Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Form No.7

So, I was asked to scan a form so someone could fax it; which doesn't make any sense so I scanned the form and made it into a PDF and saved the PDF into the subdirectory where all the form should be placed because obviously someone needed to email it.

"Here's the original you gave me and here's what the PDF looks like," I said as I handed her the sheets over one at a time and added where I saved them to.

"And did you name it Time Extension Agreement?" She asked as she read from the top of the page.

"No. I named it form number seven."

"Oh," she said with slight surprise and started to write it down.

"Of course I didn't name it form number seven."

The agent on the floor laughed but she took slight offense as she explained that she was just asking a question.

Yeah, a dumbass question.

Crazy is often sticky

He was speaking in hushed tones as if he didn't want the conspirators to hear. He was speaking about how his replacement company ID has gone missing. I thought that it was slightly odd but before I started checking for hidden microphone, I walked over to a co-worker's cube. This co-worker who has a habit of borrowing things and not returning them. Whenever something of mine goes missing, I look in this guy's cube.

I picked up the missing ID and returned it.

"Where was it?"

"In that guy's cube," I said while pointing two cubes over.

"Really? I would have never thought of that."

"You know he's always taking stuff."

"He should get his own. Thanks, I would have never thought of checking there."

"How couldn't you. Whenever I'm missing something, that's where I check."

"I would have never checked there."

That's because sometimes you're an ignorant non-thinking jackass.

Yeah, I was there but I wasn't paying attention

I wondered if I had kept the names consistent after I had hit the publish button. I couldn't remember if the guy's name was Mike or Steve. I had gone with Mike. I wasn't protecting anybody's privacy, I just couldn't remember.

Sometimes the names are changed and sometimes they are not.

I spent a good amount of time trying to organize my space. The kitchen table wasn't really working out for me. I needed a place to work.

I created a space by moving things to other places and set up a folding table. My optical mouse doesn't like the table's white plastic finish almost as much as me. Chances are I'm going to buy a desk or a writing table.

I have more shelves now which means no more books on the floor; that's a big deal.


They say they need service for about a hundred. I think there is a chance of using real plates. Only about seventy people actually sit and eat the others are take-aways.



I am slightly different; this I know. Sometimes, I care too much. Sometimes, I'm at odds with myself.

What's easy, what's expected, what's required, what's over and above, what I should do, what I will do.

I should rise above but I don't want to.

I would love to say that "It's too much." I could say that; and certainly convince others of it. I could say that "I'm only human," and how could people argue against that? But the truth is something different. I am mere mortal but things aren't too much. The problem is: my pride keeps telling me I should not have to deal with these things.

And my pride is right but sometimes pride is a fool.

Sink or swim.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Dinner Plate Is Spelled With Two N's

(the alternate title was "Blame Vox for the wasted five minutes of your life that you will never ever get back, if you read this")

…For a moment I reflected on the luxury of a proper dinner plate with utensils made of metal.

I wondered if the potatoes and the meat loaf were going cold by the time we placed the vegetables on. I wondered how to keep everything hot. I wondered if only having to do this once every three months was worth all the wondering.

I was reminding myself that they are people just like me, when loud shouting busted in from the dining area. I looked through the pass through to where the noise was coming from, nobody seemed concerned. The guy doing all the yelling was part of the regular team that serves these folks.

After I heard him yell "You always take her side," I went back to wondering on how I could be more efficient with the smallish slotted spoon I had in conjunction with the massive pot of green beans filled too high with water. It started taking me two scoops to get the preferred amount; I was slowing the team down. I tried different spooning techniques but nothing seemed to work. When the pace slackened a bit I simply dumped a lot of the water out. In hindsight, I should have tried bending the spoon into more of a ladle shape because when Chris tried to dump water out of his pot of carrots, he was asked not to because they wanted it for soup.

When I first walked in, the guy in charge, Mike was serving the soup which I thought was odd because one thing that I did now was that our church group was supposed to do a complete meal. The soup was something he just wanted to add on, which doesn't seem like a big deal but he was using two of the burners on a six burner stove and basically just getting in the way.

At the end of the day, both pots of vegetable water were dumped into the pot of the current soup of the day which magically transformed it into tomorrow's soup. I just thought that there had to be a better way.

My sisters told me that the night was better than previous nights. Part of the problem is that whoever is helping has responsibilities but no authority. You're expected to do it the way it has always been done. The help for the organization is inconsistent and they change things without notice.

To try to make the situation better, they both offered to do the service for the whole year, which is only four times but at least you can plan things out somewhat better. They weren't taken up on their offer but prior to them getting the "No thanks," I picked up a copy of Food for Fifty. It cost me 67 bucks thanks to a thirty percent off coupon; but I think it's worth it if you every find yourself in need of cooking for a bunch of people.

