Wednesday, May 31, 2006

So, it's past Tuesday. Tuesday was the day I would know if things would be better or so I thought.

I got no word but there is nothing I can do about it.

It's not my shit; it's not my fan.

I've taken up ducking.

The rumor still is whispered that he's the fastest gun around, most folks don't doubt it when they first hear it, because they've heard the legend, but eventually, they want proof.

"He's fast and that's no joke." Someone will confirm. He'll never say a word. If they don't believe the stories as told by others, they won't believe him.

"He doesn't seem too fast anymore. I think he's lost it."

"That's what they all have said."

He wishes the legend would die.


There a battle against quietness.

Noise feeds off of noise.

Loud becomes louder.

A lone voice becomes voices

A talk becomes an argument

A melody becomes a maelstrom

I wish for a whisper
I try to keep my crazy tethered. My crazy is sometimes like a dog that likes to chase cars and my sanity is like the dog's owner that knows he has a dog that likes to chase cars. When a car is coming, my sanity will start saying "Stay" and "I know there is a car coming but don't chase it" and usually that will work but at other times my sanity is off shooting the breeze with my pride or something and forgets to watch out for the coming cars.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

pre-smoked mirrors

"Not for nothing but why in the world would you have gone back?"

"I have this image to uphold. When I went back, once I was seen I was told to leave, so I got credit for being there the whole day. If I didn't go back it would have only been half a day. It's all just for show."
sometimes it seems I try to turn my lemonade back into lemons
I got to leave early, twice. The first time I was told, I wasn’t certain if it was for real so I just left for a long lunch when I returned I was told to go home, so I left.

I didn’t go home; I joined some friends to celebrate the long weekend with a beer or two. On the third beer, my cell phone rang. I was asked to go to the second job.

I was not certain what would happen at the second job because what was request was not possible. I had been putting of the impossible but you can only put off things so long.

I was greeted at the office and then told in hushed tones that the owner was unhappy. I wondered if she was angry with me.

I delayed a little when I got to my desk, hoping that some inspiration would save me from my dilemma. No inspiration came, so I just did what was requested even though I knew it was foolhardy.

I walked my foolhardiness down to the owner’s office.

“We’re gonna have problems with these ones” I said as I placed the files on her desk. She seemed unfazed which was a good sign. She told me of some plan she had for fixing the company’s current problem, and it was just four days away. I could wait that long.

“How are you doing?” I asked her.

“Smoking my brains out. How are you?”

“Wishing I was smoking my brains out.”

Things should work out. I’ll know Tuesday.

Friday, May 26, 2006

I'm finding mistakes. Things that used to happen automatically, involuntarily, are not happening.

Involuntary like breathing not like against my will.

It is tough to remember to breathe when you haven't been remembering for your whole prior life.

or most of your prior life

There are times, I'll slow my breathing with the hopes of slowing my thinking. I'll focus on the in and then the out and then when I wish to go back to the automatic breathes there is always that moment that I worry that my lungs will not start back up on their own which is usually followed by my worry of forgetting how to breathe.

When I was young, I used to have this obsessive habit of swallowing. I would swallow every twenty seconds or so, if I wasn't preoccupied with something else. One time after a preoccupation, I forgot what my obsessive habit was; I remembered that there was one; I remembered that it had something to do with my throat. I started to feel nauseous. I remember waiting it out in the bathroom for either vomit or remembrance. I remember the feeling of being deprived of something that I felt was necessary for life. I felt the chance of death but for a six year old I thought I handled it well.

I remember thinking about asking my parents for help but I knew that I would never be able to explain what my current problem was.

The imagined conversation went something like the following.

"Yeah, there's this thing I do all the time and I've forgot how to do it and now I feel like I'm going to throw up and I think if I don't remember how to do it I might pass out and die."

"Well, Timmy, what kind of thing was it?" my father would ask.

"It was something with my throat. I don't really remember. If I knew what it was I would be doing it right now. I need help."

"We would like to help but how would we know what it is when you don't even know what it is."

I would then just walk away because dad was right. How could I expect him to know what my problem was when I didn't know what my problem was?

"Come back when you have more information. We're here to help." I would hear him call as I slumped away.

Once I finally remembered, I tried to catch up with all the swallowing I missed.

Somewhere between then and now I stopped swallowing.

or at least I think I have.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

I needed cash. I didn't have cash but I did have traveler's checks. I signed where I was supposed to have already signed when I received the check; I made the check payable to me and then flipped it over to confirm what the information said on the back before I signed it again. The back states something like for payment the person giving you the check has to sign it in front you. The plan was to deposit the traveler's check into my checking account but I nearly had to pass an American Express office so I went there first.

"Can I cash this?"

"Is this your signature?"

"Yes, both are and that's my name, printed. I wrote it to myself."

"I can't cash it unless I see you sign it."

I was half expecting a no answer but not for that reason so I asked "Even if it's made out to me?"


"But those are my signatures, I made it out to me and I can assure you I signed it in front of me, like the back says."

The guy next to her heard the commotion and told her to have me sign the back and if the signatures matched to give me my money, which she then did.
He would never ask his question directly; he would always precede the question that he actually wanted answered by several other questions or statements.

"How are you doing?"

"How was your day?"

"Do you always take the subway to work?

"Do you buy a pass or use tokens?"

"I buy a pass but I lost this month's so I have to buy tokens."

"My ATM card isn't working."

"I thought I had an extra token but I don't"

"Can I borrow two dollars?"

Stuff like that

If you want two dollars, just ask for the two dollars.

Anyway, one day he asked a question when I was very busy.

"Is that your real question?" I asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Is that the question you really want to ask or is there some other question? What's the last question you want to ask? Can we just jump to that one?"

He got a little bit mad but I did get the question quicker.
the talk was about bathroom breaks at work

"If they started counting when I go, I'd keep a jar at my desk."
"you are normal. so normal in fact that I might puke! can I have your life for one second?"

Amanda said that to me in an email.

sometimes my normality causes me guilt
It bothers me when my charm fails me.

If you asked me to describe myself, I would probably start off serious and end up ridiculous. Charming would be on the second half of the list.

I wouldn't admit to it but I do bank on it.

"Can't you see my honest appeal? There must be something wrong with you. Maybe you missed it. Let me show you again."


The cable was out for most of yesterday. The cable company was called and an appointment scheduled for two days hence. I lamented the lack of cable. What was I going to do without the TV for two days? I remember calling the company bastards because there were things I needed to see.

Later, the cable came back on. I was relived when I could finally surf the channels again but that was short lived because I soon realized that whether the cable was working or not there was still the same thing to watch.

Or, so I originally thought. At least when the cable was out, my mind wasn't being polluted by others.


"I don't believe it and what's up with that music there? And what's up with the narration? Isn't having her addressing the court enough of a clue to let us know she gets to address the court?"

And then later they showed Marie Antoinette getting guillotined "And so ended the life of Marie Antoinette" the narrator told us.

Oh, Yeah? Really? I thought most people survived being beheaded.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

I picked up the phone. It was someone I was familiar to. It was someone I was not too familiar with. What was known, narrowed down the choices of all the known voices. Fortunately, I didn't have to commit to a name until I had a match.

but I don't think I even used it.


I had not a clue as to what I was doing so, I walked in and flashed my charm.

She flashed back a smile which involved the whole of her face.

Things would be okay.


"The kids were talking about that the other day, if they had your color eyes."

"Why are there two 6002's?"

"Are you looking for 6002?"


"Then don't worry about it."


"Here because you're good. You're helpful."

He handed me a gold metal ring, which looked more like a disk with a whole through the middle; there was a cross at the top and the rest of the ring was encircled with little round balls which sat at the end of stubby stems, I think there was ten of them.

"There are a few of us around." I said as I looked at his gift. " I just think that's the way to be."

"That's good. Don't change. Do you know what that is?"


"It's a hand rosary. I'll pray for you."

"Thanks. I can use all the prayers I can get."

I walked around with the trinket in my pocket, trying to remember what it is that I believe.

"Here, I thought if anyone needs God, it's you." I said as I later handed the rosary to Lauren.

so much for being good
The parts of the plan I did not like:

The check and the application would only meet at the end.
I would be dropping off an application for a process I was unfamiliar with.
One person was to pick up the application, hand it to another person and then hand it to me.
I did not know the phone numbers and/or names of half of the people involved in the plan.
One person was without a cell phone.
The person orchestrating the whole thing would be not only out of town but out of country.

