Tuesday, February 27, 2007

I'll shame the glory

I turned on my iTunes to try to dull the clamor of the office but I could still hear the sports talk and the bitching.


The phone was charging so it took me a moment to remember where it was. The number was blocked but then that was expected for fifteen minutes before midnight. She told me her problem. I told her that I would be right there.

She was at the Kinko's near Copley which turns out to be catty corner from Neiman Marcus. Her Ford Explorer wouldn't start. I got no result after I ground the teeth of the jumper cable clamps into the battery posts; there wasn't enough power to turn the engine over, so we waited.

She was surprised at the time when I wished her a happy birthday.


I think the frequency of my writing has dropped a bit. I attribute that to the busyness of my business.

There are times I just need to do something; I will need to create. Mostly, it falls to writing but lately I've had other things to occupy my time with, mainly that development that is scheduled to be finished in December.

One item for the development was a predominately black brochure and then for the sign at the property black was used again so yesterday when I read in a trade magazine that 'Black is the new black' for the upcoming year I smiled just a bit.


"Just make sure you hook up the black first and then the red and when you take them off take the red off first," I said as I left her the jumper cables.


What concerns me most is that I think her confidence had been shaken. Or more likely her boldness has been compromised.

We both use 'we' inappropriately. Usually, 'we' means me unless I'm talking about how 'we' overextended ourselves - then I'm talking about her.

I'll share the glory and the blame


The architect emailed us some photos. I still like holding photos, seeing them while they are in my hand is preferred to looking at them on the screen so I printed the eight photos out. The owner mentioned that he didn't take a very good photo. "Yeah, I noticed that but I didn't want to say anything." I didn't want to mention it because his renderings aren't very good either.

He's good at floor plans and building layouts.


I keep candy in my overhead.

I guess today is a day of revelation.

Anyway, I reached some down and lost the hold on one; which bounced off my desk and I could tell by the trajectory that it was heading for the carpet. I could have caught it with some violent move but that would have been uncool, so I just let it fall.

I said utmost

He likes to say things with an utmost certainty, trouble is his statements are questionable.

He expects me to remember the stories he has told and since forgotten. Screw him.

I'm down to just regular beans

I've been working too much


It's too noisy


She called me because that's what people do when they are out of answers but I was all out of magic. My charms are worn from use and the mighty powers that they once possessed have left merely a musky odor where once there was an almighty scent.

Yeah, I don't know what that means either. It might make sense if you're smoking something.

I hate it when the magic runs out and by magic I mean luck and a modicum of skill.

I try to catch all them all but sometimes there is just too much dish. I'll warn that my recommended disk catching ability is about to be exceeded but still they come. Sometimes, they still all get caught but other times there are other results.

I'll just look at the broken dishes and wonder why so many were decided to be thrown.

Too many. You chose too many. My hands are that of a mere mortal and my magic is finite.

Success could have been had if things weren't so hurried. I wonder what the hurry is.

I always wonder what the hurry is. I wonder why people like to race to death.

I'm sauntering my way there.


The plant was dying slowly and there wasn't anything I could do about; we both knew that the end would come but I watered it anyway.


Every business I've ever been in there has always come a time when someone says that I'm in the wrong business.

I have a great propensity for picking the wrong job, I guess. I'm habitually misemployed.


What's the harm in beating a dead horse?

I said that I would be there at one; I showed up at eleven forty five. The owner walked in at one and asked me what I was doing there. She thought I had said my usual three o'clock.

I got there early because I wanted to finally change offices. I was supposed to do it by the New Year but things happen or rather things don't happen; mostly because I'm lazy.

Her cousin coaches junior hockey and was having a fund raiser to take his team to the nationals. He held a length of poster board with writing caused by a red sharpie around a picture cut and pasted off of some internet site. I know this because I was called down from my office to see it.

"Can we do a poster for Robert?" I looked at what he brought as she held it up. "He was just going to go to Kinko's...and it is a visual world."

"Yeah, it's a visual world even though we're going to cram too much information onto a sign."

"I knew you were going to say that."

"We can't do it that size but eleven by seventeen."

Her cousin said that the ledger size would be fine; I took his poster upstairs. It was the first thing I would produce in the new office.

About an hour later I printed out a poster. I tweaked it three times before I let it go. I showed it to the owner. "You're in the wrong business," she said as I just kept quiet. She then mentioned that she knew some designer that was going to strike out on her own and that she would like people like me. "I have a hard time giving the client what they want sometimes," I said, giving another indication I wasn't happy with the direction she was taking with the latest sign we were working on.

