It gets quiet here at night. Sophia is usually down by 7:00, and Jen not much later these days. I roam around the house in the evenings alone, fighting sleep the same way I used to when I was five years old.
---
It finally happened after fourteen months. She squatted, her lower half hidden by the layer of suds floating on the bath water's surface. The act may have been hidden, but I saw that now familiar look of concentration followed the smile that accompanies completion. Bath time was over so I could fish the brown-snake out and flush it. I had been expecting and dreading it for fourteen months, but in the end it didn't hurt at all.
---
I applied for an internal position that I thought was well outside of my grasp, and shockingly got an interview. I trimmed back my ("soulful, indie-rock") beard, busted out my fancy pants, and went to talk to a VP who was also a VIP about the possibility of becoming an AVP. I felt strong about the interview at first, but as 24 hours passed I was certain I had performed so poorly that he would contact my current boss and suggest she terminate my employment.
As is often the case, the truth is found in the middle. I didn't get the job, and made some mistakes (which he was kind enough to discuss with me a few days after the announcement was made about the position), but in the end I had at least made a showing for myself. I learned a lot, and have mostly contented myself with the knowledge that my next interview will be substantially better because of this one.
Still bummed though. The job was amazing, and it would have been huge for the family. Next time, Mr. VIP. Next time.
----
Playing Scrabble this week I scored 167 points for the word yuletide. This is something I'm very proud of. Two triple-word scores with just one word, y'all. Mark it.
Showing posts with label mindless stuff about me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mindless stuff about me. Show all posts
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday, October 29, 2010
You Know, The Shriners?
I don't remember how I found the place initially, but I'm guessing it was because of the banner that read "JOBS JOBS JOBS" hanging out front. People in town didn't know the actual name of the business, but if you told them you worked at "JOBS JOBS JOBS" they would smile in recognition.
It was a series of folding tables - sturdy metal frames with particle board tops laminated in fake wood grain. Stained by years of coffee slopped from Styrofoam cups, they stank like the ashtrays sitting at each telephone. The phones themselves as stripped down and basic as the rest of the room, were black with gray buttons, their cords tangled on the floor.
The sales goal for the night was written on the bottom right hand corner of a small dry erase white board with each of our names listed above. We would fight over whose name was written in what order even though it held no bearing. Everything was a competition, and nothing was given up lightly.. A notch was made by each name as sales were made. $32 sale was one notch, $64 was two and so forth.
On the phones, my first name was always Frank. The last name would vary.
"Hello, Mr. Washington? My name is Frank Stevens and I'm calling with the ______ _____ Shrine Temple Number 53, you know - The Shriners? How are you this evening? Great! The reason for my call is you were kind enough to help us send 6 underprivileged children to our annual variety show last year and we were hoping we could count on your support again this year..."
We always said "you know - The Shriners?" because we wanted the person at the other end of the line thinking of the guys in funny hats and the little cars at parades. We were told this was preferable to the fact that our contracted client was actually an African American community organization.
I was consistent with my numbers, but I never got the really big sales. I think there was one time where I sold a $128 package, but for the most part they kept the big ticket leads for _______. He would hunch sullenly over his phone, mumbling into the receiver so quietly you rarely heard him until the receiver would go back into the cradle and he’d exclaim “YEAH FUCKERS!” ruining two other potential deals in the process. He would jump up, his chair tottering on the two back legs until they finally settled down on all four, and run to the board to mark himself four slashes for the sale.
We were children, and we acted like it.
I was too young to drive when I first started working there. Some of the other guys drove cars or lived close enough to walk, but I had to be dropped off and picked up each night. My mom would complain that I smelled like smoke, and I would patiently explain how everyone there but me was a smoker, scared she would catch a whiff of Marlboro under the four pieces of Big Red I would be chomping on.
Occasionally a few girls from our school would get hired on, but the constant smoking or our childish leering meant they'd rarely stick around long enough to see two paychecks. We were a core group of four or five teenage boys, with a rotating cast of characters who never really made the cut.
We'd work from 5:30 to 9:00 each night, and a few hours Saturday morning, running through the sales script for whatever organization had hired us out for their event. It was always for the kids though. Economically disadvantaged, disabled, disenfranchised, whatever.
"Hi, may I speak with Mr. Donaldson? Hi, this is Frank Griffin calling for Special Heart for Special Children. How are you tonight?..."
We would walk to the grocery store that anchored the strip mall for snacks during breaks. We'd stop at the drug store for drinks and cigarettes. We'd spend our paycheck at the sports card store, and fight over who got the better rookie cards. We'd brag about the girls we'd been with (or lie about the girls we'd been with, at least in my case), and talk about the beer we were going to drink that weekend until one of the owners would come out of the office in the back and yell at us to get back on the phones.
I don't remember the exact process of how it all came to an end. One day we had a meeting where the tearful woman who ran the shop explained check kiting to us, a term I had never heard before. She explained that we would have visits from the FBI and that they were there to just review her books and that we as the sales group had done nothing wrong. We continued to make our calls, but the two agents in the back office dampened the mood.
No one had been getting rich off the backs of underprivileged kids, she had just been trying to pay bills and cover payroll. Shockingly, the half a dozen teenage boys they had on the roster hadn't been enough to generate a living for all those involved. Instead of seeing it as a lost cause, she scrambled to keep things afloat.
The parent company that she worked for said they were going to work with her and she would be able to avoid jail time if she cooperated fully with the FBI and their internal investigation. She complied on all fronts, and they promptly took her to court. I had left the job by the time she was sentenced but I'd heard that she'd pulled some sort of weekend only jail time for awhile.
A few years later, I was working the counter at a gas station in Utica, Ohio when a lady came in and asked for a pack of Salem 100's. I looked up to see it was her. We chatted for a minute in the awkward way people do when they would really be anywhere else instead of rehashing the past. I asked about her family, and she asked about mine. She started to leave, then stopped and said:
"I'm sorry. I always felt like I let you down. You're just a really good person...a good guy, and I kind of fucked things up for everyone."
I felt this overwhelming desire to tell her I wasn't great at all. I wanted to tell her of all the shitty things I had done just that week alone. I wanted to make up even worse stuff just so she wouldn't feel so bad. I didn't know where this accountability to me had come from, but I was uncomfortable with the label - unhappy to be seen as a person good enough to warrant this kind of naked apology.. I opened my mouth to say some of this, but she smiled and stepped out...the bell above the door cutting off my words.
It was a series of folding tables - sturdy metal frames with particle board tops laminated in fake wood grain. Stained by years of coffee slopped from Styrofoam cups, they stank like the ashtrays sitting at each telephone. The phones themselves as stripped down and basic as the rest of the room, were black with gray buttons, their cords tangled on the floor.
The sales goal for the night was written on the bottom right hand corner of a small dry erase white board with each of our names listed above. We would fight over whose name was written in what order even though it held no bearing. Everything was a competition, and nothing was given up lightly.. A notch was made by each name as sales were made. $32 sale was one notch, $64 was two and so forth.
On the phones, my first name was always Frank. The last name would vary.
"Hello, Mr. Washington? My name is Frank Stevens and I'm calling with the ______ _____ Shrine Temple Number 53, you know - The Shriners? How are you this evening? Great! The reason for my call is you were kind enough to help us send 6 underprivileged children to our annual variety show last year and we were hoping we could count on your support again this year..."
We always said "you know - The Shriners?" because we wanted the person at the other end of the line thinking of the guys in funny hats and the little cars at parades. We were told this was preferable to the fact that our contracted client was actually an African American community organization.
I was consistent with my numbers, but I never got the really big sales. I think there was one time where I sold a $128 package, but for the most part they kept the big ticket leads for _______. He would hunch sullenly over his phone, mumbling into the receiver so quietly you rarely heard him until the receiver would go back into the cradle and he’d exclaim “YEAH FUCKERS!” ruining two other potential deals in the process. He would jump up, his chair tottering on the two back legs until they finally settled down on all four, and run to the board to mark himself four slashes for the sale.
We were children, and we acted like it.
I was too young to drive when I first started working there. Some of the other guys drove cars or lived close enough to walk, but I had to be dropped off and picked up each night. My mom would complain that I smelled like smoke, and I would patiently explain how everyone there but me was a smoker, scared she would catch a whiff of Marlboro under the four pieces of Big Red I would be chomping on.
Occasionally a few girls from our school would get hired on, but the constant smoking or our childish leering meant they'd rarely stick around long enough to see two paychecks. We were a core group of four or five teenage boys, with a rotating cast of characters who never really made the cut.
