Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Between the Seas
The great moment of Coming to America is when the two young men decide where they should go to visit in this vast, spacious country of ours . . . Los Angeles or New York.
It reminds me of all the times I've met people from outside Wisconsin who ask, "So do you eat a lot of cheese and drink a lot of beer?" As a Milwaukee resident, this question comes off as pure folly. We are the furthest Wisconsin has from a farming community. Even beer is not the primary face of this town anymore. Pabst, Schlitz and Blatz are gone. Miller is owned by a South African company. That only leaves the small breweries.
I must admit, however, that I don't represent a great example of a Wisconsin resident who stands for more than the cliched cheese and beer. I love cheese. I don't know how it's made or where I get it from, but I can eat cheese on just about anything. And while I don't imbibe like I used to, I still enjoy a nice dark beer every now and again.
As David Cronenberg says, "All stereotypes turn out to be true. This is a horrifying thing about life. All those things you fought against as a youth: you begin to realize they're stereotypes because they're true."
It reminds me of all the times I've met people from outside Wisconsin who ask, "So do you eat a lot of cheese and drink a lot of beer?" As a Milwaukee resident, this question comes off as pure folly. We are the furthest Wisconsin has from a farming community. Even beer is not the primary face of this town anymore. Pabst, Schlitz and Blatz are gone. Miller is owned by a South African company. That only leaves the small breweries.
I must admit, however, that I don't represent a great example of a Wisconsin resident who stands for more than the cliched cheese and beer. I love cheese. I don't know how it's made or where I get it from, but I can eat cheese on just about anything. And while I don't imbibe like I used to, I still enjoy a nice dark beer every now and again.
As David Cronenberg says, "All stereotypes turn out to be true. This is a horrifying thing about life. All those things you fought against as a youth: you begin to realize they're stereotypes because they're true."
Laugh Hard
There's this guy I see on a regular basis right now (that's a clue that I can't be too descriptive), who always talks to me about the same thing. Over and over. For a long time. All the time.
At first I pretended to pay attention. I asked insightful questions. I made eye contact. I nodded on cue. Then I pretended to be busy. I became harried. I paused long before answering. I gazed into my screen as he waited out my response.
Now I don't even pretend. But he still talks. And just yesterday, I realized: he has no sense of humor. I don't think he has ever laughed. This thing he talks about: it is meaningless. It is a foolish dream. It is me talking about winning the lottery. It is make believe. I discovered this revelation when I made light of his topic of discussion. I joshed him about his interest (and rightfully so, it's all he talks about). But he looked at me hurt. He gave me grave plans, lifelong goals, Excel spreadsheets. And he never smiled.
This is what working does to some people. It makes them scheme. It makes them think they can get everything for free. It makes them believe in lotteries. It makes them lazy. As Steely Dan says, "Only a fool would say that."
At first I pretended to pay attention. I asked insightful questions. I made eye contact. I nodded on cue. Then I pretended to be busy. I became harried. I paused long before answering. I gazed into my screen as he waited out my response.
Now I don't even pretend. But he still talks. And just yesterday, I realized: he has no sense of humor. I don't think he has ever laughed. This thing he talks about: it is meaningless. It is a foolish dream. It is me talking about winning the lottery. It is make believe. I discovered this revelation when I made light of his topic of discussion. I joshed him about his interest (and rightfully so, it's all he talks about). But he looked at me hurt. He gave me grave plans, lifelong goals, Excel spreadsheets. And he never smiled.
This is what working does to some people. It makes them scheme. It makes them think they can get everything for free. It makes them believe in lotteries. It makes them lazy. As Steely Dan says, "Only a fool would say that."
A Wild Pack of Family Dogs
I Guess We're the Solution
Sometimes we need to turn toward the mirror and say to ourselves: I'm good enough, I'm smart enough . . . . and doggone it, people read my web log! Other times we need to just look at the mirror and see what we see.
Content:
The content of 90% (my own absolute guess) of blogs is political. On the one hand, it's interesting, perhaps thought-provoking, to think people are interested enough in politics that they become motivated to communicate their beliefs. On the other hand, it's a sign of the times that the attitude behind so much of this content is remarkably closed-minded. What blows my mind, though, is how so many individuals --- random housewives in Ohio -- start blogs just to share their political voice. Nothing else. No snippets. No reviews. No updates. Just political ranting. This is all these people have to communicate?
Other than political blogs, there are the "single-issue" blogs. These sometimes have a novelty-like feel to them. A blog about a trip. A blog about remodeling a home. A blog about a class. These can be either as boring as reading laundry care instructions, or they can be great. But they're almost always short-term blogs.