She called her cousin. He came by and asked for fifty copies and while those where printing he asked for twenty five more.

I thought it was cool that we could print seventy five kick ass posters from start to finish in under an hour an forty five minutes without any prior notice but I played it off like I do that type of stuff all day long.

We then focused back on the sign which was our priority for that day. I crammed it full of all the information that she said was desired. For what it was, it looked okay, it looked like another sign that you might see at a construction site if people weren't in the habit of ignoring such type of a sign. She took my first version and the second version to the main floor to show an agent.

"This one's very dramatic and is all about graphic effect but this one has all the information on it."

"Yes, that true but no one is going to pull over and write that information down. I know getting the company name out is important but this sign is going to produce more hits than that one."

"You're right," the agent said in agreement with me.

I would rather have fifty percent of a hundred people see the company name than one hundred percent of ten people. I would rather have folks drop by the easy to remember wed site address and see our company brand than to have a bunch of folks just ignore it from the get go as they drive by some too busy sign.

I ended up tweaking my original sign which will be augmented with a flag banner with our real estate company info, the bank's info that is financing the project, and the project's logo.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

a gift of twenty

I watched him approach the driver of the parked car in front of me while I was reading my Staples receipt to see what type of refund I was entitled to. I could not make out what he asked her after she rolled her window down but I assumed it was money when he started walking my way.

I rolled my window down about four inches. The story he told me was about how his truck had just broke down and that he's trying to catch a cab home with his son. I looked to the back of my truck and said that I didn't have room for two but it wasn't a ride he was looking for. I reached into my pocket and was reminded that I only had a twenty and a little more than a dollar in change.

I told him I only had change as he called to his six year old son to wait on the sidewalk. I lowered the window and handed him the change and said "Hey, it’s a start."

I wonder why I didn't think his plight was worth twenty bucks. Twenty bucks isn't a lot to me and I didn't need any cash right away and if I did an ATM would be on the way.

I didn't doubt his need for money but I guess I just didn't believe his story. I've doubted stories in the past and still have given money so now I wonder wasn't it worth a twenty dollar gamble.

I have no regret, live and learn…

and risk more twenties, I guess.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

He worries about others; he thinks everyone is working the system and thinks they should be reprimanded. He's asked why he doesn't confront these ne'er-do-wells. His reply is because he doesn't want them to ruin the deal he has going.

Glass houses and gardens of stone.


I wish that I wished to be great but I'm okay with just getting by.

I squander.


Dumb chicks have never turned me on until last night. I'm starting to worry.


I'll have to retype my resume. I could only find a hard copy. I like the looks of it.


He thinks the point he's making is something other than he's an asshole.


I think most every time that someone has started being nicer to me and telling me about what a nice guy I am and how I'm great they do something that ends up making my life more difficult.

So, I don't trust praise.

I'm also a hard judge so I'm rarely self satisfied.

I don't see the glass as half empty or half full. I wonder what moron left a half glass of water just sitting where it can get knocked over. "Whose water is this? How about not leaving it in the way? Did you not want a glass of water? Are you just wasting people's time and effort and water?"

I see a half glass of water and wonder where the bourdon is.


Sometimes, some times.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007


I have a habit of telling her that I love her when she can't hear it.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

magenta is not cyan, magenta is not cyan...

So, the finial version was chosen. The black front with the gold logo on gloss paper in front and matte on the back, the back would be the blue blueprint and the blueprint would be changed for five different units.
never mind me. I don't know my ink colors yet.

I was asked to print 12 of each which means six sheets five times because the brochures are just half a sheet of paper large. Which maybe makes them a flyer; I don't know.

Anyway, I printed out the first unit's blueprints, flipped them over and finished printing three sheets when I ran out of ink. The yellow went first, the cyan was following close behind.

The printer has five different colored inks plus a black. The cartridges cost ten bucks a piece unless you buy the set of all of them for $35.00. I bought the set and an extra yellow and an extra magenta because I was a moron and thought it was magenta that was going next.

So, anyway when I got to the office and started printing things out I ran out of cyan because I can't remember colors. And I will have spent thirty bucks on three cartridges when I could have just gotten a whole set for five bucks more.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

toes in

See gull

add baby hater to the list

Ain't it always the way? You're driving home when the idea hits you and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it except to hope that you still remember the idea later when you can either write it down or carry it out.