What went wrong with the plan:

I was stuck at a desk all day when normally I'm not.
I was not handed the application in the morning.
I was not handed the application in the afternoon.
I was not handed the application.
I was stuck holding the check for the fee and had no application.
The person with the application was stuck with the application and no check for the fee.
I could not call the person with the application because he did not have a cell phone.
The check was worthless without the application.
The application was worthless without the check for the fee.
The person orchestrating the whole thing was unable to be reached.

Miscellaneous wrong:

I was told I could skip out early because I did the company a solid but could not skip out because I was waiting for an application that never arrived.
My coffee went cold.
Four printers or copiers were out of paper
there was other stuff but who cares
I was just standing around when I was incorporated into the plan. When I heard the plan being explained it seemed like I was a part of it from the start; a rather critical part, the last part, the part that might require me to ask for favors on behalf of people I do not even know.

Hell, I don't even ask favors for myself.

"You can do that right, Tim?"

Hell yeah, I can do it but...

I shrugged my shoulders and wanted to leave it at that but the parties involved wanted something more committal so I threw in a "Yeah, I guess."

I did not like the plan there were too many people involved when it was not necessary for that many people to be involved and one person had to depend on another person, all it would take to bring the plan to a halt would be for just one of many to screw up.

And someone screwed up.
"writers write"

I'm a little surprised there are as many words in this space as there are.

I've read a few books on writing, not to hone my skills but to try to figure out why I write. I would argue that I like typing more than writing, I like putting pen to paper more than conveying things with words; the trouble is with both typing and the physical act of writing one needs words.

A majority of the books I've read on writing suggest that one just write, write anything, write everything, write without abandon.

I had an English teacher who had a similar theory for reading. Just read, read anything, eventually you'll want to read something good.

I'm not to the point where I wish to write something good.

I know this guy who I have heard is working on a book. I have a slight desire to beat him to the presses, so to say.

I would rather share a dollar draft beer with a friend than to sit down to a five course meal with someone trying to enlighten me with their cultured pearls of wisdom.

Maybe I'll entitle the book "Cultured Pearls of Wisdom" and it will be about some pompous ass who hasn't a clue about living life but yet he spouts off about how others should live. I think he'll have a doctorates degree: Dr. Pompass.

There will also be a character who likes to point out the follies in others while he himself goes seemingly folly free because he cares not to try anything other than to try to prove people wrong or their achievements insignificant: Mr. Killjoy.
So, that's over.

I would say 'keep the faith' but I don't have any faith in that.

I weary in well doing and I'm pretty much sick of the stupid stuff too.

I want to get a dog but only for a month, and then a weekend or two. There should be a place where you could rent a pet.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

I send a bit of a mixed message. At times, I'll say "I ain't nothing much" but at other times I'll act as if I'm invincible.

Today I was stuck at a desk, normally I am stuck at a deck but I can come and go as I please. Today I was stuck at a desk and I couldn't come and go as I please because I was covering for someone else. My day to cover for someone else was supposed to be the next day but sometimes life likes to mess around with your shit.

I hung tough. I did what was needed and then I did what was added on.

"Do you mind?" I was asked.

"Hell! Yeah, I do mind but I'll do it anyway." It was all a bit of marketing.

I was already screwed, I might as well get something out of it. I made it look like I was a martyr.

I was waiting at the bar trying to slow go it but then a bit of a challenge was presented, one of the bartenders came out to my side of the bar.

The timing sucked because Kai had just walked in so it was Dave, Kia, and myself. We were referred to as the big three. I don't know of a different set that will drink more of the hard liquor than us. Usually, there are just two of us at a time but today there were the three but alas the timing was off…

feel free to write the rest yourself

it's not that I think I'm indestructible.

"it's easy to be brave when you're indestructible." I learnt that from Captain Scarlet.

fuck, learnt is a word.

I think I’m impervious. I think I'm survivable. I think I can over come. Trouble is, my arrogance is a powerful source.

Mostly what I mean by that is: I can drink a lot.

I slightly amazed that I used that colon properly, or at least I think I did.

Tequila and Vodka and beer. Oh, my.

I've never seen a Shirley Temple movie.

So, I was going to link a link to Captain Scarlet so I opened up google and in the box I typed google, I meant to type Captain Scarlet.

Meant is a word but it ain't as funny as learnt.

so, for shits and giggles I googled google, I thought maybe the universe would collapse or something but I just get a bunch of google stuff.

I actually didn't think that, the best I thought would be some eternal loop but I knew that wouldn't happen either.

I wonder what this post will look like tomorrow.

So, it was the twins birthday yesterday. So, it was me, Lady G's mom, Lady G, her stepdad, Little g and the twins.

"Tim, drinks." she said to her mom

"Tim. You drink?"

'Hell, yeah. I drink' is what crossed my mind but what I said was a sheepish "Yes".

Her dad and her dead ex husband was an abusive drunk.

I've read a few book on writing mainly to try to figure out why I write, most of them say to just write, write everything, write always. I would add write with a few in you. Booze tends to quiet the inner critic.

Sometimes, I know what I'm doing, like up there when I typed 'she said to her mom.' That's a more personal statement than 'Lady G said to her mother', which is a more precise statement but it's colder than I wanted. I wanted a more familiar feel, like 'who the heck else would I be talking about?' like you've known me awhile.

"Don't treat your reader like an idiot" is a paraphrased statement from one of those books. When I go long, I tend to over explain. I apologize.

Most of my readers are smarter than me, except for those searching for a video clip of some damn joke on altavista

Part of tonight is brought to you by Stoli's new blueberry Vodka.

"I don't like the blueberry" she said to me.

"The blueberry tastes like straight vodka" Danielle added. I smiled at her and then turned to my left.

I turned to Lauren's friend and said "I don't like it either but when I said I didn't like it she gave me shit. I said it didn't taste too much like blueberry."

Add booze critic to the list

Saturday, May 20, 2006

"Are you staying?"

"No. I gotta go." and then I looked around at the crowded bar "I don't think I'm needed here any more."

"I need you. You're the place I go when I'm tired of the assholes. I need you Mondays and Wednesdays."

"I'll still be around."

"I love you." I heard her say, genuinely sweet, as she checked to make certain she was getting all the beer rings to my left. Usually, when I hear those words the defenses go up but this time they didn't. I knew there was no danger in hearing her say that to me.

"I love you too, Danielle, but could I get what I owe."

"Timmy, but I don't think you owe anything" she said just as sweetly but with a slight hint as if she was trying to explain something to a child for the third time, as she walked to the register. I watched her as she checked the open tabs. "Nothing" she said as she returned and I wondered if the guy next to me heard it. I wondered if he was a little perplexed at how I could have bought him a beer and not have had a bill to pay. I resisted my desire to look at him.

I had cash in hand and started to look for a ten to leave as a tip and I was reprimanded for it, so I just said "Thank you" as I stepped away and out the door.
I overheard that some of the bartenders are listed on myspace.

I did some snooping.

I found four bartenders' and a manager's site. I haven't decided on how to use this information yet.


I'll listen to anyone, once.

Some people talk because they wish to share parts of their life.

Some people talk because they are trying to work through some issues.

Some people talk because they want attention.

Some people talk because they don't want to feel alone.

Some people talk because they don't value your time.

I usually listen more than I'll talk

I usually do not have much to say

I usually can say more with less words

I usually worry that I'll sound too much like what I usually hear.


I hear him complain about the thorns on his rose

I think about those who only have the thorns

I trace the scar on my right hand

I think even I been through worse

I think I haven't had it bad

I think I have a better clue than him

I think about the clues I'm missing


"Okay? Timothy" she didn't wait for an answer. "Does anybody call you Timothy?"

I started thinking.

"Your mother?" she asked

"No, not often. But there is someone who calls me that all the time. I forget who." I went back to thinking. It was someone familiar but at the moment forgotten.

"Timothy's a good name."

I nodded in agreement

"I almost named my son that."

I nodded in acknowledgement

"So, who calls you Timothy?"

"I forget" but I think it's someone who knows I don't live up to my potential.


"Life is easy, it's the living that can be hard" I said

"Death is easy, it's the dying that can be hard" she said


even my demons have gotten fat and lazy
In the olden days I would have deleted everything except:

She's not bold or brave. She's controlled by the wind and the whispers.

The note said that she would like something different and her change of mind came from second thought. If she had spoken her request, I may have asked some questions, like "Who said they didn't like it?"

She's not bold or brave. She's controlled by the wind and the whispers.

I didn't disagree with her but I would have argued the point. The invite ended up being printing on one side of a half sheet of regular paper. It looked fine and was technically correct but it seemed to be a mere imposter to the true invitation.

She requested a quarter sheet size with text centered right down the middle and on the flip side of the card stock, she requested the three business logos. Her suggestion was for something more like was done last time for the Fall.