Sidebar Links:
I don't understand the infinitely long lists of links you see on some sites. It's like a listing of every website these people have ever visited. Who has the time to visit all these? I prefer the short listing. A nice mix but not too many ingredients.
Then there's the "I'll link you if you link me" game, which people seem to think of as a binding code akin to "I'll be you're friend if you'll be mine."
Why the hell is everybody linking to Wil Wheaton? I understand he was one of the first people doing this. But his site's just not that good. And I'm not going to be one of those come-lately complainers. I'll be clear: it's never been very good. Interesting for a peek once. That's all. But everybody's linking to him. I don't know if it's in hope that if he notices all these people linking to him that he will link out to all these sites that advertise him, or if it's some sort of blogger code: thou must link to Wil Wheaton.
Authorship:
I prefer the logs that are maintained by one person. Every once in a while I come upon a blog that is group-written, and I always wonder why -- why this group of people. And why don't they each have their own site? These sites rarely work. Either the voices are so different from each other that it's jarring, or the writers start disagreeing with each other, which is kind of like watching a couple get into a fight at a crowded restaurant, right when their waiter comes to take their order. Then there are the group-written sites where only one person writes, and I always wonder what those other people are doing there. Are they editors? Are they the people that put up the 202,674,915 links on the sidebars? Or are they just lazy? But then why don't they get booted off?
Another thing I've noticed is the attempt to be anonymous. It's valid, I guess, if one writes from work, about work. Otherwise, it seems so limiting. And unless you win the lottery, it's not as if the audience for blogs is large enough to lure the crazies out to look you up and send chain letters to your home.
Excess:
Live Journal users tend to have these idiotic notations to each post that describe the kind of mood the author is in, or what music they're listening to right now, or both. So if the writing can't reveal the mood, we've got the smiley-face/angry-face cartoon. This is what we've come to. And with regard to the music . . . . every post?! Every single post you have to include the music you're listening to?! And these people all lie -- that's the other thing. Somebody buys a new record and they just listen to it once? I don't think so. Like the rest of these world, these people listen to new music at least a few times in a row before adding it to their shelf. But that's where the lie occurs: they can't admit to the world that they may listen to something over and over. Because how many people will listen to a song and enjoy the song so much that they quickly hit the "rewind" to listen to it one more time? Everybody does that . . . if they're alone. Nobody wants to admit to someone else that they just LOVE that song, so they let the CD play. These Live Journal people are just perpetuating that lie. A new CD every post -- PSHSH! I cry bullshit.
You ever see one of those sites with the sidebar comments? This is the worst concept anyone ever came up with. It's not enough that there's comments readers can write for every post, now there's the sidebar comments, which typically focus on what people think about the site or their mood at the moment. Usually you see these on the pre-teen girl sites, but I've seen these spread to near-quality sites lately. 95% of the text of these include the phrase, "r u chillin?" at least a half-dozen times.
Content:
The content of 90% (my own absolute guess) of blogs is political. On the one hand, it's interesting, perhaps thought-provoking, to think people are interested enough in politics that they become motivated to communicate their beliefs. On the other hand, it's a sign of the times that the attitude behind so much of this content is remarkably closed-minded. What blows my mind, though, is how so many individuals --- random housewives in Ohio -- start blogs just to share their political voice. Nothing else. No snippets. No reviews. No updates. Just political ranting. This is all these people have to communicate?
Other than political blogs, there are the "single-issue" blogs. These sometimes have a novelty-like feel to them. A blog about a trip. A blog about remodeling a home. A blog about a class. These can be either as boring as reading laundry care instructions, or they can be great. But they're almost always short-term blogs.
Sidebar Links:
I don't understand the infinitely long lists of links you see on some sites. It's like a listing of every website these people have ever visited. Who has the time to visit all these? I prefer the short listing. A nice mix but not too many ingredients.
Then there's the "I'll link you if you link me" game, which people seem to think of as a binding code akin to "I'll be you're friend if you'll be mine."
Why the hell is everybody linking to Wil Wheaton? I understand he was one of the first people doing this. But his site's just not that good. And I'm not going to be one of those come-lately complainers. I'll be clear: it's never been very good. Interesting for a peek once. That's all. But everybody's linking to him. I don't know if it's in hope that if he notices all these people linking to him that he will link out to all these sites that advertise him, or if it's some sort of blogger code: thou must link to Wil Wheaton.
Authorship:
I prefer the logs that are maintained by one person. Every once in a while I come upon a blog that is group-written, and I always wonder why -- why this group of people. And why don't they each have their own site? These sites rarely work. Either the voices are so different from each other that it's jarring, or the writers start disagreeing with each other, which is kind of like watching a couple get into a fight at a crowded restaurant, right when their waiter comes to take their order. Then there are the group-written sites where only one person writes, and I always wonder what those other people are doing there. Are they editors? Are they the people that put up the 202,674,915 links on the sidebars? Or are they just lazy? But then why don't they get booted off?
