to breach the surface of my tedium. Where they always there? In two weeks I have had unusual instances of whales, which I will lay down here, ハーマン·メルヴィルの書き込みと同じように。
(That's Japanese, which I don't even pretend to speak. But, if the translation is good, which I doubt, it's a suitable way to end the thought.)
1. Marcel LeFever of Jitterbug Perfume wears a whale mask.
2. There is a Spermaceti on the base of the North Coast PranQster tap handle at work.
3. I saw a tourism commercial that touted Whale Watching on the Pacific Coast on the big screen one evening at work. I have never seen this commercial before.
4. Er, there was a fourth but it got away.
Am I finally noticing whales that have been there all along, or I am I a-whale hunting as a member of the Pequod's crew? Ahab thinks of nothing but whales, and most significantly, the White Whale. I've been trying to compare myself to Starbuck, but I have to decide if my boss is Ahab, or if I am. I don't think I'm crazy enough, yet, and Robin Williams by way of Robert DeNiro agrees.
2010: Moby Dick, by the way, is an awful, awful, little bit of cinematography. No White Whale there. Metaphorically, or literally. The whale in the movie is black, which just goes to show that the harpooners taking aim at that film really missed their marks.
Friday
Judith Myers. Ruth Myers. A. Myers.
Judith Myers. Ruth Myers. A. Myers. I'll fill in the details after tonight.
I'm with Chekov, people and their unfulfilled dreams are starting to annoy me. The people, that is, who are passive aggressive about realizing those dreams. I'm not sure which side of the dream fence I sleep on.
More ghosties last night. Intense. Judith Myers. Ruth Myers. A. Myers. Lasting image from my Tito's & soda dreamfest: a shot glass on its side, still full of an amber liquor. Tequila or whiskey. The ghost had chucked it from across the room, and when it landed on its side, the liquor didn't spill out. Then the ghost crushed the glass.
I'm with Chekov, people and their unfulfilled dreams are starting to annoy me. The people, that is, who are passive aggressive about realizing those dreams. I'm not sure which side of the dream fence I sleep on.
More ghosties last night. Intense. Judith Myers. Ruth Myers. A. Myers. Lasting image from my Tito's & soda dreamfest: a shot glass on its side, still full of an amber liquor. Tequila or whiskey. The ghost had chucked it from across the room, and when it landed on its side, the liquor didn't spill out. Then the ghost crushed the glass.
Saturday
Creme De Peche Mode
Title refers to a drink we devised tonight: Vanilla Vodka, Peach Schnapps, and Half and Half. A work in progress.
I know I certainly didn't look at this page eleven times in the last few hours...have we actually had a couple of visitors? My cat is laughing at me.
I know I certainly didn't look at this page eleven times in the last few hours...have we actually had a couple of visitors? My cat is laughing at me.
Hanging Posters in Window
One day, perhaps in a novel-type format, I'll address all of the notes I write down, night after night.
For her sake, I hope that Durham decides to publish memoirs, and that those get a lot more credit than anything I offer up.
In the meantime, some slogan-worthy advice:
"If they've never heard of it, sell 'em a Yuengling." Also, "Unobjectionable."
And,
"Who rocked the Casbah?"
(According to Durham, I did.)
For her sake, I hope that Durham decides to publish memoirs, and that those get a lot more credit than anything I offer up.
In the meantime, some slogan-worthy advice:
"If they've never heard of it, sell 'em a Yuengling." Also, "Unobjectionable."
And,
"Who rocked the Casbah?"
(According to Durham, I did.)
Friday
Rip This Joint
If String Theory is the idea that the Universe is made up of tiny, vibrating strings, then count me in. Also, review all of the notes I've made while under one influence or another, and tell me why I shouldn't believe in such crazy things...
Saturday
All or Nothing Crazy
profound idea to post online, for the benefit of any body that takes anything from it: lost.
"I'm the kind of guys that wants to walk around with an open shirt and a beer, and still have a definite sex appeal." But, I guess we all want to be that guy...
Tonight's Grocery List.
Flat Tonic?
George Thoroughgood
--Tables (21, 9, 5
--feet for bottoms
Managers M:
--Frank
--Staffing Beer Week
--S.
--Beer Filights
S!
Ooh, a dirt list. Can't talk too much about that.
My dream the other night, in Beats as I remember them.