I had read part of the book and saw a lot of what could change from what I had read. I was bothered that it felt like we were feeding cattle when with just a few changes it could be more of a proper sit down dinner.

But people often get offended with change; they take suggestions as personal attacks. I kept quiet until I was out the door. I just want things better.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Like Jesus and Jezebel

Friday, January 25, 2008

Aim at the sun and you may not reach it; but your arrow will fly far higher than if you had aimed at an object on a level with yourself.
- F. Hawes

I've heard/read that quote before. It sounds good, striving for what you think is not possible and all that, but first off you're not supposed to look directly at the sun, and secondly, it's rather reckless to shot an arrow when you don't know where it's going to land.

Know your target and don't stare at the sun.
At least I was riding the crest of the rush hour traffic as I drove through the heart of downtown in my sister's Jeep with the spare key to my truck.

She was crying when she called and surprisingly I didn't think the worst had happened. Not that I would have actually thought the worst, it would have stopped at thinking my truck had been transformed into a pile of broken plastic, shattered glass and twisted metal.

I got a little irritated when I found out that she had merely left the truck running with the key lock inside. I was glad she couldn't see my reaction over the phone. She was at the church where they serve the less fortunate an evening meal. The church we go to takes charge of one meal every three months and this time she was running it. Locking the key in the truck didn't warrant tears, in my book.

I beat most of the traffic and wondered how many meat loafs or trays of mashed potatoes I would find sitting in the truck. I thought "Definitely, nothing to get upset over," I thought as I noticed there was nothing left in the truck other than my other sister's bag.

It was my first time being there, partly because I work my second job on Thursday night. The only clue I had as to where to go was where she had parked the truck, and as I approached the function hall part of the church, one of the guys smoking said "All the way up the stairs," as I reached for the door.

Up the stairs I entered a large function room arranged with twelve or more tables. The place was dim. The unfinished tongue and grove paneled walls and ceiling meet at an angle, I assumed caused by the slopping roof. It had a dingy summer camp cabin feel about it.

I cut through the tables to get to the kitchen. I figured since I was there that I might as well help and also the traffic wouldn't have been as kind on my return trip.

My mom, two of my sisters, an older couple from church and the pastor where the folks I knew. Chris, Mike, Debbie and three other folks where the people I didn't know. Chris was a young guy fulfilling a need to do community service; the others where with the organization that helps the less fortunate.

I was leaning against an unused counter next to my sister who called, we were waiting for meat loafs to heat through which would have happened a lot sooner if some helpful soul hadn't shut the ovens off. We watched as one person was placing a slice of pound cake into a little paper tray which was then passed to the person ladling on the strawberry mix and then got passed to the person with the Cool Whip.

We watched the preacher run his latex gloved finger around the edge of the recently emptied tub of Cool Whip. He was trying his best to be helpful, and the best he could do was to take care of the empty food containers; he gave up and stood next to me.

I've been in these situations before and I know that sometimes the best help you can offer is to just get out of the damn way. My mom came over and started offering me jobs. I told her "I'm waiting to get upgraded to just standing around and eating Cool Whip." It got a laugh but not from my mom.

About five minutes later, it was decided that everything was hot enough to serve. I literally rolled up my selves. I found the box of gloves that I noticed everyone was wearing and watched as those who had done this before took to their stations. I stepped up to the pot without a person and ended up spooning out the second vegetable.

Locations and people can change but the feeling of it all usually doesn't. That feeling that most have just given up, that mild sense of despair, an air that people are just waiting for an end, going through the motions of fighting a battle you know you won't win.

For a moment I reflected on the luxury of a proper diner plate with utensils made of metal

...I've had enough of this story.
Sometimes life just catches up with me.

I've never been disciplined when it came to blogging, I merely did it when I felt like it, mostly when I wanted a distraction or to when I wanted to blow off some steam. I've never been someone who felt a need to blog every day. I've never felt obligated to be a daily. I've never needed to blog.

I've also never needed a drink.


The Friday routine has changed. We have a new regular Friday place which is actually one of our old places with a new owner. My regular bar probably thinks I'm cheating on them more than I am.

I still consider then my regular place; I'm still there whenever I go to a pub on any other day than Friday. However, I've only been going out on Fridays.

Things change.


The next movie project is one to tout all the good of my former neighborhood.

I've obtained a domain name for the design company I'm going to pretend to be so I can take advantage of trade only print houses.


I mentioned how I thought he was a very good storyteller as Kris Kristofferson appeared on the television. I then added Johnny Cash to the short list I was compiling.

I've listened to both men tell stories that I would normally not be interested in listening to but they were sharing stories that they had seemed to store in their very soul. It just made me want to listen.