I first was angry, after all who is she to question me, who is she to question my art. Her request would require twice the print time and three times the amount of cuts. I wanted to strengthen my resolve to change. I even tried. But truth was I didn't like the original invitation either.

I made the decision to change the invite and to include all her suggestions but to make it so plain that the recipient would think no more of it than some forgotten innocuous dream.

I opened the file to the original invite, saved it as version two and then stripped all the style away. What was left was crammed into a border half the size of the original. I then went to work on the back side and in the process of making it forgettable, I was left with something basic, something casual, something summertime.

"Delete it!" my anger yelled but my anger knew the shout was in vain. My anger knows when it's only a partner in my decision making, that my sense of morality wins out.

I moved the basic design to the front side and formatted the text to inhabit the new space. I then went back and finished the second side.

I printed and cut 120 invitations. I knew she would need more but she had not given me a quantity, I was making a point. The trouble was that we were running out of time, I put off making the invites for two weeks before I showed her anything and it took her a week to say she wanted something different. "A hundred and twenty isn't going to be enough," the words were lobbed from some dark corner of my mind and landed on that pile of guilt which sits under the only source of illumination. It was a good shot, the words landed right on top and then I watched then slowly slithered down, glistening under the harsh light.

So, there I was at yet another crossroad, one road went high while the other went low. I had just taken an uphill walk with the design. I felt I was due a low road. But I couldn't quite put myself above the job to the point of risking task to fail. More invites were needed, and I was the only one that could print them out, I really had no choice. I printed out another batch which would bring the finished total to two hundred and sixty, enough to start the mailing, if more where needed for handing out, there would still be time.

But still I was questioned, regardless whether it was right or wrong, regardless of a better product being produced, I needed to express my dismay, I needed to send a message.

I left the second batch uncut.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

It's so hot I'm sweating my man boobs off

She was walking down the hallway as I was checking the plotter which was having difficulties printing out someone else's job. I'll fix the plotter when it acts up because I'm a team player but sometimes the fix comes when I feel like it.

"Did you miss me yesterday?"

"I didn't even know you were out."

"I find that hard to believe. I'll ask around."

"Be my guest."


I was having an email conversation with a yankee who married a southerner. She mentioned something that happened while visiting down South.

"My sister-in-law insinuated that I was infertile, since I haven't gotten pregnant yet, and suggested that I adopt."

"It would have been great if you said 'So, I take it that have you seen him cum, lately'”

Now I want to write that scene into a something.


So, I'm a little bit worried with all the hits that little clip of me telling a joke gets. You see my goal is not to be popular because there is a certain amount of freedom in anonymity, which is one of the reasons I don't post the name of my home town a lot, the same goes for the local sports team, or my place of employment, or my favorite bar. I don't care if people reading this site know all that about me but I don't want people who know me to read this site, or at least not without me know it.

Even though all my posts are 'most likely fish stories', people can and will read things the wrong way. I would rather all my offenses be purposeful and if folks that know me read this stuff, I'm concerned that I will offend them on accident.

And if anyone that knows me does read this site and does take offense, I'll be glad to discuss it because maybe they are a retard and it will be good to get it out in the open.

"I don't like they way you're doing me." I wait to hear.

"So, don't be that way." I wait to say. But then I'll add "I'm just joking." I make everyone sound like an ass even when I'm writing about myself. I like pointing out the other side of the story, the side people aren't talking about. I'm the type of guy that points out the thorns on the rose, but I'll also point out that sometimes the thorny things have roses.


We were talking about places where we used to go but have since closed. One place was a bar and grill where you could get a decent steak, fries and a salad for six bucks. One of the guys stated that it had been run by the mob.

"You know, nobody ever said anything, that I heard, but I always got the feeling that at any moment someone could come busting through the door with machine guns, when I was there."


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

documented waste

So, another day began with me not wanting to get out of bed. It usually comes down to a span of two minutes, the do or die point which is actually just a matter of being late.

I used to be at least fifteen minutes early everyday but after a few years, my Johnny-on-the-spottedness, was replaced with tardiness, it got to a time when I would show up twenty minutes late. Eventually, my lateness was like a cavity on my soul, rotting a hole into my very being, so I started showing up on time. I'm usually at my desk ten minutes before hand, if the trains are running properly.

The problem is, I get personal days, I get four of them a year, on top of sick time, on top of vacation days, on top of thirteen paid holidays. Personal days are just a phone call away and they don't count against my attendance record; personal days are very tempting carrots dangling within reach every gloomy day.

Anyway, in the morning, I'll watch the clock, I try to get out of bed by ten past six, by 6:12AM there will be a good chance I'll be late, or later than I wish to be. Freedom from the work day, just ten numbers on the cellphone away has become a great temptation as of late, especially at 6:10AM.

On the days I battle with that one simple phone call, I'll question myself, I'll question my merit. "Has work got you beat?" I'll ask myself. I won't answer because I know the answers and other questions that would follow, if work has gotten to me it's because I let it, it's my own damn fault. In such cases, I'll shut the internal dialog down and throw my legs over the side the bed.

"That was easy, wasn't it?" will be asked and be unanswered.

"I don't know why you just don't do that to begin with; it would save a lot of time and drama." will be stated and ignored, except for the quiet thought of 'What a nag'

If the feeling of escape still persists when I get to work, I'll fill out a vacation request form for two days hence; usually by lunch I'll tear it up.

Although, this past Monday, the form survived, I'm taking tomorrow off. It should be the first day that it doesn't rain since half past forever. We'll see if I can make it to the roof to vanquish new found leaks.

Or at least poke the bear of my fear of heights with a stick.


I'll most always look at the trolley drivers as the train rolls past, usually none of them are recognized, infrequently one is. The Louis Vuitton handbag in the window was a telltale clue, while I fought with the glare on the window to confirm my suspicion. She didn't notice I got on. I walked to the front and poked my head around the partition and waited.

"Hey, baby! You come to visit me?"

"Yeah. I've missed you."

She stood up and gave me a hug as the train made a small lurch forward. I looked over her shoulder at the controls and wondered if she should be attending any of those switches. She held me long and tight. I guessed I didn't need to worry about the switches.

We talked about Mother's Day, Little g and the twins, cars and trucks, and trips to Bermuda. I rode with her past my stop and five others, if I stayed longer my monthly pass would not suffice for the return trip.

I got off her train and crossed the tracks to complete my round trip. I got on the second car of the two car train. I stood where the two halves of the car meet, ear plugs in place, listening to Neko Case, I settled in and looked around like a usually do.

There was a mix of passengers and one I recognized. I walked to the stairwell in front of where she sat, stretched out over the two seat bench.

"Tim! I didn't know you where on the train."

"I just got on. I was just riding with your mom and got off at Fenway."

We talked about a couple things. I asked her which stop was hers, she told me and then said it was a ten minute walk from there to her house.

"Ten minutes?!" I asked.


"Ten minutes is a lot of time to walk. Ten minutes if you're walking slow, maybe." I said which caused her schoolmate sitting behind her, also stretched out over two seats, to laugh, but she stuck to her ten minutes and I relented that maybe with all the waiting to cross the two major intersections if could possible be ten minutes.


He'll come in from working in the field the whole morning and linger around my desk. He'll linger because he wants to unload whatever it is that's on his mind, I'm his repository for daily experiences. Normally, I don't mind; I like the interruption but there are other times when I've been trudging through the mundane bullshit trying to keep my head above it and finally obtain a level of equilibrium and I will not want to be yanked from it. He'll come in and want me to listen to his tale of woe, he'll want attention, he'll want to be heard. I'll ignore his look-at-me ways, "You've left me to fend for myself, now you do the same" I'll want to say but, eventually, I'll crack and lend a wary ear.


"What about a circle template, now."

What no 'how do you do?' I thought as I pulled opened my desk drawer and reach for the circle template.
"No, not the big one."

The circle template I had in hand is for circles down to 1/16th of an inch. "If you're drawing any smaller, you're drawing dots."

"How do I know this is yours?"

"I bought it."

"But how do I know. It doesn't have your name on it? Do you have a receipt?"

"No, I don't have a receipt."

"Why do you have two?"

"Because that one was here when I got here but then someone took it so I bought another one and then that one was returned."

"How do I know this one isn't mine?"

"Because I'll telling you it mine."

"But how do I know?"

"Because if you take it, I'll knife you in the back."

"Is that a threat?"

"Do you fell threatened? It's more of warning."

"I do. I think I'll tell the boss."

"What are you going to tell him, 'John, Tim's going stab me if I steal his things'?"


"Look what we got in" she said as she pointed to the Stoli blueberry.