You see, the logo doesn't pop on that black brochure and it doesn't pop on the gold brochure either. The logo doesn't pop because I like to play it save but driving home (ie. taking the bus to the subway station) I got the idea of putting the gold logo on the black brochure and then vise versa on the gold brochure but I was on the bus so there wasn't a damn thing I could do about.


So, I said "Sometimes it's important to do nothing. To just relax." So, then I hear, "Timmy, you don't understand. I can't just do nothing." So, then I said "I don't mean to actually not do anything, like stay in bed all day. I mean to read a book or something".

So, later the dude's talking to someone and says "Timmy, says I need to relax". And you know me, right? I'm not backing down on anything I say, I might explain things a little better if I think I'm being misunderstood but I'll own my words. So, I said "That right! You do need to relax." So, then he states again that he cannot "just do nothing." I wanted to shout "Hellooo! Do you ever f-ing listen?" But I didn't.

Maybe I need to relax.


So dude's reading my paper in the empty cube across from me where I put my paper so people can find it to take to their own cube to read, only dude starts reading the paper right there. I handle that but then he starts saying things like "Poor Anna Nicole Smith..." and he says them not like he talking to me but like he's a senile old man just talking to himself so he won't feel so lonely that he'll off himself. But I don't want to hand hold him so I just let the comment fall.

So he says another thing and I don't bite and he says a third thing and I don't bite.

Dude, stop casting comments my way because I'm not biting. Get a life, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a dog, become a drunk at a bar like me but please just shut up or at least talk to me directly so I can shoot down all your inane comments in a heated discussion type manner and so I won't feel like I'm just lashing out at a pitiful lonely man.


He gave me a ride in. He thinks it's a big favor but I would rather walk most days. He made two bigoted statements one against minorities and one against homosexuals.

After I pointed out he was making a bigoted statement against minorities he was careful to not name the other group he was making bigoted statements against, he just referred to it as "that type of neighborhood." and then he asked "You know the type I'm talking about, right?"

Well seeing how you are a racist homophobe, yes I do. He has no problem dealing with individual blacks or gays but put them into groups then it's a different story. He thinks there can be good ones but as a whole you have to watch out for those people.

edit*** Add baby hater to the list.

If my friends and I were to offer awards and behave just as that Hasty Pudding bullshit, we would be locked up as perverts.
"Just because someone asks you nicely doesn't mean you should give it to him."

"I'm just trying to be helpful."

"Yeah, but do you know what he going to use it for?"


"Would you give him your social security number if he asked for it?"

"No. Of course I would give him my social security number."

"Would you give him mine if you knew it?"


"Well, just because you know something doesn't mean I should be telling others."

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Just 'cause

Just because she asked

heart card if you cut it out it will fit in one of those quarter sheet (4 3/8in. x 5 3/4in.) envelopes

(i stole the image)

Front and back and front and back

of course I like the black


I slowly turned to see the whisperer

it was fame

but then I already knew that

I recognized the voice

A pox, indeed.

"Sir, do you want another bagel?" She said holding the nearly perfect toasted egg bagel. No wonder why the bagels are always under toasted. They don't know what toasted means.

And a pox on the house of whoever asks for a different bagel when it finally does get toasted.

A pox! I say.
I used to write and then edit out everything but the kicker line.

I was buying Valentine's candy on sale and not because it was Valentine's Day but because it was candy when my phone told me I had a voicemail. I must have hit one of those coverage bubbles when the call came in because I certainly didn't hear my phone ring.

She was having problems with printing invites; she wanted my advice. When I called her back she explained what the problem was. I told her there wasn't anything I could think of that would solve her problem. The printer would work fine with regular paper. I asked if her printer had an adjusting lever or a knob for envelopes or thick paper. She said it didn't. Her printer most likely just doesn't like her invites.

In a pleading voice she asked what she could do. She didn't want to print them on her ink jet because the quality would be less. I told her that sometimes there is no solution. She wasn't happy.

It's fine to think outside the box but sometimes the box has teeth. If you don't want to get bit in the ass; stay inside the box.

I told her I would swing by her house later.


A swing with a miss

or an unsatisfied misses even
My replies were getting slower and slower mostly because my brain function was getting busier and busier.

A drive to the airport a 6:15pm was the first request. I'm walking through my door at 4:35pm most days and on Tuesdays I need to go to the second job. It takes fifteen minutes to drive there. It takes fifteen minutes to drive to her house. It takes seven minutes to drive to the airport. And I needed to get some gasoline.

