This Is a Test. This Is Only a Test
lil Bear (once again, and ad infinitum) simply amazes me.
Will post when I can.
posted 03.31.0
Death comes to a man like a dream, but a chicken never sleeps
Been watchin movies of late.
8 Mile was one of those movies (you don’t wanna know the others) that completely sucked me into its reality. The Good Girl was quirky but basically sucked. The Banger Sisters I liked quite a bit and because of it I have a renewed lust for Susan Sarandon and now lust after a post-Laugh-In Goldie Hawn. The Ring was pretty creepy as far as horror movies go (it was certainly better than Fear.com) but there could have been a bit more tension. And then there was Rules of Attraction, and I have only four words for that: “Less Than Five Minutes.” That’s as long as I could watch the movie. Oh… and as an addendum… Road to Perdition was quite the downer as far as overall mood ended up being… but I would highly recommend it to the fourteen people on the planet that haven’t seen it if they happen by some chance to be reading this.
retro-flash-back
The film Tampopo. A scene between lovers. They pass a raw egg from mouth to mouth. WOW.
”Whatever happened to Faye Wray?”
”Poor Tom’s Café
AIR CONDITIONED
”…the reader capable of deciphering the hidden meaning of a book from the order of its entries has long since vanished from the face of the earth, for today’s reading audiences believes that the matter of imagination lies exclusively within the realm of the writer and does not concern them in the least, especially with regard to a dictionary. This type of reader does not even need a sandglass in the book to remind him when to change his manner of reading: he never changes his manner of reading in any case.”
Milorad Pavic Dictionary of the Khazars
”I do so like
green eggs and ham!
Thank you!
Thank you,
Sam-I-am!
Dr. Seuss
posted 03.27.03
You Tell Me
There was an onion skin of ice on my windshield this morning. What’s up with that? The sun was bright, though, and it didn’t seem all that cold. It’s s’posed to be in the 70’s tomorrow (Thursday) and possibly snow on Saturday. ::eyeroll::
My head’s been totally congested of late. I hate feeling blech. I’m on the phone all day too, which doesn’t make it any better. We get some off the wall people calling in sometimes, but over all, I really like being of help to the people who call in.
Non sequitur of the day with the added bonus of no segue: I really dislike Big Red gum. The Juicy Fruit wouldn’t come out of the machine though, so I was stuck.
Non sequitur part deux: white plastic coffee cups… whoever came up with that bright idea obviously never drank coffee from one.
Cuevos los Indios
They had been there for a week together, and this was the last day, the plane would leave at 6:30 and they were checking out at noon.
”Let’s go to that cemetery, the one we walked by the first night…”
He was dressed in his shorts and a polo shirt. She had on jeans and a t-shirt even tough it was over 80 and had rained all of the night before.
”Can’t you just change in the airport like me?” he asked.
”That would be icky.”
”You’re gonna be icky on the plane.”
”It’s okay. It’s not so bad.”
There were men working by one of the cemetery’s gates. Bulging brown bodies and a large dump truck spewing even more heat.
blah… blah… blah…
”Here, wait,” she said. “My camera.”
He took two steps back to her, opened the bag for her to get the camera. He gazed through the fence with her.
”What are you taking a picture of?” his voice was thin.
The white peace of the cemetery beyond the fence. The terrible blue of the sky above. She focused the camera with long, delicate, so white fingers. Her face was calm. She snapped the shutter once and smiled inwardly.
”What did you take a picture of?” He looked out across the cemetery again.
”Out there. See? The beach beyond the far fence. And people playing in the sea. I like that. A cemetery with an ocean front view.”
He stared at her and opened the bag for the camera and they continued walking.
The entire cemetery was a polished white. Blinding in the sun as the face of a blank sheet of paper. The names carved in the flat white stones were shallow and hard to make out in the noon time sun. Even the older, decaying stones were bleach blank and bright. Sand whipped up and caught her in the eye. Everywhere a benevolent Jesus sitting contemplatively… carrying his cross… hanging from it with quiet sorrow in his blank white eyes. There is no expression in white marble serenity. No emotion in the sand as it drifts into a broken into mausoleum. Falls into the etched letters of “Maria”… the rest of her name obscured by a miniature dune.
”Maria,” he whispers.
Behind him the sea whispers back to him with waves.
He turns and the girl is further off. Her head lowered, blonde hair streaming in the wind, obscuring what her face must be doing. Had she said something about the sand in her eyes, or had he only felt it? He looks over the white brick wall, beyond its barbed wire top, where the ocean is blue. And green and brown in patches. And the waves crest white. Beating the sand not ten yards from where the wall is.
