Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Ye Olde English mostly sucks, almost as much as ALL CAPS

bad typology can lead you astray

Touché is touch in french.

As the guy walked past, she told me she didn't like him. I mentioned that I knew the guy he was sitting with. She told me she didn't like him either and why.

One was a groper and the other, one who leers. I wondered how many times she had caught me leering.

It was a tough table. I was glad to see them go and I was sitting across the room and with my back to them.

"I hope at least they left you a good tip." I said as she came back to her station. She said that they had but there was no hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"Was it worth the effort?"

She raised her hand to eye level and lowered her index finder close to her pointing out thumb. "I was this close to punching them."

I made the mistake of looking past her fingers and square into her soft brown eyes. I'll meet people's gazes all the time, if I think there is no danger in doing so.

Sometimes, looking someone in the eye, a sort of duel takes place. People try to peer deep, past the shutters that others do their best to keep tightly closed. Others still, see what you will do when they throw the curtains wide. Parries and ripostes and standing on guard.

The eyes are the window to the soul.

After our eyes met, I slowly blink and reset my gaze on something down and to the left as if I were pondering what she had just said but she got a view when I didn't think she would be looking and I think she knows she scored a touch.
I stopped reading and made the mistake of listening. Once I left my world of words, my sense of smell picked up. The guy at the table next to me was eating soup.

I tried reading again but I could only get my eyes to see the words. I put the book down.

The talking man, who caused me to listen, had an accent which I couldn't identify; I guessed: something European. He was quietly speaking to an attractive woman who sat with perfect posture which made me a little self conscious as I slouched in my chair and wrote this very thing.

I watched her as she rose. Her womanly form was muted by her thinness. And that was too bad.

Don't you just hate it...

Don't you just hate it when someone posts a bunch of crap all at once. Like let's say 1500 words or so.

I like Oh man, I love my pencil! the best out of the new ones.

So, you've been seeing the macro feature. I took this one (below) because I liked the color and the little icon and after I uploaded it I noticed the little guy's huge arrow protruding from his groin area and wondered "What's up with 'dat?"

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I had thought she was just being polite

I smiled a little when René came in for the next shift because it was a two birds with one stone type of situation. I wouldn't have to visit her now.

I moved my seat due to a invitation of some other regulars and it did look like I was being antisocial, sitting at the extreme end of the bar by myself while the four of them occupied the opposite end.

After I moved some new patrons filled the empty seats. A conversation about photography started between the bartender and two of the guys. I was half listening when I heard her say "Like that picture you took of the wood and the long view."

I thought that was cool.

The guy's a big fat nobody

I'm really not there like I used to be. I only miss the convenience the place offered to waste an occasional lunch hour and the time after work I picked up from not going there, I'm enjoying better than if I were there.

Before I infrequented the place, some of the new help got to know me. I feel it would be rude not to show up every once in awhile, especially because they know I still go there every Friday when Jen's working. If I were smarter I would just leave before the early Friday evening shift change but an hour doesn't seem enough time to accomplish whatever it is I'm doing there; it's not just about the drinking.

I try to visit everyone that knows me by name on one of their solo shifts at least once a month. I hadn't been in on one of Michelle's shift since six weeks prior. She placed a beer at my chair before I even sat.

There was a weird uneasy vibe in the place or maybe it was just me hating on the three guys sitting at table fourteen. The mood changed a bit for the better when the manager walked it and then changed back when I overheard him say "I can't fight all three of them. I'll just call the cops." At least my vibe was shared by someone else.

When Shawn first walked in, the fat self-important leader of the trio shouted a generic greeting at him.

"You remember me right? You're the manager, right?"

"Guy, I see a thousand people a day."

"Oh. You don't remember me? What's your name?"

After Shawn answered, Jimmy offered his name and his right hand.

"Let me introduce you to my boys."

I had to turn away but before I did I found out the one that looked like a heroin addict was named Frank. Frank couldn't sit still for more that three minutes and couldn't make up his mind on whether or not he wanted to wear his woolen hat. The other member of the group was fairly quiet and went up for the free appetizers at least four times and he devoured his food like he was homeless.

I was put at ease when they left.

My ease left when an older guy sat next to me. I had seen him once before and just like that time he offered to buy me a beer and just like last time I told him that the one I was working on was doing me just fine. And also just like before, I got a weird vibe off of this guy.

He offers to buy beers like it's something worth more than a dollar fifty and there is an air about his offer: a beer for you soul. So far I haven't found a need to be owned for a dollar and a half.

The bartender carded him but he didn't have proper ID and started to make a scene. I always wonder what the deal is when someone makes a scene. He only had an ID card, usually if someone only has an ID card, they have either done time or had their license revoked neither is a good candidate for intoxication.

I was minding my own business the best I could, I was even turned away from him to give a sense of privacy until he got louder with the bartender. I tried to calm the guy down but he was too incensed. It seemed like all of his honor was contingent on him getting a beer at this establishment. And then just like before he bypassed my objections for a beer and told the bartender to get me one. He was told he couldn't buy any beer for anybody until he showed a valid ID.

"Did you have to show ID?" he asked of me.