We'd work from 5:30 to 9:00 each night, and a few hours Saturday morning, running through the sales script for whatever organization had hired us out for their event. It was always for the kids though. Economically disadvantaged, disabled, disenfranchised, whatever.
"Hi, may I speak with Mr. Donaldson? Hi, this is Frank Griffin calling for Special Heart for Special Children. How are you tonight?..."
We would walk to the grocery store that anchored the strip mall for snacks during breaks. We'd stop at the drug store for drinks and cigarettes. We'd spend our paycheck at the sports card store, and fight over who got the better rookie cards. We'd brag about the girls we'd been with (or lie about the girls we'd been with, at least in my case), and talk about the beer we were going to drink that weekend until one of the owners would come out of the office in the back and yell at us to get back on the phones.
I don't remember the exact process of how it all came to an end. One day we had a meeting where the tearful woman who ran the shop explained check kiting to us, a term I had never heard before. She explained that we would have visits from the FBI and that they were there to just review her books and that we as the sales group had done nothing wrong. We continued to make our calls, but the two agents in the back office dampened the mood.
No one had been getting rich off the backs of underprivileged kids, she had just been trying to pay bills and cover payroll. Shockingly, the half a dozen teenage boys they had on the roster hadn't been enough to generate a living for all those involved. Instead of seeing it as a lost cause, she scrambled to keep things afloat.
The parent company that she worked for said they were going to work with her and she would be able to avoid jail time if she cooperated fully with the FBI and their internal investigation. She complied on all fronts, and they promptly took her to court. I had left the job by the time she was sentenced but I'd heard that she'd pulled some sort of weekend only jail time for awhile.
A few years later, I was working the counter at a gas station in Utica, Ohio when a lady came in and asked for a pack of Salem 100's. I looked up to see it was her. We chatted for a minute in the awkward way people do when they would really be anywhere else instead of rehashing the past. I asked about her family, and she asked about mine. She started to leave, then stopped and said:
"I'm sorry. I always felt like I let you down. You're just a really good person...a good guy, and I kind of fucked things up for everyone."
I felt this overwhelming desire to tell her I wasn't great at all. I wanted to tell her of all the shitty things I had done just that week alone. I wanted to make up even worse stuff just so she wouldn't feel so bad. I didn't know where this accountability to me had come from, but I was uncomfortable with the label - unhappy to be seen as a person good enough to warrant this kind of naked apology.. I opened my mouth to say some of this, but she smiled and stepped out...the bell above the door cutting off my words.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Random Notes
I'm a fan of the seasons, but my short attention span keeps me from liking any of them for more than just a couple months at a time. Just about the time I start really yearning for warmer weather, winter takes a giant white shit all over my hopes. So, I shovel the walks and listen to the sound of our furnace catching its breath for 45 seconds in between cycles and keep hoping.
---
Tonight we were straightening up in the kitchen and I was going through some paperwork, shredding dated bank statements and the like. As I was cleaning things out I finally disposed of the remnants of the Paperwhites out a pot we had set aside. For those unfamiliar with the plant, it's a winter blooming bulb that has tall slender stalks and white flowers that grows in a pot of stones with a bit of water. It also smells like a giant pile of buttery ass. I was never more happy than when I got to cut them back and walk the clippings immediately out to the trash.
So tonight, I empty the pot into a plastic bag, planning to salvage the gravel, when everything slides out in a solid mass. The individual pieces of gravel are practically tied together with a slick white root structure that looked so much like a snarl of tapeworms it actually creeped me out.
Horror movies should be written about this plant. It's what should have crawled under the skin of the wayward hikers in The Ruins. It's what Indiana Jones really should have been afraid of instead of snakes. I pray to God Jen doesn't want that evil spawn in our home again next year.
---
I've decided Facebook would be more fun if people would be completely inappropriate with their status updates from time to time. I'm a total voyer so I don't even get upset with the mundane posts from some; I'm usually on board to see whatever it is you're up to. Still, it'd be nice to see something like:
John Doe...
...is pooping.
...is celebrating some "Afternoon Delight" with a giant sandwhich.
...got caught picking his nose today by another motorist when driving home from work.
...listened to Whitesnake today and loved every second of it.
Not that I'm personally going to open myself up with embarassing posts, of course. I just think you should.
---
Tonight we were straightening up in the kitchen and I was going through some paperwork, shredding dated bank statements and the like. As I was cleaning things out I finally disposed of the remnants of the Paperwhites out a pot we had set aside. For those unfamiliar with the plant, it's a winter blooming bulb that has tall slender stalks and white flowers that grows in a pot of stones with a bit of water. It also smells like a giant pile of buttery ass. I was never more happy than when I got to cut them back and walk the clippings immediately out to the trash.
So tonight, I empty the pot into a plastic bag, planning to salvage the gravel, when everything slides out in a solid mass. The individual pieces of gravel are practically tied together with a slick white root structure that looked so much like a snarl of tapeworms it actually creeped me out.
Horror movies should be written about this plant. It's what should have crawled under the skin of the wayward hikers in The Ruins. It's what Indiana Jones really should have been afraid of instead of snakes. I pray to God Jen doesn't want that evil spawn in our home again next year.
---
I've decided Facebook would be more fun if people would be completely inappropriate with their status updates from time to time. I'm a total voyer so I don't even get upset with the mundane posts from some; I'm usually on board to see whatever it is you're up to. Still, it'd be nice to see something like:
John Doe...
...is pooping.
...is celebrating some "Afternoon Delight" with a giant sandwhich.
...got caught picking his nose today by another motorist when driving home from work.
...listened to Whitesnake today and loved every second of it.
Not that I'm personally going to open myself up with embarassing posts, of course. I just think you should.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Last of the Porch
It's an amazing fall day in Columbus. Radios and televisions this morning were awash with reports of an Indian Summer, and like a lot of people I tossed on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and headed outside. Jen and I puttered around, working on small projects we had been putting off with her recent sleepiness, my constant laziness, and the cold snap that sent us indoors. We got some dead flowers trimmed, potted plants disposed of and their baskets put away for the season, and I took a broom to the collected cobwebs around our front and back doors.
Now, we're on the porch. Jen suddenly has plans for other projects ("Maybe we should trim these hedges today.") and I agree to all of them knowing that it won't be too long before she runs out of steam and ideas. These days she's still good out of the gates, but not much for stamina.
Out of necessity, cigars are an outdoor vice for me, so this may well be the last good day to sit on the porch, have a beverage and a smoke. The sun warms the lawns, and the winds are strong enough to kick leaves out from under the hedges, rattling them down the street sounding like children playing tag in tap shoes. Planes come and go from the airport, but I've barely noticed them after living here the first month...they're just more background noise, part of the constant hum that surrounds the condo.
---
We proctored an SAT Test this morning, a job that allows us to pick up a bit of cash, help out one of Jen's coworkers, and gives me four or five hours to sit and read. It's a fun gig for me, because I get to roam around from room to room and watch kids as they stress over bubbled answer sheets and scribble furiously in the margins of their test booklets. They're all so young, and trying to figure out who they're going to be, but as I watch them I imagine that I already know.
It's easy to pick out the ones that will have too much fun in college. It's also pretty simple to see those who will have too little. The girls are all straight-haired and pony tailed, and the boys are all casually and carefully rumpled. I make up little stories about some of them as I half-heartedly scan the room for cheaters. None of the stories I come up with for them are very nice though, so ashamed I stop and go back to reading.
---
Jen and I have had a couple of doctor appointments, and they've gone well. We got to watch the twitching fussing fetus for half an hour on the flat screen in the doctors office as they took dozens of measurements. Jen cried when we saw him reach for his nose. I found myself groping backwards for my chair, not wanting to take my eyes off the screen where she just kicked away from the prodding ultrasound wand. A few days later, in another office, we heard the electronic chugging train of her heartbeat, and we laughed as everything became even more real.
---
Fortunately, Jen has forgotten the hedges and suggested a walk. I'm down with a stroll around the woods, so it's time to throw on some jeans and go see the sun while we still can.
Now, we're on the porch. Jen suddenly has plans for other projects ("Maybe we should trim these hedges today.") and I agree to all of them knowing that it won't be too long before she runs out of steam and ideas. These days she's still good out of the gates, but not much for stamina.
Out of necessity, cigars are an outdoor vice for me, so this may well be the last good day to sit on the porch, have a beverage and a smoke. The sun warms the lawns, and the winds are strong enough to kick leaves out from under the hedges, rattling them down the street sounding like children playing tag in tap shoes. Planes come and go from the airport, but I've barely noticed them after living here the first month...they're just more background noise, part of the constant hum that surrounds the condo.
