Friday, August 30

So Messed Up, I Want Ya Here...

B came in and slept on the couch for a while. I stroked her hair, and told her that I missed her. She seemed to understand, but a few hours later she headed back out anyways.

    Even when I had someone to talk to, I didn't seem to have anything to say.


Thursday, August 29

Grizzly Adams Loves the Ladies.com

I spent most of my morning building a site for this guy.

    Then he ate me.


Wednesday, August 28

I'd Buy That for a Dollar

Amid rampant server problems and a host of worries that are all much more real I find myself thinking how nice it would be to have $40 million dollars. Or, what -- 18, 20 mil after taxes?

Honestly, what is it about the lottery that makes it such a complete mindfuck? My odds of winning anything are so ridiculously bad that it's almost ludicrous to consider playing at all; but at the same time, the supposed benefits are so unfathomable for someone of my hamburger helper pedigree that every time money gets tight, I start looking at it like it's a pretty girl in a bar.

You know the one: Waaay out of your league - but she smiled at you when you held the door open for her? You didn't give it a second thought when it happened, but by the time you're working on your third beer you've already envisioned your life together as a happy couple.

        The first thing I would do is pay off the house, and then...

You look at the people who apparently got over, and you find yourself wondering about them. Are they real? How hard would it be to call the actors union and ask them to send over ten or twelve people who look like they hang out at convienence stores a lot? You know, just so it looks like this thing is legitimate?

But of course I do know that it's real... because I won it once.

Years ago in Tallahassee, Kim and I were driving around listenign to music. We were going through some bad stuff at the time, and it was really starting to get to her. After a while of driving in silence, I leaned over and asked, "What can I do to make you happy?" To which she said, half-jokingly, "Win the lottery."

Trying to cheer her up, I pulled into some gas station and bought a ticket. Random numbers; I don't even remember what they were. Three days later I checked the paper.

        Four numbers matched.

I went back to the gas station and the lady behind the counter made me sign a form. Then she opened the cash register and handed me fifty-five dollars.

It was pretty cool, because for a while Kim thought I possessed some sort of hoodoo that enabled me to make things happen just by thinking about it. But in the end it amounted to just sort of a cool thing that happened to me once. It didn't get me out of debt then, and thinking about it isn't going to get me out of the red now, either. And perhaps that's what's so frustrating about it.

It's not like I have to buy a ticket. I mean, I know that they're waving a carrot over my head, but I don't really have to pay attention to it at all.

Because, you know... I'm smarter than that...

        Right?


Saturday, August 24

Actually Spoken During the Course of my Evening

    "Oh Carlo, where did we go wrong?"


M.U.I. (for Dee Dee)

one two three four...

Went out Friday night
and I did it up right
Partied till
almost dawn...

woke the next day
made an awful mistake
I decided
to mow the lawn

Hungover mower
Hungover mower
Hungover mower
Hungover mower


The lines are all messed up
my head is still fucked up
hose got run over
cuz I’m not really sober

Every blade of grass
is screaming in pain
my yard / the neighbors car
they all look the same

Hungover mower
Hungover mower
Hungover mower
Hungover mower


Wednesday, August 21

Standards

I've been listening to this great jazz CD called Still Warm by former Miles Davis sideman and all-purpose badass John Scofield. I was just kinda looking through the liner notes when I realized that this was the first compact disc that I ever purchased.

CD's made their debut when I was in high school. The idea sounded cool, but to be honest, I wasn't really all that interested in getting into them. The equipment was expensive and occasionally unreliable, but my main beef at the time was that I had spent a huge amount of time and money amassing a sizable collection of cassettes and LP's. If I wanted to go digital with my music, I'd literally end up starting all over and buying a lot of the same music all over again (which is what I more or less ended up doing).

Anyways, when I finally did make the plunge, this was the icebreaker.

But in all honesty, I had absolutely no idea who John Scofield was when I bought it. The CD just had a really cool picture of a guitar on the cover.

    ...that doesn't sound like me at all, now does it?


Tuesday, August 20

Ali Yeganeh

Somewhere around noon today I got a serious jones for soup. The restaurant my sister-in-law works at makes this killer crab bisque, and for whatever reason my mind went into total vapor lock over the thought of it.

There was really no way I could make it all the way across town and back in an hour, so when I picked Kim up we began an impromptu search for an "on the way" place that might have something close enough to quell the monkey.

We ended up at this little place by her office called Julie's. Family run, kinda small and cozy. I think they were Greek, but I really have no way to know for sure.

The sign said "Soup - $1.75." There was no mention of flavors, but the rest of the menu featured a pretty healthy selection of Middle Eastern and Greek food, so I figured my chances were pretty good.

Our turn in line came up and I asked the guy what kind of soup they had. He rushed back an answer in some sort of heavy accent that I couldn't quite understand, so I apologized and asked him to please repeat what he had just said.

He leaned in towards me and spoke in a slow, deliberate tone:
    "We have Campells soup, in a can. Is good."


Monday, August 19

Culo Posse

Kim and I caught some sort of stomach bug that pretty much put the kibosh on our whole weekend and made us less than fun to be around. This morning I woke up feeling a little better, but it's pretty much one of those things that you have to ride out until the end.

While we were switching cars at lunch today, the two of us sort of fell into a rather graphic discussion of how we were feeling and what was happening to our systems. At the time it seemed like the most natural topic to talk about, but looking back on it I truly have to say that it's the sort of conversation that only a husband and wife could have.

As she got into the driver's seat to head back to work, I smiled at her and said, "I love it when you talk dirty to me."
    Got a laugh. Good times.