I wanted to say that I was indeed carded but I wasn't. I didn't care about lying to the guy and a lie could have helped the bartender out but I was bothered that she would then know me as a liar even if I would just be a white liar. I answered the best I could.

"They know me, but when we first met, they did."

I must have answered well because Michelle then placed a cold pint in front of my warming half of one. When the manager returned from his errand he promptly asked the guy to leave.

"I'll leave but I'll leave on my own," he said in parting.

'Foolish pride' came to mind.

at the urinal the other day...

Where he was standing bothered me. The way he was washing his hands bothered me. The way he was looking around bothered me. I labeled him a retard and tried to rush out the men's room door but he quickly followed and I hated him even more but I did hold the door for him and he said "Dank yoo."

Oh man, do I love my pencil!

"Centuries ago, the pencil was considered to be a revolutionary work of genius. Its invention set a new benchmark, greatly facilitating writing and drawing."

"It has become a very symbol of our era and, coupled with refined, modern-day mechanical pencil technology, now creates an impressive symbiosis of design and function. Future needs tradition." - the Staedtler Company

I've been trying to grip the pencil much less than like a low land gorilla.

My pencil has no eraser

My pencil is made by Staedtler.

My pencil is made in Germany.

My pencil is a Mars Lumograph.

My pencil is of the type HB for hardness and blackness.

My pencil is blue with white lettering and has a small white band under the glossy black top.

My pencil had a UPC code of 0 31901 10481 8.

My pencil has an item number of Art. No. 100-HB A6.

My Pencil - I call him Mr. Scribbles.

fun facts about pencils

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My pencil comes to a point sometimes and other times it's blunted; it travels all the sharpnesses in between.

My pencil can leave my love on the back of an envelope or with graphite lines tell you you park like a dope.

My pencil can point and scratch and type one letter at a time, it likes the 'enter' key the best.

My pencil has but just one hand for a home because some people bite and those people suck.

My pencil thinks I should use my time more wisely

Here I whine

So, I'm mostly retarded but that you know. I like to keep extra crap on my desk. I keep extra crap on my desk because people are always taking my crap. I don't know if they take my crap because they think it's extra so I won't miss it or because they are inconsiderate pricks.

I could possibly be enabling bad behavior but I've found if I want a certain amount of things on my desk, I have to keep 500% more than I require just for myself. People are thieves and I've found that I cannot easily prevent thievery so I just make amends for it. Kind of like my neighborhood Home Depot; 40% of its merchandise that leaves the store never sees a cash register. It's a warehouse you can hire two people for every exit and hole in the fence or you can just jack the prices up to cover the loss.

What brings this post to be? you might be asking. Well, I'll tell you; all I wanted was a notepad. I usually have three on my desk at all times because I'm anal and today I found none and I could deal with that if the Department were actually out of notepads but we're not, there is a whole case of them just sitting in the copy room in a box marked "Notepads."

Whatever, I'm whining like a baby. I've got six sitting on my desk now. I wonder how long they will last.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

They were talking about cameras and then she whipped hers out.

"What? Are we showing cameras?" I asked as I unzipped my case. We traded cameras, I was looking at all her buttons when I heard her say "Interesting photo" and that's when I panicked a little because I forgot what was on there.

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It's a small thing

but I like the smaller logo better.

I was asked why and my answer was I think the big one looks cheap.

Coffee Sleeve

You know those sleeves for the coffee cups that old woman and big babies use to keep from getting their hands too warm?

It's not a super simple thing to design an ad for.

And before you go off crying because I made fun of people who use them: I use them too but not habitually.

but if you ever have to do one yourself, here a template free of charge.

you may want to click on it (to make it bigger)
One of us is moving on so it was one of those thanks-for-the-memories type of things on Thursday after work. Only he's not going far and he's still going to play poker with us so we were actually just using his situation as an occasion for gluttony.

We met at my usual place and hung around long enough for Jen to come in. Jen's schedule had been changed and she lost two night shifts. Bartending is Jen's only gig until she gets her nursing certificate, or whatever nurses get, so she wasn't having a good day.

Jen's the first bartender to ever really get me drunk. I was a late bloomer. Jen introduced my group of guys to the other bartenders. Jen's been really good to me; it bothers me when Jen's having a bad day.

We hung around a couple hours and then left to get Chinese food and after dropping two hundred there, the decision was made to go a bar that is across the street from our regular spot. I told the guys that I would meet them there.

They wished me luck on my cannoli plan.

At the second bar we ran into a braggadocios nurse, played and lost at Keno, and had a few more then left. The next day, we did our normal Friday thing and met at our regular bar, Jen was there again not having a good day.

I usually get there before the other guys, so I get any news first but the trouble is sometimes the news is of a private nature. And on that day I was hearing things that weren't for my whole group, it might even have not been for me.

When I first arrived the owner was there, when I sat at the bar he said that he would call to continue the conversation. About four minutes later the phone rang and Jen disappeared for twenty minutes; the waitress was left to serve my arriving friends.

I was asked what was going on, I merely stated that I would fill them in later, which was buying me time to figure out how much I could tell my friends without betraying any trust Jen affords me.

When Jen returned she was quiet. I was worried. I knew if I had asked her, she would tell me what was going on but I didn't want her to have to tell the whole bar, so I sat quiet.