---
We proctored an SAT Test this morning, a job that allows us to pick up a bit of cash, help out one of Jen's coworkers, and gives me four or five hours to sit and read. It's a fun gig for me, because I get to roam around from room to room and watch kids as they stress over bubbled answer sheets and scribble furiously in the margins of their test booklets. They're all so young, and trying to figure out who they're going to be, but as I watch them I imagine that I already know.
It's easy to pick out the ones that will have too much fun in college. It's also pretty simple to see those who will have too little. The girls are all straight-haired and pony tailed, and the boys are all casually and carefully rumpled. I make up little stories about some of them as I half-heartedly scan the room for cheaters. None of the stories I come up with for them are very nice though, so ashamed I stop and go back to reading.
---
Jen and I have had a couple of doctor appointments, and they've gone well. We got to watch the twitching fussing fetus for half an hour on the flat screen in the doctors office as they took dozens of measurements. Jen cried when we saw him reach for his nose. I found myself groping backwards for my chair, not wanting to take my eyes off the screen where she just kicked away from the prodding ultrasound wand. A few days later, in another office, we heard the electronic chugging train of her heartbeat, and we laughed as everything became even more real.
---
Fortunately, Jen has forgotten the hedges and suggested a walk. I'm down with a stroll around the woods, so it's time to throw on some jeans and go see the sun while we still can.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Baptism
Fall is, without question, my favorite time of year. After months of muggy Central Ohio soup, Summer finally throws in the towel and heads south. Leaves are starting to fall already, but they're mostly from the small trees, weak of constitution and exasperated with the last two months of little rain. True Fall change is still to come.
We went for a walk tonight and caught up on the day while I studied the woods and fields for changes. The tall grasses and weeds that thrived in baking sun seem to be wilting and shrinking in the cooler air. The meadows, usually exploding with life, seem tired and shrinking, letting you see more of the tree line beyond. Sleepy blackberry bushes choke out all ground cover but the Poison Ivy which slithers invincible through hillsides and fence rows.
As we were heading back to the car, we watched a little kid chasing after the ducks that had made their way up onto a large flat grassy patch. Watching the ducks reminded me of when I was a kid in Indiana. We lived on small lake, and each winter the ducks would swim quickly in a circle keeping the water from freezing over. The colder it got, the smaller their circle would get, until eventually the ducks would give it up and head for shelter amongst the dead rattling cattails and allow the cold air to seal the surface of the water.
I would sometimes go out onto the ice with a pick and break off sections of the ice, trying to give them more room to maneuver and avoid the neighborhood dogs that would come over to grab them out of the water when they swam close to the edge.
One morning, while breaking up the ice along their swimming hole, I fell through the surface. The water wasn't deep, and barely reached my chest, but my feet immediately sunk into the mud. Locked into place by unseen silt, my entire body heaving with the sting and shock of water, I felt every sense firing all at once and my brain went a painful copy-paper white. It had to have been only seconds, but time stretched and mattered little in the midst of the experience. Finally, through some magic automation of nature my lungs filled themselves with air, I pulled my feet out of the mud, and moved toward the bank.
When I was seventeen, I went on a trip to Israel and was baptized in the Jordan River. This was the place where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist and it was to be an honor to share in that collective experience some 1,995 years later. Looking back on it now though, I imagine the minister who oversaw my baptism hoping to instill the same feeling of wonder and newness that I had that winter Indiana day. In truth it came nowhere near that moment of pulling myself out of the mud, awkwardly holding the pick axe with numbing hands, and remembering to breathe. In that moment, my winter coat soaked and slick with ice, I was alive in a way I had never been before.
Tonight, Jen and I kept walking along the path, smiling at each other and watching the kid run after the ducks. After voicing their honking displeasure, they took to the air to avoid the child who laughed and continued to run toward the lake's edge after them.
We went for a walk tonight and caught up on the day while I studied the woods and fields for changes. The tall grasses and weeds that thrived in baking sun seem to be wilting and shrinking in the cooler air. The meadows, usually exploding with life, seem tired and shrinking, letting you see more of the tree line beyond. Sleepy blackberry bushes choke out all ground cover but the Poison Ivy which slithers invincible through hillsides and fence rows.
As we were heading back to the car, we watched a little kid chasing after the ducks that had made their way up onto a large flat grassy patch. Watching the ducks reminded me of when I was a kid in Indiana. We lived on small lake, and each winter the ducks would swim quickly in a circle keeping the water from freezing over. The colder it got, the smaller their circle would get, until eventually the ducks would give it up and head for shelter amongst the dead rattling cattails and allow the cold air to seal the surface of the water.
I would sometimes go out onto the ice with a pick and break off sections of the ice, trying to give them more room to maneuver and avoid the neighborhood dogs that would come over to grab them out of the water when they swam close to the edge.
One morning, while breaking up the ice along their swimming hole, I fell through the surface. The water wasn't deep, and barely reached my chest, but my feet immediately sunk into the mud. Locked into place by unseen silt, my entire body heaving with the sting and shock of water, I felt every sense firing all at once and my brain went a painful copy-paper white. It had to have been only seconds, but time stretched and mattered little in the midst of the experience. Finally, through some magic automation of nature my lungs filled themselves with air, I pulled my feet out of the mud, and moved toward the bank.
When I was seventeen, I went on a trip to Israel and was baptized in the Jordan River. This was the place where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist and it was to be an honor to share in that collective experience some 1,995 years later. Looking back on it now though, I imagine the minister who oversaw my baptism hoping to instill the same feeling of wonder and newness that I had that winter Indiana day. In truth it came nowhere near that moment of pulling myself out of the mud, awkwardly holding the pick axe with numbing hands, and remembering to breathe. In that moment, my winter coat soaked and slick with ice, I was alive in a way I had never been before.
Tonight, Jen and I kept walking along the path, smiling at each other and watching the kid run after the ducks. After voicing their honking displeasure, they took to the air to avoid the child who laughed and continued to run toward the lake's edge after them.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Have You Seen Me?
I looked up in the rear view mirror and made eye contact with Jen. We watched each other through the three inch tall piece of glass, smiling, until the light turned green. She went home and I headed to the grocery store to load up on grilling supplies for my family that's coming in on Sunday.
It's been a different kind of week, I'll say that for it.
I haven't been on here much lately for blogging purposes. For the two people out there who have been dying for an update of what I made for dinner or what record I sat around and listened to, I'm sorry. (Veggie omelet tonight, and Paul's Boutique as of late.) I've actually been on a bit of a tear doing some "real" writing.
I start lots of stories. I have lots of quick ideas that don't grow. This time it's a bit different because for the first time ever I have a beginning, a middle and an end already. That's unheard of for me. Now all I have to do is show some intestinal fortitude and connect the freaking dots. That's the tough part for me. My brain is so lazy. I love to do the fun scenes but all the connective tissue is a chore and I struggle with it. I'm trying, so at least there's that.
Jen is already asleep on the couch, and Otis and Lucy are sprawled out on her and beside her respectively, and I'm sitting here watching part of the Isle of Wight Festival on television. I think it's time to head upstairs, put my wife to bed, and do a little work on my budding novel. See you around.
It's been a different kind of week, I'll say that for it.
I haven't been on here much lately for blogging purposes. For the two people out there who have been dying for an update of what I made for dinner or what record I sat around and listened to, I'm sorry. (Veggie omelet tonight, and Paul's Boutique as of late.) I've actually been on a bit of a tear doing some "real" writing.
I start lots of stories. I have lots of quick ideas that don't grow. This time it's a bit different because for the first time ever I have a beginning, a middle and an end already. That's unheard of for me. Now all I have to do is show some intestinal fortitude and connect the freaking dots. That's the tough part for me. My brain is so lazy. I love to do the fun scenes but all the connective tissue is a chore and I struggle with it. I'm trying, so at least there's that.
Jen is already asleep on the couch, and Otis and Lucy are sprawled out on her and beside her respectively, and I'm sitting here watching part of the Isle of Wight Festival on television. I think it's time to head upstairs, put my wife to bed, and do a little work on my budding novel. See you around.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Porch Stuff
The petunias are a bit past their prime. The remaining blooms still try to keep the intensity of early summer going into August, but the leaves have gone brown and even the soil they're planted in seems tired of the heat. There are five little pots of them that are arranged in a tiered planter sitting beside me.
