Mark stood out in the enormous parking lot, staring at the building and trying to drown out the blaring alarm sound by humming Oops, I Did It Again to himself. He was just beginning to sway to involuntary dance moves when Joseph shuffled up to him.
“Hey man, can I bum a smoke?” Joseph asked.
Mark begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the pack and handed him a cigarette.
“Why don’t you buy your own? Mooch.”
“I’m trying to quit, so I’m not buying packs anymore.” Joseph put the cigarette in his mouth and waited expectantly.
“Fuck,” Mark said with exasperation. He pulled out his lighter and lit Joseph’s smoke for him. “At nearly $7 a pack don’t expect me to carry your habit for you!”
Joseph walked away with an overwrought, sad look on his face. Mark rubbed his arms, wishing he had brought his jacket with him. Why did there have to be a fire drill when it was like 40 degrees outside? Hundreds of people were milling around like confused farm animals. He could see Doug ambling towards him.
“Did you hear about the Risk Management guys?” Doug asked. Mark shook his head no. “Apparently, Brent thought it was a real fire and began shoving and trampling people in the stairwell trying to escape – about 6 people are severely injured, if not dead. Nicky was explaining a joke to someone with her hands and threw a cup of scalding hot tea in some HR temp’s face.”
Mark nodded, staring down at the pack of cigarettes in his hand.
“We’ve been out here for like 15 minutes, how much longer you think it’ll be?” Doug asked while he hopped from one foot to the other.
Mark shrugged his shoulders and placed a cigarette of his own in his mouth. He was bringing the lighter up when Shaun grabbed it from him and began walking off towards the building.
“What are you doing?” Mark shouted to him.
“They want a fire?” Shaun called back. “I’ll give ‘em a fucking fire!”
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Schnarper-Harnne's
I have a new schedule, with Saturdays working and with Mondays off. It can be a drag, but whatever, having Mondays off can be cool. I was going to try to be super industrious and post from home yesterday while away from work, but I was neither super nor industrious.
I did however make some homemade chicken stock for the upcoming fall soup bonanza*
What I would have mentioned yesterday, typing comfortably from my couch instead of this fluorescent blighted and wobbly, second hand office chair, would have been a story about my lovelies Chris and Greta who were in town for a whirlwind visit.
Chris and Greta (or C & G if you’re abbreviation minded) are two of my favorite people in the world and are the source of a miasma of partner swapping rumors that seem to follow us around. While we did all get married together, and did subsequently take our honeymoons together, we do not, as a group, swing.
Well me and Chris do, but that story will follow…
We seem to speak our own language, the four of us, which most likely makes others feel uncomfortable and excluded. There is also a comfort level between us that is amazing bordering on obscene. We only got them for one night this trip (Chris has family up in this area that were requesting their presence), but I’ll take whatever I can get.
Drinking was involved, of course, but at some point after midnightish, we all went for a walk to try and wake up some of the sleepier minded in the troop. We walked through the newly opened reservoir park in our neighborhood and fell with a drunken thump on the children’s playground area.
Chris and I pumped those swings in lame, drunken attempts to go over the bar. We also did head first and upside down trips on the spiral slides. I tell you this, because nothing quite beats playing on a swing set after hours. It is something I highly recommend.
Our place always feels a little emptier, a little less filled with love when C & G depart, and this short visit was no exception. And the exits now feel a little harder knowing that they’re not just a 3 hour drive away. But, like a show that just moves you to limits you didn’t know you had, the visit was beautiful even if it was too short.
*For those keeping track of the fall bread/pie/soup marathon, I have now made 2 apple pies (successfully) and a batch of both vegetable and chicken stock that are crying out for homemade soup.
I did however make some homemade chicken stock for the upcoming fall soup bonanza*
What I would have mentioned yesterday, typing comfortably from my couch instead of this fluorescent blighted and wobbly, second hand office chair, would have been a story about my lovelies Chris and Greta who were in town for a whirlwind visit.
Chris and Greta (or C & G if you’re abbreviation minded) are two of my favorite people in the world and are the source of a miasma of partner swapping rumors that seem to follow us around. While we did all get married together, and did subsequently take our honeymoons together, we do not, as a group, swing.
Well me and Chris do, but that story will follow…
We seem to speak our own language, the four of us, which most likely makes others feel uncomfortable and excluded. There is also a comfort level between us that is amazing bordering on obscene. We only got them for one night this trip (Chris has family up in this area that were requesting their presence), but I’ll take whatever I can get.
Drinking was involved, of course, but at some point after midnightish, we all went for a walk to try and wake up some of the sleepier minded in the troop. We walked through the newly opened reservoir park in our neighborhood and fell with a drunken thump on the children’s playground area.
Chris and I pumped those swings in lame, drunken attempts to go over the bar. We also did head first and upside down trips on the spiral slides. I tell you this, because nothing quite beats playing on a swing set after hours. It is something I highly recommend.