The second request was to drop off her car at the auto body shop after I dropped her off at the airport.

A snow storm was scheduled to hit.

I planned to work on some marketing items for the second office.

Parking is an issue on normal days; days with snow are a lot worse.

I heard her say "Hello. Can you do it?" I told her that I could, although I wasn't digging what my schedule had become. At least I had a four hour notice. I went to the ATM to get some cash for the toll I was going to have to pay.

Happy Valentine's Day.

I stopped by the office after work until six and told folks that I would be returning some time later. I showed up at her door at the time she told me to be there. She got to truck some time later. "That's why I told you six thirty my time," I just sat quiet, it was quarter of.

The trip to the airport was uneventful; I was brought up to speed on a couple things that she had only hinted at before and she decided that her car could go to the repair place on Saturday instead. Things started to look up.

I got the ideas in my head on paper and they weren't as fantastic as I had imagined. There were readability issues. When it comes to form or function, I side with function even though most everything I read on designing leans towards form. "What good is nice copywriting if you don't catch someone's eye first?" First, a shout then mumbling. My gut wants to reward those who take time to read with pleasant easy reading copy.

I tend to whisper in a world that shouts.

A shout will get more attention but a whisper gets better attention.

What I had was eye catching but some info was hard to read. I felt like I was cheating people by saying "Hey, listen to me!" and then saying nothing when people turned an ear my way.

I figure something out that I won't be pleased with. I have a hard time pleasing myself. Well, except for those four minutes in the shower on certain mornings.

but then I don't have to tell you that

It's safe; I guess that's why I go there. I'm recognized but still unknown.

I do think I'll survive it; that's probably my main problem. It doesn't matter what it is, my past practice says that this too shall pass. Where the problem comes in is that I don't make things easy on myself. I'll wait too long or bite off too much. Some future day I'll look back, rub the fading scars and smile at my resilience, forgetting the pain of those bygone wounds.

I'm safe, polite and kind, usually not all at once but usually two out of three so I tend to attractive folks but sometimes I need to get work done. It bothers me that some folks will no recognize that.

He was standing at the bar with empty seat all around him. He was the only one there. It bothers me when people don't sit. I think he's under the impression that it gives him a tough guy persona. I think it makes him look like a fool.

I sat and gave him a nod because I'm cool like that. He started small talking which included asking me how my business was literally every other question. The bartender even rolled her eyes. He offered to buy me a beer because that's what big shots do. I told him that I would be sticking with the ginger ale.

The guy's a moron who won't listen because he has all the answers. I don't waste time on him too much. I'll keep my answers short and vague and use a lot of well-you-know's. He's too foolishly proud to admit that he doesn't know, even when I start making stuff up.

He asks about properties Downtown. I repeat that I'm a neighborhood guy but he still asks again. I told him I couldn't say much because big things were in the works. He knows some of what I do is real estate related and when he asked how my business was for the fourth time I told him "spring will break." It was more of a weather forecast than an economic one but when I got back to the office, the business section of the local online paper stated that spring would bring a robust market. He's probably going to brag to his friends/ex-cons that he knows a guy in the know.

Please don't be stupid around me because it is very difficult for me not to make fun of you right to your face which will cause you to get your feelings hurt.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Did I promise better photos?

I can't remember if I actually promised or just thought about promising posting better photos.

It really doesn't matter.

Either way the deal's off.

It's a little like Jenga

I want to get to my other computer; the one with all the good stuff loaded on it or attached to it. What I want doesn't change what is at the moment.

I worry I'll forget. I worry the feeling will pass. I worry.

I'm slightly itchy everywhere I have clothes. It's the same itch I noticed in bed after I had washed the bed sheets. I think I'm allergic to that cheap laundry detergent I bought. It like feels like metal splinters poking at me.

In a letter a friend wrote that she doesn't trust when people say they have no regrets. I thought of my own regrets. I thought of what the cost was for each. I thought about the lessons learned. I tired to figure if it balanced out.

I was frustrated with most everything that was happening in my life. I wondered about my choices; there were many, I second guessed all my forks in the road. I was where I chose to be, a secure job with benefits doing something, that at times, I enjoyed. But sometimes even a job you like is still a job. I wanted a change. I wanted to be somewhere else. The best I could do was get up and leave my cube. It was a time when I was still drawing with pencil, pen and ink. I could always make the excuse that I needed clean hands to do my job well. Clean hands were never truly achieved.