The pots were originally for herbs that I bought. I thought it would be nice to be able to just trim off herbs when I wanted, so we went out looking for seeds, cheap terracotta pots, and organic soil. After upgrading from terracotta to different colored glazed pots, I commenced to plant. Nothing grew. Nothing. Five pots with herbs, and not a single green leaf survived. So, Jen took them over, put some flowers in them, and now here they sit between our two wrought iron chairs.
Out front we added a bird bath, a bug candle, and we drag out a little round table from inside to set our drinks on. As I sit here now, Jen is fussing over one of the hanging baskets and dripping water on my ankles as she empties the watering can.
Usually, it's Sunday mornings that find us out on the porch, but this morning the air was stagnate and muggy, so we kept to the indoors and watched "Coraline". Now, a breeze has blown the heaviness out of the day, and we've moved outside. For a tight packed little neighborhood, it really is pretty quiet here. There's no real sense of community that I've ever felt here, but we're also hermits, so that could be totally our fault. Sometimes, someone walking by will stop to talk to us about a break in or something else bad that's happened in the neighborhood, but no one just stops to chat.
When we first moved here, there was a large woman who lived on the corner that would provide some entertainment. She had a big raspy voice that was accustomed to the strain of shouting orders. If you happened to be outside when she would go into a rage, you could hear her even though she was indoors. When she brought the yelling outside is when the real entertainment started though.
"I TOLD THAT MOTHERFUCKER HE'S NOT ALLOWED BACK IN THIS HOUSE, AND I COME HOME AND THERE THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS! I DON'T GET NO RESPECT AROUND HERE. NONE!"
I miss her.
We bought this place around six years ago because real estate is always a good investment. We walked into it with nearly 10% equity with no money down, and I was feeling pretty smart about it. Now, $40,000 upside down in the home because of the market and the foreclosures, we're trapped. If it weren't for this property, we'd have a place out in the country out near my brother. If it weren't for this property, we'd be living in St Paul and I wouldn't have nearly so much trouble finding someone to see Wilco with me. If it weren't for this place we'd be living downtown so we could walk to dinner, drinks, and exhibitions. If it weren't for this place, we'd be in Wisconsin where we'd
be close to friends and would have someone we trust to watch our children.
We're making the best of it for now. In the meantime, at least there's the porch, the breeze that sneaks around the corner of the house, and a smooth Sunday Merlot buzz.
The pots were originally for herbs that I bought. I thought it would be nice to be able to just trim off herbs when I wanted, so we went out looking for seeds, cheap terracotta pots, and organic soil. After upgrading from terracotta to different colored glazed pots, I commenced to plant. Nothing grew. Nothing. Five pots with herbs, and not a single green leaf survived. So, Jen took them over, put some flowers in them, and now here they sit between our two wrought iron chairs.
Out front we added a bird bath, a bug candle, and we drag out a little round table from inside to set our drinks on. As I sit here now, Jen is fussing over one of the hanging baskets and dripping water on my ankles as she empties the watering can.
Usually, it's Sunday mornings that find us out on the porch, but this morning the air was stagnate and muggy, so we kept to the indoors and watched "Coraline". Now, a breeze has blown the heaviness out of the day, and we've moved outside. For a tight packed little neighborhood, it really is pretty quiet here. There's no real sense of community that I've ever felt here, but we're also hermits, so that could be totally our fault. Sometimes, someone walking by will stop to talk to us about a break in or something else bad that's happened in the neighborhood, but no one just stops to chat.
When we first moved here, there was a large woman who lived on the corner that would provide some entertainment. She had a big raspy voice that was accustomed to the strain of shouting orders. If you happened to be outside when she would go into a rage, you could hear her even though she was indoors. When she brought the yelling outside is when the real entertainment started though.
"I TOLD THAT MOTHERFUCKER HE'S NOT ALLOWED BACK IN THIS HOUSE, AND I COME HOME AND THERE THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS! I DON'T GET NO RESPECT AROUND HERE. NONE!"
I miss her.
We bought this place around six years ago because real estate is always a good investment. We walked into it with nearly 10% equity with no money down, and I was feeling pretty smart about it. Now, $40,000 upside down in the home because of the market and the foreclosures, we're trapped. If it weren't for this property, we'd have a place out in the country out near my brother. If it weren't for this property, we'd be living in St Paul and I wouldn't have nearly so much trouble finding someone to see Wilco with me. If it weren't for this place we'd be living downtown so we could walk to dinner, drinks, and exhibitions. If it weren't for this place, we'd be in Wisconsin where we'd
be close to friends and would have someone we trust to watch our children.
We're making the best of it for now. In the meantime, at least there's the porch, the breeze that sneaks around the corner of the house, and a smooth Sunday Merlot buzz.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Indiana
As soon as the guitar started playing I was thinking of Indiana.
I remembered the cold brown of the corn fields with their trimmed stubble poking up through the gray Indiana ice.
I was climbing a thin swaying evergreen tree. I was high in its limbs, and went to reach for the next branch above me when I saw the Blacksnake coiled around it waiting for a bird. I backed down the tree frantically worried that the snake would get scared, loosen itself from the limb and fall on me.
I lived on a lake and we would swim for hours, doggy paddling with cigarettes clenched between our lips, trying to keep them from getting wet.
In Farmersburg, all the big Oak tree's trunks that lined Main Street had been painted white. It was to fend off a particular bug, they said. It always made me think of Tom Sawyer and his fence.
Teenagers, snorting well-timed bumps of crank, chain smoke in their cars and call out to each other as they drive by one another. The local rock stations refuse to play anything but CCR and Billy Squire, so we all listen to cassette tapes of Alice in Chains over and over.
Jesse and I would hike out to the meadow near my house. There was a little pond in the center of the clearing, looking like a mirrored pupil in a large eye. We'd pour gasoline on the water and then light it with a flick of a cigarette butt so we could see the water burn.
I was thirteen when my brother gave me my first beer. I took minute sips when I thought someone was looking at me, but otherwise focused on trying to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. After an hour, it had gone warm, but still I walked around with it, choking down small swallows here and there.
I was in the seventh grade, and somehow found myself holding hands and walking with Mindy Jackson. I spent the next ten years trying to recapture that feeling.
Cat had heard voices, but I didn't know about it until the sod had already stitched itself together over his grave. We stood around the tombstone talking, drinking. We went home and stood around the garage talking, drinking.
I went back once as an adult. Boys I had once known were now playing pool in the bars I visited. Girls I had once wanted to know didn't recognize me, or if they did, they pretended not to. It was OK, because I saw people that I pretended were strangers too. We drank draft beers and told each other we should do this more often.
I remembered the cold brown of the corn fields with their trimmed stubble poking up through the gray Indiana ice.
I was climbing a thin swaying evergreen tree. I was high in its limbs, and went to reach for the next branch above me when I saw the Blacksnake coiled around it waiting for a bird. I backed down the tree frantically worried that the snake would get scared, loosen itself from the limb and fall on me.
I lived on a lake and we would swim for hours, doggy paddling with cigarettes clenched between our lips, trying to keep them from getting wet.
In Farmersburg, all the big Oak tree's trunks that lined Main Street had been painted white. It was to fend off a particular bug, they said. It always made me think of Tom Sawyer and his fence.
Teenagers, snorting well-timed bumps of crank, chain smoke in their cars and call out to each other as they drive by one another. The local rock stations refuse to play anything but CCR and Billy Squire, so we all listen to cassette tapes of Alice in Chains over and over.
Jesse and I would hike out to the meadow near my house. There was a little pond in the center of the clearing, looking like a mirrored pupil in a large eye. We'd pour gasoline on the water and then light it with a flick of a cigarette butt so we could see the water burn.
I was thirteen when my brother gave me my first beer. I took minute sips when I thought someone was looking at me, but otherwise focused on trying to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. After an hour, it had gone warm, but still I walked around with it, choking down small swallows here and there.
I was in the seventh grade, and somehow found myself holding hands and walking with Mindy Jackson. I spent the next ten years trying to recapture that feeling.
Cat had heard voices, but I didn't know about it until the sod had already stitched itself together over his grave. We stood around the tombstone talking, drinking. We went home and stood around the garage talking, drinking.
I went back once as an adult. Boys I had once known were now playing pool in the bars I visited. Girls I had once wanted to know didn't recognize me, or if they did, they pretended not to. It was OK, because I saw people that I pretended were strangers too. We drank draft beers and told each other we should do this more often.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Winter's Return & Spring's Training
The rain from last week had brought the earthworms out of the soil, and they lay stretched across my parking pad and sidewalk, bloated, drowning, and stinking. Today, the local news said we're expecting snow, and I imagine I'll get home tonight to find white crusted earthworms scattered across the pavement.