Wednesday, August 14

Maybe Nugent Would Know

One of the websites I was called upon to build today was for a taxidermist in Louisiana. I can't really say that I know a whole lot about this particular subject, so I considered myself pretty fortunate when the owner of the company sent along a short list of selling points for me to work with. Among these was a listing of the various animals that he had worked on.

So I'm reading the list, and it seems pretty straightforward: Bear, Fish, Antelope, Boar, and then it says "all kinds of deer."

    And suddenly I'm thinking to myself, "Well... what's the frickin' difference?"

I could maybe see if you were a veterenarian or something how listing all the different species that you've cured would be important, even indicitive of your talents as a healer. But when you're stuffing dead animals.. does it really matter?

I mean, is there a technical difference between cutting the head off of a whitetail deer so that you can nail it to a wall plaque and say, cutting the head off a Asian Ibex so that you can...nail it to a plaque?

Do other taxidermists give you shit if you can't properly make a dead moose look like it's dead?

If you're staying after hours in the office cramming sawdust down the throat of some elk carcass, is there actually a point where you say to yourself, "Thank god this wasn't a caribou?"

    These are the questions that I have to push out of my mind to do my job effectively.

Monday, August 12

West Nile Virus My Ass

Is there any way to get this friggin' Eminem song out of your head once it's been planted in there?
    Yes, yes, fine, whatever - it feels so empty without you. Can we move on now, please?


Saturday, August 10

Herpes is Forever

Just how are you supposed to know if soy milk has gone bad or not?

We're in that hateful floating period where the money's all gone but the paychecks are still a ways down the road. Went through the coffee creamer. Went through the milk. Kim likes to use Slimfast. It makes your coffee nice and chocolatey, but also gives it that unmistakable balsa wood aftertaste that I've never quite gotten used to.

The boy wants to be awake.

     I do not.

Old friends in town. Ostrich worries to the west. Hard east winds creating choppy four-foot sets that will probably blow out by midday. Surprisingly wise old men telling me about lists and goodies...

     sniffs at soydream carton

          
*winces*

     Thinks of an old joke from Airplane!

               pours.


Friday, August 9

...in Rhythm and Sorrow

I like rain

    just not today.


Thursday, August 8

Johnny Law

Last night when I walked up to the door of my gym there were two guys waiting to get in. The first one slid his keycard through the slot, prompting a green light to come on. The lock released, and he swung the door open wide enough for me to catch the edge of it with my hand. The other guys stepped in first, and then I followed.

The moment we were all inside, the dude sitting behind the counter rolled up on us. The way he was standing told us that we had inadvertently crossed over some unknown DMZ.

     "Did each one of you slide your card!?"

We just sort of stood there, looking at each other.

He went on for like 2 minutes explaining the importance of the cards and the codes and who knows what. I'm not really sure why we even stuck around to hear the whole speech, especially since ours was a sin of courtesy -- but we stood there quietly, like little kids in a principal's office.

As we headed off, he made sure to give each one of us the eye.

They pump music into the main room from a CD player somewhere in the back office. When you work out that late, it's almost guaranteed that you'll be listening to songs from the private collection of the person who is working that night. It's not really a big deal to me one way or another what song is playing, but don't think I didn't crack a secret smile when the Third Eye Blind started skipping and a familiar angry voice in the back started shouting, "Shit, Shit, Shit!"

          Bad cop. No Creatine.


Wednesday, August 7

I Just Watched



Tuesday, August 6

The Things I Do For Money

One of the sites I was called upon to build today was for a Chicago company that specializes in the planning and promotion of something called a Desi Party. I had never heard of this, and found myself sort of at a loss when it came to creating their site.

So I jumped on the web to do a little research, and it turns out that Desi is a Hindu word that loosely translates to mean "homeboy." Desi parties are these huge throwdowns held all over the country primarily for Americans of South Asian decent. Sort of like Indian, Bangladeshi, Pakistani, and Sri Lankan-only raves.

From everything I was reading, it sounded like a pretty good time.

But it was also pretty apparent that reading about them was more or less the extent of what I would get to do. Not that I wouldn't be allowed in if I tried to go (I suppose), but more of the sort of awareness that this really isn't for me at all.

I'm not being excluded; I'm just not a part of it.

It's the same feeling that arises when your wife reads the comic strip "Cathy" in the newspaper and literally doubles over in laughter; but when you look at it you have no idea where the joke is at all.

     Strong enough for a man, but... well, you know.

So I go on reading articles, trying to get an idea of how to approach writing copy for this company. I learned about "ABCD's" and "F.O.B.'s," and found myself inundated with tons of lingo and information. Pretty interesting stuff, actually.

But when I tried to put it all together, everything I wrote sounded like "Ice, Ice, Baby."

               Peep this all you fly F.O.B.'s and ABCD's
               Get on down to the Desi party, yahherdme?
              Word to the mizzother!


Eventually I sort of took the middle ground and wrote something about the company's services, something professional and straight. It's what my boss would want me to do, although I would have a hard time imagining the client liking it all that much.

     I swear to god, I've never sounded like such a honky in my entire life

Thursday, August 1

Sexy... kinda

Although it was a long day at work followed by a trip to the mall with the wife and sis-n-law to shop for hair, purses, and conversation about hair and purses; I've sort of realized that nothing overwhelmingly exciting happened to me today.

Work went by, I came home, did the mall thing, and then came back home again.

     Just before I sat down to write this I was eating a popsicle
     while watching a Mamie Van Doren movie in my underwear.

Only now, as I finish typing this do I realize just how really, really weird that must have sounded.

     Good popsicle, though.


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