”Maria,” he whispers.
He turns back to the girl, walks to her. They stop for a moment at the gate and then step back onto the busy sidewalk.
posted 03.26.03
chicka-chicka-BOOM-BOOM
Q: What was one of my favorite things about living in Florida?
A: Thunderstorms. Lightning is just a whole other creature in Florida than it is in Illinois (and Indiana as well).
Q: What was one of my LEAST favorite things about living in Florida?
A: Thunderstorms. Have you ever lost three modems (and on a Mac nonetheless) in less than a month? ‘Nuff said.
I mention this because I guess a front is moving through right now. A lil bit of a thunder-boomer pushin’ kinda thang. I love thunderstorms. I think I always have, but you’d have to check with my parents for my more formative years.
When lil bear was a wee lil lad, he used to sleep so peacefully in his cage playpen when a Florida thunderstorm would roll through. It would be so adorable. Daisy, who was our dog… well… actually she was a timber wolf… at the time was horribly afraid of thunderstorms. She would curl up with her body pressed up to the outside of lil bear’s playpen while he slept through the big-bad-storm.
Even today lil bear seems to like the rain. We were coming home from Mamaw and Papaw’s house earlier this evening, and as I carried him to the car, a gentle rain was falling. He pointed out and about everywhere, his little arm flailing and fingers gesticulating wildly. “Rain! Rain!” he kept calling out, his face lit with a gigantic smile. He’s a simply amazing fella. Though I’m sure I babble on about him far too much for most people’s taste.
lil bear is asleep right now and Lil Man is out at bowling night with Mamaw, and Stac is working. It is quiet here now except for the gentle thrum of the rain on the window and the nearly muted volume of the TV as a Law and Order rerun plays on TNT.
I’m in some sort of denial about this whole war thing.
I haven’t really watched FOX since the night that it started, and I only listen to NPR on the commute back and forth from work (fortunately one of the NPR stations is continuing its pledge drive). When I was at my parents last weekend, I think my father watched war coverage nearly the whole time he was able to. I don’t know for sure if he was actually watching war coverage, because he tends to flip channels and I kinda avoided being in the TV room because the prospect of war coverage wasn’t all that appealing to me.
I think I’m going to the farm this coming weekend.
Crap.
Or maybe not.
It looks like the weather’s gonna be cold and wet. ::sigh:: Why do I check weather.com? It only makes me sad.
posted 03.25.03
Quitting Smoking Now Greatly Reduces
I guess I must seem obsessed and yet at the same time unable to complete. I suppose that would sum me up rather succinctly, though. As I write these words, I don’t really know where I am going, nor where I have been in the just passed 5 minutes. I’m a hodge-podge. I’ve got Ella in my ears…. “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” And yet and still… where do I go?
I ramble on and on about lil bear… and somewhere far away the world I am living in is being changed. Nothing like bombs flyin’ to make someone lean liberal again.
Oh, and thanks again to Cub Reporter Gilbert for sending in a Guest Entry.
Before she sent it, I had wanted to know if she would let me post a piece of her novel which she had already promised to BigSoda (which they STILL hadn’t as of today actually posted… get on the ball, BigSoda!).
She decided that my offer was not all that provocative, seeing as she had already promised these particular words to BigSoda. She did, however, say she would send me something else if she got the chance to write. A couple of days later, I talked with her on the phone and was going to suggest that if she ever needed a place for any words, that these pages would be a fine enough place. She said that she had already emailed me a guest entry if I would only check my email.
Thank you, again, Gilbert, for sharing.
’Tis nice to share words with you again.
posted03.24.03
Caw Caw Caw
So very much has gone on this weekend and I missed it all. I drove to my parents again this weekend ‘cause Grandma wanted to do a family kinda thang on Sunday. lil bear and I left on Friday after I got off of work. We talked and sang the whole way… oh, and he of course snacked. Will you remember, lil bear, what these days are like? You are very nearly two years old. I don’t remember stuff that far back. You are the happiest, most smilingest person that I have ever met. Do you remember the books that we used to read together? You know all of your letters, and you can count to ten, but you still love to read your alphabet and numbers books. You also love My Gigantosaurus Book of Colors that I bought for you. You ask me to read that one quite a bit: “Once upon a time there was a big brown egg. It cracked down the middle and out came a leg.” I can repeat most of this book from memory, and the smile on your face as we go through it together is astounding. You’ve also, since your last visit with Grandma, gotten quite into Chicka-Chicka-Boom-Boom. I looked for a copy of this for you because the one at Grandma’s house is getting pretty loose in the binding, but I couldn’t find one so I’ll have to keep searching. Sometimes when you’re in the bathtub (you have foam letters that you think are the coolest thing, and you like to play with them at bath time), you’ll sing the alphabet song and then shout out “CHICKA CHICKA BOOM BOOM!”
