Aahhh the post office. I forgot how much I missed it, since I entered the world of electronic payments for everything. I don't remember the last time I bought a stamp and it was so long ago, I think the price of a stamp was thirty five cents. With all of the e-payments and shipping carriers out there, one seemingly could cut the post office out of one's life entirely, it would seem. Ah, but not forever.
I'm back in the office de post about once a week now, for various reasons and I feel that the series of experiences I'm accumulating will help me to both call up and then manage my rage, as I will be doing silent, standing meditation the entire time I am in the halls of the pony express. Here are some reasons why I am brought to near-expolsive interactions.
Only about 20 - 25% of the patrons come in prepared. In fact, I noticed the bins at the side of the front door, catching the harried brain cells of most folks, as they dove away to freedom, doing their part to keep the post office running at it's amazingly inefficient pace. Secret agreement, I can only assume. With fewer brain cells getting in the way, patrons don't feel guilty about ignoring the huge bar in the middle of the room with all of the shipping and postage supplies necessary to prepare a package, prior to reaching a teller. Whatever attempt the post office has made at trying to make mailing and shipping expedient, is happily ignored for approximately 20 slow, plodding minutes as people lean against and shuffle past this trove of potential assistance. Noteably however, in typical usps fashion, what you need is probably out of stock in that bar anyway, so fuck it.
But even if we assume that the sender is lacking in both intelligence and preparation, has anyone ever seen the post office firing on all pistons? I think not. This means that the stupidity of the clientele is exacerbated by the lack of competence of the post office employees. I notice each time that I go in, that there are approximately 7-8 stations, which could be servicing the line (which is always out the door). Never in all of my mailing years however, have I seen all of those stations occupied with working employees. The idea of beating the shit out of the 3 poor suckers who are there must be too enticing for those napping in the mail bins in the back.
Maybe that is the punishment that the letter carriers receive when they drop a bag of mail in the gutter or fail to stamp packages in the proper location; time at the front. But lets just quickly take a look at why a person would work for the post office in the first place. I mean, I have nothing against working at the post office, but why did they take those jobs? A passion for letter carriage? Love of a matronly and unattractive uniform? Ability to wear a pith helmet in public without fear of mockery? Or perhaps, the reason which troubles me most, perhaps these people took the job because decided sluggish, unexcited and uninspired work habits are not only accepted there, but offer growth potential within the organization. Frightening.
There is no big solution I offer here, merely a quizzical look-see at the unavoidable, weekly sore I now have to add into my routine. Super good.
31 January, 2008
30 January, 2008
the cloak
I have a cloak of invisibility. Trouble is, I can't put it on when in large crowds or embarrassing situations. It only disappears me when I'm happily empassioned and in a conversation (or so I think) with certain people on this coast.
Then the big drop-off of silence comes and I realize early in, that I have not only lost my particular audience, but that I have somehow transformed into the Six-Foot-Super-Disappearing-Girl. Upon finishing my sentence, I am met with the awkward silence that only one searching desperately for a shred of the newly previous conversation can seep out. Sometimes, I don't even get to finishing a whole sentence, before the abyss comes.
You know, the kind of silence that says "I really don't give a shit what you have to say on the subject, so I'm just going to ignore you and show you that your ideas and opinions are of far lesser import than my own." "It's worth it to me to just make something up and hope you'll ignore how rude this is."
But I can't ignore it, because it makes me feel like shit and generally when things make me feel like shit, I try to find a way to make them stop making me feel that way either by removing the behavior or myself. Do people around these parts really feel so entitled and superior that it doesn't even occur to them what their actions are saying? Forget the words; talk is cheap. It's the action of the cutting off, the statement that is made over and over and over when conversation dies or never even gets to begin because one person has suddenly zoned in on an urgent need for a chicken salad, or a text from Vito or a phonecall that could have been made hours before or minutes after, that words surely become powerless to erase.
Is this a New York thing? What is this irritating phenomenon and what the fuck do I have to do to end it? My favorite part is the outright denial of selfish conversing and subsequent anger at the suggestion of it (meanwhile, I've been cut off and remanded to listener for a good while) or the sincere apology and momentary acknowledgement, followed by an abrupt interruption about, say....one of the aforementioned subjects.
I need the insider tips, east coast people; what the fuck does one do to not experience that? And what's more, what is the secret to making it stop once it has started? Inquiring minds must know, because this situation has got to be dunzo.
Then the big drop-off of silence comes and I realize early in, that I have not only lost my particular audience, but that I have somehow transformed into the Six-Foot-Super-Disappearing-Girl. Upon finishing my sentence, I am met with the awkward silence that only one searching desperately for a shred of the newly previous conversation can seep out. Sometimes, I don't even get to finishing a whole sentence, before the abyss comes.
You know, the kind of silence that says "I really don't give a shit what you have to say on the subject, so I'm just going to ignore you and show you that your ideas and opinions are of far lesser import than my own." "It's worth it to me to just make something up and hope you'll ignore how rude this is."
