Labor Day Blues

I love having a Monday that feels like a Sunday. I slept in until I knew Jen would be getting antsy for some company. Sure enough, just as I put on my glasses she rounds the corner and pounces. We hung out there for a few, talking about what we wanted to do for the day. I really wanted to see Halloween II this weekend, but could tell from Jen's noncommittal response that it might not be happening. So, I opt for Plan B. After breakfast and some quality time in front of the tube, I head out.

First order of business was a haircut. I'm painfully overdue. So, I head up the road a piece, get out of the car, walk to the door, only to find it locked. Shit. So, I head directly across the street to a Sports themed haircut joint. First, I don't care that much about sports. The one sport that holds my interest long term is hockey, and I sure as heck don't want a hockey-inspired do. Second, they do the whole shampoo thing before they cut your hair. For a guy who doesn't care much for physical contact with strangers, it's a painful proposition. But, such is the state of my hair that I consider it. Lesson learned from my first stop though, I stare into the darkened waiting area and see the silent plasma screens that confirm that I won't be getting a mullet today.

I give up on a haircut, stop by Blockbuster only to leave with some popcorn and no movie, and then head out record shopping. First stop is Singing Dog Records. I pull into the garage and park and walk to the two blocks to the store before realizing hippies must believe in Labor Day too. Fucking hippies. So, back to the car and over to another garage further up on campus so I can check out Used Kids Records. They have some great stuff, but I'm being really picky and only leave with a Mudhoney / Sonic Youth split 12". I figure I'll hit Magnolia Thunderpussy on the way home, but they too are closed. I give up.

I hate it when people say "In this economy" (because we're always in "this economy", you douche bag), but for real...In this economy you would think more people would be heading off to work if they could. This is the US of A and I couldn't get some freaking manscaping done or buy a copy of the No Age record I've been coveting for months just because it's the wrong Monday of the year to try to get shit done. What's gone wrong with this country?

Pre-Weekend Update

I'm like the king of retro right now. I'm sitting in the den (photos of the lair are soon forthcoming), and listening to Dark Side on the turntable. I got it as a gift for Christmas from my brother and sister in law, and it's nice to have around. It isn't something that I listen to a whole lot, but every once in awhile it's just good to kick back to. A month or so I heard that Richard Wright had passed away, and so went my hopes of a reunion show. I saw Pink Floyd in '94, but that was not the same band that created Dark Side, Animals, or Wish You Were Here. It would have been nice to see the boys put away the lawyers and kick out some songs old man style.

This week sucked. I screwed up at work early in the week leaving me with the rest of the week to work 12 hour days in my little box to atone for my sins. Oh well. One more week of 12 hour days should be enough to show that I'm really sorry and I'll never do anything like it ever again. Office life is not a fun life for me. I'm tired of Excel. I'm tired of statistics and projections. It's Friday and I'm tired of thinking about it.

In other news, I'm writing again, and for once it's going well over a longer period of time. It's fuckugly right now, but maybe over the course of the next few months it'll grow into a little something. I'm trying to keep my expectations small because I usually get all carried away talking about what I'm going to do instead of actually doing it. With that thought in mind, I'm going to stop talking about it.

Tomorrow is a morning spent reading while the good children of Central Ohio take their ACT, and then we're heading out to an engagement party. The good news is the party is at a bar, and I am way overdue for a drink or three. I haven't had a drop since New Year's Eve, and just typing these words makes me thirsty.

Sunday I have big plans to head out to an antique market that is supposed to have a ton of LP's. I expect it to mostly be Classic Rock stuff, but it would be nice to score some other Floyd albums or some Dylan. Expect and exhaustive boring list if I score some purchases. I know you can't wait...stop pretending otherwise.

31 Flavors of New Year's Resolutions

I hate resolutions. They just seem so binding and inflexible. They were invented to give me one more thing to feel bad about when December rolls around. Still, I'm a sucker for the New Year./New Start idea, but really can't limit myself to just one traditional idea (dropping pounds, starting smoking so I can quit again, etc.).

So, in this spirit of self improvement, I put together this list of things I hope I get around to in the next year.