"I've heard a lot of talk about that. Emily had plans to bring it in in water bottles on Thursday if you didn't have it by then."

"Someone brought us in a bottle Saturday night.."

The rest of the story was how the manger made a drink and then marked the level of Vodka with a pen and then later hide the bottle and then the rest of the night was spent trying to find ways to get the blueberry Vodka until finally the manager let them drink it.

"Want to try some?"

"Sure" I said

"If you have some, you'll be addicted and then you'll be here everyday."

"I'll be here everyday? I find that hard to believe."

"You will be. Believe it" She poured two chilled shots.

"So what do you think?"

"I don't know." I said after I took a sip and then knocked the rest back. "I'm not too impressed. It's not very blueberry-ee."

"You're a waste."

Could be.

She told me she was broken up with her boyfriend for real this time and that she spent two hundred and fifty dollars on Red Sox / Yankee tickets. "I get like that at times like this" she explained. She also mentioned her phone which she has been without since Friday, when she dropped it into a trash bucket that had a good amount of liquid in it. "I called my insurance because I couldn't get the phone I wanted. It was going to cost four hundred and fifty"

"I thought you were in a spending mood?" I said and received the hint of a glare before she squelched it. "Not in that much of a mood, I guess. We told Dave about your phone. You gave him a laugh that day."

"So is he coming back in then?"

"I don't think so."

"Does he think he can just walk back in and I'm going to kiss his ass?"

"I don't think he wants you to kiss his ass. Just don't be mean to him"

"If he does come back, I'm going to ask him why he has to be such a baby."

"See, now why do you have to be mean?"

"Why does he have to be such a baby? He's forty years old and he's acting like a baby. Why do we have treat him different than everyone else? You keep coming back."

"Dave's a sensitive guy."

"I'm sensitive too."

"But you don't show it here too much. Dave's not quite right is the head, sometimes."


"I don't know. Maybe he was dropped as an infant or maybe his mother drank while she was carrying him."

"She'd have to have done more than drinking to get him like that."

"It's just easier. It's just easier if he's here with us. It's just easier to go along with him."

"He's a baby."

Monday, May 15, 2006


What was I going to say?

forget it, whatever it was

Mother's day or is it Mothers' Day?

I'm going with Mother's Day.

So, Mother's Day, there I am with my mom and two of my sisters riding around Sunday morning.

"So, what do you want to do for Mother's Day, mom?"

"I don't have any plans."

ya, know what?

the ensuing dialog is too boring to type so I'll cut to the chase. It was 11:05AM and we ended up at the Outback Steakhouse. My mom ordered the swordfish on special, I got a steak and a baked potato. We were the first ones through the door. The steak was overdone. I no longer believe the Outback Steakhouse is a good value. We did get great service however. It was close to twenty bucks an entree, for twenty five you can go to a fine restaurant.

The point of this story is that I was eating steak and a baked potato at 11AM.


It's been raining everyday for the past two weeks, after taking mom out, and after I finished at the second job, I went downtown.

"Oh my God, it's Timmy."

"Hey, how are things?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was worried that no one would be here so I came by."

After she had poured me a beer she walked around the bar and sat next to me "It's been dead in here. There is no way I'm going to make any money. I've spent most of my time sitting right here. I'm so tired"

I don't get to see much of her anymore, our schedules don't meet as well as they used to and when we do see each other, she usually asks me to drop by on Sunday. So, on this Sunday I dropped by.

We talked about old times and current things.

It was good seeing her.


"Did you go back Friday?" Joe asked

"No. I had to get my truck. But I was there yesterday."

"Who works Sundays?"


"Emily just might be the prettiest one there."

"What brought you Downtown?" Dave asked.

"Emily" Joe said.

I just smiled


We get the same requests over and over again, there really isn't anything new under the Sun, working where we do.

"When did we do that? Three or four years ago?"

"I would guess four" I said.

I found the paperwork.

"That's unbelievable, huh? That we did that that long ago."

"Yeah, it's almost seven years."

"It's almost scary. Where does the time go?"


So, there is a new top to the bar. The old one was wood and worn. The new one is solid black granite. Three different bartenders and a manager have all asked me what I thought about the new top to the bar.

"I like it but I miss that lip that the wood one had, it would keep the beer from hitting your lap when someone knocked a glass over. But this is way better looking, I'll just have to be quicker, or people will have to be more careful."


"You got a square template?"

I paused while trying to think up some smartass remark but nothing was coming so I just said "Yeah"

"I used to have one but someone stole it."

"It wasn't me." I said as I handed him a square template that had someone else's initials on it.

"This isn't even yours."

"I stole it far and square." Most of my equipment, I bought, but some other things have gravitated to my desk and then there are still other things that I have saved from the trash. I haven't stolen anything. "If you find anything with a CM on it, you're welcome to take it."

"What about this? Do I return it to Eddie or to you?"


Sunday, May 14, 2006

"You see things as yes or no."

"That's not true" I said

"Isn't it true?" my younger sister deferred to my youngest sister.

"Yes, it is."

"If you think that, than you should start reading my poetry."

"Then you should start writing your poetry."

If she had said right or wrong, or black or white I would have had a better argument but when it does come down to yes or no, or more specifically, do or don't, I do think there is only one answer.

For the most part

and sometimes that answer hurts

Friday, May 12, 2006

the long version

The thought only took a half a second but...

My thoughts come in letterbox and usually there are at least three camera angles.

"Wow, where'd that come from?" I asked myself, for some reason I looked up from the keyboard and at the last word I typed and then read it aloud but to myself - deadline. In a flash I saw it as a short film.

I was standing alone next to a long black line. The line had no visible end, it looked about two inches wide but it would probably measure wider, black is a sliming color. I was standing in a desert encircled by a far off mountain range, it was windy, dust was blowing all around but no dust ever settled on the line, the line always shone sharp and flat black. The line seemed to hum but in actuality there was no noise, not even the noise of the wind. I thought about making some noise just to see if I could but I didn't dare to try, finding out that even sound couldn't pass by the Deadline would be more than I wanted to know.

The camera angle was from behind me and about at knee level. The line was to my right, about a foot away, the evening sun shone from the other side of the line, just above the mountain range, so I must have been facing south. I was in a white shirt that was billowing to my left in the wind, which was odd because the dust was blowing to my right. There must have been an upper and a lower wind. I wore black jeans but the black looked gray compared to the line.

The line started from the right of the letterboxed formatted screen, the line looked thicker due to the proximity to the camera. It disappeared from view about a quarter width of the screen from the left side. The camera was close to the line but the viewer could tell that it wasn't too close, the cameraman would have been a fool to put the camera any closer or at least that's what the director wanted to portray. "This ain't no movie. That's the real Deadline" is what was written in the margin of the screenplay that corresponded to this point in the movie. I think there may have even been an exclamation point.

I turned to face the line and thought "So, this is the line" which meant the famous and feared Deadline. When referring to the Deadline, it was always spelled as one word but always said as two. I took a half a step towards the line.

The camera angle changed to a 'through my eyes' shot, the screen was filled with what I could see as I looked down. I could see a pair of dusty black squared toed cowboy boots, the part just before the shaft. An inch in front of the square toe, was the line. The line before seemed to have some sort of mass, it seemed like one could touch it but looking down on it, at this new angle, it seemed to be a void which bisected the Earth.

The view then changed as if I looked to the left, right down the line which traveled further than I could see. "It has no end" I remember thinking. I was looking for signs of death: bones, decaying bodies, I was looking to confirm what I knew about the line, that nothing ever lands on it, nothing living ever passes over, but there weren't any signs of death. I questioned how I knew that such a thing was true, I knew it as if I had witnessed it a thousand times but I could not remember ever seeing it happen or in this case not happen, but then I wouldn't have because this was the first time I was actually at the line. The legend of the line repeated in my head "Nothing on, nothing over."

If you touched the line you would die. If you tried to pass over the line you would die. The death would be instant, immediate, definite. Everyone talks about deadlines, it seems like deadlines are everywhere but in actuality there is only one Deadline and I was standing at it. People would come to the Deadline for different reasons but they would never some by choice. Everyone would see the Deadline at least once, there would always be that one time in everyone's life where all their lived life leads them to the line and forced them over it. There are also those times where some people just put themselves in a situation that leads them to the line unnecessarily. In either case the Deadline is just as final.

I wondered why people feared the line as much as they do, there I was standing right at it. I thought it no big deal but granted I really only wished to met the line once. The view changed to one above and a little to my right, looking down, you could see my whole profile, from the top of my head looking down at the line. I mocked people's fear of the line with a one syllable laugh, but then I was just visiting the line, I wasn't required to be there, it wasn't my time for the line. Just then the wind stopped blowing and I almost pushed myself over the line, I hadn't realized how much I was fighting the wind until it stopped, until I almost fell over the line.