But I can't ignore it, because it makes me feel like shit and generally when things make me feel like shit, I try to find a way to make them stop making me feel that way either by removing the behavior or myself. Do people around these parts really feel so entitled and superior that it doesn't even occur to them what their actions are saying? Forget the words; talk is cheap. It's the action of the cutting off, the statement that is made over and over and over when conversation dies or never even gets to begin because one person has suddenly zoned in on an urgent need for a chicken salad, or a text from Vito or a phonecall that could have been made hours before or minutes after, that words surely become powerless to erase.
Is this a New York thing? What is this irritating phenomenon and what the fuck do I have to do to end it? My favorite part is the outright denial of selfish conversing and subsequent anger at the suggestion of it (meanwhile, I've been cut off and remanded to listener for a good while) or the sincere apology and momentary acknowledgement, followed by an abrupt interruption about, say....one of the aforementioned subjects.
I need the insider tips, east coast people; what the fuck does one do to not experience that? And what's more, what is the secret to making it stop once it has started? Inquiring minds must know, because this situation has got to be dunzo.
23 January, 2008
the goose egg
The goose egg is a zero. No matter what industry, sport or past time you choose, everyone knows and fears the goose egg. In a world of number - read success - filled columns, the goose egg is like a neon sign, signaling failure and imminent doom. I have lived my life by competing against forces both known and unknown to beat and bury the goose egg.
That huge zero; a void threatening to suck you in and swallow you whole. Beat the zero and everyone else, while you're at it. I'm making some interesting changes in the last few years and I'm finding that the zero has been chasing me for way too long and it's time to live life outside of the fear of zero. It's quite a strange sensation to even want to do that. When since - ever, have I not done something that is an all or nothing performance job or sport? I thrive in that situation. And the individual competitor in me has been fighting that for 30 years (I give myself at least a few happy ones somewhere).
So lately I've grappled with the idea of just being extremely solid and maybe not trying to be the best in the world at everything anymore. Maybe I'm just super solid and reliable and hard-working. I've spent enough time trying to be greater than zero and I think maybe I feel like trying to just be the best me for a while. I have to say, I'm a little uncomfortable with it so far, but you know, finding my flaws and identifying them hasn't been the worst thing I've every gone through, so fuck it.
Because what would it be like if work was just work and my sport was still a huge part of my life, but it was just a sport? Something to enhance my life in a purely positive way, not to constantly beat my head on. What if I actually just started to make plans for other things? Such a strange notion, to want to just chill for a bit. I guess this is the focusing of my inner go-getter. Perhaps I'm going through an efficiency phase or something. Restructured a good portion of my life, so now comes the part where I apply all the lessons I have learned over the last 18 months so that this year goes the way it's supposed to....awwwwl up.
No more fear of the goose egg. The goose egg is being dropped on a pit of stakes and left to haunt the house of some preppy family in Connecticut. I'm only thinkin' up now.
That huge zero; a void threatening to suck you in and swallow you whole. Beat the zero and everyone else, while you're at it. I'm making some interesting changes in the last few years and I'm finding that the zero has been chasing me for way too long and it's time to live life outside of the fear of zero. It's quite a strange sensation to even want to do that. When since - ever, have I not done something that is an all or nothing performance job or sport? I thrive in that situation. And the individual competitor in me has been fighting that for 30 years (I give myself at least a few happy ones somewhere).
So lately I've grappled with the idea of just being extremely solid and maybe not trying to be the best in the world at everything anymore. Maybe I'm just super solid and reliable and hard-working. I've spent enough time trying to be greater than zero and I think maybe I feel like trying to just be the best me for a while. I have to say, I'm a little uncomfortable with it so far, but you know, finding my flaws and identifying them hasn't been the worst thing I've every gone through, so fuck it.
Because what would it be like if work was just work and my sport was still a huge part of my life, but it was just a sport? Something to enhance my life in a purely positive way, not to constantly beat my head on. What if I actually just started to make plans for other things? Such a strange notion, to want to just chill for a bit. I guess this is the focusing of my inner go-getter. Perhaps I'm going through an efficiency phase or something. Restructured a good portion of my life, so now comes the part where I apply all the lessons I have learned over the last 18 months so that this year goes the way it's supposed to....awwwwl up.
No more fear of the goose egg. The goose egg is being dropped on a pit of stakes and left to haunt the house of some preppy family in Connecticut. I'm only thinkin' up now.
22 January, 2008
battle scars
I came across this article and was struck by several things about it. First, I'm glad that someone took the time to draw a parallel with what our men and women Iraq and Afghanistan are going through and how little they get when they come home.
Whether or not they support the war, there is not a person I know that doesn't support the troops. This opinion is often not adequately conveyed in conversation most times, so if you are against the war itself, chances are you have been shunned and had some anti-american bullshit spewed out at you by any of a zillion super conservative knuckleheads who think that the troops and the war are one in the same and that they are the moral authority on both.