Another thing I've noticed is the attempt to be anonymous. It's valid, I guess, if one writes from work, about work. Otherwise, it seems so limiting. And unless you win the lottery, it's not as if the audience for blogs is large enough to lure the crazies out to look you up and send chain letters to your home.
Excess:
Live Journal users tend to have these idiotic notations to each post that describe the kind of mood the author is in, or what music they're listening to right now, or both. So if the writing can't reveal the mood, we've got the smiley-face/angry-face cartoon. This is what we've come to. And with regard to the music . . . . every post?! Every single post you have to include the music you're listening to?! And these people all lie -- that's the other thing. Somebody buys a new record and they just listen to it once? I don't think so. Like the rest of these world, these people listen to new music at least a few times in a row before adding it to their shelf. But that's where the lie occurs: they can't admit to the world that they may listen to something over and over. Because how many people will listen to a song and enjoy the song so much that they quickly hit the "rewind" to listen to it one more time? Everybody does that . . . if they're alone. Nobody wants to admit to someone else that they just LOVE that song, so they let the CD play. These Live Journal people are just perpetuating that lie. A new CD every post -- PSHSH! I cry bullshit.
You ever see one of those sites with the sidebar comments? This is the worst concept anyone ever came up with. It's not enough that there's comments readers can write for every post, now there's the sidebar comments, which typically focus on what people think about the site or their mood at the moment. Usually you see these on the pre-teen girl sites, but I've seen these spread to near-quality sites lately. 95% of the text of these include the phrase, "r u chillin?" at least a half-dozen times.
Marquette University is Officially the Stupidest Organization on the Planet
Only at Marquette would administration try to change the school's nickname, blow that opportunity worse than the Cubs vs. the Marlins two years ago, then institute this massive search and vote process . . . only to arrive at the same name they started with.
Utter fools. People cannot try to be this dumb. Thanks, Marquette. Thanks for wasting everyone's time.
And for all you conspiracy theorists who think this was administration's intent with the whole "Gold" name -- don't give them so much credit.
Utter fools. People cannot try to be this dumb. Thanks, Marquette. Thanks for wasting everyone's time.
And for all you conspiracy theorists who think this was administration's intent with the whole "Gold" name -- don't give them so much credit.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Why the Internet is Still Amazing
I went out with some girl one night during my sophomore or junior year of college. We drank some drinks and she told me she wanted me to hear this Grateful Dead version of Neil Young's "Broken Arrow".
We got in the car and began driving east of town on a country highway, and she plays this tape of the Dead from '92 or '93 in Seattle. And while it was immediately clear to me that this wasn't Neil's "Broken Arrow", the song was good. I told her that, and thought to myself that I'll have to look for it on CD some day.
Seven or so years later, I think of this while looking at Google's home page. I type in: Grateful Dead, Broken Arrow, MP3. And suddenly a seven-year "search" is over.
A couple more minutes of searching shows me that the song is really not a Dead song, but a Rod Steward song. Actually, it's not even a Rod song; Rod just sang it's most recognizable version. It's a Robbie Robertson song, written for Rod.
That MSG version doesn't sound quite as good to my memory as the Seattle show I heard seven years ago. But then, I'm not in a car driving fast out of town on a cool, quiet night.
You ever put a puzzle together, only to finish it missing a few pieces? Those last few minutes are so disappointing because you spent all this time putting the puzzle together, and you see that you don't have enough pieces to complete it, and damnit -- where are those three or four pieces?! You look under sofa cushions. You crawl the floor. Google is like the perceptive cleaning lady -- Hey, idiot! Here's the piece you were looking for! Right in front of you this whole time!
We got in the car and began driving east of town on a country highway, and she plays this tape of the Dead from '92 or '93 in Seattle. And while it was immediately clear to me that this wasn't Neil's "Broken Arrow", the song was good. I told her that, and thought to myself that I'll have to look for it on CD some day.
Seven or so years later, I think of this while looking at Google's home page. I type in: Grateful Dead, Broken Arrow, MP3. And suddenly a seven-year "search" is over.
A couple more minutes of searching shows me that the song is really not a Dead song, but a Rod Steward song. Actually, it's not even a Rod song; Rod just sang it's most recognizable version. It's a Robbie Robertson song, written for Rod.
That MSG version doesn't sound quite as good to my memory as the Seattle show I heard seven years ago. But then, I'm not in a car driving fast out of town on a cool, quiet night.