Oh, and you’re coming off of a cold right now… like you would remember that.
We also read a book about Bobby the Bunny which you removed the front cover of last week. And you also like a book called Is There a Penguin at My Party? which I am not all that fond of, but you like to show me that you know your letters when it comes to the page with the HAPPY BIRTHDAY sigh, and we sing “Happy Birthday to You” and you blow out the candle on the appropriate page, and we sing “Ring around the Rosies (“ashes… ashes… we all fall DOWN! Is pretty ominous to me right now, so we only sing this one when you initiate it).
I’ll tell you a bit more of the songs you like in a little bit, but I guess I should finish up your book list first:
Eeyore Has a Birthday is a tiny board book that you adore. It is a one and a half minute read, but you love it.
Pat the Bunny: you get such a hoot out of waving ‘bye-bye’ to Paul and Judy at the end… and you think that Paul’s wave is goofy.
The Berenstain Bears and the Prize Pumpkin: this is a longish book, but all the pumpkins keep your attention completely glued.
Hello, Piglet is not the Piglet of Pooh fame, but is a piglet nonetheless. You like naming all of the farm-land friends that this piglet says ‘hello’ to.
One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish: Need I say any more about this book or Green Eggs and Ham?
Gracious. I think you have more books than I do at this point.
I think this covers most of your favorites… but your top 10 list changes more often than your diapers. I’ll try to go over more soon, especially since I just bought you 5 or 6 new books this weekend and I think you happen to like a couple of them pretty well.
I wanted to mention music that you liked as well. This list won’t be as comprehensive, I’m sure. You are, though, quite the music lover, and you love to sing.
Even when you were wee-small and we lived in Florida, I tried to let there be music around. Way back then you liked things like the B-side of Abbey Road and some song from the Titanic soundtrack that’s sung by a flappy-armed woman… Tom Waits’ Bone Machine, however, seemed to distress your lil mind.
Now you listen to things like “The Alphabet Song,” “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” “The Wheels on the Bus” (you do the best ‘babies on the bus go “waa waa waa!”’ it’s SOOOO darned cute).
You like “Itsy-Bitsy Spider,” and always applaud after it.
You like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”
You seem to enjoy Dora the Explorer, and I should really get you your own back-pack.
You think that every picture of a paw print that you see is a “clue,” and you like drawing in your “Handy Dandy Notebook” that Grandma sent you.
What kinds of things, though, are important to you now that you are however old you are as you read these words? I used to write to you (what seems like ages ago sometimes) before you were born. I left those words on the internet and then lost them. The words I am writing to you now I will save as paper copies as well, having learnt my lesson. I want you to know what it was I was remembering tonight.
I want you to know that as I went into your bedroom as you were sleeping (we share a closet) so I could pick up my clothes for work tomorrow that I woke you up a little bit.
You roused slightly and gave me a big ol’ grin and said, “Daddy?”
I told that I love you and to go back ni-ni.
You sat up and said, “Hugs, daddy?”
I picked you up and you gave me your what I call ”Monkey Grip” which is where you cling to me with not only your arms but your legs. You grunted theatrically as you tugged around my neck and chest with your limbs.
”I love you, lil bear.”
”I love you. Ni-ni. Daddy.”
I stretched you back onto your mattress and you smiled back up at me. I pulled the blankie that Mommy made for you back over your tiny body and left, my next-day-work-clothes tucked under my arm as I whispered, “Sweet dreams,” to you as I closed the door.
oh, and lest I forget… the title of this is ‘cause you know the call of the crows. whenever you see a crow you say "caw caw" my sweet lil bear.
posted 03.23.03
*GUEST ENTRY*
by: Gilbert, Urban Correspondent, 3/21/03.
Protesters today. Last night, I heard, there were so many people marching up to Oak street that the City had to close several miles of Lake Shore Drive. And tonight the crowd looks even larger.