Here's a newsflash for all you republicans who think that the war is just and that you have the monopoly on god: an amazing number of the boys and girls that are over busting their asses and living in uncomfortable, dusty, suicide-bomber ridden squalor don't want to be there. They think the war is bullshit and that our commander in chief is a fucking moron. It so happens I agree with them, but that's not the point. The point is that all of those people are setting their opinions aside daily to do the job they have to do well, and to protect their best friends and fellow military servants to the best of their abilities. They are putting their lives on the line because they have to and because they care about each other.
So then, after having fulfilled a duty over which they have little to no control, they come home. Although they are, for the most part, receiving hero's welcomes by their friends, co-workers and families, their former employer, the trusty US government, is writing them off and hanging them out to dry. Terrible benefits, little to no counseling, and virtually nothing to help them on with the rest of their lives. Most of these people started out without privilege and come back to find their hometowns have not changed and that all of the problems they left behind have worsened or remained the same. Add to that the fact that they are now heavily leaned on by their families and peers because of the discipline they gained in the military, and the stress continues to mount.
So now we have trained "killing machines" (as many of them will refer to themselves), coming home to personal stress, financial hardship and little to no counseling or support and they begin to commit crimes and sully their good names with bad behavior. Can you blame them? Who knows what to do when you've been away for years, in a combat zone for much of it, yet when you return, what you're coming back to doesn't seem so different from what you left?
Maybe as the numbers rise and people begin to draw more and more parallels to the vets who came back from Vietnam, things will change. Because the public (ironically) is getting that it's not the soldier's fault, but the government still seems to be in the dark. Shocker.
Whether or not they support the war, there is not a person I know that doesn't support the troops. This opinion is often not adequately conveyed in conversation most times, so if you are against the war itself, chances are you have been shunned and had some anti-american bullshit spewed out at you by any of a zillion super conservative knuckleheads who think that the troops and the war are one in the same and that they are the moral authority on both.
Here's a newsflash for all you republicans who think that the war is just and that you have the monopoly on god: an amazing number of the boys and girls that are over busting their asses and living in uncomfortable, dusty, suicide-bomber ridden squalor don't want to be there. They think the war is bullshit and that our commander in chief is a fucking moron. It so happens I agree with them, but that's not the point. The point is that all of those people are setting their opinions aside daily to do the job they have to do well, and to protect their best friends and fellow military servants to the best of their abilities. They are putting their lives on the line because they have to and because they care about each other.
So then, after having fulfilled a duty over which they have little to no control, they come home. Although they are, for the most part, receiving hero's welcomes by their friends, co-workers and families, their former employer, the trusty US government, is writing them off and hanging them out to dry. Terrible benefits, little to no counseling, and virtually nothing to help them on with the rest of their lives. Most of these people started out without privilege and come back to find their hometowns have not changed and that all of the problems they left behind have worsened or remained the same. Add to that the fact that they are now heavily leaned on by their families and peers because of the discipline they gained in the military, and the stress continues to mount.
So now we have trained "killing machines" (as many of them will refer to themselves), coming home to personal stress, financial hardship and little to no counseling or support and they begin to commit crimes and sully their good names with bad behavior. Can you blame them? Who knows what to do when you've been away for years, in a combat zone for much of it, yet when you return, what you're coming back to doesn't seem so different from what you left?
Maybe as the numbers rise and people begin to draw more and more parallels to the vets who came back from Vietnam, things will change. Because the public (ironically) is getting that it's not the soldier's fault, but the government still seems to be in the dark. Shocker.
20 January, 2008
supabow
Okay, my fucking internet keeps going out, along with the heat and hot water.....you think I'm kidding.....so my post for today (and yesterday) will have to wait until after Time Warner gets its shit together.
On a side note, I would expect this dropping off and cutting out if it were really cold and/or snowing in California. We, however, are in New York, where it has always been at least this cold and rainy, snowy, sleety or whatever. Get your shit together, service providers. Seriously.
Anyway, I'm very excited, after having safely escaped the bar where a bunch of idiot, drunk guidos were going crazy, to congratulate the Giants on having made the Superbowl. Who saw Eli making it further than Payton???? Certainly not this fan. But I'm happy for them because I really like both teams this year and it will surely be fun to watch, even though I'm secretly rooting for the Pats.
And before you get out your sticks and stones, just remember, I'm stronger than you, so don't go giving me shit about who I pick to win.
On a side note, I would expect this dropping off and cutting out if it were really cold and/or snowing in California. We, however, are in New York, where it has always been at least this cold and rainy, snowy, sleety or whatever. Get your shit together, service providers. Seriously.
Anyway, I'm very excited, after having safely escaped the bar where a bunch of idiot, drunk guidos were going crazy, to congratulate the Giants on having made the Superbowl. Who saw Eli making it further than Payton???? Certainly not this fan. But I'm happy for them because I really like both teams this year and it will surely be fun to watch, even though I'm secretly rooting for the Pats.
And before you get out your sticks and stones, just remember, I'm stronger than you, so don't go giving me shit about who I pick to win.