Our place always feels a little emptier, a little less filled with love when C & G depart, and this short visit was no exception. And the exits now feel a little harder knowing that they’re not just a 3 hour drive away. But, like a show that just moves you to limits you didn’t know you had, the visit was beautiful even if it was too short.
*For those keeping track of the fall bread/pie/soup marathon, I have now made 2 apple pies (successfully) and a batch of both vegetable and chicken stock that are crying out for homemade soup.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Dance of Love
We’re close, right? We can talk? I feel it is important that you know this about me…
There are days when I need to suppress the urge to jump up on my desk, do a little dance and sing a song of my own design to everyone around. On some days, there is also the desire to rip off articles of clothing as well.
By “suppress the urge” I mean that I have to get up and walk away from my desk or there is a real danger that I will not be able to help myself.
It’s not all for the attention by the way, I have this uncontrollable urge to make people’s lives, particularly people trapped in this sort of soul crushing cube farm environment, just a little surreal. I feel it is my duty.
And truth be told, I enjoy having the sort of reputation of being a little disturbed, a little unpredictable.
Plus, I do have a hard on for the sound of laughter.
Thanks for listening, I feel better. And yes, I will put my pants on now.
By the way, here is the winner of Billy Cleans His Plate’s inaugural “Holy Shit” award:
There are days when I need to suppress the urge to jump up on my desk, do a little dance and sing a song of my own design to everyone around. On some days, there is also the desire to rip off articles of clothing as well.
By “suppress the urge” I mean that I have to get up and walk away from my desk or there is a real danger that I will not be able to help myself.
It’s not all for the attention by the way, I have this uncontrollable urge to make people’s lives, particularly people trapped in this sort of soul crushing cube farm environment, just a little surreal. I feel it is my duty.
And truth be told, I enjoy having the sort of reputation of being a little disturbed, a little unpredictable.
Plus, I do have a hard on for the sound of laughter.
Thanks for listening, I feel better. And yes, I will put my pants on now.
By the way, here is the winner of Billy Cleans His Plate’s inaugural “Holy Shit” award:
Thursday, October 06, 2005
F is For...
“Seriously, what are you doing?”
“See that guy, that’s how you’re supposed to dress.”
“Why would anybody care about this?”
“Nobody loves you, they just put up with you.”
“Talentless hack!”
These are voices that I hear all the time; sitting at a desk and staring at a blank computer screen, walking down the street, lying in bed and trying to get to sleep. Oh yeah, especially at night those voices come creeping.
I can usually drown them out with thoughts of money woes, but that’s just as fucking useless. So I try to drown all of it out with dirty sex fantasies.
But what’s the point? I’m assuming most people have these negative little fucker monkeys living in their brains, but why? Is it some sort of cosmic testing ground where your success can be measured on how you react to these things? Either you become paralyzed by your own fear of failure, or you’re spurned on to show ‘em they’re wrong?
I cannot answer this, therefore I fail again. What I can tell you, is that I think I’ve finally grown tired of hearing it.
That, and that the hamburger in this lunch I made is friggin gristle-tastic. Gross!
“See that guy, that’s how you’re supposed to dress.”
“Why would anybody care about this?”
“Nobody loves you, they just put up with you.”
“Talentless hack!”
These are voices that I hear all the time; sitting at a desk and staring at a blank computer screen, walking down the street, lying in bed and trying to get to sleep. Oh yeah, especially at night those voices come creeping.
I can usually drown them out with thoughts of money woes, but that’s just as fucking useless. So I try to drown all of it out with dirty sex fantasies.
But what’s the point? I’m assuming most people have these negative little fucker monkeys living in their brains, but why? Is it some sort of cosmic testing ground where your success can be measured on how you react to these things? Either you become paralyzed by your own fear of failure, or you’re spurned on to show ‘em they’re wrong?
I cannot answer this, therefore I fail again. What I can tell you, is that I think I’ve finally grown tired of hearing it.
That, and that the hamburger in this lunch I made is friggin gristle-tastic. Gross!
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Confession for Wednesday
I’ve been trying to eat healthier as part of my “major life re-arrangement upon making a major move” plan. This plan includes less TV watching and a huge increase in creative endeavors ala acting in shows and this here bloggy blog.
But back to the eating… I’ve been doing okay with this healthier eating thing, doing a majority of my eating at home from meals I have made myself (this is also hugely affected by the income). However, last night’s dinner consisted of about 5 Pabst Blue Ribbons, some tater tots and half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
I have done really well with the not watching television though, so please don’t try to entice me by telling me what I’m missing. Like Hellby writing to tell me that Conan O’Brien is turning over his entire television show to U2.
Since you cannot hear my voice when you are reading this, you do not know that those words are dripping with sarcasm, seriously, dripping. A puddle of sarcasm is forming underneath my monitor in which a large number of my harshly voiced complaints are doing laps; a softly whispered desire is doing the butterfly.
P.S. Hellby – U2 still sucks.