Normally when there is a lull in my conversing with my friends I'll look the bartender, on this day I just looked mostly down. She wasn't meeting any gazes either. Then she stood in front of me, I had a friend on either side, she stared out the window with her arms crossed and began with "The thing is…"

She filled us in. She said there was yelling and crying. I heard the muted yelling and when she escaped the upstairs for the downstairs I heard a sniffle so I guessed at the crying. Sometimes, where she works sucks, often the veterans get moved around to accommodate a newcomer's schedule.

After she finished we both felt better.

"Oh wait, look what I still got," she said as she went to the cooler and pulled out a box of six cannolis. She asked if I wanted one. I felt a little disappointed that I hadn't hit the mark the previous night. I thought the little ricotta cheese filled delights would have been a nice distraction for her but obviously they went uneaten.

I don't really like mixing beer with sweet things but there was a slight moment going on so I took one. Jen brought over three small plates and then offered each of my friends a pastry as well.

"This cannoli is probably going to be the best part of my day," Jen said.

"Tim, I love your cannoli plans," my friend to the left said.

Surprisingly, I liked the cannoli and beer.
I was standing by my friends. She was standing next to me. Our conversation got started when she asked if the group of us were yuppies and/or out-of-towners.

She doubted me when I told her I was born and breed in Boston because I lacked an accent. She was a twenty three year old nurse who seemed to enjoy making trouble. She thought she was smarter than us.

"Wicked pisser" and "park the car in Harvard Yard" were both spoken by her; despite her claims, she was no true Bostonian.

She would lean her left breast into my right arm every time she spoke and she enjoyed talking. My elbow made it to second base more often than an All-Star base stealer. According to her story she was earning $200,000 and being taxed at thirty three percent. She was told she should hang out at better bar rooms with a salary such as that.

At one point she produced a pair of safety scissors and tried to demonstrate how she can cut off clothes by attaching my buddy's tie. She said "You never know when you need to get somebody out of their clothes." Her scissors looked as like a toothless man chewing on a cheap steak as the tie survived the assault. I suggested she learn how to use buttons and zippers. Later, I felt as if we were trapped in a poorly done infomercial as we started cutting pennies in half.

She was humorous for a while, entertaining from time to time and constantly unattractive. Her boasting soon wore thin and we grew bored; she moved on.

We concluded that Colleen would have done us all if asked and then bragged about it to the next guy.

Friday, January 26, 2007

The thing is...

"The thing is' is just a longer version of the way I open up a dialog with the word 'so.'

So, the thing is that I know I'm more virtuous then I like to believe. So, even though I will sometimes kick the crap out of myself, deep inside I know it's mostly baseless.

See ya at the strip club.


She was the first girl that I had a crush on who was close to my own age. I found perfection in her imperfection. A slight overbite. A little cockeyed. She was taller than the other girls but not by much.

I never did speak to her.

She was sometimes teased. I wanted to be her hero but chivalry took a back seat to my father's instructions of no fighting. And besides, she wasn't in my second grade class and if I were to stick up for her, we would have been married in the eyes of the other seven year olds and I wasn't ready for that type of commitment.
I'm self-doubtful and arrogant at the same time.


I've shown my tits for hits


I would rather be a sultan than a king.
What I see when I look around is people doing it better than me.

Are they making an effort to be better or does it just happen? Is it because of practice and hard work? How do you know what to focus on when there is so much to look at?

I don't feel like a writer, I don't feel like a designer, I don't feel like an engineer, I don't feel like a real estate salesperson, I don't feel like an administrator, I don't feel like a bookkeeper...

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I lack feeling.
She was getting ready to leave. Her daughter kept honking the horn on the family's Cadillac SUV. Her long mink coat was on the leather high back chair in her office. The chair was in front of the marble mantle place. On the mantle sat the postcards that I finished three days before and one of the six bookmarks I had handed her three days before that.

"I have to get going..." She called up from her office to mine.

"Alright, I'll see you later."

"I really like the postcards. They came out nice." I hadn't seen her since I added more elements to version I had shown her. I usually like to get her go ahead before I run all the copies but...

"Yeah, I like 'em."

"I like the bookmarks too."

I have a couple issues with the bookmark. It looks good but when I printed them out I didn't like the spacing and placement of the text.

I imagined her looking at all the items on the mantle as she buttoned up her coat feeling a slight tug between family and work. For a couple years we were just working at the status quo; lately we've been working at regaining our championship title. It feels good to be winning again.

I really didn't have a reply for her last statement but felt I should say something; "They still need to be tweaked" was the best I could some up with.

I'll tweak tomorrow.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

There was a time when she tried to resist the charm. Foolish girl.

"Thank you so much honey - you didn't have to do that - it was so sweet of you - You may be one of the only nice guys left in this world. :-)
BYW - I was supposed to come back but took longer than I thought. Going to have to go by there tomorrow so that no one grabs my stuff. Thank you very much (again)!! :-) :-) :-)"

She smiles a lot in real life too

"Great moppable floors! Move in and get to mopping today!"