The men's room was by the elevator. She was waiting in her full length beaver fur when I walked by. I hadn't seen her for over three years. I thought of just walking by, to let the past remain undisturbed but I guess I wanted at least some sort of closure.

Closure didn't happen; renewed friendship did.


He wasn't bad guy much like a rattle snake isn't a bad pit viper.


I don't know how much of the bad below is the foundation for the good above.

It's a little like Jenga.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

to me, anyway.

So, I bought a photo quality printer. I've actually purchased two other ones but they both were gifts.

I started printing out my favorites. There weren't too many since 2004. Twenty-two by my count.

There is that one of my neice watching me in the reflection of my truck's back window.

Photo Hosted at Buzznet

It still creeps me out a little bit. It's like being watched by a ghost.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

the knowing nod

I sat at my usual spot even though the debate in my head was still going on. The bar was empty expect for at the other end where two regulars where sitting. I know them both, to an extent but I didn't think to the point where they would feel slighted if I didn't sit with them. I hoped the bar would fill in.

The bartender was a guy I had never seen before and looked like he was cast straight from Hollywood to fill the roll of old Jack the bartender. He looked like he was no stranger to gin.

I gave a wave towards the other end when that first eye contact happened and then quickly turned and sipped my beer. My plan for solitude was going to work flawlessly, is what I thought as a chucked a bit as a still slowly sipped but then one of them called out my name.

"Hey, Tim. What ya doing way down there?" I briefly lost any smile I might have had until I laughed at myself for being a jerk and not sitting with them from the get-go.

Bobby is four years younger than me and he looks eight years older. He's not a bad guy but he's sensitive and nervous.

He knows I bring stuff in for the bartenders. He was telling me about the bond the two of us have because he brings stuff in to and he added another name to the group. The other guy usually brings in flowers, Bobby brings in gift certificates from Victoria's Secret, I'm known as the Godiva chocolate guy.

I was going to tell him how I'm different than either him or Roy but if he didn't know already, I thought it was kind of pointless to bring it up.

I bring other things besides chocolates but they usually fall into the comfort food area and what I more often than not will do is to not stick around after I give the gift. I'll leave, get it, give it and leave with a wave.

There are very few women one should give a gift certificate for lingerie to and flowers are a risky gift to unless they are subway flowers which will get throw away as soon as somebody's back is turn or maybe even not turned. Subway flowers are close to meaningless as a gift and are a border line nuisance.

It came up that I try to visit all the bartenders equally because I knew that they would call each other and ask if I was around and if I was seeing one more than the others, the others would let me know. "You should feel honored, man," Bobby said with a sense of awe. I had to glace over at him because although I knew he was being sincere, I had to get the visual confirmation from the look in his face.

I don't think there is a Noble prize for bartender favorite.

I wanted to tell him that the secret to my success is doing my best not to look like some creepy needy weirdo. I come in when I know it will be slow, I leave a decent tip, I ask questions about them and I don't get involved in conversations about how much I would like to 'do' them. I mostly just sipped my beer as Bobby talked. I'm a master of the shoulder shrug.

Then the sun dozed

An old guy with a blue coat and matching hat seems as nameless as his cup of coffee.

A younger guy with a home brought lunch. He's using a gladware plastic container. He reminds me of Toby McGuire.

The attractive teacher just walked by. She was eating lunch with one of the loners.

I noticed her right away as she reached the top of the far side staircase. She walked my way with long strides and sat at the table next to me. She carried no food or drink, no iPod or magazine. She sat quietly until she made a phone call.

The sun shone through, lighting up most of my corner of the world. It was almost too bright. It almost got me.

Tourist were at the table in front of me, two couples about twelve years apart in age. The guys were sitting alone when I first arrived. I thought they lunching by themselves until their wives showed up.

I was having trouble figuring out the home brought lunch guy. He rested his head on his arms. (I miss naptime) He's about a third way through his quart of water. I forget the logo on the container. It looks like a smiley face with a blue carrot nose and it’s wearing a beret.

She's prettier than her friend. She has died her hair a fiery red.

"It's poofy in the middle and tight around the boobs. It's so girls can hide that they have a spare tire thing going on but I don't have that but I don't have the boobs either so nothing fits me" – the girl on the cell phone.

Vapid comes to mind, even before she states that there should be more pretty girls because that college isn't that hard to get into.