Things got quickly serious and I heard the line say "Who's laughing now" or at least that's what I thought I heard the still deathly quiet line say.

I took a full step back from the line. The angle changed to what was the first view, only now I was one full step from the line and facing it. I stood for a moment, letting out a deep breathe, trying to not let the line know I was letting out a deep breathe, I turned a little more than halfway to my left and walked away, kind of along the line but also slightly away from it.

Then a fade to white.

"Thems a lot of words" I said to myself. I'll often use bad English when I talk to myself, profanity too.

The posts seem to be getting longer and coming in bunches but I guess three really isn't a bunch. My routine has changed due to my internet access.

The posts I like best are on the short side, under three hundred words, with a twist at the end. When's the last time I wrote one of those?

I think I might go back to just writing the point of the story. Or maybe I'll have two versions of the same post: the long, and the short. I think I actually have done that twice. When I think of something to write, it usually starts off as some little nugget of a thing and I'll build around it, sometimes I build too much. I'll be typing away and usually what gets me first is the amount of time I've spent typing, not so much the amount of words. I'll scroll back to see how far I have gone and guess where I will finish. Often I'll think it's too much so I'll start the revised short version at the end of the long and then go back and delete the long. When I get lazy only the long version gets typed.
So, Ken called me just like he said he would. Ken's my mechanic as of Tuesday.

"Tim, your truck is all set."

I was surprised I thought I was days away from getting my truck back and I was planning to rent a car (my warranty covers rentals, just not the convention fee attached to rentals).

"Hey, that's great."

"Yeah, that computer came in today so we were able to finish. It's just a little bit over what I quoted you. I think I quoted $497 but it's actually $512.31."

"That's still okay."

"Yeah, Chrysler is paying $1600."

"That's even better. Thanks, Ken."

When I bought the truck I took them up on their offer to extend the warranty until my loan was up. I have eleven more payments on a sixty payment loan. To extend the warranty, it cost me $400 dollars.

So I'm up $1200. I think that means I win. I should have told Ken.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

the line was like its own comic book character and all I did was type deadline

I was at the bar only the bar room seemed to be more of a daycare center with a bar. There were young children every where playing with rubber balls and plastic toys and most likely those colored wooden blocks.

I was there with my two of my sisters but I couldn't tell you which of my four sisters was the second one with me. We had to step over the kids to get to the bar. Lana was the bartender. She set us up with beers.

"Everyone has to leave soon because we're shooting a movie in the next room" she said.

And then we were shown to the door.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" my sister asked me.

I remember thinking "Yeah, I can get us back in but I don't like asking for favors such as that" but my sister wanted to prove that her brother had some pull. So, after everyone had left I asked Lana to let me and my sisters back in and that we would just stand off to the side and not be a bother. Lana let us back in with no trouble at all.

After we left the bar, we were walking somewhere. The somewhere was a definite place but just like that second sister I couldn't identify it specifically. I guess it was unimportant to the dream. A family dog was with us, a cocker-poo. The dog in real life, had black curly hair but in this dream she looked like she had patches of her fur bleached white and then dyed orange and it wasn't done well. In our traveling there were things to climb over and I would have to pick the dog up and pass her over whatever it was and she would always snap at me. She never was actually able to bite me but I snarling flailing dog is not easy to pass over a fence, and every time right before I would have to lift her up she would defecate right in front of me as some sort of message of disapproval of not her being picked up but of me as a person.

I don't think we ever got to where we were going.


So, I was typing that out and came to the word flailing and I thought "How do you spell flailing?" I could get to the f-l-a but then things just wouldn't ring true. I tried flaying and flaring but I knew neither of those were correct. So, I kept sounding out the word but with no help and then I asked myself "Well, what does flail sound like?" I answered "Nail" and I could spell nail so then it hit me F-L-A-I-L-I-N-G.


I left her the invite on her desk. I wasn't too happy with it but I hadn't done a thing with it in over a week and there was an approaching deadline. When I'm uninspired with something I'll just throw all the info on the screen and start moving things around. She called to say that she liked it but that one of the places had changed their logo.

"You like doing things like this, don't you?"

"At times" not when there is a dealine and not so much when it's for you.



I saw a

line of death

I saw

a physical line you could stand right at but if you touched it or stepped over it, you would instantly drop dead

I saw

a line so powerful that it held the power of death, the death would not come from poison gas or deadly sharpened edged things, it was as if the line sucked the life right out of you at the very same moment it filled you with death. A life to death transfusion.

I saw

dead carcasses would always fall back to this side of the line, never on it, never over it.

I saw

there were no dead carcasses but I knew the legend of the line, nothing on, nothing over.

I saw

nothing escaped the power of the line.

I saw

the line was for everyone, everyone's deadline was this line here, it was just we all had different starting points, we would meet the line at different times.

I saw

feet that stood at the line but the feet didn't need to be there, the man attached to those feet was just seeing what meeting the deadline was like but it wasn't the same because it wasn't his time

I saw

those feet were mine, I was looking down, I laughed a "Ha," took a step back and walked away.


the system


my choice of writing

is to make longer phrases

anyway, that's not what I started to say

I was invited to attend a political fundraiser. I know the guy running. I like the guy. The guy is a good man. I went.

The event started an hour and a half after my work shift ended. I got there a half an hour after it started. I was seen. I left a check. I left. It had been six years since I was present at a political fundraiser. Things were as I remembered.

The seat I left twenty minutes prior was occupied so, I sat by the Jager machine. She rung me up a beer.

"You're number one, Timmy" Danielle told me.

"I wish I was number one other than on the tab" I surprised myself by saying that out loud. I had meant to say it just to me but that's what happens when you start to get too comfortable around people.

I watched her thinking. I just meant I wanted to be number one in something, anything, something that no one would be better at then me but I was guessing she thought I was flirting with her, which I innocently sometimes do, and we both knew she couldn't name me number one in her heart. She has a boyfriend. I waited for the answer, an answer she wished would brighten my day. I thought it would be good, she just put herself on a hook "You're number one and a half"

I was impressed and thanked her, genuinely, even though in reality, I'm not in the top forty. Number one and a half is better than being called number two.

My friends came in staggeredly, we would leave staggering. That's not true but I just wanted to write it. They came in - one, then two more, then no more. We get to leave our tab open without a credit card which sometimes makes our tab number hard to figure out when we get served by someone different.

"Mark, I think Danielle put us on number one" I said as I watched him looking longer than I thought he should.

"Thanks" I then worried that I butt in and know too much about the workings of the bar.

It was Paul's birthday, we celebrated with libations while watching the local baseball team drop a game. Yvonne was with us and after a couple she suggested we visit someone else. Three of us walked a block away. Dick left for home.

"I hate this place. Have you ever been here?" Paul said.

I told him I've never been. We sat next at the bar next to our visitee and ordered a round, when our bill came Yvonne offered a twenty.

"Don't take her money. He can't pay because it's his birthday and I'm not letting her pay" I said pointing at each of them.

"No! Take my money." she said as she shook the bill.


We had the bartender in a tug of war and I started to feel a little ridiculous. I wasn't holding my money out because I've been trained not to do such things. I do my best to just make eye contact, no waving, no whistling, no calling out, no flashing money. I held my cash at the edge of the bar closest to him but he was closer to Yvonne. The fate of the bill was in his hands. Paul had no choice but to just watch because he was seated between us.

"The way I remember it is that the guy gets to pay" the bartender said.

I smiled at the victory handed to me and then said "Thank you, Rick" and then paired my twenty with a ten.

"Next round's on me, in honor of the birthday boy. Just make sure you order from me." I thanked him again.

"See Paul, it ain't so bad. There are some nice looking girls here and we just got a free beer."

Paul wasn't placated and when the second round came he hoisted his bottle and said "Here's to never coming here again. We should have never left *the regular place*"

I clinked his bottle with my own. "Yeah, but sometimes it's good to be reminded."

Upon leaving I tossed a twenty on the bar and Paul gave me a disapproving look.

"What? We're never coming here again. We drank to it. And he didn't have to get us a round" I don't think he agreed with my reasoning but he accepted it.


"It's not the alcohol that I have a problem with."

"Then what?"

The silence gained in weight as I debated whether or not to divulge the truth.

"Nothing. Never mind. It's the booze."

I'm not at the bar frequently because of intoxicating drinks. I'm there because I'm avoiding the rest of my life. A lot of requests end when you say "I'm Downtown still" or "I'm out with friends." I could hang out at the library or the coffee shop but neither of those carry the same dismissive clout as a bar room.