I'm like support staff. I use the word 'like' because usually support staff is stuck doing the grunt work. I don't mind grunt work but I'm not going to do your grunting for you if the only reason you can't do it is because you're lazy and/or stupid. Also, I'm mostly a genius so people will often require my assistance so I support the staff.

Anyway, one of the things that bogs me down is taking photos. I don't think taking photos is a big deal. I'm not looking for works of art or anything, I just want a shot the shows something worth looking at and preferably that has something to do with the property being sold and the agent has to swing by the property so there is no reason in the whole entire East coast as to why they can't snap a shot.

On the high end properties, I'll shoot the photos myself mostly because we need a few good pictures but I expect the agents to be able to snap a couple good shots otherwise or at least one that isn't horrible.

So, today I see this one.

I've seen worse, sometimes there isn't anything you can do to get a decent frame but you can at least move the freaking mop from center frame.

"And don't forget about our vast barren kitchen walls and complementary cardboard boxes!"
So, I walked in and things were too quiet. Like I had bird shit on my hat and nobody wanted to say anything.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, can I get a chicken culet with sauce and American cheese," I said.

"I told you," the regular sandwich guy said to the other. "I should have just put it in as soon we saw you."

"You're right you're good," the unknown sandwich guy said.

"Sometimes, I get a steak and cheese but you're right usually it's the chicken cutlet. You are good."

"What type of cheese?"

"American," the new guy said.

"That's where you mix it up, sometimes you get Provolone."

I'm hardly a mystery.

I thought about editing this but just briefly

(briefly looks like it's spelled like some cheese loving fly)

I like to think I'm able to explain certain things to certain people. I'll listen to people and learn their language and offer translations between different groups of people. Words have different meanings to different people. Layman and professionals; know your audience.

Sometimes I know the audience whether it's mine or not. I guess is what I'm saying.

...I forgot the goal of this post.

You can watch and listen and see the nodding of all the heads but your gut tells you things aren't matching up. I'm wary of easy agreements.

The spirit of the law as opposed to the letter of the law; down the road I would rather leave the judges out of it. Open books and nothing up any sleeves.

I think my skill lies in hitting that common chord.

A writer creates a scene with building blocks of the known.

Know how to listen

Know how people hear

Know how to see

Know how people see


A lot of what I know, I've read. I'll start with books and then go for the trade magazines. Yesterday, two of the magazines in hand were Create and Print. http://createmagazine.com/index.php




They referred to themselves as creatives.

I'm not one of them.


I'm still waiting for the chime or note or chord from the heavens to sound to let me know that this is what I should be doing. Or a light shining forth, that would do as well. Or any type of 'revealing moment' event, I'm not that particular.


Sometimes, I'll close my eyes and think about what else would cause that response. I'll think it backwards and then write it forwards.


"Hi. Who's this?"

"It's Timothy Green."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well."

"I like that you said well because most people don't but well is correct."

Yeah, that's why I said it, bitch.

He fusses about too much



Dude. Take a breathe.
I thought I just saw the word damn in a file name but I don't have any file name with the word damn in it.

I know some bartenders that would like these


There are times that I will come up with ideas but I don't want to waste them on the lameass thing I'm working on.
So, back to the routine. There was nothing in my interoffice mail box after being away for four business days. There were a few things on my chair.


The manager called over to me, he was seeking a confirmation as to when Danielle had left; he thought it was about a year. I told him it was only about five months even though I knew it was closer to three.

I seem to be the local historian.


She handed me the phone. She had just told me that Danielle called her back while she was in Seattle but hadn't left a number and she had lost the slip of paper that I gave her before. She wrote the number down after I displayed it on my phone and called her.

I asked about the things that I knew were going on in her life, it seemed it was a lot less than I knew three months ago.

She's doing well. She's working on her masters.


I was reading up on designs and layouts and got restless. I needed something to do, something creative. I went down the list my mental list of options: wood, ink, paper, music, design, cordage, leather. I ended up opening up the word processing program.


Those postcards are going to cost the same as a first class letter to mail. I would have done something other than a postcard. Postcards are too easy to discard unread. Postcards, for advertising purposes, seem to say "Listen, I'm not spending a lot of money or effort on this endeavor."

If your piece is going to less than a hundred addresses, don't do postcards - is what my opinion is.

I would have done a folded card sent in a hand addressed envelope to the fifty units in the building. I may have even included a custom refrigerator magnet. And I certainly would have changed the wording of the message. I called it antiseptic when I was speaking with the owner. She said that was the personality of the agent.

"Yeah, no shit and that's why we should change it" is what I wanted to, but didn't need to, say. When the design was finally set the next day, I again asked about the wording but it went unchanged.

I think the piece will fail. I think some folks might save it for a day or two, maybe even a week, because of the photo on the front but eventually, all of them will be in the trash. I think the normal 3 to 4 percent success rate for such things will not be achieved.

There was a chance for a precise mailing to a very specific and small group, a chance to make it look like the company is caring and knowledgeable about them, the unit owners. A soliciting postcard doesn't do that.

I said my piece, though, or at least a piece of my piece. I tried for something better and I was told that things were good enough.

The best I could figure is that there was a possible concern with bruising someone's spirit by changing their idea too much.