17 January, 2008
silencio
I'm a fan of Sly and the Family Stone. Who isn't? It's good, funk-your-jive music that any and all can git dowwwn to and enjoy. I enjoy them when I want to, in fact, either in the comfort of my own home or headphones.
Now that I'm riding the silver worm under the streets of the city everyday again, I'm re-awakened to the interesting, annoying and peculiar habits of my fellow commuters. I am always under the impression that everyone really just wants to get from A to B in the most unobstructed, undisturbed manner possible. However, that notion is frequently challenged during rush hour traffic by people who have never heard of the new phenomenon called a "personal listening device."
Funny how when you really want to hear someone or something, you usually come up totally empty, or with a message you'd rather not understand. However, when you are sequestered for 13 or so subway stops, the world is teeming with things to say, all of which you are forced to hear and cannot avoid.
My personal favorite so far, was not my boy Sly on the mini-boombox, but cellphone speaker mp3 concert I had today. As I sat, trying desperately to ignore the thoughts racing through my brain, I was mercifully interrupted and then subsequently agitated by Akon trilling, "I wanna fuuuuuuck you, fuck you, you already knooowww...I wanna fuuuuck you, fuck you, you already knooowwwwww."
When I was first jarred to attention by the song, I thought for sure that the device's owner would jump promptly to attention and turn it off, but nooo. He actually smiled to himself and played the balance of the song for the whole train to hear. I actually kind of like that song and I'm sure on some level we all enjoyed ourselves for different reasons, but then again, the stiff and stodgy have also been known to ride the subway, so I'm sure that ruined one of their days, funny though it was. But the stiff and stodgy have representation too, in the realm of things-you-should-keep-to-yourself-on-the-subway. I hate to take the side of someone whose needs normally grate me, but it's true. Not all wishes for quietude are unreasonable.
The one I truly don't understand though, is the one that nearly provokes an ass-whooping from me, every single time. Why, o why do loud people stand 4 or 5 bodies apart on the train and then yell their conversation through the other passengers? Why do they do this? Is it some sort of human density experiment? Are they secret UFC trained fighters, trying to incite some sort of impromtu cage fight for a new reality TV series? Why? There are almost always a barrage of curse words tumbling through the air during these conversations, and while I clearly don't have a problem with such modifiers, I don't believe they need to be shouted directly into the eardrums of people I don't know; people who clearly want nothing more than to just get off the stinky, fucking train already and have dinner, or sex, or whatever is waiting for them at home.
Since I have an audience of about 3, I won't bother to beg for your silence and co-operation, because you people already get it. I'll just keep a running tally of the idiocy rampant on public transportation for posterity and when I have my personal helicopter, none of this will be a problem.
Now that I'm riding the silver worm under the streets of the city everyday again, I'm re-awakened to the interesting, annoying and peculiar habits of my fellow commuters. I am always under the impression that everyone really just wants to get from A to B in the most unobstructed, undisturbed manner possible. However, that notion is frequently challenged during rush hour traffic by people who have never heard of the new phenomenon called a "personal listening device."
Funny how when you really want to hear someone or something, you usually come up totally empty, or with a message you'd rather not understand. However, when you are sequestered for 13 or so subway stops, the world is teeming with things to say, all of which you are forced to hear and cannot avoid.
My personal favorite so far, was not my boy Sly on the mini-boombox, but cellphone speaker mp3 concert I had today. As I sat, trying desperately to ignore the thoughts racing through my brain, I was mercifully interrupted and then subsequently agitated by Akon trilling, "I wanna fuuuuuuck you, fuck you, you already knooowww...I wanna fuuuuck you, fuck you, you already knooowwwwww."
When I was first jarred to attention by the song, I thought for sure that the device's owner would jump promptly to attention and turn it off, but nooo. He actually smiled to himself and played the balance of the song for the whole train to hear. I actually kind of like that song and I'm sure on some level we all enjoyed ourselves for different reasons, but then again, the stiff and stodgy have also been known to ride the subway, so I'm sure that ruined one of their days, funny though it was. But the stiff and stodgy have representation too, in the realm of things-you-should-keep-to-yourself-on-the-subway. I hate to take the side of someone whose needs normally grate me, but it's true. Not all wishes for quietude are unreasonable.
The one I truly don't understand though, is the one that nearly provokes an ass-whooping from me, every single time. Why, o why do loud people stand 4 or 5 bodies apart on the train and then yell their conversation through the other passengers? Why do they do this? Is it some sort of human density experiment? Are they secret UFC trained fighters, trying to incite some sort of impromtu cage fight for a new reality TV series? Why? There are almost always a barrage of curse words tumbling through the air during these conversations, and while I clearly don't have a problem with such modifiers, I don't believe they need to be shouted directly into the eardrums of people I don't know; people who clearly want nothing more than to just get off the stinky, fucking train already and have dinner, or sex, or whatever is waiting for them at home.