1. EXT. Busy Innercity. Night. Character (Man) in argument with Girlfriend.
2. EXT. Busy Innercity. Continuous. Man gets into truck, solo.
3. EXT. Innercity road system. Moments later. Man, driving under cover of dark, takes "right" turn.
4. EXT. Dark road. Moments later. Man, seeming in the middle of nowhere, pulls up to a gate.
5. EXT. Gate. Continuous. Man climbs over to explode.
And so on and so forther. Man ends up exploring an abandoned dam facility, encounters a series of three creepy hobos, attempts to escape the damn but is confronted by the damn's changing terrain; discovers that the three creepy hobos are ghosts who died when the damn was originally flooded; escapes the damn's "Cube"-like infrastructure, while it is flooded by the storm that drowned the creepy hobos; runs across the storm-savage plain; happens upon a town outside of the storm's savagry; ultimately learns that the town is under siege of the Civil War, effectively placing him back one-hundred-fifty years from the start of the book? Second dream-story to involve time-travel, also fancying that Steven King dreamt a number of his own ideas and plots and many of those dreams involved time travel;;;my typing fingers seem so very far away from the body, disconnected; ordinate; (not subordinate, you see, what's the word? Sentient. Yep, they've got their own little thing going on down there, completely detached but psychically committed to the same obligations that the brain up here is committed too...God, if you could see all the mistakes that I've erased...God, if you could see those, and you are seeming them is the point, what would you have to say about it? Let's open the floor to questions:
Whew...I guess this shit is working...this and shit are anagrams...I thought they were pentagrams...In fact I meant palindromes...because shit spelt backward is siht, and that's not the same thing...
Definitely working. But I want to go to bed, don't want to...shot of Fireball whiskey...don't want to push this to one of those ends...it's daylight already. I used to be a liaison to daylight. Once.
Thursday
The Simoleon Equation
We've just started playing The Sims. Just started if it's me, of course; just continued if you're talking to Verano, who will play The Sims, but only The Sims, and no other kind of video game ever made ever. I'll make this thought short, because it's late and I need to turn in:
I was inevitably comparing myself to my little Simulated self, and I wondered why my Sim ("Claudio") had to settle for a measly $308 a day job. Of course, I already work for less than that, but...who has time to be mad about such cruel realities? My Sim is getting underpaid, dammit. It's makes me mad, even if I can't properly apply this heavy, appropriate metaphor to the part of my life that is undoubtedly mostvulnerable to its teachings.
So, Claudio is so much responsibility that, when he finally gets home, I wonder if the rest of his upkeep is worth the measly $308 he makes everyday? Plus, on that salary, I don't get to build a fancy home, or edit his lifestyle, at least not any time soon. Why worth the trouble?
I can just cheat and put in the multi-million dollar code. There! Now, suddenly, Claudio can have whatever he wants, and I'm stuck here living vicariously through a computer program when I could be making these unspecified dreams come true for myself.
In the fake game of Life there's a cheat code that gets it done for you. In the real game that cheat code is only wishful thinking.
Claudio has the best house of any scientific test subject that I know.
Monday
Just Another Guy who shouldn't Pay Bills while Drunk.
Yeah, that's me.
Oh well. At least that's not the title of the blog!
Peco's been cool, they deserve that extra fifty...
Oh well. At least that's not the title of the blog!
Peco's been cool, they deserve that extra fifty...
Sunday
Uh.
Well, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie just announced their engagement. They did after I posted a note about, "Brad and his future wife". Maybe I was onto something a few days ago, when I wrote what I wrote. Onto Something Else, I mean, of course. Totally, it was an amazing high, something I've never experienced before. I wrote and wrote, wrote at work, wrote here when I got home. I couldn't stop, either. It all had to come out, what I had to write, it was unavoidable. I look back over my notes now and chuckle, a little embarrassed even at myself, but that doesn't matter, because my mind was in a place that it belongs, and I have to go through such great lengths to get mt mind there, where I think it belongs...but other people are born lucky, I suppose.
Stoli vodka has become my favorite. It mixes well with citrus.
I need to be in that place again, because what unlocked, it was something else, and I have so much more to let out. To release. So much I need to let out. Is it all there because it's fresh and intuitive? No, humanity has been around too long for any original ideas. But, maybe somebody out there will like what I have to say, will be inspired by it. So what I have to think, to say, needs to be released, in case somebody is waiting to hear it. Maybe that was Hitler's reasoning, though...well, philosophy is just that, a stick in the mud. I don't even know if this analogy makes sense. But...interpret a stick in the mud as you will, maybe it's always been there, maybe somebody came along and made it that way...and that's the basic dichotomy behind philosophical existentialism, isn't it?