I would have sold the change as an enhancement to a good idea.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I don't know as much as I think I do. Maybe there will be four responses which will statically make it a great success. Maybe folks will love the stoic feel of the message. Maybe they will think it very business-like and uber professional. Maybe they will think the unassuming method of a postcard as being polite and something less presumptuous as an envelope intruding into their personal lives.

Maybe, I should just let it go. Maybe, I should chalk it up to lessons learned because I did do a couple things I've never done before even though they didn't make it to the finial design.

I don't see me letting this go. I see me doing the design I would have done if I had the choice and showing it off. "This is what we could have done," will be said. "Maybe, next time," will most likely be heard.



I was standing at the counter wondering if I would ever see that technician or that laptop again when my phone rang.

"Hey, Homo, you just cost me twenty bucks."

"Listen, I'm on my way. I just got busy, that's all." Forty minutes later I showed up at the regular lunch place.

"Now you show up. Get it up. You cost me ten bucks."

"Over the phone it was twenty. Which is it?"

"He brought something for Jen though, so that makes me five." He said mostly ignoring me and completely ignoring my question. "I know him better than my wife."

"Who bet against me being here is what I want to know."

"They all did," he said as he made a sweeping motion with his hand all the way down, those seated at the bar. I guess the bet was that I would be there waiting for them when they got there and there was a side bet that I would bring something for the bartender because I hadn't seen her in two weeks.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

I was watching my two year old neice arranging stickers on a black piece of paper in her sticker notebook when she held up a sticker for me to see.

"Looks like a princess," I said.

She had no immediate reply as she carefully placed it in some spot that looked totally random to me. She then sat up and looked at her handy work and said "It is a princess."

I want to copyright the copyright symbol ©

I put a copyright on the back (© 2007) not because I care if folks use it or not, but to just pretend that the photo is important.

I was told by someone else that they 'Love the angle,' I truly don't get it. It's okay but there are really not a bunch of angles to choose from.

"So, when's your girlfriend going to get here?"

"Which one?"

"From Budweiser."

"Her name is Amy."

It wasn't Amy that showed up nor was it the normal Bud rep., but someone from Budweiser did come by and they brought the pint glasses with the Pats logo and the manger set two in front of me along with a plastic bag.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

"This is a very beautiful photo. It's the best I've seen. It's a wonderful angle and…"

She said more but my ears just kind of shut down. I didn't believe what she was saying or at least I didn't believe she believed what she was saying and even if I did, she could have shot the same picture, anyone could have. Well, anyone with eyes and even a few without. I was getting irritated that she didn't try to make her own marketing item better. If she truly thought my photo was so great then why did she take such a bland one? Move around. If you can't move the subject, move the photographer. I didn't like what I saw so "I" moved.

Move. Use your eyes.

…and stop lying to me. I know you think I'm an asshole, always correcting your stuff. I know you don't appreciate my opinion. And that's okay but let's be real about it.

You were very near to taking the same shot.

I'll tell you my secret. I tried to make it not look like an old prison.

Sales person with no personality and no sales ability

I guess I just hate the way she writes but come on now who says things like “Your new neighbor will be taking occupancy in the beginning of February.”

I didn't like the photo she chose either. I wanted to ask her "What is this photo saying?" When I went to lunch I took some other shots and when the owner asked to see the mock up of the postcard I gave her all the photo choices as well. She chose one I took.

To get someone to flip a postcard over is hard enough at least do your best to give them something they will want to look at.

Use your eyes. Read things out loud. Change things that don't work.

If you got this in the mail, would you read it? Postcards scream "I'm junk mail." I rarely read any of the ones I get, occasionally I'll give them a flip but if nothing catches my eye they get thrown away.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

It's a little scary how much that color laser printer has become part of my life. When is that toner going to get here? (..that tonah gonna get here – is how I say that. I should really do some audio)

Who the hell is running the show? When it was me, we were never out of toner or gin.

They say the Boston accent is dying.

I have to go cannibalize some computers now because that's how I roll on my vacation days.


I could feel the cold throughout the house. It's part of the wintery charm of living in a house built over a hundred years ago. I knew outside the temperature would be below the freezing point.

When I got to my truck I noticed the windshield frosted up in a strange pattern. It wasn't the normal solid paper thin sheet of ice I sometimes find on the outside but long feathery lines on the inside. They looked like flatten pipe cleaners; if you could make pipe cleaners out of ice.

I watched them slowly disappear as the cab warmed. It seemed to be taking forever and in that time I thought about the fleeting life of this art of nature, never to be seen again, and then thought of my own fleeting life.

I wondered how long it would take for me to just disappear from view and thought, and from my right eye I could feel a tear form and not because I was getting all misty eyed but because it was that freaking damn cold.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Monday, January 15, 2007

I have more contacts in my phony email address than I do in my real email address

the backs look like this only maybe a different color

I didn't think about this until Ray said something.

behind the curtain

What she said:

I had a blast Tim...thanks for everything! Looks like you'll have to do that again soon!
so i decided i would actually do somethings i came into do

so i started to close down all the windows of all the programs i had opened because again i don't half ass my half assing and saw the photo of the tea bag envelope

so then i said "I don't believe you just took a photo of that" but most likely with some profanity (i'm rather profane)

so i'm pretty sure i'm rocking it

these are truly fantastic stories, save 'em for your grandkids

so i thought Maybe I should make bookmarks for the company

so i fired up coreldraw and called up one set of bookmarks and erased the fronts and edited the back design to a different color

(yeah, those had back designs too. i don't half ass my half assing)

so then i was ready

so then the phone rang

so then i had a telephone conversation

so then i said 'screw it' to the company bookmarks for that day.
"Timmy, come visit me Sunday," was all it took. I'm easy.