Since I have an audience of about 3, I won't bother to beg for your silence and co-operation, because you people already get it. I'll just keep a running tally of the idiocy rampant on public transportation for posterity and when I have my personal helicopter, none of this will be a problem.
14 January, 2008
hamster
Hamster in the wheel.
That's what it feels like sometimes. Same view, over and over and over, thinking maybe it will be different each time and yet the scenery never quite seems to change. To boot, on the round in the wheel when you thought you'd finally achieved the right view - the one you were looking for the whole time - some crafty fucker starts lobbing in cryptic messages about how your wheel is going to just go away because you are an asshole hamster. You furrow your brow, yet continue to trot.
You're a good hamster. You work hard to keep your cage neat and tidy, to make the other hamsters around you feel good and welcome in your area and to be nice whenever possible. And even when that other crafty, more aggressive hamster comes and takes a crap in your nice, clean area, you give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just couldn't hold it in. He didn't mean to mess up.
It's when all the other hamsters come around and start in on your character that you really start to think that maybe you were on the wrong wheel this whole time. When those other hamsters start to tell you that because you feel you deserve not to have shit in your nice, clean area and that you want to be respected and treated well, that you are somehow a demanding, brat of a hamster, well that's when things start to get confusing.
That's when you start to realize how many fucked up hamsters there are out there, yourself included. Not only that, but there's no guarantee that the other hamsters in that cage can even see you for who you are, because they are too busy looking in the mirror next to the water bottle, at their own perfect coats, beady eyes and flawless hamster brains.
I think the best option open, is to not be offended or bothered by the other hamsters and here's why. If other hamsters could be good cage partners or playmates, they would. No hamster out there wants to be the rodent that takes people for granted or purposely mistreats his or her fellows. Additionally, those other hamsters probably have their quiet moments where they wonder why they do what they do, and wonder why you haven't kicked them in their hamster nuts. They are probably even secretly fascinated with you in your niceness, misplaced and underdefended though it may be. But even if all the other hamsters furtively think you're fantastic, being mistreated is being mistreated and no self-respecting hamster should put up with that shit.
That's what it feels like sometimes. Same view, over and over and over, thinking maybe it will be different each time and yet the scenery never quite seems to change. To boot, on the round in the wheel when you thought you'd finally achieved the right view - the one you were looking for the whole time - some crafty fucker starts lobbing in cryptic messages about how your wheel is going to just go away because you are an asshole hamster. You furrow your brow, yet continue to trot.
You're a good hamster. You work hard to keep your cage neat and tidy, to make the other hamsters around you feel good and welcome in your area and to be nice whenever possible. And even when that other crafty, more aggressive hamster comes and takes a crap in your nice, clean area, you give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just couldn't hold it in. He didn't mean to mess up.
It's when all the other hamsters come around and start in on your character that you really start to think that maybe you were on the wrong wheel this whole time. When those other hamsters start to tell you that because you feel you deserve not to have shit in your nice, clean area and that you want to be respected and treated well, that you are somehow a demanding, brat of a hamster, well that's when things start to get confusing.
That's when you start to realize how many fucked up hamsters there are out there, yourself included. Not only that, but there's no guarantee that the other hamsters in that cage can even see you for who you are, because they are too busy looking in the mirror next to the water bottle, at their own perfect coats, beady eyes and flawless hamster brains.
I think the best option open, is to not be offended or bothered by the other hamsters and here's why. If other hamsters could be good cage partners or playmates, they would. No hamster out there wants to be the rodent that takes people for granted or purposely mistreats his or her fellows. Additionally, those other hamsters probably have their quiet moments where they wonder why they do what they do, and wonder why you haven't kicked them in their hamster nuts. They are probably even secretly fascinated with you in your niceness, misplaced and underdefended though it may be. But even if all the other hamsters furtively think you're fantastic, being mistreated is being mistreated and no self-respecting hamster should put up with that shit.
13 January, 2008
even in porn?
Okay, the disclaimer here is that I'm not a fan of the porn (which for some reason surprises people), I am also adamantly against racism of any kind. I am a fan of Onion news however, and this one was just way too fucking funny to not pass along.
Use Of 'N-Word' May End Porn Star's Career
Use Of 'N-Word' May End Porn Star's Career
10 January, 2008
rrroger.....checking.....
Here's a little about me.
I have never really been in major trouble (finances excepted). I have never had a DUI, never pissed a dirty drug test, never been arrested - though I have mouthed off to an alarming number of cops - and I have never been involved in a major legal entanglement.
This should all be a breeze, yet I am scared shitless of having my background checked. My credit will be sifted through, assuring my employers that despite my sharp and savvy presentation, I've been living on a shoestring budget for most of my life. My job record will be sifted through, assuring them that I have, indeed worked in quite a few unrelated industries. My urine will be sifted through, to assure them that I have not been on the drugs in quite a while....er....I mean, ever-ish.
Just a thought though....what if there was a booze hound test? Three quarters of the financial district would find themselves unemployed.