You ever put a puzzle together, only to finish it missing a few pieces? Those last few minutes are so disappointing because you spent all this time putting the puzzle together, and you see that you don't have enough pieces to complete it, and damnit -- where are those three or four pieces?! You look under sofa cushions. You crawl the floor. Google is like the perceptive cleaning lady -- Hey, idiot! Here's the piece you were looking for! Right in front of you this whole time!
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
All the Good News
Burden Brothers are working on a new album at this very moment.
We have kitchen cabinets. Just no floor or countertops. And -- my God -- could the installer maybe give me just a half-roll of deoderant under his arms before he comes back? My God! I had to step out of the room just to breathe.
Billy has a new album and an old band he's finally in the mood to get back together with.
My brother got a new dog, Cosmo. Chocolate lab. Very small. Very fun. He has two moods: "Let's play!" and "Let's sleep!"
It is a mere two days before we can visit the Land of the Dead.
We have kitchen cabinets. Just no floor or countertops. And -- my God -- could the installer maybe give me just a half-roll of deoderant under his arms before he comes back? My God! I had to step out of the room just to breathe.
Billy has a new album and an old band he's finally in the mood to get back together with.
My brother got a new dog, Cosmo. Chocolate lab. Very small. Very fun. He has two moods: "Let's play!" and "Let's sleep!"
It is a mere two days before we can visit the Land of the Dead.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Further Evidence (OR) Maniacs All Around Me
At work we have this online classified ads page on our company intranet. It's full of lonely cats, used cds, light-up Jesus figures, and used baby toys. But occasionally we'll get a community announcement. "Fish Fry at St. Nazarene's" "Huge Rummage in West Allis" "Line Dancing on Saturday Night" Today we got this announcement:
So simple, isn't it? Just speaks for itself. Or as I have said: one half the populace. Do you notice how the post is all IN-CAPS? I think this dovetails nicely with my treatise on the karaoke-enthused half of the populace. They can't just talk about karaoke. They can't just think about karaoke. They can never have a discussion about karaoke. It's always:
KARAOKE!!!!!!!!!!
Do you notice the ten exclamation points? Is it really that good? Couldn't they have stopped at nine? What does the tenth exclamation point give that the ninth could not? In their writing and in their speech, the karaoke-crazy half of the world cannot control their enthusiasm for singing to drunks from a screen that shows them the words.
More and more, as I meet members of the other side of the populace, my side, the smaller, quieter, more rationale, anti-karaoke side of the populace . . . I feel I am meeting long-lost relatives, kindred spirits, shared brethren. And I sense a similar sentiment from these karaoke-hating folk. It's like they've gone through the same sea of nothingness and fake excitement, wondering -- as I do -- is this all there is after college? Work idiots getting together after-shift to sing badly to each other and other strangers?
The most frightening thing about the divide over karaoke is not that some of my friends and loved ones worship the dark side of the karaoke. It's that as much as I think there ought to be some magnificent, tangible, inalienable divide between my people and the karaoke people . . . . there's not. They're all around me. They're just like me . . . except in this one frightening way. How can that be? How can people so normal, so rational, so understanding, so well-balanced, so intelligent, so regular . . . be so intractably insane?
KARAOKE!!!!!!!!!!........................JUNE 24
So simple, isn't it? Just speaks for itself. Or as I have said: one half the populace. Do you notice how the post is all IN-CAPS? I think this dovetails nicely with my treatise on the karaoke-enthused half of the populace. They can't just talk about karaoke. They can't just think about karaoke. They can never have a discussion about karaoke. It's always:
KARAOKE!!!!!!!!!!
Do you notice the ten exclamation points? Is it really that good? Couldn't they have stopped at nine? What does the tenth exclamation point give that the ninth could not? In their writing and in their speech, the karaoke-crazy half of the world cannot control their enthusiasm for singing to drunks from a screen that shows them the words.
More and more, as I meet members of the other side of the populace, my side, the smaller, quieter, more rationale, anti-karaoke side of the populace . . . I feel I am meeting long-lost relatives, kindred spirits, shared brethren. And I sense a similar sentiment from these karaoke-hating folk. It's like they've gone through the same sea of nothingness and fake excitement, wondering -- as I do -- is this all there is after college? Work idiots getting together after-shift to sing badly to each other and other strangers?
The most frightening thing about the divide over karaoke is not that some of my friends and loved ones worship the dark side of the karaoke. It's that as much as I think there ought to be some magnificent, tangible, inalienable divide between my people and the karaoke people . . . . there's not. They're all around me. They're just like me . . . except in this one frightening way. How can that be? How can people so normal, so rational, so understanding, so well-balanced, so intelligent, so regular . . . be so intractably insane?
Friday, June 17, 2005
On Adult Friendship
"I wish we had some friends who lived here. All your friends are up north and all my friends are scattered all over the place."