The cold weather is supposed to stay a few days just to make room for more rain by the end of the week, so immediately my hopes of bike commuting are gone. Ah well...it's early. The actuality of Spring will finally catch up with the calendar, and when it does, I'll be ready.
Spring was in effect this weekend at least, and we milked it. Saturday we had to go do SAT testing in the morning. I managed to finish reading No Country For Old Men before the first half of the test was over and had to run out to the car for my backup book (another stupid vampire book in the series I can't stop reading). After the testing, we headed to my brother's house to hang out for the afternoon. We wound up taking a hike 
through their local park that afternoon (that's my brother in the first pic, looking like he's ready to strangle mother nature and curse the sun) and heading out for lunch afterward. It's painfully obvious to me how much worse of shape I'm in than I was just last fall. This fact was demonstrated yet again when we went hiking the next morning down in Hocking Hills (second pic). Still, I survived.
After the hike I went over to The North Market to do some meat shopping and loaded up on some dead cow at Blue's Creek Farm. They were really cool, taking lots of time to answer my questions (animals are free range, free fed, are taken to slaughter weekly and put down using a .22 or stun gun) even though the market was packed. I hit up The Fish Guys for some salmon to grill that night, and then stopped to grab a piece of baklava on my way out. Then it was more shopping before making dinner (the aforementioned salmon along with steamed broccoli and a small spinach salad) and watching The Fresh Prince of Bel Air in Seven Pounds (not bad).
This morning I had the idea of hiring Kevin Smith to come in and play me for a week since I really can't afford to take a week off right now. If he put on a bald wig, muttered sarcastically and just clicked away at his keyboard and mouse all day, I don't think anyone would notice he's not me. Wonder how much that would set me back?
The cold weather is supposed to stay a few days just to make room for more rain by the end of the week, so immediately my hopes of bike commuting are gone. Ah well...it's early. The actuality of Spring will finally catch up with the calendar, and when it does, I'll be ready.
Spring was in effect this weekend at least, and we milked it. Saturday we had to go do SAT testing in the morning. I managed to finish reading No Country For Old Men before the first half of the test was over and had to run out to the car for my backup book (another stupid vampire book in the series I can't stop reading). After the testing, we headed to my brother's house to hang out for the afternoon. We wound up taking a hike 
through their local park that afternoon (that's my brother in the first pic, looking like he's ready to strangle mother nature and curse the sun) and heading out for lunch afterward. It's painfully obvious to me how much worse of shape I'm in than I was just last fall. This fact was demonstrated yet again when we went hiking the next morning down in Hocking Hills (second pic). Still, I survived.After the hike I went over to The North Market to do some meat shopping and loaded up on some dead cow at Blue's Creek Farm. They were really cool, taking lots of time to answer my questions (animals are free range, free fed, are taken to slaughter weekly and put down using a .22 or stun gun) even though the market was packed. I hit up The Fish Guys for some salmon to grill that night, and then stopped to grab a piece of baklava on my way out. Then it was more shopping before making dinner (the aforementioned salmon along with steamed broccoli and a small spinach salad) and watching The Fresh Prince of Bel Air in Seven Pounds (not bad).
This morning I had the idea of hiring Kevin Smith to come in and play me for a week since I really can't afford to take a week off right now. If he put on a bald wig, muttered sarcastically and just clicked away at his keyboard and mouse all day, I don't think anyone would notice he's not me. Wonder how much that would set me back?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sub Pop Saves the Day
A month or so ago, I ordered a couple of 7" singles from Sub Pop. A week later an over sized package arrived from them, with a full release of The Postal Service's Give Up along with a single for a band I had never heard of called Wooden Shjps. While I was happy to get the Postal Service record (something I was going to order anyway) and I was digging on the new Wooden Shjps disc, I had no complaints, but I still really wanted what I ordered to begin with. So, I emailed Sub Pop using the Customer Service address on the website:
1/17
Hi, I got my records in the mail today, but it wasn't what I ordered. I had ordered a Band of Horses 7" and Postal Service 7" and instead got "Give Up" and a Wooden Shjps 7". Not that I'm unhappy with what was sent, it just wasn't what I had ordered.
So, in order to get what I originally sent over in order 28140 do I need to ship back the two records you sent? I'm not trying to take advantage of the situation, just want to know how to make it right.
Hugs and Kisses,
Stephen Merryman
In response, all I received was silence. So, I broke down and reordered the records I had wanted originally. I received them, and was a happy man. I spent a little more than I had planned on, but got some cool stuff in return. Then, out of the darkness:
3/5
Stephen!
I just found this over a month old email from you in my junk mail. Sorry about that! Anyway, that’s a huge bummer. I’ll send you the correct records. You’ll see them soon. Please listen to the incorrect records if you haven’t already. They are yours as a token of a colossal mistake on our part.
Thanks,Sam
Since I had the records they had missed the first round, I didn't want to get them again. So, I responded:
Hi,
Since I knew you're all fundamentally sound folks, I decided I could wait no longer and submitted a second order for the records I had ordered the first round, so you don't have to resend them. Shit happens. It's fine. If you'd rather, you're welcome to send me a single or two of whatever you think is interesting to replace it (seriously...I'm open to suggestions), or if you send nothing, we'll still part friends. I can't help it...I'm your doormat.
Love,
Stephen
Yesterday, I opened the mail to find three new records waiting for me, and they are amazing. I received limited edition colored vinyl singles for Mark Sultan (a guy I had never heard of before, but who's amazing, and No Age (which may turn out to be my new favorite band). The third was a record I already have, but I'm sure I'll get to pass it along to someone in need sooner or later.
On the invoice, Sam had quickly written "Enjoy the records. XOXO".
Never have I felt so completely loved by a company. It helps that I love so much of the music that they've released over the years (Fleet Foxes, Band of Horses, Low, Mudhoney, The Postal Service, Nirvana, etc.) but now I'm totally endeared to them as well. Great music and hugs and kisses? What more could a fella ask for?
1/17
Hi, I got my records in the mail today, but it wasn't what I ordered. I had ordered a Band of Horses 7" and Postal Service 7" and instead got "Give Up" and a Wooden Shjps 7". Not that I'm unhappy with what was sent, it just wasn't what I had ordered.
So, in order to get what I originally sent over in order 28140 do I need to ship back the two records you sent? I'm not trying to take advantage of the situation, just want to know how to make it right.
Hugs and Kisses,
Stephen Merryman
In response, all I received was silence. So, I broke down and reordered the records I had wanted originally. I received them, and was a happy man. I spent a little more than I had planned on, but got some cool stuff in return. Then, out of the darkness:
3/5
Stephen!
I just found this over a month old email from you in my junk mail. Sorry about that! Anyway, that’s a huge bummer. I’ll send you the correct records. You’ll see them soon. Please listen to the incorrect records if you haven’t already. They are yours as a token of a colossal mistake on our part.
Thanks,Sam
Since I had the records they had missed the first round, I didn't want to get them again. So, I responded:
Hi,
Since I knew you're all fundamentally sound folks, I decided I could wait no longer and submitted a second order for the records I had ordered the first round, so you don't have to resend them. Shit happens. It's fine. If you'd rather, you're welcome to send me a single or two of whatever you think is interesting to replace it (seriously...I'm open to suggestions), or if you send nothing, we'll still part friends. I can't help it...I'm your doormat.
Love,
Stephen
Yesterday, I opened the mail to find three new records waiting for me, and they are amazing. I received limited edition colored vinyl singles for Mark Sultan (a guy I had never heard of before, but who's amazing, and No Age (which may turn out to be my new favorite band). The third was a record I already have, but I'm sure I'll get to pass it along to someone in need sooner or later.
On the invoice, Sam had quickly written "Enjoy the records. XOXO".
Never have I felt so completely loved by a company. It helps that I love so much of the music that they've released over the years (Fleet Foxes, Band of Horses, Low, Mudhoney, The Postal Service, Nirvana, etc.) but now I'm totally endeared to them as well. Great music and hugs and kisses? What more could a fella ask for?
Friday, January 23, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Thanksgiving and Everything After
Normally, me and the wife would pack up our meager potluck offering and head to my brother's place for Thanksgiving. This year though, Jen's mom flew into town, and as a result we wound up deciding to kick it at our house this year for the big feast. Now, I've never cooked Thanksgiving dinner in my life, but I figured I could muddle through. I did. Homeboy cooked it up and surprisingly everything came out pretty well. It might even stick as a new tradition. We'll see.