I get a kick out of it when fuckers are jealous of me.

but I'll send them over a beer so they don't slash my tires or nothing, the jealous fucks they are.

Coffee would be great right now.

Alls I got is tea. Three varieties of it. How fortunate.

(if you were wondering)


I don't know who won but it was one of them

So, the Partiots won and Chicago won. I watched both games downtown which is something I almost never do. Yesterday may have been the first. I cashed out twice, once for the shift change and the other when I was leaving, and with the tips, I think I spent about a hundred and twenty dollars.

I probably should say a prayer for my liver but that sucker's pretty stout. I should raise a glass, at least.

So, this morning I was looking down at the jeans around my ankles noticing how nicely their color matched with the boxers and wondered if I had planned that when I put them on yesterday afternoon. I then started with the memory check which is my usual routine. I remember dropping my six hundred dollar check from my pocket after pulling out some cash. I reached down to the left hand pocket to check that I still had it but I found no check. I then felt around in all the other pockets and couldn't find it.

I started to worry because I needed that check in the bank soon or bills would go unpaid. I checked the jacket I had on the day before and found my camera but no check. I then looked for four other checks that needed to be deposited into a different account and couldn't find those. Then I started to really worry. I had all those checks with me because I do all my deposits in my bank branch downtown and one of my plans was to make those deposits if I got the chance. Now the mortgage was a risk.

I cursed myself a bit for being so stupid and drunk. Then I started to think that I wasn't really that screwed up yesterday despite a valiant effort. I could not fathom losing five checks from two separate pockets, one pants and the other - jacket breast. I then check the few ATM receipts I had, I always have a few so I thought nothing of them at first because I could remember at least two trips to the machine that day.

The first one was for when I withdrew sixty bucks, the second was a six hundred dollar deposit and the third was another deposit. I stopped checking after that. I can still only vaguely remember licking one of the envelopes for those deposits and that's it, no walking to the bank, no using the card to open the door, no using two separate cards, no endorsing the backs, no filling out the information (I can't imagine I got the math correct), nothing other then licking that one envelope.

I did remember that the Pat's won and that it was a close scoring game but I don't know how well they played. I also could remember that one of the teams won the early game, I had to check today to find out it was the Bears. If you had asked me who won prior to my research I most certainly would have said "I don't know but it was one of them."

Saturday, January 13, 2007

I didn't think she would call me from out of town. It turns out she didn't. She had mouse problems back at home and asked me to address them. I had a half a beer waiting back inside but I told her that I would try to be there later.

Later, came and I had a Margarita sitting in front of me and after the second one I told the barkeep that I had to go. "Don't you want a shot? Do a shot with me?" I agreed to do a shot and watched her pour three and wondered who else was going to be included. She grabbed the little plastic cup and walked in the opposite direction. I then wondered if I had heard her correctly.

When she returned she poured more Vodka into the stainless steel mixer, walked over to me and started pouring the contents into two other plastic cups. "I had to catch up" she explained and finished pouring equal levels of booze. She then said "Yours should be bigger" as she filled mine nearly to the top. I was going to raise a protest but she told me to hold on.

She squirted a bit of cranberry juice into my Vodka. I asked if that was supposed to make it less than four ounces of Vodka, she told me that it did. She then shared her Diet Coke chaser with me.

The mouse problem would be handled the following day.

Why the bookmarks?

Because I'm bored with the other stuff I've been doing and I need bookmarks.

the transparent version didn't heat laminate well but it would have been cool.

What the plural for anus?

So my conversation in the hallway contains words and phrases like: they have us by the balls, ass and bullshit. When I stepped into the office, the conversation was still at the same intensity level but the words and phrases changed to: they can call the shots, anuses and baloney.

I actually said, "They are being a bunch of anuses."

There are a few things that I would not even say out loud to myself even just within my head but I think about saying them

It always starts out with the easy things and then I want more. I get these other, possibly, better ideas but then I run into the problem of getting what's in my head into some other medium. Sometimes my hands just don't have the touch and I think about blaming my hands. I think about saying "Curse you hands!" but I know it's not really their fault because with practice my hands can out work my head any day.

What's the longest a title can be?
One thing that I do know about me is that thinking hard rarely brings me success but thinking long does.

I'm certain some folks think that I have a lack of concern for some matters but it's not that I don't care it's that I don't see the value in fretting over it.

Another thing that I know about myself is that sometimes I 'play it cool' with the hope of pissing people off. Some people want you to stress out with them when they tell you their emergencies. Some people hate it when you tell them to relax.



So, sometimes I do things for folks. These things can be called favors and the gratitude for these favor things are sometimes expressed with cash.