"Yeah, I know. But I don't want to make any new friends."
"Why not?"
"I don't have the time. I'm always with the kid or working. And when I'm not doing that, I'm trying to write. And when I find a spare half-hour, I try to run. What time do I have to make a new friend?"
"It can happen. People make new friends, Will."
"Not me. It's too hard. Who would want to be friends with me? What am I going to do for them except tell them I'm too busy for them or bore them with stories about writing unpublishable novels and watching horror movies?"
"You have to make an effort."
"No I don't. I like my old friends. Adults don't make new friends. They make people to talk about work, weather, and sports with. They make people to be half-honest with."
"That's depressing."
"That's being grown-up."
"Yeah, I know. But I don't want to make any new friends."
"Why not?"
"I don't have the time. I'm always with the kid or working. And when I'm not doing that, I'm trying to write. And when I find a spare half-hour, I try to run. What time do I have to make a new friend?"
"It can happen. People make new friends, Will."
"Not me. It's too hard. Who would want to be friends with me? What am I going to do for them except tell them I'm too busy for them or bore them with stories about writing unpublishable novels and watching horror movies?"
"You have to make an effort."
"No I don't. I like my old friends. Adults don't make new friends. They make people to talk about work, weather, and sports with. They make people to be half-honest with."
"That's depressing."
"That's being grown-up."
Thursday, June 16, 2005
The Laws
Best Candy Bar:
Milky Way. There's nothing like the combination of milk chocolate (sugar, cocoa butter, skim milk, chocolate, lactose, milkfat, soy lecithin, artificial flavor), corn syrup, sugar, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, skim milk, less than 2% milkfat, cocoa powder processed with alkali, lactose, malted barley, wheat flour, salt, egg whites, and artificial flavor.
Worst 90s Band:
Easy. That goes to Gin Blossoms. Just horrible. That voice, like a whining terrier! The name, I even hate. The folky, REM-ish, Cure-ish, Hooty-ish mix of angst and sadness for the sake of selling records. And you can never get that damn jealousy song out of your head, can you? It's like the bad knock-off Tostito that you can't stop eating even though you hate the chips and yourself for still eating them.
Worst Sitcom, All-Time:
Another easy one: Home Improvement. How I hated this show when it was on the air. Let me count the reasons:
1.) Predictable. Opening joke, setup conflict, resolve with neighbor, everyone's happy again.
2.) The credit bloopers weren't funny.
3.) Horrible acting.
4.) Everyone loved this show. "Ohhhhhh, Tim the Tool-Man Taylor is oooooooon. Wooooooo-hooo!" I don't get it. What were these people looking forward to?
5.) That damn kid actor who got all famous for two weeks.
6.) The stupid neighbor schlock.
7.) The kiss of death: the "sitcom" got serious. The worst series to go serious was Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (remember -- the Carlton-gun episode?), but that had its redeeming good points. When this one went serious, there was nothing to redeem.
Best Seinfeld Episode on the 4 Seasons Released to DVD So Far:
Tough one, but I choose The Cheever Letters. That dinner scene is brilliant. The panties remark. "I'm gonna need some water over here!" Best episode ending of all time.
Most Awkward Harry Potter Movie Yet:
Chamber of Secrets was good, but you can just see them growing up on set, struggling with which emotion to . . . emote. And that ending just slowed to a halt for some reason. Still, worth the viewing.
Beer I'm Most Thankful is Offered Fairly Prominently Now That Was Not 5 Years Ago:
Beck's Dark. I don't know who got the idea to start pushing this import, but they need a raise. Regular Becks is OK. But Dark? It's the beer equivalent of eating a tub of frosting.
Greatest One-Hit Wonder of All Time:
No question: Iron Butterfly, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, with the 10-minute drum solo.
Milky Way. There's nothing like the combination of milk chocolate (sugar, cocoa butter, skim milk, chocolate, lactose, milkfat, soy lecithin, artificial flavor), corn syrup, sugar, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, skim milk, less than 2% milkfat, cocoa powder processed with alkali, lactose, malted barley, wheat flour, salt, egg whites, and artificial flavor.
Worst 90s Band:
Easy. That goes to Gin Blossoms. Just horrible. That voice, like a whining terrier! The name, I even hate. The folky, REM-ish, Cure-ish, Hooty-ish mix of angst and sadness for the sake of selling records. And you can never get that damn jealousy song out of your head, can you? It's like the bad knock-off Tostito that you can't stop eating even though you hate the chips and yourself for still eating them.
Worst Sitcom, All-Time:
Another easy one: Home Improvement. How I hated this show when it was on the air. Let me count the reasons:
1.) Predictable. Opening joke, setup conflict, resolve with neighbor, everyone's happy again.
