Run Down

I had to take yesterday to rest as I got full on whacked upside the head by the cold Biffy was spraying around willy nilly. I was actually feeling okay compared to Sunday night-Monday where I slept the sleep of the feverishly sleepy.

So I apologize for no post, but I would like to share a few things that occurred this weekend:

I awoke late one night to tend to a tiresome cat when I noticed a cheerful orange glow coming from the living room window. How nice, I thought until I walked up to said window and realized that there was a car on fire out in the street in front. Boy, I know how that feels, I thought as I watched until the fire department came to put out the car.

Biffy ran herself a marathon. I rode the wave of the coming runners and tried to reach her at different points. She did real good, she was smiling each time I saw her and didn’t have that look of, “for the love of god, please cut off my fucking legs” that she did last time I watched her run a marathon. On my side of things, I learned how to navigate unfamiliar parts of the city with plenty of marathon cops blocking a variety of routes and realized that early mornings here in the winter will make your toes numb when you are wearing well worn Doc Martin’s.

Mandy asked if I was okay, because according to recent blog entries, I seem to have been in a bad mood. I thought it was sweet of her to ask, but I didn’t think I was in any worse a mood than normal. But I am not always the best to judge these things. This was mere hours before the full force of Winter Cold ’06 was to take me over.

Fever dreams of mountain crossings and spiders. Something to do with gingerbread mushrooms or something… Best not to think too heavily on these things.

The weather folks promised snow and went so far as to panic the public with constant reports of school closures and treacherous, icy conditions on the roads. They never actually said, “stay in your house or you will most likely die”, but you could see it in their eyes. Even though they were only predicting 1-2 inches. And yeah, snow never came.

I’m back to the world y’all, buckle up.


Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Long Distance Drunk by Modest Mouse

Thanks...

I realize that yesterday was Thanksgiving, but what would I really be thankful for now? For fan boys to quit talking about Phil Spector’s resume. Every piece of Phil Spector trivia is being tossed around right now.

Did you know that Phil Spector accused Brian Wilson of being a spy? Did you know that Sonny Bono used to work with Phil Spector? Did you know that Phil Spector produced a Ramones album? Did you know that Phil Spector pulled a gun on John Lennon? When he produced Let It Be? He didn’t produce Let It Be. No, he did, that’s why they released that Naked version. No, Phil Spector just came on later to work on the album, and that Naked version is awesome, I didn’t even bother to upload the original version on my ipod.

Shut the fuck up! Seriously, in the name of all that’s holy, shut the fuck up! Fanboys!

The conversation has now moved on to that picture of Nixon and Elvis shaking hands. And they’re talking about it seriously, as if they were curing Down’s Syndrome. It makes me want to jump on a wheelchair and run them over.

Random McNally

It’s sort of strange, this duplicitous, almost schizophrenic behavior I’ve got going on. Part of me (and some people blame it on my Capricorn, but seriously, blow me) really likes order. I mean really likes it. I mean it’s almost fascist in its complete desire for pristine, fucking order.

Yeah, my CD and DVD collections are in alphabetical order, and though quite a few people who see this seem strangely affected by it, it’s not weird to me. How else are you going to find what you’re looking for? What is even weird to me is this desire to fold my freshly laundered underwear in a particular order, is the need to have the canned goods placed in the cupboard in a certain way, is the fact that the knives on the magnetic bar must face a certain way and be in a certain order. Not quite obsessive compulsive, but I can see their house from here…

And then, as if to balance it out, part of me has this huge desire for randomness.

But to be completely honest about it, part of me has this huge desire to thrust randomness at other people. I want to surprise, to shock and awe. I often think about the (again) random person who might come across this blog and just what the hell goes through their mind if they hit one of the particularly random posts.

I love that for the constant readers, most of the time you have no idea what you’re going to get; that I have no idea what you’re going to get until I sit down to write it.

So thank you for letting me get my random on, for putting up with it. I gotta go though, someone put Dead Man back on the shelf in front of Dead Alive.


Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Ball and Biscuit by The White Stripes

Was the Litter Box Always on the Freeway?