The girl with the red colored hair eats her French fries with a fork. She stab the fry in the middle, eat the left end then the right before she eats the middle. I've never seen a fried potato eaten so precisely. It's doesn't appear to be a very economical way to eat fries but she looks kind of classy doing it.

The old guy with the no name coffee works for a parking garage. He seemed to be fading away as I watched him.

The sun seemed to be struggling to stay awake. The shadows grew longer. The sun would sleep soon.

He had a coffee from Red Barn, at first he sat on a bench then he moved to a table. He pulled out a small notebook from the breast pocket of his wool jacket that he had placed on the back of his chair. He doodled something quickly in pencil and then put the notebook aside.

He sat there looking, thinking. He was in no hurry. When he picked up the notebook again, he used a pen and wrote for twenty minutes, occasionally looking around as he sipped his coffee.

Then the sun dozed.

"We have crabs!" Thank fish monger.

Have you even just gone to a train station just to pass some time, maybe to peruse a popular local magazine to scope out the advertising, you know just to see what catches your eye so you can steal design ideas?

So, you buy the popular local magazine for $3.99 and you mildly wondered why you're not being taxed on a magazine but you just brush it off and try to find a seat mostly out of the way. You find such a seat and sit down and start flipping through the pages, and you struggle a bit not to read the articles because your goal was to just notice advertising, when you feel a small itch in your crotch area and you think 'that's odd' because very rarely does you crotch itch and then the thought crosses your mind that you may have just giving yourself crabs because you are sitting in a skeevy train/bus station.


I wondered what happened to my ear buds for weeks. It's rather unlike me to lose things but people lose things and I'm a people. So, today I'm moving stuff around and part of the stuff is the holder for the ear buds and I lamented a bit that I had lost my twenty five dollar listening device when I noticed through the partly translucent cover that the ear buds were inside.

And that's what usually happens when I start putting things in their proper places. The case is a pain in the butt to use, it must have been a slow day.


Sometimes, I weary in being other people's memory...
and their common sense as well.


So, I was asked if there was anyway to retrieve a chat. I didn't know for certain but said there was certainly a chance and I would look for it. It's new software, something I had nothing to do with, my experience with it is the same as everyone else's.

So, I found the chat and where the chats are stored and it was announced to the room immediately. The receptionist then came over likety split and asked how to do it; she had a pad of paper and a pen in hand.

I was all over that application and I did instantly memorize all my keystrokes. I told her to go to the control panel and look around.

Most often it's enough just to know that something can be done in order to find a way to do it.

Look, please please just take a look about.


I chose my words carefully. If I say that I know something, that shouldn't be confused with "I think" something.


Tuesday, February 06, 2007

mad hungry

There is a slight chance that on occasion I may assault you to obtain KFC crispy strips as long as there is honey mustard dipping sauce.

selfish shot

There are sometimes when I'm holding the camera, ready to shoot and I'll see a great shot but I'll lower the camera instead of pressing the shutter button.

Sometimes I keep the best shots just for me.

the forgotten lost & found

I'm not lost.

I remain unfound.


i # beat Hello

that was hardly a confession I wished to make but I was just goofing around with the writing pad feature of Windows, just drawing lines and stuff and all my lines just disappeared. For about two seconds I wondered where my lines went and after that I didn't care and looked back at my Word document and there it said what you see above minus the hello which I wrote to confirm my suspicions.

could be crazy

I think it's a carry over from the olden days when I frequently had my hands in some computer's chassis. That's the best I can recon for why I'll touch most every bit of metal I'll pass while my feet are touching carpet. Cabinets, light switch plates, doors and their jams, exposed metal corners, all get a gentle stroke of an index finger as I walk by.

Or maybe, I'm just crazy.

she and me or this post has no proper ending

I thumb through the pages of my past where it mingles with hers, every once in awhile, when I think I should be moving on. There are not many constants for either of us but then the time is quite close to a quarter century. How long are things supposed to last in a throwaway society?

There are a couple faces that are the same but even those are just repeat visitors. It comes down to family and her and me and even some family members have moved on.

Sometimes, I have no faith in what you are doing but I still have faith in you

I do try occasionally, sometimes, once-in-awhile.

I knew there wasn't much help I could offer but I followed him back to look for his hat anyway, I felt he needed the support. There was really no place for a hat to hide but we moved chairs around and bent over to look under the solid wood tables.

monumental, indeed

"What are you doing? Having to prove work?"