So what might they find, these wily background checkers? Maybe stuff like the neighbor I had that was running a meth lab under my apartment. Maybe that I got really drunk in Catalina one time and had to be dragged a half mile back to a volleyball court at Descanso Beach, where I passed out for the night. Maybe they would find out about the $350 speeding ticket I got on the way back from Mexico. But is all that enough to really juke me out of a job? Despite the amount of trouble I have been in with parents, teachers, church leaders and the like, Johnny Law's got nothin on me.
How I wish I could run one of these things on my bosses though. Oh, what fun that would be. I would have given my right ovary to pull one of those on some select members of my last company; the ones who were the most judgemental and the most insulated from the big, ugly axe that seemed to find its way to so many necks around that joint.
And what if there was a character check? How many dozens of people would leap forward, eager to tell tales of being fucked over by a some calculating climber with no conscience? How would those resumes read? Something like:
Asshole Blowhard
1234 Fuckstick Cir., Dixville, NY
212-555-SUCK
Any Corp (1985 - 2008)
Upper Management
- Responsible for dashing the hopes and stunting the careers of several dozen hardworking underlings.
- Directly involved in manipulative career climbing, through extensive lying, cheating and fact distortion.
- Proven record of comprehensive ball-removal for any and all entry level associates.
I could go on about this one, but suffice it to say, I will be shitting my proverbial pants for the next two weeks, while my life is dissected. Can't wait to be past this phase of the job seeking mission.
I have never really been in major trouble (finances excepted). I have never had a DUI, never pissed a dirty drug test, never been arrested - though I have mouthed off to an alarming number of cops - and I have never been involved in a major legal entanglement.
This should all be a breeze, yet I am scared shitless of having my background checked. My credit will be sifted through, assuring my employers that despite my sharp and savvy presentation, I've been living on a shoestring budget for most of my life. My job record will be sifted through, assuring them that I have, indeed worked in quite a few unrelated industries. My urine will be sifted through, to assure them that I have not been on the drugs in quite a while....er....I mean, ever-ish.
Just a thought though....what if there was a booze hound test? Three quarters of the financial district would find themselves unemployed.
So what might they find, these wily background checkers? Maybe stuff like the neighbor I had that was running a meth lab under my apartment. Maybe that I got really drunk in Catalina one time and had to be dragged a half mile back to a volleyball court at Descanso Beach, where I passed out for the night. Maybe they would find out about the $350 speeding ticket I got on the way back from Mexico. But is all that enough to really juke me out of a job? Despite the amount of trouble I have been in with parents, teachers, church leaders and the like, Johnny Law's got nothin on me.
How I wish I could run one of these things on my bosses though. Oh, what fun that would be. I would have given my right ovary to pull one of those on some select members of my last company; the ones who were the most judgemental and the most insulated from the big, ugly axe that seemed to find its way to so many necks around that joint.
And what if there was a character check? How many dozens of people would leap forward, eager to tell tales of being fucked over by a some calculating climber with no conscience? How would those resumes read? Something like:
Asshole Blowhard
1234 Fuckstick Cir., Dixville, NY
212-555-SUCK
Any Corp (1985 - 2008)
Upper Management
- Responsible for dashing the hopes and stunting the careers of several dozen hardworking underlings.
- Directly involved in manipulative career climbing, through extensive lying, cheating and fact distortion.
- Proven record of comprehensive ball-removal for any and all entry level associates.
I could go on about this one, but suffice it to say, I will be shitting my proverbial pants for the next two weeks, while my life is dissected. Can't wait to be past this phase of the job seeking mission.
05 January, 2008
i knock a guy out at the gym
Okay, that was just what I wanted to do, but I wanted to do it o so very badly.
As I've mentioned, several times, the gym is like a sacred place to me. It's kind of a church, in a manner of speaking. It's the place I go when times are good or bad, to think, reflect and become better in mind, body and spirit. And yes, I really am that hokey about my workout time. This instance however, is in no way me being obnoxious and elitist about the gym environs or anyone else's fitness. My particular issue today has to do with simple courtesies that seem to be waaayyy too much to ask of people anymore.
So there I was, on a day when the gym was pretty much quiet and uncrowded (also known as heaven), hoping to get my workout in before closing time, so that I could go home and enjoy an evening full of interesting plans. I arrived in a good mood, ready to face the challenge ahead of me; taking note of the other patrons steadily going about their business for just a second, before zoning out and turning up the headphones.
I began my warm up and then about halfway through, was jarred into hearing, even over the songs at a relatively high volume, the steady chatter of someone whose voice does not belong in my ears. I tried to tune it out, thinking it was probably an important call and would be just a minute until the inconvenience was over.
I feel I should note that when people bring their cell phones into the gym, I am under the impression that they are obligated to do so because of a possible urgent situation, such as a pregnant loved one or a large dollar transaction in the works. In those instances, I am perfectly willing to forgive the short call, even if it disrupts my flow at the moment. Business must be transacted, but so must fitness. Sometimes the two overlap and we all need to be understanding. The 20 minute conversation about bullshit and clique politics, I do not tolerate.