Sometimes, I realize, I drink, because it shuts up the little voices in my head that keep thoughts and music on a repetitive loop, and not always a desirable loop, mind you--and sometimes you want those things out. But, I've never engage in such a dialogue before! As the one I was engaged in last week, that is. I guess I just need more of whatever I was smoking? Ha.
This week, I'll limit my thoughts:
1. I'm going to create a symbol, a backwards five with a period (dot) in the inside of the rounded bit. This symbol stands for, "Sometimes, but not Always." As in, "The amount of donuts I have has a direct effect, Sometimes, but not Always, on how happy I am." Imagine I'm Dmitri Martin for a second, and it's a laugh. Actually, I'm not a huge fan of donuts, but that's the example that's sat with me all day, and when I imagine the visual aid it's pretty funny. I wonder if this symbol has been invented already? If not, I call dibs.
2. Larry the Fable Guy. He was touring somewhere in the South or Midwest and some body got the marquee wrong. The crowd showed up expecting fables, and that's what they got.
What kind of fables would Larry the Fable Guy tell?
Truth be told, I meant to write both of these ideas down earlier, when I was at work, but I didn't. Got them there now, though. I'll write them down eventually. As always, it's Something Else I'll Change Later.
Stoli vodka has become my favorite. It mixes well with citrus.
I need to be in that place again, because what unlocked, it was something else, and I have so much more to let out. To release. So much I need to let out. Is it all there because it's fresh and intuitive? No, humanity has been around too long for any original ideas. But, maybe somebody out there will like what I have to say, will be inspired by it. So what I have to think, to say, needs to be released, in case somebody is waiting to hear it. Maybe that was Hitler's reasoning, though...well, philosophy is just that, a stick in the mud. I don't even know if this analogy makes sense. But...interpret a stick in the mud as you will, maybe it's always been there, maybe somebody came along and made it that way...and that's the basic dichotomy behind philosophical existentialism, isn't it?
Sometimes, I realize, I drink, because it shuts up the little voices in my head that keep thoughts and music on a repetitive loop, and not always a desirable loop, mind you--and sometimes you want those things out. But, I've never engage in such a dialogue before! As the one I was engaged in last week, that is. I guess I just need more of whatever I was smoking? Ha.
This week, I'll limit my thoughts:
1. I'm going to create a symbol, a backwards five with a period (dot) in the inside of the rounded bit. This symbol stands for, "Sometimes, but not Always." As in, "The amount of donuts I have has a direct effect, Sometimes, but not Always, on how happy I am." Imagine I'm Dmitri Martin for a second, and it's a laugh. Actually, I'm not a huge fan of donuts, but that's the example that's sat with me all day, and when I imagine the visual aid it's pretty funny. I wonder if this symbol has been invented already? If not, I call dibs.
2. Larry the Fable Guy. He was touring somewhere in the South or Midwest and some body got the marquee wrong. The crowd showed up expecting fables, and that's what they got.
What kind of fables would Larry the Fable Guy tell?
Truth be told, I meant to write both of these ideas down earlier, when I was at work, but I didn't. Got them there now, though. I'll write them down eventually. As always, it's Something Else I'll Change Later.
Monday
Two Days Later
Wow. Just read over the last post. If you figure out who Brad and his wife are, let me know.
Saturday
Tequila & High. I need to find out who the artist is.
The Soul is a unit of existence. Souls are attracted to energy. Energy exists in everything: humans, animals, inanimate life, inanimate objects. When objects collide, whether intangible or not, energy is transferred: thus, for example a road collects energy as more and more vehicles travel it. As a road collects more energy it attracts more souls; thus, a road that is the most traveled is a road with the greatest souls. Souls collecting in one place are collectively known as Soul; a hive of souls is collectively known as the Soul. It can be positive or negative. Human communities (body, a body collective) that process the most energy are the most attractive to souls, thus, a high-energy vehicle or movement is the one with the greatest soul.