At gatherings, either formal or as casual as a poker game, I don't drink a lot. At home I drink very little.

It's not the booze, it's the escape, there are times I wish to hide from what I've created. I've never been able to drink enough to forget, well not enough to forget the things I wish to forget. There have been times when I couldn't remember the subway ride home but then why would I.


if you were listening to the budget hearings broadcasted by the local access channel you would have heard my name mentioned with a modicum of thankful praise.


"Timmy, I want one of those shirts for my birthday" she said as she pointed to something over my head. I didn't have to look because I knew what was there.

"In medium?" Paul guessed

"Yeah, Size 8. Now do you want one of those shirts or those cookies?"

"I want 'em both."
He's been talking about getting a different car now for quite some time. He says he can't afford a new car. He worries about money all the time. When you ask him questions about buying cars something closer to the truth comes out. What is closer to the truth is that he won't afford the type of car he wants. Buy American. Buy a mid-sized. Buy less of other things.

I have a hard type sympathizing with him. I drive a truck. I like trucks but I think driving a truck just because you're making some kind of style statement is moronic. I drive a truck because often I need to haul stuff; at the moment I don't wish to own two vehicles so I own the one I need the most - a truck. I could suck it up and get something else, something small and cheap because mostly I just drive within a five mile radius of my house. I could most likely get most of my transportation needs fulfilled by a scooter with a large basket.

The point - I could get another vehicle but I don't because I choose those other things that the cost of a second vehicle would hinder. I don't want to sacrifice, and that's his problem. He could afford a brand new car but he doesn't want to make a sacrifice.

And everyone has those types of dilemmas everyday - deal with it.

or at least stop bitching about it.

some people have real troubles

and neither of us make the list.

He overheard my on the phone with my mechanic.

"Here I am complaining about cars and you have problems too. I'm sorry, I didn't know." I just shrugged my shoulders because it's just a regular life thing.


The current problem with his twelve year old Grand Marquis, that was giving to him for free, is that the dome light (cabin light, inside light, overhead light) doesn't turn off completely all the time. He called a dealership and asked about it.

"Yeah, it's the weirdest thing." I overheard him say. I disagreed.

I don't think most people know what they are saying. I want to ask him, "Out of everything in the whole wide world, and even beyond, there is nothing weirder than your little light malfunctioning?

How about kind of weird? Sort of weird? A little weird? or even just plain old weird?

"Yeah, it's a weird thing." - which I still think is an overstatement but I would give you that.

Newsflash - Stuff breaks.


So, I was asked to do invites for the Summer version of what happened during the Fall. The fall version had leaves in Fall colors over a background of an orange starburst with a yellowish center - very Fall-like.

The Summer version...

I'll finish this later, maybe.

So, I brought my truck in for service. I was in desperate need of brakes, the engine light was on and also I received a recall notice about a ball joint.



"Hi. It's Ken from *the truck fixing place*."


"Yeah, hi. We've got your truck in the shop and you need brakes, front brakes. The pads are completely gone and the right rotor is worn to almost nothing. The cost for front brakes is $442, and we might have to put on new calipers as well but they would be covered under your warranty. You would just have to play a $50 deductible."

"That's not too bad."

"We also noticed that one of your axles is leaking grease, so that will have to be replaced but that is also covered under your warranty, there would just be that $50 dollar deductible. So that's not bad news."

"No that's not bad at all."

"The engine light is on because *some computer thingy* is defective, so that will have to be replaced but that covered under a warranty with Federal emissions regulations."


"So there is some good news and some bad news. The good news is that a lot of things are covered under warranty but the bad news is that I don't have the parts and I'll have to get the axle from Detroit and that usually takes about four days to ship."

"Oh, well, I can do without the truck for a couple days."

"If you need a rental, your warranty covers that too, up to five days. You would just have to pay the Convention tax which everyone gets charged. It's about $10.50 per day."

So, I asked if he needed to know about the rental right then and there and he said that I could get it anytime, that I would just have to call ahead.

"So it's not too bad you're looking at the $442 plus the $50 deductible which will bring you just under $500" he continued.

"Wouldn't it be $50 twice, once for the brakes and then for the axle?"

"Nope, just $50 once, that's why you want to get it all done at once."

"That's great. Thanks a lot."

"Alright, I'll check in with you on Friday. If I don't hear from you about the rental."

"Okay, thanks very much."


My sister's cat was walking around kind of funny. I've seen that funny walk before, it not a funny ha ha walk. It was a walk like 'I won't be seeing much more of this world.'

The cat's walk reminds me in a way of when that certain color smoke starts billowing forth from under the car's hood. The smoke that is thick and darkish gray and seems impossibly voluminous. I remember the first time I saw that type of smoke, it was poring forth from one of my high school teacher's car. The smoke got worse and worse and then the flames burst forth. The second time I saw that smoke was when I was driving past a car on the highway, I thought to myself that the flames would be coming. A look in the rear view mirror proved I was correct. The third situation was similar to the second.

The first time I remember witnessing a cat walk like that was a stray kitten that I rescued from an air duct. I had gotten it to eat but it was walking a little strange. I awoke to find it dead. The second time I noticed that strange cat walk was with my oldest sister's cat. He lasted two days.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Trouble is, I can be trusted and people seem to know that all too quickly. Don't get me wrong, I do a lot of untrustworthy things but the big stuff, the stuff you told me and then realized that you have never told anyone that before and then wondered why you just told me – that's the stuff I box up nice and place it right next to my stuff that never gets told.

Trouble is, sometimes I worry about room.

Maybe that's why people tell me things, because even though I say a lot, at times, I always tell very little.
She asked him what train he was catching to go home. He gave a vague answer. He's overly afraid of her advances. She was experiencing some drama in her relationships. She just wanted a walk to the station. She didn't want to walk alone.

He again repeated his story, the one that begins with him repeating her words "Remember these" as he sticks out his chest mocking her motions. "I don't remember those."

"Yes, you do."

"No! I don't!"

"You do. All she is referring to is that one day she caught you looking, which you readily admit, not that you have seen them naked or handled them or anything. Just that you've looked."

"Yes, I do look but she's an attractive woman and she puts them out there."

"And that's all she is saying. I know because I've talked to her about it. You worry too much."

"I'm afraid she'll rape me or something." he only half joked "Listen, I've been married thirty-three years I'm not touching that."

"She just wanted a walk to the station. I'm not saying she wouldn't take you home if you let her but she isn't going to force you. She just wants to feel good about herself "

"That's screwed up."

"What?! That she wants to feel good about herself? Who doesn't want to feel good about themselves? You just said that you enjoy it when she teases you and grabs you and stuff, that you feel like you're wanted, that's all she wants. That's it, nothing more."

"Timmy, you should have been a psychologist" Danielle said.

I forgot there were other sets of ears.




So, I was walking past my neighborhood national parks service store and noticed on the counter some Gadsden flag patches. I noticed them quite a few months before and actually bought one and then a few months after that I tried to purchase another one and I was told that they don't carry that item and that no one had ever remember that patch being sold. I foolishly argued the point. So, today I went in and spend $4.15 just to have the salesperson that told me that they didn't sell those, ring it up on the register.

I think that means I won.

I should have pointed that out to her.


"Renovations at the bar" Joe said while rubbing his hands together in delight.

"I was there until eight last night. You think they would have said something." I said.

"Will they be opened tonight?" Brian asked.

"No. I don't see how they could be."

"It's a good thing they picked a Tuesday or else I would be pissed."

"Yeah, they're probably working around your schedule."

"I should thank them."


The place was mostly empty. I like the place mostly empty because I get more attention; they spend my time there talking to me. The place was still mostly empty when she came in. She sat next to me but then I really didn't expect her to sit anywhere else. She started telling all her stories to Danielle. I wished I could have said "Well, a story's a story." but I really wasn't interested in her stories.

I heard about dresses and make-up and shoes, the shoe story caused her leg to go past and over my left shoulder.

"Pretty flexible, huh, Tim?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's not too bad." for an old broad. She's really not that old and she is attractive. Then she started another story but then stopped and mentioned that she would finish the story when I wasn't about. I still had forty minutes left for lunch so I stayed about. She ended up telling the story.

The curtains that are maintained in her relationships got peeked behind and someone got upset. Everyone knows what goes on behind the curtains but they all pretend that nothing happens; everyone is happy that way or something that passes for happy at least.

I could tell you the whole story almost word for word like I sometimes do but it was said that I'm pretty tight lipped so I could be trusted with the story. I really shouldn't be trusted with the story but none the less, I was, so I'll maintain that trust.