So after my warm up and the first 20 minutes of my workout had elapsed, his conversation was still assaulting my eardrums and I began to glare. I chucked out so many eye darts, if they were real, he would have been reduced to a pulpy mess. But even after the assailant made repeated eye contact with me, thus catching the daggers head-on, he continued to yak away and irk me until I was finally forced to interrupt myself and go confront him.
My first question is the obvious; why be so brazenly rude as to talk loudly on the phone, while leaning against various machines and pissing off everyone within earshot? We seem to be way past the obvious though, because the next thing that happened was that despite my irritation, I politely asked him to take his conversation upstairs. I told him, amidst the silent cheers of my co-exercisers, that I could hear him over my music and asked for the consideration to take his gossipfest elsewhere.
He stared at me. He sprouted an index finger skyward and appeared ready to shush me, when he must have seen my eyeballs turning red. Why must i get to a point of near-violence for this seemingly simple point to be taken? Why must steam arise from my ears in order for a scurrilous asshole to exercise simple consideration? I guess a "thank you Captain Obvious" is in order there, but really. What is the world coming to?
I can't lie though, I got a wonderful fantasy out of the situation. In my head, I had lost control and succumbed to the overwhelming desire to fling his Razr back over my head, hearing it shatter against some 45lb plates a few seconds later. Meanwhile, I had flung a medicine ball at his head, giving him a fantastic shiner, while side-arming a 7.5 pound dumbell into his genitals. I then laughed as he collapsed onto the floor and finally, hurled emasculating insults as I trotted back to my workout....in my head.
But alas, in real time, I turned the music back up and let the Dropkick Murphys soothe me back into focus. Ahhh, if only there weren't the threat of legal entanglements the other way.
As I've mentioned, several times, the gym is like a sacred place to me. It's kind of a church, in a manner of speaking. It's the place I go when times are good or bad, to think, reflect and become better in mind, body and spirit. And yes, I really am that hokey about my workout time. This instance however, is in no way me being obnoxious and elitist about the gym environs or anyone else's fitness. My particular issue today has to do with simple courtesies that seem to be waaayyy too much to ask of people anymore.
So there I was, on a day when the gym was pretty much quiet and uncrowded (also known as heaven), hoping to get my workout in before closing time, so that I could go home and enjoy an evening full of interesting plans. I arrived in a good mood, ready to face the challenge ahead of me; taking note of the other patrons steadily going about their business for just a second, before zoning out and turning up the headphones.
I began my warm up and then about halfway through, was jarred into hearing, even over the songs at a relatively high volume, the steady chatter of someone whose voice does not belong in my ears. I tried to tune it out, thinking it was probably an important call and would be just a minute until the inconvenience was over.
I feel I should note that when people bring their cell phones into the gym, I am under the impression that they are obligated to do so because of a possible urgent situation, such as a pregnant loved one or a large dollar transaction in the works. In those instances, I am perfectly willing to forgive the short call, even if it disrupts my flow at the moment. Business must be transacted, but so must fitness. Sometimes the two overlap and we all need to be understanding. The 20 minute conversation about bullshit and clique politics, I do not tolerate.
So after my warm up and the first 20 minutes of my workout had elapsed, his conversation was still assaulting my eardrums and I began to glare. I chucked out so many eye darts, if they were real, he would have been reduced to a pulpy mess. But even after the assailant made repeated eye contact with me, thus catching the daggers head-on, he continued to yak away and irk me until I was finally forced to interrupt myself and go confront him.
My first question is the obvious; why be so brazenly rude as to talk loudly on the phone, while leaning against various machines and pissing off everyone within earshot? We seem to be way past the obvious though, because the next thing that happened was that despite my irritation, I politely asked him to take his conversation upstairs. I told him, amidst the silent cheers of my co-exercisers, that I could hear him over my music and asked for the consideration to take his gossipfest elsewhere.
He stared at me. He sprouted an index finger skyward and appeared ready to shush me, when he must have seen my eyeballs turning red. Why must i get to a point of near-violence for this seemingly simple point to be taken? Why must steam arise from my ears in order for a scurrilous asshole to exercise simple consideration? I guess a "thank you Captain Obvious" is in order there, but really. What is the world coming to?
I can't lie though, I got a wonderful fantasy out of the situation. In my head, I had lost control and succumbed to the overwhelming desire to fling his Razr back over my head, hearing it shatter against some 45lb plates a few seconds later. Meanwhile, I had flung a medicine ball at his head, giving him a fantastic shiner, while side-arming a 7.5 pound dumbell into his genitals. I then laughed as he collapsed onto the floor and finally, hurled emasculating insults as I trotted back to my workout....in my head.
But alas, in real time, I turned the music back up and let the Dropkick Murphys soothe me back into focus. Ahhh, if only there weren't the threat of legal entanglements the other way.
04 January, 2008
lone
There are times in a person's life where lessons are learned and things are realized, whether you want to or not. One such lesson is that of independence.