Soul is a universal unit, anything and everything possesses it. Soul is attracted to different kinds of energy. An eighty-year old tree possesses greater soul than a recently constructed Naval warship, but with the energy exchange of At-Battle a Naval Warship stands to "amass" a great Soul. Humans are vessels with a wide range of Soul; a human is most attractive to the soul because of the opportunities presented by the human construction: multiple ports of communications, especially, allows the soul to communicate with itself in a way that is convenient and detachedly convenient.
The Soul exists anywhere and everywhere, and has more to do with it than we all think. We are not tuned into the Soul's wavelength, through Preacher-and-Bishop-types have been picking up on such a unique energy line in the last few months. Write be before you say, but know my support is entirely behind Brad and his future wife.
Soul is a universal unit, anything and everything possesses it. Soul is attracted to different kinds of energy. An eighty-year old tree possesses greater soul than a recently constructed Naval warship, but with the energy exchange of At-Battle a Naval Warship stands to "amass" a great Soul. Humans are vessels with a wide range of Soul; a human is most attractive to the soul because of the opportunities presented by the human construction: multiple ports of communications, especially, allows the soul to communicate with itself in a way that is convenient and detachedly convenient.
The Soul exists anywhere and everywhere, and has more to do with it than we all think. We are not tuned into the Soul's wavelength, through Preacher-and-Bishop-types have been picking up on such a unique energy line in the last few months. Write be before you say, but know my support is entirely behind Brad and his future wife.
There's a Bug in the Walnut
The title has nothing to do with anything, really. I have a glass of club soda here, right next to a stick of burning incense, and there was a bug in the club soda. But that thought isn't as interesting as one of a bug in a walnut, so there you go.
Why can't she take care of herself? Verano replaced her bicycle today and now she's trying to pawn it off on me so she can repurchase another one of her stolen model. If she does this she will spend nearly two grande on bicycles.
She owes a shitload more than two grande, and there's a civil complaint floating out there for some of that.
I envy her spirit, I really do. It's a bold spirit, a resolve of amazing Steele. So, where is the reason to match? I wish I had the ability to do whatever I deemed the most necessary, but her belligerent prioritization is going to cause problems in our relationship. One of the things I was initially drawn to was her individuality, but did I misinterpret what I thought was self-sufficiency? Because, as an aspiring adult, I find this latter quality much more attractive, and I'm tired of being linked to women who specifically lack it.
Why can't she take care of herself? Verano replaced her bicycle today and now she's trying to pawn it off on me so she can repurchase another one of her stolen model. If she does this she will spend nearly two grande on bicycles.
She owes a shitload more than two grande, and there's a civil complaint floating out there for some of that.
I envy her spirit, I really do. It's a bold spirit, a resolve of amazing Steele. So, where is the reason to match? I wish I had the ability to do whatever I deemed the most necessary, but her belligerent prioritization is going to cause problems in our relationship. One of the things I was initially drawn to was her individuality, but did I misinterpret what I thought was self-sufficiency? Because, as an aspiring adult, I find this latter quality much more attractive, and I'm tired of being linked to women who specifically lack it.
Friday
I don't remember writing this.
I would consider changing the general format and verbage of this blog, as I have [sic] successfully moved away from bartending and have at the ripe young age of twenty-four become a full-time restaurant manager; but, I'm a bad server in the regard that I don't check up on a table of campers, so Something Else remains as it is. Tonight sucked. I don't want this to be a webpage where I complain about my life or anything (wink), but I really outdid myself this evening. That much said, I'm home now, and safe, rethinking my decision to quit smoking (Surgeon General, eat your heart out) and second-guessing my initial thoughts about Ketel One vodka.
Also, listening to Queen. Let's share this anecdote!
Months and months ago, when I was but a wee restaurant manager, we hosted a Cast & Crew party for a group coming in after a one-off musical performance. They stood around in my back room, at least fifty people, every one of them a singer and/or dancer and/or involved to the extent that a fun time should be had by all. So, naturally, I put a buck in the jukebox hoping that within minutes I would have fifty or sixty well-trained voices in the dynamically emotional throes of "Bohemian Rhapsody" at its second, melodramatic-but-who-cares verse.
I was wrong.
My efforts were reconciled on Saint Patrick's Day, however, something about a bar-full of drunken psuedo-Irish idiots doesn't entirely fit the bill I was originally looking to settle. All the same, I was able to enjoy the choir while I stood downstairs, outside, out of sharp earshot, with two other employees who helped me cut down the friggin' Jameson banners that had been up all day.