"No. I don't have to prove work. I need to count signs."

"For who?"

"Well, the boss asked and I kind of want to know for myself."

"What for?"

"While I kind of think it was a monumental thing, putting signs up in a whole neighborhood."

"Well, you're the only one that cares."

Listen, if folks want to pay me my regular salary for counting. I'm going to gladly count.

Monday, February 05, 2007

The most I could muster was to lie

I looked into her office, she was sitting alone, she was quiet. I'll look in if no one is there and she's not on the phone just to say hi before I go upstairs.

She asked about family photos because she was having trouble locating them on the computers. I still had some that I scanned years in the past and told her that there were others on her second laptop.

I've never seen her look defeated before even if she was only just very tired. Her brown eyes seemed too watery for what was normal.

She needed a hero, is what my hunch was.

The most I could muster was to lie and let her know that I was holding my own.


The younger one will jump off of whatever she sees her solder sister jump off of only she doesn't do any of the planning that her sister has learned through experience. She'll jump a little farther, jump a little quicker, jump a little higher.

The older one knows the pain of learning so her jumps are a little more measured.


There wasn't much I could do. I didn't expect a thirteen year old to know street names and addresses so I drove her to a starting point that she knew. We got to her friend's house without too much wasted travel but our traveling wasn't done.

She asked to go to her hair dresser's so I drove a bit to a different starting point. I didn't say anything when I realized I traveled a couple miles just to get back to the neighborhood I had just left but she must have sensed we were close and she asked.

I told her that I would show her and drove the nine city blocks.





Oh, nuts.

I've been buying the same brand of coffee to brew at home since ever I've been brewing coffee at home and home has changed three times since. Yesterday I noticed "New York's coffee since 1926" on the can. I can't recall seeing that phrase before and wondered if it was true. I also wondered if I was upsetting the folks that relish the rivalry between that city and my town. I wished I had a t-shirt.

Today I took it as a confirmation after I read Internal Alarm

I'll have to try it with vanilla soy milk.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

I'm constantly tempering my charm ('cause it pretty damn powerful stuff)

"I like the 'black' thing you've got going on. You usually don't do that, do you?"

"No. Usually, I don't wear this hat. The other one brings out my blue eyes more."

"That's right. It's the eyes."

I think I wear black well. I think it helps takes some of the 'goofy' out of my goofy charm but wearing black all the time doesn't seem to fit who I think I am and I've been told more than once to wear more color.

My black Nike hat equals steely gray eyes. I still don't know what color my eyes truly are. I think they are more green than blue maybe they're hazel.

Jen came back from her break carrying four dozen cookies.

"Hey, what's the matter? My cookies weren't good enough for you?"

"No. We ate all your cookies."

"So, what kind did you get?"

"Those fudge brownie chocolate chip, that you brought earlier, regular chocolate chip for René, banana chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin chocolate chip."

"Those are Em's favorite." I said which caused her to turn around and call Emily over. I couldn't hear what they said over the music.

A friend was leaving for a different job; that was my excuse for being at the bar. A group of us were there and I was doing my best to keep my focus on the crowd from work but it seemed like everyone else was tapping me on the shoulder. At one point I turned back around and all my coworkers were gone. But I did have a bartender standing in front of me.

'Timmy. What now?"

"I don't know." I had a close to empty pint of Bud Light in front of me, I switched back after two Margarita's.

"Something fun. Not that," she said as she pointed with her chin at my beer.

"Something fun for you usually ends up being something bad for me."

We settled on the deal that would have both of us doing a shot of peach flavored vodka. She's particular; I'm not. She chilled the shots and brought me over a Diet Coke chaser.

"Jenny never gives you a chaser."

"You're right, she doesn't. Thank you."

I left after the shot. It wasn't a bad night, I spent time with friends, had a few drinks sent my way, found out that I guessed right with the fudge brownie chocolate chip cookies for Jen, learned that René likes the regular chocolate chip and that Emily is trying to give me better service than Jen currently does. I hope my liver can survive the competition.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Off the sofa, you bad bad apple.

It was true, I never call. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I never know what her ever changing schedule is. I don't know because I don't call.

She could be sleeping or in a meeting or standing next to a supervisor when she isn't supposed to be talking on the phone.

There are times I think it would be better for her if she just would forget about me but that would certainly snuff out whatever it is that glows in my heart.

If you could change your past for an uncertain future would you do it? There are things I would like to change but not at the risk of losing what I have now.