After my reflection I said "I guess that's why they are both good songwriters."

Monday, January 21, 2008

Heck it almost seems like writing

So, postcards are waiting to get approved and the registration card has been approved. I actually didn't need to get approval for the postcards but I didn't feel like printing out 'at least fifty to start' and then hand cutting them to size, so I left them for 'approval.'

I think I've lost faith and I'm no longer bolstered by lust.

If I were smart I would just let that sentence hang there and let some casual reader fabricate it into something profound.


He's fifty old years old and heads up the department but he still 'goes to the boys' room.'


I haven't been drinking like I used to. It's not that I've given up drinking but I've given up the bar; another bartender left.

I'll look down the bar at the other regulars, five guys over sixty and a 42 year old blonde who has probably seen more cocks than a hundred county fairs. I'm the youngest one sitting and look younger that I am.

They are all nice guys but they mostly just seem to exist. I can remember most of their stories and there are no new chapters being added. I wonder if I'm seeing my future.

The report is gone. No one pouring drinks has been there for more than three months.

I was due for a change anyway.


"The second killing was discovered about 6 a.m. inside a three-family residence on Tuttle Street in the Savin Hill section of Dorchester."

That's the closest since I've moved here but that is still on the other side of the bridge. The bridge goes over I-93 and the train tracks. The bridge connects the neighborhood. The bridge divides the neighborhood. I slightly shake my head every time I think that there is actually a wrong side of the tracks.

Society - so shitty.

I'm a bundle of joy.
Sometimes, I will avoid reading a blog because it make take me down a road I rather not travel just yet. But I usually will catch up on my reading at a later date.


I'm worse with designs when there are no limits. I remember when I first had access to a color laser printer, I thought designing would be easier because I could just throw some color on. I thought I was on an easy street.

It came at a time when I was almost satisfied with what I was doing with black and white. I thought color would help me get to the next level. But what color provided was too many options, it spotlighted my ignorance.

I have a similar feeling now. Where before I could always say that my hardware and software prevented me from certain design effects, I can't say that now.

I ignorant.

Anyway, I can quit the real estate but then I would have no reason to design; webpages, movies, ads, billboards...

I like making short movies. I should do more of that.
I called her from the day job. The plan was to talk about the deficiencies of the postcard I designed the night before and I was also going to mention how I'm not digging the present deal I have going between she and me.

When she greeted me on the phone, she sounded depressed, but not with me; I assumed our current business state. I answered that I was doing well and then asked, with a knowing tone, how she was doing. She said she had a cold.

She said the postcards looked great. I told her that I disagreed and I told her why: they need to be bigger and they need to be full bleed. I told her the only 'pros' to the current size and that was that you could mail them at the postcard rate and that four of them would fit on a letter size page. I told her that if we increased the size it would cost a first class stamp to mail and we could only do two to a sheet but they would look better. I told her that if we did the smaller size that we would be "Penny wise and pound foolish."

Her having a cold threw me off my game. I don't hit people when they are down and plus I didn't think the sound of her voice was just related to her health.

My high morals disappoint me.


Why would anybody search for the phrase my pencil is blue?

I sure as Hell don't know but I rock that search on Google.


I live in certain part of a certain neighborhood in Boston. The neighborhood is often in the papers for shootings and even though
I was waiting for her to write the copy for the new properties to be advertized; adding the text was the one thing I had left to finish that night. I'll write the copy for the ads if there is nobody else but I prefer not to do it. She didn't have the copy when she walked up to my office but she did have what she wanted for postcards. I wasn't too happy with the additional workload on the one night where all the print ads needed to be generated; and additionally there wasn't one good photo to work with.

I asked about the copy for the ads after she finished telling me what she wanted for the postcard. When she came back with the copy, she also gave me a form she wanted reworked which she wanted to use the upcoming Sunday.

I must have given a look or did that slow blink I do when I'm approaching exasperation because she asked if it was alright to ask. I shrugged my shoulders as I said "I guess" and debated on whether or not to ask if it's alright to make hasty requests of someone who has been waiting to get paid for several months.

I didn't ask even though she mocked my reply.


The Friday ritual is that we all meet somewhere for lunch and last Friday was no different but we left at different times. I was walking back with Dave as I complained about how I just can't figure out how all those crazy decisions get made by my supervisor because he was at it again at lunch. Dave said "It's like every day is brand new to him." I agreed because he seems to forget everything you tell him by the end of the day which has on occasion driven me crazy.

I've decided once again to not let him drive me crazy but it's tough. He asked me the exact same question as he did the very last time I spoke to him face to face which was Friday. Part of the answer involved me handing him a photocopy of my work order. I answered the same and handed him another photocopy.