The rest of the staff cleared out early, but I worked late. When I left the office, just after 6, Dearborn Street was packed with people marching, and hundreds of officers in blue-helmeted riot gear lined the sidewalks. The march was to begin at 5 - could there really have been so many people that it took an hour to empty the plaza? Yes. I'm very pleased to note that, yes, there seemed to be THAT many people. So many young people, and so many not young: Auftn, there were so many people.
All I wanted to do was cross Dearborn to get to the bar - and to do it I had to walk five blocks out of my way, and backtrack from State Street. If only I were as dedicated to the cause as I am to the drink...
When I entered and took my seat at the bar, I caught a clear view through the restaurant and across the lobby of the building and out the windows onto Dearborn Street, and I saw the people marching on, flags and banners high, chanting muffled by the glass but the rhythm still clearly audible, and the most beautiful part was the background music: Steve Flowers' trio was playing jazz in the restaurant, and Steve's delicate trebling flute seemed to trickle beneath the crowd, lifitng their marching feet, helping them to step lightly as they carried the weightiest of messages: stop this war.
posted 03.21.03
*there are disclaimers to this entry somewhere, but I haven’t made links to them thus far.
??
Almost ran over a couple deer this morning.
posted 03.20.03
No Particular Place to Go
Okay, if this war thingie is inevitable, I wonder… will there be any coffee shortages? If so, I think I’ll be all good for at least a little while. I’ve got what has to be at least 6 months of coffee reserves soaked into the floor mats of my car. What in the Mother’s name did people do before “spill-proof” cups?
And as another non-sequitur hits me… I made what smells like some TOTALLY kick-ass bean-N-ham soup tonight. And it’s supposed to thunderstorm sometime soon. I miss thunderstorms, especially FL ones. The lightning was always so amazing there… so very different than lightning (which I enjoy immensely) here.
Oh, I guess I should mention, we’re at a state of HIGH terror alert. But I guess that’s old news now. The hours and minutes tick down too quickly as the 48 hour deadline draws nearer.
Oh… and I should mention… I was called out today about an earlier entry. Gilbert caught the fact that the cabbage entry was something that I had re-written. It is actually a re-write of an email that I had sent to her some time ago. Not that the actual situation did not happen again… as a matter of fact, the whole reason I made cabbage again was because I had been thinking of that old e-mail that I had sent to her, and in my making of it, I was brought once again to write (although I am sure this second time it was not so poignantly) about the act of adoring cabbage. Oh, and if you happen to be reading this, Gilbert, thank you for sending me the section of your novel. It was much too kind of you to send it. If you’d like, I could post it here… I mean… I am sure I don’t have much of a readership… but… well… if you’d allow me, I’d be proud to post it.
Tick Tock Tick Tock
Non-Sequitur again… It doesn’t look like I’ll get to go to the MI farm with lil bear this weekend. Turns out a couple of my uncles will be there again, and they are planning on doing some work on the ceiling of the living room. My bringing lil bear up there when there is in-house work scheduled to be done would be not-so-wise. Maybe I’ll go to my parents again this weekend. My grandma wants there to be a family gathering sometime before April 22 or so… and since I was already planning on being “on the road” this weekend, maybe I could get the family gathering out of the way right now and maybe make a trip to MI the weekend after this coming one.
All this dread with the prospect of war, and I’m sitting here thinking about my weekend plans. Does that make me completely selfish? I truly am banal. I’m doing laundry.
And I guess I made yesterday a mention to a boycott that I didn’t fully understand. I still don’t understand the boycott… but I failed to mention that I kinda dig this same guy’s religion. He, however, has a Ten Web Directives, and I appear to fail the Sixth (as well as the Second). C’est la vie. Et le guerre. And let them eat cake. Or maybe they would rather eat raspberry pie? I, quite frankly, wouldn’t mind a few Matt’s chocolate chip cookies.
OhMy! It appears we’ve gone to War. Or maybe we haven’t. Or maybe we have… but not the way it (the War) has been threatened thus far. What the hell is a “surgical strike?” I don’t ever want to go to a doctor or a hospital and have the physician cure me with a Stealth Bomber.
Heavy sigh.
“This is the day you’ve waited for.”
“No outcome but victory”
So… when do lil bear and I start watching Toy Story and talking about “Stinky Pete” (or was it Toy Story 2 that had ol’ Pete talking about his fart in the closing credit “blooper” tracks?). Life is so much better (or so I believe) when talks about gas are not about mustard gas. Mustard should be reserved for use only as a condiment.
lil bear is just so very smart (back off, I’m his father, of COURSE I am gonna say this). I bet if I picked him up out of his bed right now and cradled him to my heart as we swayed back and forth in the rocking chair that he could tell me what all of this means…
All I know is bean soup, hummus, and guacamole.