1) Buy an Indiana Jones hat and wear it to work, like the guy that Kate pointed out to me today. (Good eye, Miss Kate.)
2) Drink more, pee less.
3) Finish a painting.
4) Finish a short story collection.
5) Escape the cubicle. (Not just walking out, but actually tunneling out while search lights roam and dogs bark frantically in their bloodlust.)
6) See Heiruspecs live (and see more live music in general).
7) Keep in better touch with people and not view my past as disposable.
8) Keep my mouth shut.
9) Revisit polyester.
10) Avoid using the words "proactive", "systematic", and "counter-intuitive" in any situation or any setting.
11) Read more.
12) Buy a thinner wallet so it doesn't look like I have two New Testaments stuffed into my back pocket.
13) Eat more candy.
14) Find a situation to use the word "blissful" and actually mean it.
15) Invite the next minister who's going door to door visiting with people into my house and force them to listen to my new turntable. The minister can chose the disc, of course.
16) Eat with a spork, but not at KFC.
17) Support more local businesses.
18) Remember to take my reusable cloth bags into the grocery store instead of using their plastic.
19) Start my website with my "exciting" new business idea. (Actually, less of a business and more something that just makes me laugh.)
20) Avoid writing boring blog entries like the one right before this one. Sometimes less is more.
21) Buy a bunch of 80's East Coast hardcore vinyl.
22) Try not to get so angry at my family's politics.
23) Try not to be critical of other people's shitty taste in music. (I'll work on it.)
24) Steal.
25) Say "Snitches get stitches" without letting a lisp or mispronunciation rob the phrase of its menace.
26) Single-handedly bring back the kazoo.
27) Don't wrap up one of my staff meetings by saying "Well, it's been a meeting", and if I do, I must recognize that my soul died just a little.
28) Double my bike mileage from last year (1200 miles baby...I can do this.)
29) Complete a 5k run. (Organized or otherwise...I just wanna run one.)
30) Get to MN to see some folks.
31) Be healthier in mind, body, and spirit.

Living Daylife

People are funny. It seems like there are thousands of artists, rappers, musicians, and writers wandering through cubicle farms trying to keep their heads on straight so they can go home and do what they love to do. I love that.

I love that the same people who occasionally get sucked into conversations about who is banging who will go home, roll up their sleeves and turn a white canvas into something that breathes. I love that the same girl who finds herself looking forward to lunch at 9:30 in the morning will sweat on a small stage until midnight screaming what few basic truths she has discovered to a crowd of 14 people getting drunk at the bar. I love that the same guy who wore two different colored socks in the morning will go home and work on his handmade jewelry line.

God, we're all so boring and amazing.

For so many of us the people we are during the day are completely different than the ones we are at night. I normally find that interesting, but tonight I think it's just a little sad that we all can't be what we want all the time.

Of course, it's easy to have these thoughts when the company I work for is in its final weeks. The end of a position has the tendency to make me wonder just why it is that no one has decided to pay be a shit-ton of cash for writing sporadic blog entries and eating burritos. I don't do much, but what I do I do well. Someday someone will pay be to eat burritos and they won't be disappointed by my dedication.

Snooze

Ahhh, the quiet life.

Jen, still trying to get over a cold and failing miserably, spent the weekend on the couch, leaving me to my own devices. I failed to get creative and spent most of the time hanging around her, fetching soup and Diet 7Up with liberal doses of cranberry juice added.

Saturday morning we had to go do ACT testing. This is something we each do for some extra spending money, and it's easy work. The supervisors are set up in individual classrooms, and I just roam around my assigned rooms, giving them breaks if they want them. Basically, I get paid to read my book in the company of teenagers. (Speaking of books, I'm reading "Heart Shaped Box" by Joe Hill. Good stuff. It wasn't until someone saw me reading it that they mentioned Joe is Stephen King's son. I hadn't realized, but now looking at his picture I don't know how I didn't see it. I'm about half through the book though, and it is really good. I've been striking out with my reading lately, so it's been fun to get into something again.) Not a bad gig. Plus, it's paying for my Kim Jong iLL frames and will finance a new creative endeavor I've got in the works.

It's strange to go back to a school though. Like the hospital, it's one of those worlds that are so easy to forget, but feel so familiar once you're forced to step back into it.


My view while patrolling the halls.