Life is not good. Verano had a $700 bicycle stolen from here today, within a stone's throw of the restaurant. The kicker is that she would probably still have it if she had taken it home last night..
But, life is not all bad, either. I'll post an example when I have one, because right now I don't. Take care,
k.
Also, listening to Queen. Let's share this anecdote!
Months and months ago, when I was but a wee restaurant manager, we hosted a Cast & Crew party for a group coming in after a one-off musical performance. They stood around in my back room, at least fifty people, every one of them a singer and/or dancer and/or involved to the extent that a fun time should be had by all. So, naturally, I put a buck in the jukebox hoping that within minutes I would have fifty or sixty well-trained voices in the dynamically emotional throes of "Bohemian Rhapsody" at its second, melodramatic-but-who-cares verse.
I was wrong.
My efforts were reconciled on Saint Patrick's Day, however, something about a bar-full of drunken psuedo-Irish idiots doesn't entirely fit the bill I was originally looking to settle. All the same, I was able to enjoy the choir while I stood downstairs, outside, out of sharp earshot, with two other employees who helped me cut down the friggin' Jameson banners that had been up all day.
Life is not good. Verano had a $700 bicycle stolen from here today, within a stone's throw of the restaurant. The kicker is that she would probably still have it if she had taken it home last night..
But, life is not all bad, either. I'll post an example when I have one, because right now I don't. Take care,
k.
Thursday
Wednesday, March 21st.
This is how I start my nightly reports, the shift notes I send to the owner and the other managers. It's not a terribly creative title, and to even call it creative would be a misleading advertisement; but, as a title, it gets the job done.
Last week I did something that is uncharacteristic, but not entirely without precedent: I kissed another woman. I can't describe why it happened, and I don't have to do much justice to how it happened. It wasn't a deep or passionate kiss so much as it was hesitant, unsteady, and, of course, belligerent. The other party is a kindred soul that I've worked with since I started downtown; a writer and career waitress who probably could have made better decisions in life, but seems instead merely exhausted by the decisions which have made her. We both have significant others who are important to our lives, so there's no immediate fear of exhumation, nor any reason to pursue this matter we've shared any further. And, the coworkers who were barhopping with us not only missed the little scandal in its progress--the two of us sitting quietly close together at the end of the bar--but would have so many more adventures fill the rest of their night that nobody could remember the Kiss if her or she even wanted to.
I'm her manager, which makes the circumstances awkward in a tiered sort of way--I push this particular element of our relationship out of the way of a greater philosophical curiosity, but I'm not sure if she does. What I spent an entire weekend trying to unravel was what the gesture meant to me, and what it meant to her. She's much older than I am, has lived longer, and yet makes a half-drunken pass at me in a bar that I stupidly reciprocate--what damage am I looking to do, either to myself or to her? The Kiss took me back to a different time, a wide, small-town river on a hazy Southern afternoon, two pairs of legs splashing for the bank and then step after sucking step through knee-deep mud to an abandoned factory on the hill above; and, wary that people get stuck and even die for stupidity like this, but too young and daring and oblivious to care about it; and, her boyfriend is at work or out of town, I don't remember, and my girlfriend lives out of state, because I'm on summer break from school; but none of the greater details stop us, or me at least, from etching the lesser details onto a space of memory that will never fade away...
It is a lot that I'm not prepared to admit I rewound back to, but big surprise: I did, briefly. It's weakness. I'm upset with myself now, and I feel a little silly about the aftermath, letting myself get caught up in a flurry of emotions that I thought had withered long ago, or that I had at least gotten control over.
Instead, I'm aware of a bigger problem, which is that I'm not ashamed of what's happened. I don't know if it's affected my relationship with Verano or not--subconsciously, I mean. I'm afraid to go back out with coworkers, but Verano is not a parole officer, either. I am going to have to check myself in the future, of course, but if I can't behave for somebody who is not worth losing over such a personally interpreted experience, then I probably shouldn't be living with her, either.
I sent my play to two different people who have offered to read it, and one of them works at a great big theater company only two blocks away from the restaurant that I manage.
I'm tired.