:-/
posted 03.19.03
I’m Too Chicken for Jurisdiction
I dunno. It’s not my place to say in certain ways. Days may be long. One can never tell what happens at the end.
posted 03.18.03 (redux)
Recidivist Tendencies
So, where do I start? It appears to have been a few busy days lately.
Let me just start by saying that it appears that Spring may have finally sprung. My strongest belief in this came on Friday afternoon/evening as I was driving from IN to IL. I can sum it up in one word: manure.
Yes, I went to my parents this weekend to pick up lil bear (he had stayed at their house for the past week). Actually, my parents weren’t there, just my ma was. Dad got to go to the MI farm for the weekend. Lucky dawg. Well… maybe it was better that I didn’t get to go quite yet, turns out there was still quite a bit of snow up there when he arrived and I may have gotten the car a wee bit stuck trying to get in the “drive.” Not that I would have remained stuck… but it was pretty wet and yucky up there as all the snow made its big meltdown.
Friday night I was quite surprised when the phone rang and I looked at the caller ID. It was my high school buddy John. Quite fortuitous of him to call on that particular day. I’m impressed by his psychic connection connections. It was good to hear from him, despite the disconcerting feeling that he just happened to call for me there on a day that I just happened to be there. I wonder… is he having an affair with my ma? (that is a TOTAL joke, people)
Saturday afternoon my friend Gilbert came to visit. We ended up going out and having a few beers at the ex-“Lil Pete’s Pub.” It was a wonderful time; we laughed over old times and new. I miss college days when the furthest away she would be sometimes was the lobby of the dorm… I mean… Douglas Hall. She’s a great friend, even if she never was a very good euchre partner. Oh, and while I’m thinking of it, I guess I should mention that she told me that bigsoda has a new incarnation. Good Job, Devin, it looks great… keep up the work.
Sunday was a beautiful day out in IL. I moved some plant pots from the garage to the back balcony for my ma. She did a bit of weeding, and lil bear helped her sweep up some old seed hulls that the squirrels and birds had left behind. He loves playing outside, and I think the warm fresh air helped the bit of a cold he has been coming down with.
The drive back here to IL on Sunday night was pretty uneventful except for the coughing fit that lil bear went into as he slept in his car seat. I hadda pull over in a used car lot and he puked on me from the ferocity of his coughs. I cleaned him up and changed him, but unfortunately I stunk of bile for the rest of the drive.
I did, however, have a tape to listen to in the car. No, not an 8-track. I’m not that behind the times. But the tape was George Michaels’ Faith. I truly am a lost cause, aren’t I? I mean… wait??? Could I help it that my ma still had TWO copies of the tape in the house and thus I didn’t feel guilty stealing one? At least I didn’t gank one of her Barbra Streisand tapes.
Oh, and I made hummus this weekend. Last weekend, when I dropped lil bear off, I made guacamole. Stac and I don’t have the same culinary tastes in many cases (and I can’t say as I blame her), so I occasionally make some “different” things when I know that the left-overs can stay in somebody else’s ‘fridge. I did, however, bring a couple of avocados back to IN. I’ll have to make them up for lil bear and I before they turn to complete mush.
And lest I forget…there’s only 24 hours left before… well… before who knows what will happen. I had been thinking, as I drove across the back roads of IN on Friday’s early evening hours and the thick pungency of manure invaded my nose and reminded me of days long past, when I lived in De Kalb… “This smell,” I though, “it reminds me of going back to college, and it was heavy in the air as I got ready for a new semester of school.”
The scent brought back memories of renewing yet another year of times with close friends… times when I would be able to walk the railroad tracks in the middle of the night and listen to the crickets chirr as I and my friends followed the rails to nowhere in particular. It is the scent of spring, as the farmers prepare for the upcoming season of fertility. It is the aroma of impending rebirth. It marked, this aroma, a rebirth, whether it be around the Autumnal or the Vernal equinox. But what kind of rebirth does it portend right now?
I wondered, as I drove down darkening back roads, particularly the one that has an intersection where there is a business named “Sherrill’s” that has a huge lighted sign that reads “Eat Here & Get Gas.” I thought to myself as I heard the tape in the deck play
"I swear I won't tease you
Won't tell you no lies
I don't need no bible
Just look in my eyes."