After testing, we had plans to go run around and do some shopping and then head over to my brother's place to see my sister-in-law (home from the hospital and doing well) and watch a football game that neither Jen nor I had much interest ing. She was feeling worse than ever though, so we cut our errands short and headed home. That's where she stayed the rest of the weekend.

I watched some slasher (Hatchet, Mr. Brooks) movies, played Dr. Mario with the infected one, did what cleaning I felt like and headed out on Sunday for our weekly supplies of frozen whole wheat waffles and Coke Zero. Jen slept on the couch both Saturday and Sunday, so I fell asleep each night watching reruns of the US version of The Office.

Big times, kids. Big. Times.

Cut Cut Cut

Tonight I trashed a big chunk of stuff that I had written for "Test Market". It was a mistake to go through and read some of what I had written, but still it happened and so I spent some time getting rid of some terrible terrible writing that would have had to have been cut anyway.

It isn't like I've been spending tons of time writing like I should be, so cutting really made a dent in the word count. It basically took me back to square one. To make up for it a bit, I just wrote out one of the creepiest bits of dialog I've ever written. So much fun, because I know that if I'm uncomfortable writing it, it's going to be downright painful for some people to read.

So maybe it's a good thing to be taking out the trash, even so early into the process. My interest in the project is renewed and I'm vowing to just plug away and not go back to read anything anymore. It's just too discouraging to see what an abysmal writer I can be.

That' s it for me. I'm going to go to bed and find something cheerful on television to fall asleep to. I'm up early in the morning for a nice long bike ride before it gets too hot. I've got to finish mapping out some routes for the Pedal for Pets charity ride I'm helping plan.

Nighty night.

Golf Buddies and Their Ripple Effect

Being an uneducated thirty-something guy, I've had the opportunity to work for a few companies that have gone the way of the Dodo. Actually, it's happened so often that I no longer feel the shock or the quick dose of panic that is actually visible on everyone's face when the news hits. Shutting companies the hell down is my bidness, and bidness aint so bad, let me tell ya.

One telecom company, one utility brokerage (what the fuck is that, anyway?), and three financial related jobs have all shut their doors under my careful watch. Some of the jobs I liked, most of them I didn't. In the end, they all went the same way.

The thing that I find the most interesting about the process now is the way that people react. Suddenly, going back to school and getting that degree like you should have done in the first place doesn't seem like such a giant pain in the ass. For that matter, to hell with it all, why not just move somewhere you've always wanted to live? There's nothing keeping you here anymore. You've always wanted to paint, or do open mic stand up, or write that novel, and suddenly because you are faced with joblessness all of that becomes more of a reality. Why is that?

Do we get so dulled by the day to day process of accumulating bills and then working to pay them off, that we decide that the other parts of ourselves (sometimes the parts that make living fun and worthwhile) are too big of a pain to indulge in?

Not all people do this. There are people who do what they do during the day to be able to do what's important to them at night. Whether that's spending time with family, doodling in a sketch book, perfecting your karaoke routine, or indulging in marathon Internet pornography sessions, if your job makes doing what you love to do possible, then the job is working for you. I think that's awesome and enjoy being around those people (with the notable exception of Mr. Porn Freak).

It's the people who have invested everything they have into their cubicle that feel the most lost when the rug gets pulled out from under them. I want to give them each a paint brush and tell them to put it on the canvas and tell them it doesn't matter that much in the end. There will be more cubicles, I promise.


----


I had been working in a call center for a mortgage company years ago while living in Texas. Life got interesting, then bad, then miserable, and I moved back North. When I moved back, I got a new job doing the exact same thing but this time with a new company. I couldn't have been more unhappy then I was taking call after call from customers who needed their escrow accounts explained to them. I had been doing the Customer Service thing for two years in Texas, and now here I was doing the exact same thing.

One morning, I get in the elevator to go up to my pen on the fourth floor, and I'm standing behind a couple of ladies who were dressed fifty times nicer than anyone on my floor could afford to dress. They say good morning to each other, and then one turns to the other excitedly and says:

"You'll never guess what Tom surprised me with last night!" Her eyes were hungry. I had the feeling that she would bite a hunk of her friend's cheek if she dared to even guess.