I used to refuse cash (or any other gift) while I tried to explain that the favor was something I could do so I did it - "No problem. I was glad I could help" - I was seeking no reward. But some folks need to demonstrate their thankfulness and if I don't take the cash then they feel like they own me something despite whatever I say, so as an added service, now I just take the cash and say "Thanks."

So, thank you favor receiver for the little white envelope but $60 was a little bit much but I'm certain my buddies at the bar will quite enjoy it. That's twenty six beers while leaving a fifty percent tip. That's about five beers each if the five of us show up.

Sixty's too much. I should really stop taking cash.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

I wasn't joking about the bookmarks


The post that was going to be here had the word 'guff' in it.

in other news...

I kick ass in this search - yahoo for green catfish
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Hey, you little shit. Stay the hell out of my gin.

The look on the neice to the right reminded of TRUE

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I used some of that Amazon gift certificate on this. (Anti clued me into blockquotes.)
I always put an 'a' in the word quote and then I have to erase it.

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I had forgotten that my fountian pen was giving me trouble

Reading about him in the paper got to me a bit. The articles touched on the man I knew he was; they were articles that would have never been written when he was alive.

He was one I would do favors for at the request of a mutual friend. He knew the value of a secret and he knew I we had that in common.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Destiny - Fate - Circumstance

It's hard to get into rhythm when the band is playing haphazardly which is why I hadn't made any plans for making changes until the holidays were over but then I didn't want it to look like I was making any New Years resolutions so the plan was to ease into things quietly.

Circumstances have brought certain planned changes about hastily. It as if fate over heard my plans and stuck its nose into my business. It taunts me and points out that this is what I wanted; it neglects any mention of my original time table.

I want to buck the changes and start over. I don't like fate telling me what to do. I've flipped off fate in the past. I've watched it go whizzing by while others around me were tripping over themselves trying to grab it by the tail, I refused to budge.

I like to avoid the crowds. I like to wait for the second show. It seems most people have been brainwashed into thinking you only get one chance. I don't know, maybe I'm different, but I see chances everywhere.

Sometimes, I wish I only had one chance that way I wouldn't have to choose which chance to take. I never actually wish that because I fear that it may come true so I only think about the thought of wishing it.

I'm always careful about what I wish for. A lot of my wishes come true.

Be careful what you wish for.

I'm in constant listening mode for that damn other shoe.
It seems like I haven't had any down time. I can feel myself getting cranky.


He was a friend of a friend and a friend of another friend. The friends in common come from different and separate parts of our lives so my view of him had a certain depth perception that I think few others had. He probably had a similar binocular view of me.

He was easily misunderstood. He was labeled a racist by some and I, at times, thought that he actually wanted to be one but I don't believe he ever really managed it. I believe his morals and his skewed sense of honor always got in the way.

Monday, January 08, 2007

I don't know everything off the top of my head. Sometimes, it takes me a moment, sometimes a very long moment.

I figure a lot of stuff out.

"Oh, so you don't know."

Technically, no I don't but I know it can be done and there are only so many possible menu items to choose from. I can figure it out, just like you can if you ever take the time to pull your head out of your butt.


When things slow down don't normal folks look around? I'm always looking around, seeing what's out there.

"How'd you know about that place?"

"Geez, I don't know maybe I looked?"

People put up signs and shit for a reason.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

second round

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there may be a prize for picking the winning logo and feel free to make you own. Here's the rendering.

My boss likes the second one down on the left but she wants to add colors - just to keep you updated. The property address is 1 5 2 O l d C o l o n y A v e n u e.

Friday, January 05, 2007

work in progress

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So, usually the deal is you just drive around wailing the wailer at whomever needs wailing at while the busybar is busy flashing its bar of assorted lights. Usually, you don't need to do this much because people don't like to be wailed at so they move along when they see you coming.

Usually, that's the worst of it but other times the worst is a heck of a lot worser.

...I've so move on from this post. There is going to be a recurring problem on rare occasions and I see no solution for it - to sum it up.

At least the papers aren't all over us.

Whatever. I got no sleep.


Mel Bay's Deluxe Concertina Book

Book reviews:

"Exactly what I wanted. I've never played a concertina, just an accordion, and they are set up differently. I didn't know how to begin. This book is simple and straightforward. And it has traditional tunes for my puppet shows. I highly recommend it for beginners."

"After a few fireside mishaps, a friend pointed out that the accordioned object in my hands was not a bellows but a musical instrument called a concertina. Mel Bay's book taught me the basics, and now I can play a few tunes and torture the dog with my rendition of "Waltzing Matilda." A great guide for the beginner!"

I would love to casually meet both of those people in some public setting. They seem to live in a different world then the one I'm in.




that's over seven years ago (that first date, wiseass)

"Hey, do you have that plan of Elm Street, going back to about six or seven years ago, with all the parking regulation changes that was all different colors and easy to read?"


"Blah, Blah, Blah, , Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah...can you print it out for me?"

Really, I heard that many blahs. Anyway, I printed it and it was dated 11/19/1999.

Why did I type this?

I'm starting to worry about how you spend your time.


"Have you seen Body Works?"