Friday, we just stayed close to home, drinking wine and watching movies. In the past, I've always referred to Black Friday as Godfather Day since we'd stay home and watch Godfather I & II (never...ever III). But, in mixed company we settled on me hitting Blockbuster for some flicks and then surfed the couch. I started getting antsy by the end of the day, feeling like I wasn't getting anything done, but it was good to just hang out with Jen's mom and kind of reconnect a bit with her.
Saturday was straight up drunkeration. We headed out to a couple of wineries and wound up bringing a case home with us to replenish a supply that had taken a surprising hit over the previous two days. With our supplies tucked away in the racks, we ended our night with yet more leftovers and opened a few bottles.
Our last day together was spent shopping. Jen's mother very generously gave us a bit of a Christmas present early. Jen wanted curtains, so we got to go shop for those. I've never shopped for curtains before, but it was exactly as much fun as I thought it might be. My mood lighted though once I was told that there would be enough cash left over for a record player. I've picked out a very basic model that I'm going to set up in the den with a new component system. Very old school. Can't wait.
And that's that. Mom-In-Law flew back Monday morning, and I'm back at work fighting a cold and just fighting to get through to another weekend. We're quickly using up 2008, and I gotta be honest, I'm not going to miss much of it. There were high points for sure, but I think mostly it was the kind of year you have to have to make you more grateful for all the goods ones.
Hope you all had a good long Thanksgiving weekend. I'll be around...
Friday, we just stayed close to home, drinking wine and watching movies. In the past, I've always referred to Black Friday as Godfather Day since we'd stay home and watch Godfather I & II (never...ever III). But, in mixed company we settled on me hitting Blockbuster for some flicks and then surfed the couch. I started getting antsy by the end of the day, feeling like I wasn't getting anything done, but it was good to just hang out with Jen's mom and kind of reconnect a bit with her.
Saturday was straight up drunkeration. We headed out to a couple of wineries and wound up bringing a case home with us to replenish a supply that had taken a surprising hit over the previous two days. With our supplies tucked away in the racks, we ended our night with yet more leftovers and opened a few bottles.
Our last day together was spent shopping. Jen's mother very generously gave us a bit of a Christmas present early. Jen wanted curtains, so we got to go shop for those. I've never shopped for curtains before, but it was exactly as much fun as I thought it might be. My mood lighted though once I was told that there would be enough cash left over for a record player. I've picked out a very basic model that I'm going to set up in the den with a new component system. Very old school. Can't wait.
And that's that. Mom-In-Law flew back Monday morning, and I'm back at work fighting a cold and just fighting to get through to another weekend. We're quickly using up 2008, and I gotta be honest, I'm not going to miss much of it. There were high points for sure, but I think mostly it was the kind of year you have to have to make you more grateful for all the goods ones.
Hope you all had a good long Thanksgiving weekend. I'll be around...
Monday, November 24, 2008
Chef Shivers
It's that kind of "in between" cold that brings rain and gray skies. Snow is hinted at, but never quite materializes. The rain hits your skin in the morning on your way to the car, and it becomes a part of you for the rest of the day. I went to work, in my new capacity (which is suspiciously like my old capacity), ran some errands while at lunch (coffee run, etc.) and then hit the grocery store on the way home all with a thin shiver curled under my coat with me.
Thanksgiving is generally spent with my brother and sister in law at their house. We kind crashed their get together a few years back (it is mostly my sis in law's family) and wound up getting invited back each year. When we're not visiting Jen's family in WI, we always go. This year though, Jen's mom is coming to town and we decided to keep it low key for her sake.
It was insane how much money I spent on groceries tonight. I'm only cooking for four people, but it felt like they had to restock behind me everywhere I went. I wandered through the aisles getting more and more worried that I'd exceed my cart's capabilities. Me and 400 of my neighbors listened to piped in Coldplay while loading up on yams and blocks of cheese. I managed to wade through the humanity and come out near the checkout lanes gasping for air with pretty much everything I needed. Since this is my first actual Thanksgiving dinner that I've done, I also loaded up on plenty of booze. That way, if things go belly up, we'll have an excellent Plan B.
Thanksgiving is generally spent with my brother and sister in law at their house. We kind crashed their get together a few years back (it is mostly my sis in law's family) and wound up getting invited back each year. When we're not visiting Jen's family in WI, we always go. This year though, Jen's mom is coming to town and we decided to keep it low key for her sake.
It was insane how much money I spent on groceries tonight. I'm only cooking for four people, but it felt like they had to restock behind me everywhere I went. I wandered through the aisles getting more and more worried that I'd exceed my cart's capabilities. Me and 400 of my neighbors listened to piped in Coldplay while loading up on yams and blocks of cheese. I managed to wade through the humanity and come out near the checkout lanes gasping for air with pretty much everything I needed. Since this is my first actual Thanksgiving dinner that I've done, I also loaded up on plenty of booze. That way, if things go belly up, we'll have an excellent Plan B.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Randomness Abounds
When I was a little kid, I didn't have much in the way of a tough male role model. As a result, I was convinced that my uncle Curt was the baddest man alive. He had a habit of chewing on the corner of his lower lip, a habit I immediately equated with toughness. One morning, I was on the bus on my way to school and there was an older kid who was staring at me. I didn't like it, so I started chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, showing him I was a bad man and not to be messed with. The kid started laughing at me, and then sucked in half of his lower lip and gnawed on it with yellowed fence post teeth. I remember being shocked that someone would use my own "I'm tough" signals back at me in a mocking manner. I immediately decided that posturing wasn't my thing.
- - - - - - - -
The last couple of days I've started going for a walk on my lunch. Yesterday, I froze without a hat and gloves, so today I came better prepared. I go across the street to a park and walk around a gravel nature trail towards the back of the property. It's a great way to spend an hour. The deer, undersized from the crowded conditions, are used to people and run more out of habit than from actual fear. The squirrels are fat and sleek, looking freshly oiled and seem to be everywhere. They say there's a good fox population, but I've never seen proof of that, and I guess I don't expect to. There's still some snow around, though there seems to be less of it today than there was yesterday. It's limited now to the fallen limbs and trees and along the piles of leaves, but has melted in the places where it had fallen on the actual ground.
- - - - - - - - -
Jen got an automated call from her doctor telling her she had a message in her secure voice mail. She called up and listened to a voice mail that told her she was cancer free. The margins of the mass they removed were nice and clean, and she now has less than a week before the stitches come out.
We've been doing some things around the house getting ready for Jen's mother's Thanksgiving visit, and our decorating is finally starting to get weird enough to make me happy. First, I got Kim Jong iLL hung up along the stairway half wall on the second floor landing. They're lower than I had planned on, and not immediately visible when you go upstairs, but they looked so great there that they had to stay. We also got some other prints up including a great shot of Madonna (Jen is a huge fan of early Madonna) completely nude (Stephen is a huge fan of early or late nudity) while hitchhiking. I know what you're thinking because I've already heard it before: "I wouldn't hang that crap in my house". That, dear friend, is why you don't live here. It makes me smile every time I see it. We also got some family photos framed and hung, so our house, after 6 years, is finallly starting to look a little homey. Well, our version of homey anyway.
- - - - - - - -
The last couple of days I've started going for a walk on my lunch. Yesterday, I froze without a hat and gloves, so today I came better prepared. I go across the street to a park and walk around a gravel nature trail towards the back of the property. It's a great way to spend an hour. The deer, undersized from the crowded conditions, are used to people and run more out of habit than from actual fear. The squirrels are fat and sleek, looking freshly oiled and seem to be everywhere. They say there's a good fox population, but I've never seen proof of that, and I guess I don't expect to. There's still some snow around, though there seems to be less of it today than there was yesterday. It's limited now to the fallen limbs and trees and along the piles of leaves, but has melted in the places where it had fallen on the actual ground. - - - - - - - - -
Jen got an automated call from her doctor telling her she had a message in her secure voice mail. She called up and listened to a voice mail that told her she was cancer free. The margins of the mass they removed were nice and clean, and she now has less than a week before the stitches come out.