"What?!?" Her friend was overly excited. I could tell that every hope and dream she had ever had was pinned on what Tom had surprised his slightly stretched but still attractive wife.

"LORD OF THE DANCE!"

"NO!!!"

"YES!!!!"

"Oh my God. How was it?"

"Oh, that Michael Flatley... In-can-descent!"

I got off the elevator. I walked through the cardboard walls of cubicles until I found the one that had been assigned to me six moths before. I picked up my coffee mug and walked to my team lead's desk.

"Rachelle, I have to go."

"Oh, OK Stephen." Rachelle looks down at the coffe cup in my hand. For months there had been a running joke about my coffe cup that reads "Big Brother is Watching You" being the only personal item I brought to work.

"Um, Stephen...You're not coming back, are you?"

"No. I have to go. I can't stay." I'm talking to her, but inside I'm thinking that if the concept of personal hell was real, when my time comes I will be standing in that elevator for eternity, listening to a review of the touring version of Lord of the Dance. I couldn't take the chance on ever having that happen to me again.

She mumbled something about some paperwork that I would need to sign, and I asked if that was something I could do with HR when I came to pick up my final check. We said our goodbyes and I took the stairs to the lobby.

Even though it was my choice to leave, I was still filled with the excitement of freedom and the fear of joblessness. Maybe this would be the time to go back and get my degree. Maybe I really would start writing again. Maybe I'd really focus on my bass playing. It didn't really matter. All I knew was, that from that point on, I would never work a job that I wasn't passionate about. My optimsim was cute.


----

It's funny how a small group of men can walk out on a golf course half a continent away for a round while talking some business and then two months later you're looking for work. Lives are changed over beers and chip shots. I've never cared for golf.

Test Market

Central Ohio is where ideas come to live or die. After months or years of meetings, planning, research and development, it is Columbus where many companies come to test their new ideas before rolling them out Nationwide. Executives decided somewhere along the way that we are the normal. We are the distilled core of the American Heart. Dripping the Everyman's sweat and blood from every pore, we work and sweat our way to the middle where we believe we'll finally feel comfortable.

Our opinions count, well at least for certain things.

They thought of the Baconator, a burger with approximately 6 pounds of bacon wrapped around it. They gave it to us, and we liked it, so they rolled it to the rest of the Nation. McDonalds pizza was born here. Every time Long John Silvers thinks of something new to deep fry, they load up a truckload of liquid fat and head to Columbus. Advertising executives roll out trial runs for our area, and if effective, they'll take it to the nation. Marketing Analysts spend years studying our buying trends. Department Stores test product placement in our malls and report back to people waiting in offices scattered along the two coasts. We are the deciders of what America will and will not buy. If you have eaten anything in the past month, it is because we ate it first.

It's funny to me that we're referred to as the Test Market Capitol, and that we take such pride in it. We're so damn excited to be considered normal. We revel in the fact that we get to help decide what the new flavor of sauce at Buffalo Wild Wings is going to be. We're special because we're not special. We are a giant tub of vanilla ice cream. Sure, it's good...if there's isn't any Ben and Jerry's around.

Like all things, not everyone in the city falls into the "vanilla" line of thought. We're people, just like anywhere, and we're all different. It's just the identity of the city is kind of shrouded with this boring cloak of the middle ground, and it bugs me. That's why I thought it would be fun to write a story about a normal father and son who live their lives here, do well at work and school, are successful well-liked people, who happen to give in to the urge to torture and kill innocent strangers. I'm calling the story "Test Market" for now, and I'm having more fun writing it than I have had in a long time.

Of course, I've just gotten started, so I'm still optimistic. I am taking steps though to stay interested. First, I refuse to go back and read just how shitty and broken the whole thing is. It's a first draft, and I ain't Steinbeck. Second, I'm just forcing myself to write. Even if it is a page of skid marks, I'm still usually able to pull out a sentence or two that I really like. Sometimes, that will just have to be enough. Third, I'm going to track me down one of those word count bars and post it on here if I can figure it out. There is something about the imagined accountability that I think will keep me going. ("Oh no! I've got to write tonight, otherwise if that one guy from India happens to stumble back on my blog he'll know what a lazy fuck I am!")

So sayeth the shepherd, so sayeth the flock!