What was the point of this story?

I think the point came about from Melissa's post, the point that is. Something about listening to people. Maybe it will come to me later.

Monday, May 08, 2006

I thought about starting a new feature...

Are there any old features? Is it incorrect or maybe just imprecise to say new feature when there haven't been any features before? Why is it imprecise instead of inprecise? Same question for impossible.

Questions like those keep me from thinking about the meaning of life and why am I here and things like that. Foolishness has its reward.

Anyway the feature: calculating distances from my house to major crimes in my neighborhood. Within the last two weeks (about) the list would look like this:

cristel meth lab discovered 345 feet from my house
one person shot 1.07 miles from my house
one person stabbed 1.54 miles from my house
one person stabbed .92 miles from my house
two people shot 3.10 miles from my house

there was a hostage situation and car chases and other things but...

This feature sucks. End feature.

Up on the roof I sat and watched the hornets chew at the wood that someone nailed there to hold the rolled roofing over the end of the roof. I think a real roofer would have used some sort of flashing or drip edge. I wondered what part of my house the hornets where making their paper nest in. The hornets used to feast on the cardboard boxes that an old tenant had left on the roof but I finally have thrown those away.

Hornets are pretty good at making paper. I like the ash gray color of the paper they make.

I watched the silverfish scramble as I move the weathered two by eight. Silverfish remind me of some pre-historic creature. Some, unknown to me, hid in a seam I was patching and ran out when the roofing tar came close. I noticed two got caught in the black goo so I picked them out, then I tried not to look anymore.

Saturday, May 06, 2006


I plugged in the portable cd player and set it on top of the trash bucket. It fit nicely but I always worry about setting non trash items on top of an item for trash. Two tracks played before I moved it to the bookshelf. I’m the one that empties the trash.

The fit on the bookshelf wasn’t as fitly but it got me thinking about the bookshelf stereo that was sitting unused. I fetched the unit removed the portable player, track five was playing. It’s a three cd player, I had four new cd’s. The bookshelf unit doesn’t fit on my narrow shelf for books unless it’s turned sideways. It’s turned sideways.

I loaded the cd trays: tray 1 – Neko Case, Black Listed; tray 2 – TOBYMAC, Welcome to Diverse City; tray 3 – Billy Joe Shaver, The Real Deal. I jumped to track five of cd one and let it play. I then wondered about how much of my life I’m wasting.

The fourth cd is The Very Best of Lisa Loeb.

Neko Case ended and TobyMac started to play. I wondered what I was doing with a TobyMac cd, not that I didn’t like it but it didn’t seem like something I would buy but then track six started playing and I recognized the song. Track six is Gone.

Wondering about wasting my life, started a little early today and at slightly an odd time, I was mowing the back lawn. I finished the front and side lawns, the front looks like it got a bad haircut.

I was cutting around the patio when thoughts of life value started, so my mind was traveling else where when something caught my eye. The something had almost got stepped on and that would have been a shame because I like snakes. I think it must have been sunning itself on the edge of the patio and didn’t care to move for either me or my mower.

It was the same kind of snake that I had recently found dead in the basement, only that one was on the tiny side, this one was just on the small side. I picked it up, wished for my camera, carried it into the house to get my camera, took a picture and then set it in a garden which wouldn’t get mowed.

I would say that I watched it slither away which might be technically correct but doesn’t convey the peaceful straight line method it used for locomotion. I wondered why I didn’t know garter snakes could move in a straight line, I found my ignorance and its lack of side to side movements odd.

The neighbor’s cat watched me finish mowing, I half expected the cat to say “You missed a spot.” He was watching rather intently, until my last pass. I then thought about making friends with the local skunk, I would need Cool Ranch Doritos.

Cinco de Mayo

There were five of us rounding the corner of bar, we were all drinking Bud or Bud Light, not very festive. It wasn’t my regular crew, save one, Paul and he brought a friend and introduced him as Ben, the other two were just regulars. After a few rounds of beer, Danielle started to mix a drink, she had said something to our group but I missed it, over the sound system and the participants of a pub crawl. She had a look about her like she was up to something.

She wasn’t digging the way her day was going. When I asked her how she was doing she told me that she would “let me know when Benny complains again when he’s served a beer with a quarter inch head on it” as she nodded to Ben’s now empty seat.

So, then I knew that the friend was a friend was known to the bartenders and wasn’t liked. I felt a little better because I didn’t like the guy either.

“What’s that?” Ben asked after returning from a smoke as she mixed the drink but she wouldn’t say.

“Is Timmy going to find out what that is?” Paul said.

“Yes he is” she said and placed sixteen ounces of raspberry margarita in front of me.

“He’s getting free drinks?” Ben said.

I wanted to say “Yeah, that’s right bitches” but I just took a sip and smiled.


Lady G and Little g don’t like walking in my yard because there are snakes.


I started to read but then stopped. I'll catch up later. Sometimes, I just needed to think about me for a moment.

If asked, I would say I'm not creative but there are times I need to create. In the pre-blog days I would occasionally crack open a cook book or I would be required to use the thousands of dollars worth of tools that are growing old in my basement or I would go to the cabinet that has hundreds of dollars worth of paper stock and things for manipulating paper stock or sometimes I could get my fix by doing yard work by doing something like creating a trimmed hedge.

or I still have things for working leather
or materials for tying knots in cordage in a manner known as macramé (in the third grade the lady teaching macramé was hot and I was bored)
or I have things for working with clay
or Sumi-e

I want to get a welder so for two or three days I could be welding things together and then forget about it.

I'm a little surprised that writing to a blog quells my desire to make something. Maybe it's just the work of typing words and not the words themselves. I still do not see much value in my words. I have been noticing more that there are times when I will craft a sentence, when I'll try to keep the ending somewhat disguised or I'll come right out with the emotion I want in the beginning so what follows will be read in a certain way, or at least so I hope.

I wonder what I would be doing if I wasn't posting.

I think I'm slightly better technically in writing today then I was when I started even though I'm still not comfortable with semi-colons and other aspects of writing properly. I think the way I see words in my mind's eye is a lot closer to how they appear on a printed page; I think my fingers have been trained to translate the thought of my words into the actual typed words.

I type my thoughts a lot like closed captioning, there is not a direct connection between the thoughts in my head and my typing fingers. It's as if someone is dictating the words to me and I type what it sounds like.

I'm just typing to type now. I'm not a great typer (typer is not a word but I think it should be). Online services have made me a better typist.

There are times I feel like I should give writing a try but I still don't have a desire to write in any conventional format. I do kind of want to write something long enough to be called a novel and then get at least one copy published but that's only so I can irritate certain people but saying "Yeah, I wrote a book."

My feelings towards my writing are similar to how I feel about my laundry; it's just something I do, I don't think too much about it. The main difference is that there are times I feel I have to do a laundry; I don't think I ever felt that I had to write, although there have been times I've felt I should post.

I was just rereading this post over and just told myself "Yeah, bored this train." I don't even know what the really means, I just like the setup of it. A boring play on words that almost seems cleaver but actually makes no sense.

But then that's how I see the whole of this blog.

I think pax once asked my about my ridiculousness. I forget the actual question but I think she asked if it was on purpose, mostly it just happens but sometimes I'll craft it. There are times I'll be writing a somewhat serious post and then end it with a ridiculous statement which is me sort of disavowing any serious thoughts.

Regarding the title, not including this sentence there are six hundred sixty-seven words in this post, it's not some post apocalyptic encryption but I thought it was kind of cool that it could have been.
After a few days of rain the sun is out and doing one of the things that the sun is good at and that's heating things up. It's 12:48PM and it's 76 degree outside.

I'm inside, but nothing is going on, no one is calling and no one is bugging me for things.

The rumor is that freedom will never die but I seem to have an encumbrance.


"I'm not going back, not when it's her shifts" that's what one of the crew said. He swore off the regular place whenever she's working, which messes up the Friday routine because she always works Fridays.

True to his word, he didn't show up. I was the only on there.

"Timmy, my boyfriend broke up with me."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I said sincerely but then added "It's just me today because Dave won't come in and the other guys won't come in if he doesn't. I'm here at my own risk, he might not talk to me ever again." It was a lie but she wouldn't know, the rest of the crew either didn't come to work or they left early.

"So, Joe and Dick aren't coming in because of Dave? You gotta be shitting me."

"Wait and see who shows up. Paul might come by but other than that..."

"So, he's boycotting the place?"

"Just when you're working, he said he wouldn't come in and then he specifically added at least not on your shifts."