- - - - - - - - -
We've been doing some things around the house getting ready for Jen's mother's Thanksgiving visit, and our decorating is finally starting to get weird enough to make me happy. First, I got Kim Jong iLL hung up along the stairway half wall on the second floor landing. They're lower than I had planned on, and not immediately visible when you go upstairs, but they looked so great there that they had to stay. We also got some other prints up including a great shot of Madonna (Jen is a huge fan of early Madonna) completely nude (Stephen is a huge fan of early or late nudity) while hitchhiking. I know what you're thinking because I've already heard it before: "I wouldn't hang that crap in my house". That, dear friend, is why you don't live here. It makes me smile every time I see it. We also got some family photos framed and hung, so our house, after 6 years, is finallly starting to look a little homey. Well, our version of homey anyway.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Other Voices, Other Rooms
I can't believe I actually got to sleep in on both days of this weekend. That's practically unheard of these days, so it was big news to be in bed past 8:00. In addition to all the sleeping, we managed to do a few things too.
A year or two ago, Jen and I were sitting around drinking beers with her mom and going through old pictures. In the pile was a shot of Jen when she was about three years old. She is standing behind a car that sits with its door open still. Her hair is a tangled and blowing in the wind and she has on this little jean jacket thing that just cracks me up when I look at it. Her face is what's perfect though. It's not the cheesy good natured smile of a kid who loves to have her picture taken, but rather this solemn insecurity that comes through. It's heartbreakingly beautiful and I had it blown up, and printed in black and white to put on the wall downstairs.
Jen felt a bit odd having a pic of her on the wall by itself, so yesterday I went through some Merryman family photos and found one of me. It's a close up of me around the same age as Jen, and I have my goofy smile on. On the plus side, it's a sincere smile not the forced "I'm having my picture taken" variety. Tonight, I got both shots framed and will get them hung tomorrow. I was going to do it tonight, but didn't have the right wall anchors. We'll fix that tomorrow.
Today, we went to see the Andy Warhol exhibit
that's here in town. Columbus is actually the only US stop for Andy Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms, and we felt fortunate to have the chance to see it. Click on the link if you'd like the full breakdown of what was displayed, but the short list is an amazing collection of his print work, photographs, and a massive amount of film displayed on dozens of screens. While I like some of his work, I never claimed to be a massive follower, but it really was amazing to see the sheer volume of the man's output.
A year or two ago, Jen and I were sitting around drinking beers with her mom and going through old pictures. In the pile was a shot of Jen when she was about three years old. She is standing behind a car that sits with its door open still. Her hair is a tangled and blowing in the wind and she has on this little jean jacket thing that just cracks me up when I look at it. Her face is what's perfect though. It's not the cheesy good natured smile of a kid who loves to have her picture taken, but rather this solemn insecurity that comes through. It's heartbreakingly beautiful and I had it blown up, and printed in black and white to put on the wall downstairs.
Jen felt a bit odd having a pic of her on the wall by itself, so yesterday I went through some Merryman family photos and found one of me. It's a close up of me around the same age as Jen, and I have my goofy smile on. On the plus side, it's a sincere smile not the forced "I'm having my picture taken" variety. Tonight, I got both shots framed and will get them hung tomorrow. I was going to do it tonight, but didn't have the right wall anchors. We'll fix that tomorrow.
Today, we went to see the Andy Warhol exhibit
that's here in town. Columbus is actually the only US stop for Andy Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms, and we felt fortunate to have the chance to see it. Click on the link if you'd like the full breakdown of what was displayed, but the short list is an amazing collection of his print work, photographs, and a massive amount of film displayed on dozens of screens. While I like some of his work, I never claimed to be a massive follower, but it really was amazing to see the sheer volume of the man's output.
Jen and I roamed the halls of the Wexner Center, checking out old 16mm film of a man inserting a paintbrush into his rectum and then paint a portrait of Andy while Andy looked on, snapping the occasional photograph. We played in the area 
they had set aside for a miniature "Clouds" display. (The clouds in question being large foil pillows filled with a light helium mixture floating around one corner of the gallery.) I stood with rapt attention at every mention or performance by The Velvet Underground. We read excerpts of Truman Capote's Marilyn Monroe interview for Andy's magazine. We sat mesmerized by some of the screen tests that he shot as the subject would go from campy, to bored, to finally being upset that the process wasn't over.
they had set aside for a miniature "Clouds" display. (The clouds in question being large foil pillows filled with a light helium mixture floating around one corner of the gallery.) I stood with rapt attention at every mention or performance by The Velvet Underground. We read excerpts of Truman Capote's Marilyn Monroe interview for Andy's magazine. We sat mesmerized by some of the screen tests that he shot as the subject would go from campy, to bored, to finally being upset that the process wasn't over. 
Whatever your feelings about Campbell's Soup Cans, Multiple Marilyns, or Pop Art in general, it was a great way to spend the afternoon and it was good to just get out and spend some time looking at art again. We haven't done that for awhile, and just being out and about wakes you up a bit and gets you thinking. Some of it we loved, some of it we were indifferent to, but we were happy just roaming around. Plus, did I mention that a guy had a paint brush in his ass? How awesome is that? The only way that could be better is if he were a caricature artist at Cedar Pointe. "Oh, OK. You like horses? How bout if I draw you sitting on a horse? Great! Here, let me just bend over..."
---
After absorbing all things Andy we headed over to Panera for a late lunch. After rounding up half a sandwich and a bowl of soup each, we found a table near the fireplace and settled in. I was watching a guy who was sitting outside drinking from a Panera branded cup and smoking a cigarette like there was no tomorrow. He would take a hit, exhale in this lazy way where he would just open his mouth in an "O" and the smoke would just pour out of his lungs, and then immediately take another hit. There were no quick breaths of pure air in between, just this crazy sucking followed by letting his mouth hang open to let the flood of smoke rise up and sting his eyes. I was enthralled. When he lit another cigarette immediately, I thought it odd but remember thinking "Whatever it takes to get through it, buddy".
When he took three drags and then threw the butt on the ground ten feet to his right, lit a new cigarette, then walked over picked up the one he threw to the ground to take one more hit before putting it in the ashtray and then turn his attention to the new cigarette, I started giving Jen, who had her back to the entertainment, the play by play.
After a few minutes of me explaining that the guy was taking three or four quick drags and then throwing the still lit cigarettes on the ground, lighting a new one, and then going back for the grounded butts, she picked up her chair and came around to my side of the table. To the others in the restaurant we might have looked like thirtysomethings in love, but we were just both enthralled by this strange bit of madness in the middle of Upper Arlington.
He waved at kids, he smoked, he littered, he smoked his litter, he took sips of water from his cup with shaking hands, he smoked, he coughed, and then he did it all again. Sadly, just like my bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup, the craziness came to an end. Before I could get into my shortbread cookie, he had rounded the corner. We left shortly after and kept an eye out for him as we drove out of the neighborhood, but he was not to be seen.
And that's that. We came home and watched "True Blood" and I'm about to wrap up the night with a graphic novel by Joe Hill. Jen's been in bed for over an hour already and should be out cold. I probably won't be much further behind her.
When he took three drags and then threw the butt on the ground ten feet to his right, lit a new cigarette, then walked over picked up the one he threw to the ground to take one more hit before putting it in the ashtray and then turn his attention to the new cigarette, I started giving Jen, who had her back to the entertainment, the play by play.
After a few minutes of me explaining that the guy was taking three or four quick drags and then throwing the still lit cigarettes on the ground, lighting a new one, and then going back for the grounded butts, she picked up her chair and came around to my side of the table. To the others in the restaurant we might have looked like thirtysomethings in love, but we were just both enthralled by this strange bit of madness in the middle of Upper Arlington.
He waved at kids, he smoked, he littered, he smoked his litter, he took sips of water from his cup with shaking hands, he smoked, he coughed, and then he did it all again. Sadly, just like my bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup, the craziness came to an end. Before I could get into my shortbread cookie, he had rounded the corner. We left shortly after and kept an eye out for him as we drove out of the neighborhood, but he was not to be seen.
And that's that. We came home and watched "True Blood" and I'm about to wrap up the night with a graphic novel by Joe Hill. Jen's been in bed for over an hour already and should be out cold. I probably won't be much further behind her.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Random Fact About Me #452
When I have a cup of coffee in my hand and I'm walking back to my desk, I have to stare at it to keep it from slopping over the side of the mug. If I'm not completely focused on the cup of coffee and my mind wanders, it's like I'm transformed into a Parkinson's patient shaking and stumbling toward my ergonomic desk chair. I might as well dump the fucking pot over my head and get it over with.
If I bear down and really focus though, I can actually make it back to my desk without burning the shit out of myself.
This morning, my mind wandered and my hand is still stinging.