I just kept mulling over and over in my head… because I knew that this time would be coming soon… and what do I say to my sons about the world that they live in?
Back when the first George was in charge, I remember being let out of work early the night that “we” first began our attack on Iraq. I watched, as I s’pose most people did, the pictures that made CNN even more of a staple on the tube than MTV. My mother said she was, if things came to that sort of a head, kidnap my brother and I and take us to Canada. If I was actually out of Graduate School at the time (I can’t recall), I am sure I could have just gotten back into it. But I guess the real point is that the world is a lot different than it was when I was the same age as my sons. I can’t recall ever asking my ma or my dad anything even close to the question “Why did those guys crash a plane into our buildings?” And I know that I wouldn’t mind the climate, but I don’t know who else I could get to move to Canada.
p.s.\
I guess while I’m being bucolic (see above for “manure references”), I guess I should mention briefly some things I saw from Paul’s site a few days ago. I’m never “up” on the current web trends, so I apologize. Since this mentions cows, I suppose I can mention it here. I do not, however, understand this response to the raging cow “thang” that’s happening. Perhaps somebody would be good enough to enlighten me, as I a obviously out of touch.
posted 03.18.03
…Maybe I do live in hell…
Okay, just for starters, ‘cause I seem to be on a bit of a weather kick of late… it was 42° this morning as I was driving in to work. Quite the improvement from the last few days, but there was a damp chill in the air that made it seem not as warm as it was. It’s supposed to be rainy sometime after midnight tonight and into tomorrow morning, but the temps are supposed to be even warmer for the rest of the week.
I’m still kinda bummed after finding out that I’m not gonna be able to go to the MI farm this weekend, but there is a bright spot in that I’m gonna be able to see my good friend Gilbert more than likely sometime on Saturday and we haven’t talked in ages so it’ll be double-plus good to see her.
There are times when I forget just how different my environment is now that I live here. It is a vastly alien environment from that of Chicago. Today at work, during the afternoon smoke break I was once again reminded.
One of my co-workers was talking about her home-life. She is single, and has 3 of her nephews living with her because their mothers and fathers are pretty much dead-beats. She was squawking because her hours had gotten changed, and she is now getting home at about 7.30 pm. This in and of itself would not have phased me in the least, until she mentioned one of the kids by name: “Bubba.”
Another co-worker chimed in, “Ah, the hillbilly side of the family, eh?”
She got a bit defensive and said that she wasn’t a hillbilly and that the kids name wasn’t really “Bubba” but that was just what he went by. Turns out that he is actually named after his father and that his name is Joe Junior (name changed to protect the idiot… I mean innocent).
Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that Joe Junior is all that strange of a name, except for the fact that as she goes on to explain that in reality, Joe is his first name and Junior is his middle name.
It goes further, though. His father really is first named Joe and middle named Junior. As was his father before him. Which makes this youngest generation’s real name “Joe Junior Smith III.”
I feel sorry for this kid, but then, who wouldn’t? Some people should not be allowed to contribute to the collective gene pool. Or should I refer to it in this case as the “gene ceement (sic) pond”?
On a side note, I’m slightly curious about something. What is it with vending machines in the workplace? The last place I worked in sold Rolaids next to Wrigley’s Spearmint Gum. I suppose I don’t really have a problem with that, though I would have preferred the option of wintergreen instead of the antacid, but at this place I am working now, I hear tell that there is Slim-fast in one of the machines. This wouldn’t disturb me as much, perhaps, if I hadn’t over heard this tidbit of information from a male in his early-twenties who was, not ten minutes earlier, talking about a mixed drink (term used loosely) which consisted of Redbull and Crown (I am assuming that he meant Crown Royal, though I am so out of touch, I may very well be wrong).
And to continue my non sequitor-esque train of derailed thought, I believe I mentioned that I got something of a promotion at the All-Too-Short-Lived temp job that I am working at right now. The training for this new tier of work began today. We have a “tool” that we use as a reference resource. The trainer kept referring to it as “The Tool,” which brought great tittering from the lips of the early-twenties members of our class… especially when the trainer said that we would be “going over the tool itself and its functionality.”
They’re fun to hang out with, though, I guess. We’re thinking of going to Hooters for lunch sometime during training (for the wings, of course). Ah, to be that age again. NOT!
posted 03.12.03
the day after…
wooHOO!!!
Okay, could you tell that that was a bit weak?