"Well, I'll boycott him." Then she paused slightly before adding "I'll tell all the other bartenders not to serve him."

Paul did come in and I had made the mistake of telling a waitress that Dick took the day off, and she mentioned it to the bartender. So, the joke was off.

"You lied to me, even after all that's going on?"

"Kinda, but it's true that Dave won't come in while you're working."

Later, I had to leave but Paul was staying for one more so I asked that another one be added to the bill and then to close it out.

"What are you two going to share a beer?"

"Yeah, could we get two straws with that." I said to her before saying to Paul "And she wonders why people leave her."

"At least I'm honest. Would you rather me not be honest?"

"Actually, no. And I do actually appreciate your honesty. But did you actually think we were going to share a beer?"

"It's just a lot of misdirected anger, Tim." Paul said.

"No. It's properly directed. It's directed at everyone who has a dick."

"Well, at least that's a step up. She acknowledges that we have dicks." I said and high-fived Paul.

"Yes, we're usually dickless bastards."

"Well, the little nubs you call dicks." she said.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

"But then I can't say much because they just busted a cristel meth lab three hundred feet from my house."

"So where you buying now?"

"Some place I actually have to drive to but as long as they don't shut down the whore house, I'll be okay."

"Do they have men there?" she asked.

"Yeah, but they're men for men, so you're out of luck."

"But that works for you."

"They're just gay for pay, or at least that's what they tell me."

"Will you shut him off" my homophobic buddy to my left said.


"Hello" I said into my recently ringing phone. My greeting was met with a beep, so I transferred the call to someone I know who speaks beeps, the company fax machine.

The cover sheet did indeed indicate that the fax number they wanted to fax to was my desk phone.

The second page of the fax mentions a thirty-three year old with right knee pain due to patellofemoral dysfunction.

As the name infers, patellofemoral dysfunction is an injury...

I faxed back with a note that the fax number was wrong.


If I do ever write a screenplay, I'm going to include a scene where one of the characters, holding a four dollar cup of coffee, notices a guy hosing off the sidewalk of an outside cafe while the cafe's sound system is playing "Eye of the Tiger." He will then laugh at what he thinks to be irony but then wonder who is enjoying life more.


He was discussing something on my screen and he pointed at something with his greasy little finger. The point wasn't the worst of it though because then he touched the screen and left his oily little mark. I started to reach for a nearby rag with which to remove his recently self-establish memorial but then decided to wait until he left my area to wipe his presence out. I actually had to fight the urge twice.

Hands off the screen, if you ain't me.

I can touch my screen all I want.


"Not everyone squeaks of clean as much as you do."


She looked like she wanted to tell me a secret so, I turned my head and leaned a little towards her. Instead of the soft breathe of a whisper entering my ear, I felt the moist and slightly rough touch of her tongue.

"Surprised?" she asked as I my instincts pulled me away.

"Yeah, a little bit."


some of those girl weatherpixies are hot

The WeatherPixie

bored this train

I haven't really been looking around the internet like I used to, mainly because some of my access to it has been limited. Anyway, last night I'm looking around my friends' list on Buzznet and started fussing with the map feature; the one that shows a little flag on a world map of all your friends. I had a few flags show up in the L.A. area but I couldn't see them all so I zoomed in. On that map you can zoom into street level, I zoomed in on xTx's and found out she's hooked up to the internet from some graveyard in L.A. (or somewhere near L.A.). So, then I thought maybe for security reasons Buzznet doesn't post accurate information, it just gives an approximation or maybe they plot locations to the nearest graveyard. I decided to check my own location but Buzznet doesn't seem to let you look at your own location even if you're on your own friends list but it so happens I have a second Buzznet account so I added that to my friends list and a little flag popped up on the map. The map was zoomed out quite a bit but it seemed a little too close for comfort. I zoomed in on it and then zoomed some more and noticed the name of a graveyard was by my flag.

Zooming in some more, the graveyard name moved to the left, so that ruled out always plotting to the nearest graveyard. Once I zoomed into street level the flag was about half way between my second office, where I was at the time of my messing about, and my home which is not some great distance away and as a matter of fact if you traveled to the closest public transportation subway station, in relation to the flag, you would be at the station I use every workday at about seven thirty in the morning.

It plotted my location with an accuracy of about a two mile radius is what I guess I'm trying to say which isn't a problem for me. TRUE plotted somewhere on the West Coast and Paxgitmo plotted on the East Coast, everyone else seemed to plot in the appropriate positions.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

now I know where Tillamook County is.

Tillamook County Jail - Todd Snider

I'm sitting here waiting in the Tillamook County Jail
I'm hoping that she's not so mad now
that she doesn't even pay my bail
if I was her I'm not so sure
I'd keep on moving down the trail

sitting here waiting in the Tillamook County Jail
I got a lump on my head and a boot print of my chest
from what the guys in here call the Tillamook County lie detector test
well I did my best but as you might guess
it's a tough test not to fail
I'm sitting here in the Tillamook County jail

one phone call, two Tylenol, four cold gray walls closing in
if I ever do get out on that highway again
I ain't ever going back to Tillamook County
I ain't ever going back to Tillamook County

It all started when I had a little trouble with a guy on the highway crew
and that lying son of a gun he told them I done some things that I didn't do
they come gunning for me down 101 lights flashing on my tail
now I'm sitting here waiting in the Tillamook County Jail

one phone call, two Tylenol, four cold gray walls closing in
if I ever do get out on that highway again
I ain't ever going back to Tillamook County
I ain't ever going back to Tillamook County

I'm sitting here waiting in the Tillamook County Jail
I'm still hoping that she not so mad now that she doesn't even pay my bail
I come on vacation going to leave on probation
I'm going to send all my money through the mail
I'm going to send all my money through the Tillamook County Jail
Yes, I'm going to send all my money to the Tillamook County Jail
Hey, I'm going to send all my money to the Tillamook County Jail


I'm afraid that you will love me more than I'm willing to love you and then there will be this love debt that I'll owe you and I'll never be able to pay it.
I always think there is a catch.

Well, not always, just most always.

dropping shoes usually come in pairs


So, there's the squirrel skull I found on the roof. It was obscured by a pile of trash that someone had left there since I bought the house years ago. There was more of the skeleton but I'm not that much of a freak.

Monday, May 01, 2006

That very last part is just a note for me

One bit of trouble with surrounding yourself with yes men is that you can't get the truth when you ask for it


So, Friday I did the usual Friday thing I do. I went to the bar with some friends.

"Did you hear about the new girl?" The bartender asked one of my buddies.


"The owner was by the first day she was by herself and asked her about some questions and she couldn't answer them."

"When was this?" my buddy asked and the barkeep then looks over at me to provide her with the answer. I gave her a defensive look while I shrugged my shoulders.

"Oh yeah, that's right, you weren't here."

Yeah. Damn straight. I'm not there everyday and night.

But the questions that were asked were what type of Gin do we have and what's in a Margarita. She answered the first question with bar Gin and the second with Tequila, sour mix and Gin. The owner also runs a Mexican bar and grill and the bartenders will often work at both locations so knowing what's in a Margarita is something to be known.

She was fired the next day.


Frequently, I'll feel that there is too much to do so I'll do nothing. Sometimes I can get my butt in gear regardless of that feeling but other times I succumb.

Writing as much as I do, I'm sometimes surprised at the amount of prewriting that happens automatically within my head. A sentence will be arranged so that a certain word will be read before other words, to either let the point of the sentence to be a surprise or to set the mood for the rest of the sentence. I'm kind of rigid in my ways. I think there is only one correct way for me to write a sentence and I try to write that sentence.


Currently, there is the skull of a squirrel sitting on my kitchen counter soaking in a bleach solution. I could have had the whole skeleton but I felt that was too morbid, but the skull is cool.

I called the owner like the note asked me to, she wanted some photos transferred from her camera to her laptop.

"There are a couple deals close to closing"

"That's good" I replied but there must have been a little bit of a hint of questioning in my voice, mainly because I was wondering why she was telling me this.

"So, you don't have to worry so much"


Club Passim Cambridge MA July 12 8PM
He was hosing down the brick that functions as the floor of the outside cafe, getting rid of the previous night's spilled beer and little bits of discarded trash. His radio was playing "Eye of the Tiger."


If he's having a good day and he's had a few, he'll start saying things that he thinks are funny but they aren't. If you tell him he's not being funny, he takes offense. So, you can either let him go on saying things that aren't funny or you can kill his buzz.

I usually let him go on saying the unfunny things and then give him a hard time about it later.

"Was I really that drunk?" he'll ask.

"I don't know but you were saying a bunch of stupid things."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"I was too busy making fun of you."