I so want to be like the IT guys I see on our floor. They just march around the room, hands gesticulating while the while keeping that sweet black liquid at an even level in their cups. They laugh with each other when telling stories of a Tier 1 user attempting to access a database that has been unused for months while sipping absently from steaming mugs that say "World's Best Dad". I want to be able to sip absently. I want to know the appropriate time to transition from coffee to Diet Mt. Dew. I want to know what a Tier 1 user is.
Later though.
For now, I just need another cup of coffee and I'm going to have to direct all my energy into not hurting myself on my way back. Wish me luck.
If I bear down and really focus though, I can actually make it back to my desk without burning the shit out of myself.
This morning, my mind wandered and my hand is still stinging.
I so want to be like the IT guys I see on our floor. They just march around the room, hands gesticulating while the while keeping that sweet black liquid at an even level in their cups. They laugh with each other when telling stories of a Tier 1 user attempting to access a database that has been unused for months while sipping absently from steaming mugs that say "World's Best Dad". I want to be able to sip absently. I want to know the appropriate time to transition from coffee to Diet Mt. Dew. I want to know what a Tier 1 user is.
Later though.
For now, I just need another cup of coffee and I'm going to have to direct all my energy into not hurting myself on my way back. Wish me luck.
Monday, October 27, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A Few of My Favorite Things
There are a few things that I'm totally hooked on right now and I thought I'd share. In no real order of importance:
Toilet Ink - Jen and I kind of have his and hers bathrooms. Mine is in the hall close to the extra bedroom that we use as a den. One of these glorious creations will be spicing up my throne post haste. Not 100% sure which one I'm getting yet, but pretty sure that it will be "The Hot Seat.
TV on the Radio - I've loved this band since I stumbled blindly upon the "Young Liars" EP and they are consistently good. The new album is amazing and totally worth picking up. I don't know if it's as good as their previous album "Return to Cookie Mountain", but this is a bit more fun and funky, and not quite so dark. If you want to hear what they do, but don't want to pay cash money up front, check out their free live set on the The Interface - Live Feed podcast from iTunes.
This American Life - I'm a bit of a Public Radio / NPR geek. It's OK, I'm fine with it. It's the news I listen to when I'm in the car, and entertainment for me when I'm running around on the weekends. Specifically though, This American Life is hands down the best hour of radio you will ever hope to find. For those unfamiliar, each week there is a theme for the show, and each week they explore different perspectives of that theme from (generally) three or four different people. The topics range from topical (the Mortgage Crises episode was brilliant beyond words) to emotional (coping with death, lying, etc.). The different views or approaches to a subject can be in the form of a book reading, interviews, stand up, or journalistic style reporting. Often, the experience is moving. Again, iTunes has the show available for free Podcasting, so don't be shy. Go subscribe. Fall in love. Then, go to their website and give them a few bucks. It is Public Radio after all.
Urban Medium - I know I've sung the praises of UM here a few times in the past, but I love them so I'm going to do it again. I FINALLY got the cash together to get Kim Jong iLL framed. I placed the order and dropped them off last weekend and will hopefully have them back in the next 3-4 weeks. Now, they have a new Charles Manson / Hello Kitty print that's pretty amazing. I'm gonna have to see if we have room for that too. On it's own, it wouldn't be a hard sell, but she is giving up a substantial chunk of wall space for the three prints I'm already getting framed. Not sure that she wants to live in a UM gallery.
Rue Morgue - I've been picking up this magazine at the bookstore from time to time and it's always been entertaining to me. It's an amazing collection of all things horror in all its art forms. Specifically though, this year's Halloween issue is fantastic. Filled with lists of best ever gore films, reviews for novels and video games, and just fun reading over all. If you don't mind stills of nude people impaled on giant poles, this magazine is for you (or maybe just me).
True Blood - Alan Ball, the genius behind Six Feet Under (my favorite television show of all time), is now giving us vampires in rural Louisiana. Lots of blood, sex, death, and black comedy in a show that imagines life after vampires have come out of the closet. Jen said it best: "I can't wait for this show to be over so we can buy it and watch it all again."
Toilet Ink - Jen and I kind of have his and hers bathrooms. Mine is in the hall close to the extra bedroom that we use as a den. One of these glorious creations will be spicing up my throne post haste. Not 100% sure which one I'm getting yet, but pretty sure that it will be "The Hot Seat.
TV on the Radio - I've loved this band since I stumbled blindly upon the "Young Liars" EP and they are consistently good. The new album is amazing and totally worth picking up. I don't know if it's as good as their previous album "Return to Cookie Mountain", but this is a bit more fun and funky, and not quite so dark. If you want to hear what they do, but don't want to pay cash money up front, check out their free live set on the The Interface - Live Feed podcast from iTunes.
This American Life - I'm a bit of a Public Radio / NPR geek. It's OK, I'm fine with it. It's the news I listen to when I'm in the car, and entertainment for me when I'm running around on the weekends. Specifically though, This American Life is hands down the best hour of radio you will ever hope to find. For those unfamiliar, each week there is a theme for the show, and each week they explore different perspectives of that theme from (generally) three or four different people. The topics range from topical (the Mortgage Crises episode was brilliant beyond words) to emotional (coping with death, lying, etc.). The different views or approaches to a subject can be in the form of a book reading, interviews, stand up, or journalistic style reporting. Often, the experience is moving. Again, iTunes has the show available for free Podcasting, so don't be shy. Go subscribe. Fall in love. Then, go to their website and give them a few bucks. It is Public Radio after all.
Urban Medium - I know I've sung the praises of UM here a few times in the past, but I love them so I'm going to do it again. I FINALLY got the cash together to get Kim Jong iLL framed. I placed the order and dropped them off last weekend and will hopefully have them back in the next 3-4 weeks. Now, they have a new Charles Manson / Hello Kitty print that's pretty amazing. I'm gonna have to see if we have room for that too. On it's own, it wouldn't be a hard sell, but she is giving up a substantial chunk of wall space for the three prints I'm already getting framed. Not sure that she wants to live in a UM gallery.
Rue Morgue - I've been picking up this magazine at the bookstore from time to time and it's always been entertaining to me. It's an amazing collection of all things horror in all its art forms. Specifically though, this year's Halloween issue is fantastic. Filled with lists of best ever gore films, reviews for novels and video games, and just fun reading over all. If you don't mind stills of nude people impaled on giant poles, this magazine is for you (or maybe just me).
True Blood - Alan Ball, the genius behind Six Feet Under (my favorite television show of all time), is now giving us vampires in rural Louisiana. Lots of blood, sex, death, and black comedy in a show that imagines life after vampires have come out of the closet. Jen said it best: "I can't wait for this show to be over so we can buy it and watch it all again."
Friday, October 17, 2008
Sitting in the Waiting Room
Blogging from my phone from a hospital waiting room. My sister in law is on the table right now and they're removing more cancer that was just discovered. Her recovery time just doubled as a result. but she'll be ok. I'm not sure what to do with myself here in all this quiet.
The ceiling rises above me five stories. At the top is a balloon that got away from someone. It's a bit shrivelled and deflated making me think it has been up there a week or so.
There's no TV here but rather a monitor with patient's surgical updates displayed. Each patient is assigned a code number so there are no confidentiality issues. Nikki's code is 27313. I plan on addressing her as such from now on.
...
It's now hours later, and things have settled down. Nikki's surgery, which was supposed to be around two hours long, wound up being just over four after they found some suspicious cells along her bowel. The surgery went very well though, and they are confident that everything that could have been a problem was either removed or burned to a crisp. She's got a long recovery, but she's doing great so far. Good news pretty much across the board.
Jen and I debated going to see the Blue Jackets play tonight as it's their home opener, but decided to put it off. Watched the game on television instead and am now heading to bed. It's been a long day.
The ceiling rises above me five stories. At the top is a balloon that got away from someone. It's a bit shrivelled and deflated making me think it has been up there a week or so.
There's no TV here but rather a monitor with patient's surgical updates displayed. Each patient is assigned a code number so there are no confidentiality issues. Nikki's code is 27313. I plan on addressing her as such from now on.
...
It's now hours later, and things have settled down. Nikki's surgery, which was supposed to be around two hours long, wound up being just over four after they found some suspicious cells along her bowel. The surgery went very well though, and they are confident that everything that could have been a problem was either removed or burned to a crisp. She's got a long recovery, but she's doing great so far. Good news pretty much across the board.
Jen and I debated going to see the Blue Jackets play tonight as it's their home opener, but decided to put it off. Watched the game on television instead and am now heading to bed. It's been a long day.
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