I refer back to my "playbook" analogy. There are some plays that the lucky, loved and better off receive, such as how to make people feel appreciated, loved and supported. There are the plays that "other" people get, such as how to watch your back, who to trust or not trust and how to fight your way through adversity. Either way, there is a successful set of plays in there, no matter from whence you've come.
It's a low when you realize that while you thought you had gained entree into the world of the lucky and the loved, you are still on the fray, looking in and wishing instead of having. Chances are, you attract your own. So if you are stable and expect love and support, that is probably what you will achieve in your relationships, because you won't indulge people who don't treat you that way. If however, you have not had that, you will most likely accept bullshit from someone who is just fumbling along, same as you, trying to be a good person and break the cycle as well.
This is when you learn that you are on your own. Despite what your friends or significant others may say, you are on your own, so thank god for that fighting spirit, because when the shit comes down, no one is going to come over and put their arms around you to make you feel safe or feel better. They are too busy taking care of themselves because no one has ever done that for them. So how to break the cycle? Ahhh, that is the question of a lifetime. That is the question to which so many people I know seek the answer.
When you love the people around you, don't you want to go to them? in happiness and sadness? Don't you want them around you if they are close enough to be there? Wouldn't you rather have facetime and laughs in person than a phone or e mail string keeping you afloat? Why hide out if there are people who want to be there? Why hide out when people want you around them? I don't get it.
A friend of mine says you change it by cleaning the slate and starting over. I would tend to agree, but how do you maintain anger and dis-invite people from your life, when you know that they just lack the skills to do right by you? Someone told me that I'm too forgiving. Maybe so, but I stupidly hold out the hope; hope that when someone says they care about you, it doesn't mean they care until something comes up.
Any lucky ones want to chime in on this one? What are the rest of us missing?
I refer back to my "playbook" analogy. There are some plays that the lucky, loved and better off receive, such as how to make people feel appreciated, loved and supported. There are the plays that "other" people get, such as how to watch your back, who to trust or not trust and how to fight your way through adversity. Either way, there is a successful set of plays in there, no matter from whence you've come.
It's a low when you realize that while you thought you had gained entree into the world of the lucky and the loved, you are still on the fray, looking in and wishing instead of having. Chances are, you attract your own. So if you are stable and expect love and support, that is probably what you will achieve in your relationships, because you won't indulge people who don't treat you that way. If however, you have not had that, you will most likely accept bullshit from someone who is just fumbling along, same as you, trying to be a good person and break the cycle as well.
This is when you learn that you are on your own. Despite what your friends or significant others may say, you are on your own, so thank god for that fighting spirit, because when the shit comes down, no one is going to come over and put their arms around you to make you feel safe or feel better. They are too busy taking care of themselves because no one has ever done that for them. So how to break the cycle? Ahhh, that is the question of a lifetime. That is the question to which so many people I know seek the answer.
When you love the people around you, don't you want to go to them? in happiness and sadness? Don't you want them around you if they are close enough to be there? Wouldn't you rather have facetime and laughs in person than a phone or e mail string keeping you afloat? Why hide out if there are people who want to be there? Why hide out when people want you around them? I don't get it.
A friend of mine says you change it by cleaning the slate and starting over. I would tend to agree, but how do you maintain anger and dis-invite people from your life, when you know that they just lack the skills to do right by you? Someone told me that I'm too forgiving. Maybe so, but I stupidly hold out the hope; hope that when someone says they care about you, it doesn't mean they care until something comes up.
Any lucky ones want to chime in on this one? What are the rest of us missing?
01 January, 2008
too dubble ot ate
Hello party people!
Welcome to 2008, the year that will not suck! Wooooooo hoo!
For nearly everyone I know, the latter half of 2007 sucked the cock, so I declare 2008 the year that does NOT suck the cock. We, and by we I mean all of us (and you know who you are, if you're included), will be prosperous, happy, not without some element of struggle, but content in the overall sense.
And just to interject, since it's the first of the year.....for fucks sakes, don't anyone start some stupid diet. You are fantastic the way you are and if you don't think so, then go for a fucking run now and then. Let's no one get caught up in this "resolution" bullshit, 'cause it's seriously for the birds. And we all know that the birds just eat and shit, so their opinion means about as much as that slut, Anne Coulter's.
There, I said it. Damn, I love having a brain.
Welcome to 2008, the year that will not suck! Wooooooo hoo!
For nearly everyone I know, the latter half of 2007 sucked the cock, so I declare 2008 the year that does NOT suck the cock. We, and by we I mean all of us (and you know who you are, if you're included), will be prosperous, happy, not without some element of struggle, but content in the overall sense.
And just to interject, since it's the first of the year.....for fucks sakes, don't anyone start some stupid diet. You are fantastic the way you are and if you don't think so, then go for a fucking run now and then. Let's no one get caught up in this "resolution" bullshit, 'cause it's seriously for the birds. And we all know that the birds just eat and shit, so their opinion means about as much as that slut, Anne Coulter's.
There, I said it. Damn, I love having a brain.
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