It is 20 whole degrees as I go to work this morning, though the wind chill makes it feel like 17°. Big flippin’ deal, it’s still cold. On the plus side, it’s supposd to be in the 50’s and 60’s throughout the rest of the week, and I think my parents may be going to the MI farm this coming weekend, so I may get to go out there for the first time since last fall.
When I got home from work last night, Stac was napping. I put the other car back together, except for the fact that it is still on the donut spare and I had to wire the hood down where I had dismantled it to get at the battery. Oh, and the plate had to go in the back window because the only screw that was left on the car to attach the plate was locked in place. Quite the little piece of crap car, it is, but it is mine, and I cannot wait to get it up to snuff.
I buried the sugar glider for Stac after she woke up. I put a cross and the flowers I bought on it, and left some sprigs for her and Lil Man to put on. She was still very upset about all that’s going on of late. I’m at a loss about what to do to try to make things more bearable.
oh, i forgot to mention... i found out yesterday that i am supposedly getting a bit of a promotion at the short-lived temp job i am currently in. yippee.
posted 03.11.03
so very sad
A whopping negative 3° this a.m. on the way to work.
One of the sugar gliders died last night/early this morning. It fell into the toilet and drowned. Stacy feels absolutely horrible. It has not been her past few days, to say the very least. I wish there was something I could do for her. Her car got crashed into on Saturday while I was at my parents. She says it has been the worst week of her life. I don’t know what I can do to make anything better for her. On my way home from work today I’ll stop at the Dollar General or somewhere and pick up a bunch of plastic flowers to put on the sugar glider’s grave. It was just a baby. So sweet and cute.
I also need to get the car battery in and put the plate on it so she can drive it tomorrow to get to work in case she hasn’t heard from a rental before then.
So very cold today. But it’s supposed to be, according to the rumor-mill, warming through the week. I hope so.
posted 03.10.03
It's not Hell, but sometimes we get their mail
Okay. So. I wake up this morning and there's all of what? an inch? maybe an inchandahalf of snow? Then tell me why it takes me nearly 45 minutes longer to get to work than it normally does. Tell me. Why? I get signed in at work with a minute to spare. This town sucks.
On the endless drive to work I decide that I finally just absolutely and positively and un-equivicoally NEED a library card. After work I pick up lil bear and go off on my merry way. (Lil Man is playing in piles of the snow that are still left and says he doesnt want to come with... I can't say as I blame him for his choice.) I trek on out to the library with lil bear and lug him into the building and ask the checkout desk people what I need to get a library card. Some chick with what looks like a severly acne mottled face comes up and tells me what I need as the necessary documentation and I give it to her. She bops off to some back alcove. Lil bear and I admire the little american flags affixed to the counter top. "One flag two flags." In a matter of moments the zit faced girl comes back. She pushes my paperwork across the counter at me. "Um...," she begins, "I'm sorry, but...," and the tone of her voice when mixed with the look in her back-rolling eyes says that there's only one thing that she's sorry about and that it's the fact that she has to actually take the time to explain what it is she is about to espouse to me. "The libraries her are funded by the taxes that are paid by people blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."
In the end, she tells me that I can't have a library card from this particular library, that I have to go to another one. If, however, I wish to have lending priveledges at this specific branch invoked, I can take my library card from my officially-sanctioned-and-proper-for-me-to-have-a-library-card-at-library to the MAIN BRANCH library, which is currently being remodeled so is not headquartered in its permanant fortress but which can still be reached by jumping through the fire engulfed hoops now guarded by that three headed cerebus dog down over there next to Sam and Ella's diner over on Whytheheckamilivinghere Avenue. And in addition, and this is the really great part of what she has to say, so I had better listen up close, lest I miss out on this vital information which she is bestowing upon me only because she pities me... if I pay $26 and sign over the soul of the darling (and wriggling) child that I am holding in my arms, they will grant me the most prized possession known to all of humanity... the card that will allow me to bask in the one-year glory of being able the luxury and grace of lending rights in ALL THREE libraries in the COUNTY.
I reply, humbly and astutely, "oh?"
Her eyes roll back out of the back of her head and I clumsily continue on... "Uh..."
There is a very long pause as I absorb all that I can. "Oh... and where...," I stammer, "where is my library?"
I walk out during the bored and accusatory recitation of non-descript directions, vowing to myself that if I can't find it on my own that I'll stop at Tobacco Road, which I know is in the right town, and ask someone there. Surely at least one person who happens to be in there at any given time can read... or at the very least would know where to pick up tax forms without having to go into the P.O. lest being netted as being one of the people on that big poster with the pictures of Americas Top Ten Most Wanted.