2.) The credit bloopers weren't funny.
3.) Horrible acting.
4.) Everyone loved this show. "Ohhhhhh, Tim the Tool-Man Taylor is oooooooon. Wooooooo-hooo!" I don't get it. What were these people looking forward to?
5.) That damn kid actor who got all famous for two weeks.
6.) The stupid neighbor schlock.
7.) The kiss of death: the "sitcom" got serious. The worst series to go serious was Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (remember -- the Carlton-gun episode?), but that had its redeeming good points. When this one went serious, there was nothing to redeem.
Best Seinfeld Episode on the 4 Seasons Released to DVD So Far:
Tough one, but I choose The Cheever Letters. That dinner scene is brilliant. The panties remark. "I'm gonna need some water over here!" Best episode ending of all time.
Most Awkward Harry Potter Movie Yet:
Chamber of Secrets was good, but you can just see them growing up on set, struggling with which emotion to . . . emote. And that ending just slowed to a halt for some reason. Still, worth the viewing.
Beer I'm Most Thankful is Offered Fairly Prominently Now That Was Not 5 Years Ago:
Beck's Dark. I don't know who got the idea to start pushing this import, but they need a raise. Regular Becks is OK. But Dark? It's the beer equivalent of eating a tub of frosting.
Greatest One-Hit Wonder of All Time:
No question: Iron Butterfly, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, with the 10-minute drum solo.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Michael, Michael
Well, folks, Michael's OK. Sister Jean had nothing to worry about. As Aerosmith put it, "It was no surprise." Still, for me, there will always be a bit of an ugly connotation to the phrase, "King of Pop". I can't quite put my finger on what it is . . . .
Sunday, June 12, 2005
I think I'll Take it and Leave it.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
New Blue
So we have a blue kitchen now. For those keeping record:
Living room: light tan walls, green ceiling.
Dining room: orange walls, light yellow ceiling.
Hallway: Deep yellow walls and ceiling.
Nolan's room: Half wallpaper, half sea blue with white clouds.
Our room: Three off-white walls, one purple wall, gold trim.
Bird room: Sage walls.
Bathroom: Light green walls.
We're basically living in the Sherwin Williams catalog.
Living room: light tan walls, green ceiling.
Dining room: orange walls, light yellow ceiling.
Hallway: Deep yellow walls and ceiling.
Nolan's room: Half wallpaper, half sea blue with white clouds.
Our room: Three off-white walls, one purple wall, gold trim.
Bird room: Sage walls.
Bathroom: Light green walls.
We're basically living in the Sherwin Williams catalog.
Friday, June 10, 2005
To the jackass on mid-shift:
Stop pissing on the men's room floor. I understand you don't like your job or our company. There are times when I concur with these sentiments.
But I don't pee on the floor.
Read closely: this place is run by women. They wouldn't even have an opportunity to view your rebellious act of insubordination, you idiot. They probably don't even know you've been doing this for the last three weeks. So now I, and every other second-shifter, has to step though your urination to take a leak ourselves.
I didn't make life difficult for you. I just want to go. I drink a lot of coffee at work, and I'd like to be able to unload it without getting the bottoms of my Sonoma's sticky with your micterition.
Get another job. Life is too short to be spent being so miserable at a job that your only response is to pee on the floor.
But I don't pee on the floor.
Read closely: this place is run by women. They wouldn't even have an opportunity to view your rebellious act of insubordination, you idiot. They probably don't even know you've been doing this for the last three weeks. So now I, and every other second-shifter, has to step though your urination to take a leak ourselves.
I didn't make life difficult for you. I just want to go. I drink a lot of coffee at work, and I'd like to be able to unload it without getting the bottoms of my Sonoma's sticky with your micterition.
Get another job. Life is too short to be spent being so miserable at a job that your only response is to pee on the floor.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
From This City Far Away
Why haven't you posted lately?
Been busy. We're tearing our kitchen down to get a knew one. I'm an uncle now. Work still asks me to come in and . . . work. I try to run. And Nolan doesn't like it when I sit him on the bed and then turn around and start typing.
So how's it like being an uncle?
Not much different than being a non-uncle. Although it's nice to see another baby and not be responsible for him.
Do you still hate your job?
No, but it could always be better, right? Whose couldn't? I like my company, I'm just not doing cartwheels for my little division. But there are plenty more reasons to go into work than not.
How's the book coming?
I guess we'll see in a few minutes when I force myself to start typing.
Why don't you talk about your first book? Aren't you going to try to get that published?