I guess, I shouldn't have told her, the Other, about a deep feeling I've embraced on and off lately, because of an old pain in my heart that flairs up every now and then, like the one in my arm that moans when it's under stress. That, Verano is not the Love of My Life so much as she is the One, the One who is everything I need in a business partner, intimate contact, and best friend. These two are very different legacies. After watching the Notebook and other love stories, I feel sadly empowered by my convictions because I see my ideologies resonating in different, timely[?] places. I probably shouldn't have alluded to a reservation I have that Verano may not be the Love of My Life, just as I probably shouldn't have cheated on my [best] friends with their girlfriends in scenarios of various intensities. And, at the same time, while I sometimes feel rotten, I secretly don't mind it at all. I'm always open to anything once, and even three times. I'm full of surprises.
Last week I did something that is uncharacteristic, but not entirely without precedent: I kissed another woman. I can't describe why it happened, and I don't have to do much justice to how it happened. It wasn't a deep or passionate kiss so much as it was hesitant, unsteady, and, of course, belligerent. The other party is a kindred soul that I've worked with since I started downtown; a writer and career waitress who probably could have made better decisions in life, but seems instead merely exhausted by the decisions which have made her. We both have significant others who are important to our lives, so there's no immediate fear of exhumation, nor any reason to pursue this matter we've shared any further. And, the coworkers who were barhopping with us not only missed the little scandal in its progress--the two of us sitting quietly close together at the end of the bar--but would have so many more adventures fill the rest of their night that nobody could remember the Kiss if her or she even wanted to.
I'm her manager, which makes the circumstances awkward in a tiered sort of way--I push this particular element of our relationship out of the way of a greater philosophical curiosity, but I'm not sure if she does. What I spent an entire weekend trying to unravel was what the gesture meant to me, and what it meant to her. She's much older than I am, has lived longer, and yet makes a half-drunken pass at me in a bar that I stupidly reciprocate--what damage am I looking to do, either to myself or to her? The Kiss took me back to a different time, a wide, small-town river on a hazy Southern afternoon, two pairs of legs splashing for the bank and then step after sucking step through knee-deep mud to an abandoned factory on the hill above; and, wary that people get stuck and even die for stupidity like this, but too young and daring and oblivious to care about it; and, her boyfriend is at work or out of town, I don't remember, and my girlfriend lives out of state, because I'm on summer break from school; but none of the greater details stop us, or me at least, from etching the lesser details onto a space of memory that will never fade away...
It is a lot that I'm not prepared to admit I rewound back to, but big surprise: I did, briefly. It's weakness. I'm upset with myself now, and I feel a little silly about the aftermath, letting myself get caught up in a flurry of emotions that I thought had withered long ago, or that I had at least gotten control over.
Instead, I'm aware of a bigger problem, which is that I'm not ashamed of what's happened. I don't know if it's affected my relationship with Verano or not--subconsciously, I mean. I'm afraid to go back out with coworkers, but Verano is not a parole officer, either. I am going to have to check myself in the future, of course, but if I can't behave for somebody who is not worth losing over such a personally interpreted experience, then I probably shouldn't be living with her, either.
I sent my play to two different people who have offered to read it, and one of them works at a great big theater company only two blocks away from the restaurant that I manage.
I'm tired.
I guess, I shouldn't have told her, the Other, about a deep feeling I've embraced on and off lately, because of an old pain in my heart that flairs up every now and then, like the one in my arm that moans when it's under stress. That, Verano is not the Love of My Life so much as she is the One, the One who is everything I need in a business partner, intimate contact, and best friend. These two are very different legacies. After watching the Notebook and other love stories, I feel sadly empowered by my convictions because I see my ideologies resonating in different, timely[?] places. I probably shouldn't have alluded to a reservation I have that Verano may not be the Love of My Life, just as I probably shouldn't have cheated on my [best] friends with their girlfriends in scenarios of various intensities. And, at the same time, while I sometimes feel rotten, I secretly don't mind it at all. I'm always open to anything once, and even three times. I'm full of surprises.
Friday
Joe's Bench
Just wrapped up the second draft of How I Came to Live With Joe. Next step is to print and read. Then I want to begin workshopping.
I have to go get ready for work, so I can't stay long. Just wanted to throw the benchmark in here for a later date.
Ciao!
I have to go get ready for work, so I can't stay long. Just wanted to throw the benchmark in here for a later date.
Ciao!
Monday
revising the Dream
in America, you're worth only what someone is willing to pay you;
it's on you to seek out who ever will pay you the most.
it's on you to seek out who ever will pay you the most.
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