Lil bear and I motor-vate our dupas out to the appropriate town and I scan the surroundings for something resembling a group of books. At the crossroad where I would turn to bring Lil Man to school, I notice a sprawling building that I had always ever figured to be vacant. It has 3 cars in the parking lot along with a sign half buried in the snow. I have no idea what the sign may have written on it. It appears to have been knocked down sometime before the snow and then buried repeatedly by whatever plow cleared the car-empty lot. Through the narrow windows, though, it appears there are shelves of books within the building, so I venture a guess that this must be the library.
We pull into the lot and I bring him in and we ask the three women at the supposed main desk what we have to do to get a library card. Two of the women look slack-jawed to the third, and the third looks at me. "Just come along here with me," she says.
Her face is even more mottled than the girl at the first library and I wonder how it ever came to be that I didn't become the Grand Commander In Chief and Lord Gawd Almighty Chieftan Leader King of these libraries seeing as my complexion has never been exactly what someone would call clear. The third woman leads me to a desk that is trying to be an office with no walls. I look to the worn carpet floor for the tape lines and begin to wonder when Les Nesman started crossdressing. "Mein Furer-ette," I whisper hoarsely, narrowing my eyes appropriately as I pass my credentials across the nightstand pretending to be a desk, "I come to you from outpost 666... they inform me that I must convey to you these documents to procure the vaunted Maximum Lending Priveledges."
She looks at me.
"You are not one of us," she mutters disdainfully.
Lil bear pokes at a drawer that is part of what is pretending to be the leg of her desk.
"Your child," she glares at him ruefully... "he knows his letters... he is not from our clan."
Lil bear looks at her and says, "ni ni," in his most dulcet voice.
Her eyes fly open and she sputters an apology. "Ahem... i mean... uh... there have been annexes... you're no longer in our township, I can show you... I promise... the people you talked to were mistaken... I'll show you."
She gets up and takes me to a far wall where she shows me a map of the county with different colored highlighting lines demarkating different townships.
"I'm sorry, sir," she babbles...
I simply ask her to clear her data with Outpost 666 and to give me the name of my inside contact so I may achieve my ultimate goal. She does this, handing me the communicator before terminating the transmission so my envoy can secure the proper voice recognition data. I drive lil bear once again to the first library and my liason secures me the card which two hours I two hours ago wished to procure. She prattles on about CD-DVD-VCR-et al. lending rights-regulations-this-that-and-the-other...
"All I want is a couple books to read," I say.
p.s.
Happy Birthday to Gabriel Garcia-Marquez. I didn't end up getting the chance to look for a copy of any of his novels when I finally got the chance to peruse the volumes at the library. Lil bear wanted to go home for for a victory feast of pizza after the Quest. I ended up cheking out the 2001 and 2002 editions of The Best American Short Stories.
If there's anyone who has read this far into this entry, this is my favorite Garcia-Marquez short story. If you deem it worthy of reading, I promise that it will cleanse your pallete even more than the finest sorbet.
Oh... and it's supposed to be in the 40's sometime during the next day or so.... maybe spring'll finally get here. Yummy.
posted 03.06.03
brr or mmmm
36 degrees as i go to work. the barest hint of the scent of spring. and there's an impending sun coming up over my left shoulder. i have no idea if this is the real world yet. i convince myself. but is it really real yet?
christie and calvie come over and i help him to type a paper about nova scotia.
posted 03.04.03
Shrugging to Myself
If Ozzy can do a duet with Miss Piggy, I suppose Madonna can write children’s books.
posted 03.03.03
Odds & Ends
In a field, the snow patchy and grey, the naked bleachers stand bleak and empty and entirely alone, waiting for anyone to sit. It is said that there is a second childhood in life. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’m no expert, but after this, one of the dreariest and snowiers winters in this state’s history, I, for one, cannot wait for spring.
Well, since this is really going nowhere, I may just as well ramble for a bit. Excuse my blather.
What was it that Warhol said? I believe it was that “every person will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.” What happens after that 15 minutes of fleeting fame? Perhaps we should ask Police Chief Charles Moose. Somebody please remind me to never become famous. Even if it is for 15 minutes, that is somehow far too long to be famous with the web around.
On the other hand, while speaking of "where are they now," why has Laci Peterson fallen completely below the radar in the press? Her disappearance disturbs me.
posted 03.02.03