"What's that a movie?" I asked and somehow I heard her roll her eyes.

I guessed that I guessed wrong. She bought tickets or scheduled something as we were on the phone. Sunday night at seven or maybe it was seven thirty. Upon investigation, my new guess is that Body Works is that cadaver exhibition at the Science Museum.

Listen, I don't get out much. I'm a busy guy.


It's a new day dawning

yeah but look what happened with yesterday's dawn

calm the heck down and get real

Thursday, January 04, 2007

nearly shiftless

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My regular seat was available so that is where I sat.

I ordered a beer although it were but for a note I was there

The note was from a mutual friend whose vacation had just come to an end.

She had lost her friend's number 'cause with her phone she was a bumbler.

It broke in two but I had a plan on what to do

I sent a friendly email and got one back without fail

I wrote the digits on a scrap of paper and slide it to her like Mr. Naper.

Yeah, whatever, it was over anyway. I'll feel guilty if you actually read it.
I sat in an end seat by door. At the next stop, a young family sat opposite from me. The two parents were reading separate copies of the same stapled two sheet document. Their little girl looked like she couldn't see enough as she looked about at everything twice. She wasn't in awe; she was just taking in her new location and was bored.

I remembering thinking she looked smarter than both of her white trash parents and I wished that she had more hope for a good future than what came to my mind.
The original plan was to just go home and do home things but I got out early because I did some hero thing. Well, maybe not so much heroic. I helped out without being asked and it caused my lunch hour to be delayed so I was told that I didn't have to return which meant I got about forty-five minutes extra for lunch but also meant I could do whatever I wanted to because I was off company time.

For me, New Years resolutions have never included anything having to do with alcohol, and if anything I seem to be out to prove that alcohol for the New Year is still definitely still on my list. I'm the kind of prick that will eat a cupcake or two in front of a dieter. And it's not because I'm mean, it's because I preach moderation. I think you can do whatever you wish as long as you do it in moderation. My problem is that sometimes I over moderate.

Anyway, I walked down the street for a late lunch. Or, at least that was the modified plan but I seemed to have forgotten about the eating part of lunch. I blame it on a lack of other patrons and a familiar face. The familiar face had a beer in front of her and me, not wanting to be rude, ordered a beer as well.

Before she left she asked for my phone. I handed it to her and she added herself as a contact. She said it was so I could call her if one of my friends would happen to be around this coming Friday but soon she added that I could call her for other reasons.

She seemed to keep delaying her departure. I was pretty certain she was waiting for me to make a move.

I was an obtuse statue.
Maybe part of the problem is that once you're on top of the world, down is the only direction left.

It's a great view. I won't argue that, but what is it a view of? Mountain ranges, snow, ice, bare rock...

You might be able to see the green of grass but you can't see green grass. Details are missing: smells, sounds, souls.

Whatever, it's the new year just like 365 days ago.
Some newspaper reporters suck at writing.

I use a ball point pen much like a brute would, which comes in handy when filling out form in quadruplicate.

Conversely, I use a fountain pen with a touch that is as delicate as would be used to make love to a fully bloomed flower.

I rarely claim to be a writer so I can write like a hack.

It's like my fingers are trying to close caption my thoughts. They are detached from the actual thinking process so sometimes things get mixed up.

I don't see the actual letters in my head, I 'see' how that word feels.

"Congress Makes History"

Some historic moments are rather lack luster.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Nov 30th

Dec 23rd

Dec 30th

By New Years Day I was worried. You see, I'm needy. I don't need much but do need something or else I begin to doubt and start to dream up scenarios. That voice in my head is fantastic at flash fiction.

When New Years Day became yesterday, I was writing the eulogy for the time we knew each other. "I know her" was changing to "I knew her."

I'm overly dramatic like that sometimes but it's always mostly just internal dialog that gets spoken. I was going to add that you don't have to take back any internal dialog that is spoken but I can remember some inner voice doing just that.

So, I started some emotional packing up, just in case, for when things would be beyond doubt, when later that day I received an email from her. The first thing I did was to check the length of it, it was long, I smiled and then started to unpack.
Normally this is where the rant about folks dragging their feet would go but I wish to forsake the commonplace rants. But it was the literal dragging of someone's feet (i.e. not picking up one's feet while walking)
Sometimes, I want to indicate that I am writing stuff but it's just that I haven't been getting a very convenient and easy time to post it. But if I could do that then I would be able to post.

The email always works

I didn't bother to finish any of this

"Do you have any plans for New Year's?"

"Maybe I'll finally open that Champaign from last New Year's, that's still in the frig."


"I'm not a fan of mimosas. I think it ruins both the orange juice and the Champaign."


new start, last year's smells.

the best part is that the holidays are over.

p.s. holidays are supposed to be fun.

but this year brings a modicum of hope - mostly because I'm tired of what I've become, or more precisely what I've rotted to.

but I'm still better than the next guy - that's what I think of today's society.


I've been putting things off for years and I basically asked her what the hurry was. She basically answered with a shoulder shrug. But lately I'm been wondering what's the delay.


if I fake patience do I obtain fake virtue?


so we've double the amount of U.S. victims

Our high moral horse seems to be shitting over everything.