Burning Time

There are a lot of excuses I could come up with: My lifestyle has changed with my recent weight loss, and as a result we are much busier people. My interests are evolving. I'm busier with new volunteer opportunities and working around the house. All of this is true, of course, and is all bullshit at the same time. The fact is that I am busier exercising, working around the house, walking dogs, etc., but what is really eating up my time is the new Playstation.

Now, my interests have expanded to killing Templar Knights, saving the universe from cartoon enemies, and rising quickly through the ranks of the Russian Mob. I keep telling myself this is a phase I'm in because it's all new and that I'll settle down and get back to work soon, and while I believe that to be true, I spent an alarming amount of time in my den playing video games this weekend.

Still, we managed to sit outside and read, go hiking, work out, play with the dogs, go shopping, grill out several times and cleaned the house. It was a great weekend.

This week though, I am going to finally sit down to edit "Bridge" one last time and then it's time to shop it around some. I've been waiting on Jen to do editing (she is a master of fixing my grammatical errors) but she's been too busy to get through it with the red pen, so I'll have to do what I can on my own. I think I've found a couple of outlets that might be willing to work with a story like this, and that's no easy feat, and I'm getting anxious to get it out there. Plus, I'm sick of just kicking ideas around in my head about the possibility of a longer story (dare I say "book"?) and it's time to get that rolling. I'm just going to have to put the beautifully ergonomic wireless controller down for a few days and find some balance again.

Hope my four readers are doing well. Stay on the bike and off the pipe (especially you, Cox).

Big Times in the Small City

If all goes according to plan, we've got a pretty big weekend ahead of us. I'm already looking forward to work on Monday. It'll give me a chance to relax.

Tonight, the fine students of the school Jen works at are putting on a production of "The Laramie Project". I'm actually really looking forward to it since the school is pretty well respected for their Drama Department. Plus, it's just good to support the students, so even if it sucks we'll still get to feel like better people for investing in the future of Central Ohio Community Theater. Ten years from now, we'll stumble drunkenly into the Medieval Times and I'll get to yell "I knew that jouster when he was in high school!"

After the play, it'll be time for laundry. This will be awesome.

Tomorrow morning we're up early to go for our favorite hike. We're hoping to get to Hocking Hills around 8:30 or 9:00 so we have the park pretty much to ourselves. It's always worth the trip, and with all the rain this week it should be a challenge too. We'll take extra clothes, but if I go face first into a mud puddle I promise to post a pic. Otherwise, if you want to see what Hocking Hills looks like, you can check out this post .

We should be able to get back around noon, we'll clean up and head to my brother's place out in the country. Once there, we're going for yet another walk while looking for mushrooms. It's really just an excuse to have something to do, and if we find some mushrooms, all the better.

(Note: We will be searching for edible varieties that do not contain psilocybin. We're thinking of something good to go with grilled chicken, not tripping balls. I think most of you know me, but just in case I wanted to get that clear. Previous postings (that may or may not be fiction) may cloud the issue, so...there you go. No tripping for Pat Robertson's Lust Puppet.)

Once we have loaded up with what I am sure will be no mushrooms, we'll head back and hang out at my brother's place for the night. I plan on sitting around the fire pit and puffing down a delicious Cohiba.

Sunday morning/ afternoon will be a run to The North Market for locally grown grocery goodness (and other alliterations) followed with some shopping. Jen and I are both in dire need of clothing that doesn't have to be kept in place with straps and buckles. After that, we're off to see The Reverend Horton Heat at The Newport Music Hall.

I haven't been to the Newport in years, but back in the day I saw the majority of my shows there. It is a dump. The bathrooms usually have three inches of standing water in them, it's a bit smelly and stuffy, and will probably one day burn to the ground because of electrical problems, but it has a warm place in my heart. It's historic because it's the oldest continually operating rock club in the US. The place holds less than 3000 people legally, but has been visited by Pink Floyd, The Stones, and pretty much everyone else you can think of.

It's not that I'm super into seeing The Reverend (although it'll be fun), but I won the tickets from the good folks at WCBE and will make good use of them.

So, I'll check in next week and list all of the stuff that we didn't do that we thought we would. I might have to swap something out for some Mario Kart time.