I’m feeling scattered and just a little confrontational. Some of it could be that the cat, that stupid little rodent, kept me up all night with his running around and meowing and other ridiculous cat nonsense.

I’ve been having dark thoughts today of testing that cat vs. curiosity angle with tuna in electrical outlets and fake birds on very high and teetering planks…

But honestly, I’ve felt a little tired and out of sorts the last few days. Is it the winter? Is it the impending doom of family Thanksgiving dinner? I don’t know, leave me alone! You wanna fight?!

I’m sorry, I tried to warn you. That shirt really brings out your eyes by the way.

The problem mostly is that I feel myself getting insular, crawling up inside for comfort and protection. And this really hampers my mission of bringing a healthy dose of the random to my little corner of the corporate world. And I’m afraid it makes for a not so cohesive and rather boring post.

Hearing Red Red Meat on the headphones is sort of alleviating the problem, sort of. But honestly, until I am ready to either stand up and “shake the crappy” on out of here, or at least take a nap, I’m going to blame the frigging cat. And I’m gonna send this guy:


He’ll bust a cap in Brody’s ass, but good.

Haunted By A Memory That's Not Mine

Of driving down an unknown street made dark by the towering trees on both sides, Bowie’s The Bewlay Brothers on the stereo; near tears, but ecstatic. Remembering people that have forgotten me, I’m sure, and reveling in the way their memory impacts my emotions.

Completely alone and mired in this contrary need for someone (anyone) and the relief of nobody.

Made uncomfortable by a grocery store customer who seemed to have a seriously unhealthy attraction to the bag boy; deviant about to turn dangerous.

Up ahead there’s a storm about to break over the trees, somewhere over the water, and I can feel that sick smile spread that is bound to disturb anyone who sees it.

Naked Guy, With an "I" and a Monkey Head

It’s really my own fault in a way. I was on my way into work and delving way too philosophically into the nature of human behavior when I should have been walk-dancing to Frank Black B-Sides.

There’s this person I know who ends up upset and out of sorts because they expect life to just sort of sit still, to just sort of reach this moment of sameness and stay there. I think that we all do this to a degree. The idea that life and the world is an endlessly changing and evolving experience can be a little daunting and uncomfortable. And so we set up routines so we have the illusion of sameness - so that no matter what happens I know I will get up, brush my teeth and head off to work just like I did the day before.

This painted humanity in general in not so pretty a color, which made me feel frustrated. Apparently, this general feeling was cruising the airwaves down here on Utah Avenue South, because people in my row (people who can under normal circumstances withstand the wildly inappropriate things that I will eventually say) were not having it. My co-workers, my partners in crime, were in shitty moods and that pushed me over the edge and into crappy mood mode.

So what does one do to “Shake the Crappy”, as the kids are saying these days? Well if one is me, one prints up this picture:

And then one cuts out each guy individually and makes finger puppets out of them. To up the “shaking the crappy” quotient, paste a monkey head on the guy with the “I”.

I’m totally not kidding…

Rise of the Machines

Getting us just a little closer to the future that The Jetson’s promised, the new bathroom on the floor here at work has nifty automated functions.

The toilets and urinals all flush by themselves. Well, I mean they’re triggered by something, micro changes in air density or something. And the sinks begin spouting that clean, Washington water when they detect your hand is there to receive it.

I’ve seen all this before, but a new one to me is the automatic soap dispenser which pumps out pearly goo when your hand is near the spout. My problem is that I have big hands, and after I have been thoroughly soaped and am setting off the water sensor, my ginormous digits wander into the sight field of the soap and the soap begins spurting like a porn audition.

Sure, not a big deal. There’s usually just this semen like puddle on the side of the basin (which refills itself when I try to wash it away with the automatic water as I keep finding my way beneath the automatic soap dispenser again). But it seems indicative of that technological breakdown that will eventually destroy us.

It’s like HAL 9000 developing a consciousness and going crazy, it’s like the Yul Brenner robot shooting tourists in Westworld, it’s like Frankenstein’s monster going after Frankenstein. It’s like that automated future house in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. It’s a small step now, but I’m telling you, that fucker’s gonna come running.



Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Watching TV by Roger Waters