But back to the eating… I’ve been doing okay with this healthier eating thing, doing a majority of my eating at home from meals I have made myself (this is also hugely affected by the income). However, last night’s dinner consisted of about 5 Pabst Blue Ribbons, some tater tots and half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
I have done really well with the not watching television though, so please don’t try to entice me by telling me what I’m missing. Like Hellby writing to tell me that Conan O’Brien is turning over his entire television show to U2.
Since you cannot hear my voice when you are reading this, you do not know that those words are dripping with sarcasm, seriously, dripping. A puddle of sarcasm is forming underneath my monitor in which a large number of my harshly voiced complaints are doing laps; a softly whispered desire is doing the butterfly.
P.S. Hellby – U2 still sucks.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Homeless In Seattle
There was a guy on the corner down where downtown starts to become the less shiny and full of professional buildings downtown, down where the buildings are only a couple of stories tall and somehow always gray. This guy was doing a little dance. Actually, by little I mean a really big, sort of spastic dance. And I don’t want to make any assumptions, but I’m pretty sure he was homeless as most (again, most) non homeless people do not have their own shopping carts, nor do they do seizure dances on the corner.
Shakey McShakerson made me think about my favorite homeless folks in San Francisco, and I realized that I missed some of ‘em a little bit. You know, once you get used to seeing something every day, you sort of pine for it when it’s gone – even if it does smell remarkably like cheap gin and urine.
There was the “How you doin’” guy. An elder black man that sat on the steps of the church on Haight Street (which had been closed for the 7+ years that I lived there) and would always ask, “how you doin’” from half a block away, before he hit you up for change.
And the tourettes guy who sat on the bench at the California Street cable car turn-around. Man, nobody could spout a nonsensical stream of filthy and angry gibberish like that guy. God speed you, crazy cable car turn-around guy!
I also started to pine for the days when I would walk through the financial district and see R. Crumb’s brother sitting in a yoga pose, chewing string.
There is a concern that the winter up here will thin out the homeless herd. I mean it’s not that big of a concern, frankly I would probably sleep better without the yelling at night. But I may not get the chance to learn of them by their acts and habits. And I’m not sure if any of them had Mr. Heron for Driver’s Ed in high school, but he always told us, if you’re homeless – head south, it’s warmer.
Shakey McShakerson made me think about my favorite homeless folks in San Francisco, and I realized that I missed some of ‘em a little bit. You know, once you get used to seeing something every day, you sort of pine for it when it’s gone – even if it does smell remarkably like cheap gin and urine.
There was the “How you doin’” guy. An elder black man that sat on the steps of the church on Haight Street (which had been closed for the 7+ years that I lived there) and would always ask, “how you doin’” from half a block away, before he hit you up for change.
And the tourettes guy who sat on the bench at the California Street cable car turn-around. Man, nobody could spout a nonsensical stream of filthy and angry gibberish like that guy. God speed you, crazy cable car turn-around guy!
I also started to pine for the days when I would walk through the financial district and see R. Crumb’s brother sitting in a yoga pose, chewing string.
There is a concern that the winter up here will thin out the homeless herd. I mean it’s not that big of a concern, frankly I would probably sleep better without the yelling at night. But I may not get the chance to learn of them by their acts and habits. And I’m not sure if any of them had Mr. Heron for Driver’s Ed in high school, but he always told us, if you’re homeless – head south, it’s warmer.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Feel The Newness
I’m starting a new position today at the old jobby job, and I’m feeling a little discombobulated.
I don’t want to be a baby about it, but sitting in new cubicle always throws my day off. As much as I hate to think so, I’m a creature of habit, and when that habit is thrown out of whack I either fly or I hunker down.
Usually, if I’m unchained by obligations, I look at the break in habit as an adventure, a chance for something completely unexpected. Unfortunately, I am unable to thrust that sickeningly positive frame of mind onto work situations.
The secret of my “success” in being able to work these sort of soul crushing jobs is to find the habit and wrap yourself in the routine like a heavy blanket. This allows me to function on auto pilot; if I started to think, I would realize that my life is ticking away a customer call at a time under this awful fluorescent glare.
Anyway… Hoping to be used to the new cube tomorrow where I will be back to full power and full creamy goodness!
I don’t want to be a baby about it, but sitting in new cubicle always throws my day off. As much as I hate to think so, I’m a creature of habit, and when that habit is thrown out of whack I either fly or I hunker down.
Usually, if I’m unchained by obligations, I look at the break in habit as an adventure, a chance for something completely unexpected. Unfortunately, I am unable to thrust that sickeningly positive frame of mind onto work situations.
The secret of my “success” in being able to work these sort of soul crushing jobs is to find the habit and wrap yourself in the routine like a heavy blanket. This allows me to function on auto pilot; if I started to think, I would realize that my life is ticking away a customer call at a time under this awful fluorescent glare.
Anyway… Hoping to be used to the new cube tomorrow where I will be back to full power and full creamy goodness!
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