Would you trade knowledge of one thing for greater knowledge of another? I wouldn't unless someone's life was in danger but that's not the question. I would attempt to get off my ass and learn more, I would try to grab more knowledge; I wouldn't trade it. But sometimes I think my head can only hold so much.

I see my life as an apple cart. I know basically how many apples I can handle. There are some fruits at the bottom I would like to rearrange but I worry that the whole cart might get upset. The cart and I are at an accord but I would really like to be standing on a busier corner sometimes. But then there are all those pesky curbs to worry about.

Yeah, I don't dot my i's

your old tricks no longer work?


that's just leftovers up there. you can write your own story.


I was sitting after eating a steak and cheese with peppers and onions wondering what to do with the forty eight minutes left of my lunch hour. I thought about reading the book I had with me but I really didn't want to get involved with anybody's life. I then thought about maybe sketching out a little scene because I'm trying to get better at sketching but I felt a little too shy ('cause people might see). So, then I thought about maybe pulling out my little reporter's notebook and writing a little something for my blog (I have a blog, you see). But I didn't feel like doing any of those things so I afforded myself the luxury of just kicking it and I chilled and people watched a little bit.

I was doing that last thing when I noticed an older guy (late fifties) walking through the middle of the market place with a much younger lady and then thought of something to write.

A foolish waster of time, am I.

I can't say much but...

first it wasn't a hoax

second it wasn't a 'package' with wires and pipes protruding from it


If anyone wants a free subscription to Roads & Bridges you can get one here.


"So what's the deal with those certificates?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's says 'member' and it used to say 'associate'."

"Did you read the letter that came with it?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well, the letter says something about how they have changed the status for some members. Maybe that's what you are talking about."

When I have questions about something that comes with reading material, I read the material. But maybe I'm different, strange, odd, a foolish waster of my time.

Second behind Tony ain't too bad

If my reckoning is correct, he's in his late seventies. I got to know him through one of my friends who recognized him as a former co-worker. Tony was grateful that he wasn't forgotten.

He's cut from a different stock, then the rest of us; he's an old gentleman. On our best days, we're merely polite. He served in the second of the World Wars.

He called to me on the street the other day and asked what I had paid for those cannolis. I am horrible with prices at times, but surprisingly I remembered that I paid eighteen bucks for a half dozen. I did the math out loud.

"That's a lotta money, Timmy," he said with a grandfatherly look and he somehow seemed to be looking down on me even though I'm at least a head taller than him.

He also thinks I shouldn't be patronizing my regular place anymore. He keeps telling me of better deals a block and a half away. He's equally unhappy with the staffing changes. Tony was the reason I was Danielle's second favorite.

Dude, please just shove it.

He was standing right at the entrance. I gave no indication of any hesitation as I quickly cut to the aisle that sold pens as I heard "What can I help you find?" My reply was "Nothing. I know where what I want is."

I think I might make it my goal just to be out right rude to him. Unfortunately, he's the jackass with the key to all the good stuff. Although, I've only ever needed his key services three times in about four years. Maybe, it would really really bother him if I were to be rude to him and then have him open up some cabinets for me.

I'm in there probably once every two weeks, he has to recognize me as a common occurrence. He must be trying to get into my head. I must defeat him. I must! I must.

Next time he speaks to me I'll just say "Bug off, you wanker."

Or maybe I'll always take him up on his offer to help me and ask for a bunch of stuff that I'll never buy.

I really wish I had that evil gene; the one that allows you to actually carry out all your evil schemes, especially the ones that are just, at the most, irritating.

"Yes. I need paste and blue file folders and round fluorescent orange stickers and I'd like to look at that digital camera on sale and I would like a sales flyer and some gummy bears and some packing tape and some catalog size tyvek envelopes and a six inch plastic ruler and the physically largest flash drive you have because as you know you can easily loose the little ones. Oh, and I need a cash register, and a map of Chicago, and a forty watt light bulb, and a box of twenty four crayons, and some malted milk balls. Oh, wait. I don't have any money and I left my wallet in my other pants. Sorry. But hey, I might come by tomorrow to pick this stuff up."

That's right I said bric-a-brac

I try, sometimes.

Mostly, I just do but that's only on occasion.

Writing and rewriting and standing on guard.

Sometimes, I don't.

This and that and bric-a-brac.

I'm a poet.

Yeah, I'm a poet.

Blogger is acting up

I can't read my very own site