No, it's too long for a first novel. No publisher would take it on, and I don't blame them. Plus, I wrote it before I really got in touch with a voice I'm confident with. So it needs another edit, which won't happen anytime soon. So I don't talk about it because it's on a back burner. Has been for a while now.
And your second novel?
Rather not talk about that one. It's a bit cursed. A book with wit, a statement, relevancy, and too much plotting . . . without plot. It's still the most palatable thing I've done, but even after I try to fix it again, I'm sure it'll just gather dust under my bed. Honestly, that wouldn't bother me if I could just finish my current book . . . .
Running much?
Only as much as I can. I really want to run more, but with working from 4-12, and the wife working 7-3, there's no good opportunity. I'm happy to get 4-5 days a week. Some day this kid will be in kindergarten so I will be able to run consistently again. Sometime.
So you're destroying your kitchen?
Yeah, it needs it. New cabinets, changed plumbing, disposal, dishwasher, new floor, new paint, new counters, new layout, lazy susan . . . we're looking forward to it. But right now everything's piled into the dining room. It's kind of neat, although the wife is always running around, telling everyone we live in a hole and we never cooked anyway so it's no different than before. She can be so discouraging sometimes.
How's Nolan?
Ladies and gentlemen, Nolan has found his feet. He loves grabbing his feet, pulling off his socks, and sucking on his toes. It is disgusting, but funny as hell, mainly because he thinks it's just hilarious.
Big summer plans?
Hopefully a cabin in the woods of northern Wisconsin. The typical wedding. Yeah. Other than that, I'm trying not to have any plans. I gotta tell you, I'm really not looking forward to this whole summer thing. Mainly because people in Wisconsin bitch so much about the weather all year round until now. Now, everyone is practically climaxing about how great the weather is: "Isn't is BEAUTIFUL out today?! Summer is HEEEEEEEEEERE!" It's enough to make me puke.
Been busy. We're tearing our kitchen down to get a knew one. I'm an uncle now. Work still asks me to come in and . . . work. I try to run. And Nolan doesn't like it when I sit him on the bed and then turn around and start typing.
So how's it like being an uncle?
Not much different than being a non-uncle. Although it's nice to see another baby and not be responsible for him.
Do you still hate your job?
No, but it could always be better, right? Whose couldn't? I like my company, I'm just not doing cartwheels for my little division. But there are plenty more reasons to go into work than not.
How's the book coming?
I guess we'll see in a few minutes when I force myself to start typing.
Why don't you talk about your first book? Aren't you going to try to get that published?
No, it's too long for a first novel. No publisher would take it on, and I don't blame them. Plus, I wrote it before I really got in touch with a voice I'm confident with. So it needs another edit, which won't happen anytime soon. So I don't talk about it because it's on a back burner. Has been for a while now.
And your second novel?
Rather not talk about that one. It's a bit cursed. A book with wit, a statement, relevancy, and too much plotting . . . without plot. It's still the most palatable thing I've done, but even after I try to fix it again, I'm sure it'll just gather dust under my bed. Honestly, that wouldn't bother me if I could just finish my current book . . . .
Running much?
Only as much as I can. I really want to run more, but with working from 4-12, and the wife working 7-3, there's no good opportunity. I'm happy to get 4-5 days a week. Some day this kid will be in kindergarten so I will be able to run consistently again. Sometime.
So you're destroying your kitchen?
Yeah, it needs it. New cabinets, changed plumbing, disposal, dishwasher, new floor, new paint, new counters, new layout, lazy susan . . . we're looking forward to it. But right now everything's piled into the dining room. It's kind of neat, although the wife is always running around, telling everyone we live in a hole and we never cooked anyway so it's no different than before. She can be so discouraging sometimes.
How's Nolan?
Ladies and gentlemen, Nolan has found his feet. He loves grabbing his feet, pulling off his socks, and sucking on his toes. It is disgusting, but funny as hell, mainly because he thinks it's just hilarious.
Big summer plans?
Hopefully a cabin in the woods of northern Wisconsin. The typical wedding. Yeah. Other than that, I'm trying not to have any plans. I gotta tell you, I'm really not looking forward to this whole summer thing. Mainly because people in Wisconsin bitch so much about the weather all year round until now. Now, everyone is practically climaxing about how great the weather is: "Isn't is BEAUTIFUL out today?! Summer is HEEEEEEEEEERE!" It's enough to make me puke.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Dear Fellow Drive-Thru Banker Guy,
Listen, I saw you over at the UW-Credit Union the other day. I was in the left lane, making a deposit. You were in the right lane, waiting on a withdrawal. And, yes, I saw the college chick in her VW with all the bumper stickers drive up in front of us.
She parked, got out, grabbed her purse, and walked to the front door. And, man -- you watched her the whole time. You didn't even blink. Now, let's be clear: I agree, she was very good-looking. Maybe even hot.
Side note: I had a college roommate once who could delineate between "good-looking" and "hot", and we would often argue whether a girl was OK, pretty, good-looking, hot, or a "10". I'll give you "good-looking" on this girl.
But, man, you are so out of your league, gawking at her. First of all, you're overmatched on the whole "relationship looks" scale. A relationship is like a teeter-totter. One person can't be grossly better- or worse-looking than her partner; otherwise, the teeter-totter gets stuck. Jealousy rears. Self-consciousness rules the day. My advice to you is: a.) Get a nice haircut. b.) Comb your hair in the morning. c.) Something other than the Supertramp T-shirt would be an improvement. d.) Wash with soap. Scrub hard. Clean those pores.
But that's not all you have to worry about. She was a little intimidating, wasn't she? George Costanza's right: the better-looking the woman, the faster she walks. And this chick was positively trotting. Aside from that, she knew you were looking. Hell, she knew I got a glance in. And I was at least furtive about it! You had your head out the window! She had the self-satisfied look you can never allow a woman to have, otherwise she will rule your world (see my life as proof of this).
But beyond her confidence, there was something else that intimidated you, wasn't there? That bumper sticker -- the one that stated: "We lied. Size matters." -- that spooked you, didn't it? "How much size matters?" you thought to yourself. I know. It's upsetting, in your shoes -- the not knowing.
But beyond all this, man, you've just got to stop gawking at women. You remind me of some of my friends, who all spend way too much time looking at porn. Here's the problem with porn: it's not real. There are not women like this. Not really. And if there were women like this, hypothetically, they would not be interested in you. Yet porn creates the unreal expectation that beautiful -- and extraordinarily easy -- women are everywhere. What this does is . . . well, what it's done to several of my friends: it's given them these ultra-high standards for women. Anything less than a "10" is suddenly trash. Is it a coincidence that none of them have been laid in . . . many years? Man, I will say it and I will say it again: lose the porn. It is doing nothing but bringing you down. Because whenever a decent-looking woman does come around, all you can do is drool at her from your car door while you wait for your money order.
Even the bank clerk saw you. As a fellow guy . . . I was ashamed. Anyway, in short: haircut, wash, new shirt, lose the porn, stop staring. And best of luck.
She parked, got out, grabbed her purse, and walked to the front door. And, man -- you watched her the whole time. You didn't even blink. Now, let's be clear: I agree, she was very good-looking. Maybe even hot.
Side note: I had a college roommate once who could delineate between "good-looking" and "hot", and we would often argue whether a girl was OK, pretty, good-looking, hot, or a "10". I'll give you "good-looking" on this girl.
But, man, you are so out of your league, gawking at her. First of all, you're overmatched on the whole "relationship looks" scale. A relationship is like a teeter-totter. One person can't be grossly better- or worse-looking than her partner; otherwise, the teeter-totter gets stuck. Jealousy rears. Self-consciousness rules the day. My advice to you is: a.) Get a nice haircut. b.) Comb your hair in the morning. c.) Something other than the Supertramp T-shirt would be an improvement. d.) Wash with soap. Scrub hard. Clean those pores.
But that's not all you have to worry about. She was a little intimidating, wasn't she? George Costanza's right: the better-looking the woman, the faster she walks. And this chick was positively trotting. Aside from that, she knew you were looking. Hell, she knew I got a glance in. And I was at least furtive about it! You had your head out the window! She had the self-satisfied look you can never allow a woman to have, otherwise she will rule your world (see my life as proof of this).
But beyond her confidence, there was something else that intimidated you, wasn't there? That bumper sticker -- the one that stated: "We lied. Size matters." -- that spooked you, didn't it? "How much size matters?" you thought to yourself. I know. It's upsetting, in your shoes -- the not knowing.
But beyond all this, man, you've just got to stop gawking at women. You remind me of some of my friends, who all spend way too much time looking at porn. Here's the problem with porn: it's not real. There are not women like this. Not really. And if there were women like this, hypothetically, they would not be interested in you. Yet porn creates the unreal expectation that beautiful -- and extraordinarily easy -- women are everywhere. What this does is . . . well, what it's done to several of my friends: it's given them these ultra-high standards for women. Anything less than a "10" is suddenly trash. Is it a coincidence that none of them have been laid in . . . many years? Man, I will say it and I will say it again: lose the porn. It is doing nothing but bringing you down. Because whenever a decent-looking woman does come around, all you can do is drool at her from your car door while you wait for your money order.
Even the bank clerk saw you. As a fellow guy . . . I was ashamed. Anyway, in short: haircut, wash, new shirt, lose the porn, stop staring. And best of luck.