It probably seems rude but I'm not volunteering information any more; I'm just answering direct questions.

At coffee today...

"It's looks like someone cleaned off the windows on John's car but he didn't try to move it. There's a pile of snow at both the front and back. He should more it today or else he probably won't be able to."

"John was out."


"John wasn't in yesterday."

Later while driving him to the garage so he could get his car...

"The sun probably melted the snow off John's windows."

Seven inches of snow fell and the temperature hasn't gotten above freezing. I wanted to point this out to him but instead I just said: "I cleaned off his car."

Tuesday, January 15, 2008


Distinction seems to follow me like some stray dog I once feed.


I got to work today and was told it was one of those days when not everyone had to come in; only the essential workers needed to come in. I'm important but my job can certainly function one full business day without me.

(I stayed anyway)


It's kind of cool; the second version of the introduction movie. I've watched it loop through a few times trying to see what I would change. There isn't much, other than some slight timing changes.

It's about telling a story.

It's about getting the feel right.

Scene one, scene two.

Too much? Too quick? Too slow? Too subtle? Too vague?

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

There is nothing wrong with the classic fade in or fade out, if it tells your story.

Bells and whistles. Like church bells or that annoying Salvation Army noise maker outside of Macy's. Like a steaming kettle or a soothing tune?

Don't shout when you should whisper. Don't whisper when you should shout.

Don't treat your audience like they are stupid.

I tend to over explain but if I'm on my game, I'll then edit it down.

The great thing about subtlety is that people will write their own parts which equals an instant personalized story. The bad thing about subtlety is that if you don't get the mood right people might fill the story in with something you don't want.

I don't think it's something that I would have chosen. It's too white. It's too much pretend. It's a too small part of the story. But that's marketing for ya. I listened to the client.

I was showing her some of the photos I had of the neighborhood, people jogging, windsurfing, sitting. There was one photo that I really liked: a young couple with friends just lazily walking along the beach, when it displayed in the browser I saved her the trouble and said "This one's probably too ethnic." She just sat quiet as I displayed the next photo.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

So much like stupid

I posted the flash movie. It got rave reviews. She told me that I should be happy. I told her some of the problems I saw with it. She told me that she agreed that there were places where it could be tweaked but that it still looked great.

"Sue wanted to know how much we were paying for it. I told her you were doing it but if you weren't it would be in the range of what we paid for our page. They get big money for this sort of thing." I was calculating all the money I had shelled out to be able to get that movie to the internet while she was talking. I wasn't happy.

Maybe I'm incapable of joy. Or at least I don't afford it to myself.


I was wondering what people think about me if the only me that see is from reading this site.

What I often do is to distill a slight feeling I have and post about it. So, things appears at about one hundred times its true strength. I do that because sometimes I can't see how ridiculous a thing is when it's in its normal state.

I think things are still stupid whether the stupid is of a large amount or a small amount. So, if I take something to an extreme and I think that the extreme is stupid, I'll reason that, at a lesser level, the thing must be stupid as well.

I often ask myself "Can't we all just get along," I ususally tell myself to F-off.

I went to visit her while she was at work. She asked how the real estate business was going. "Bad. Real bad," I said surprising myself with my own candor. She knows the owner of the real estate company and just as I protect her privacy from the owner, I usually do the same for the owner. "Tim says you're poor," isn't something I want coming up in a conversation.

"Maybe she should stop shopping."

"She hasn't really been shopping too much," I said as I could picture both brand new bedroom sets for her daughters. "It's bad for everyone. Not just her."

She then mentioned that the owner's adopted daughters are in special schools. Having both your parents on heroin while your tiny fetus brain is trying to develop can't be all that good for you. The smarts are there, I think, but the attention and desire are, sometimes, not. I said "You can't fault her for that."

When I think to myself about how I'm getting screwed, how I'm actually buying supplies and equipment while half a year's worth of my paychecks sit unsigned in my desk, I'll ask myself who shouldn't she have paid so that I could be. I think about the commissions she has advanced to the agents who haven't been selling; I think: You need agents to run a real estate business. The agents need to survive. I think: What about me? I've been instrumental in the deals that are keeping us still in the game, all those late nights creating proposals and marketing pieces. I think: I'm doing my job and beyond. I'm slowly dying and nobody cares.

I think: Yeah, but you can survive without it. Spend less and you have the money that you need. I think: Yeah, but I shouldn't have to bust my ass to be poor. I argue to myself that I would have more money if I didn't have a second job, I could go back to filing a 1040EZ for my taxes, I could stop paying self employment tax, I would have time to relax.

I think: What about her? I think: She's driven this company into the ground before, let her build it back up without me this time. I ask: Will there be a next time? I tell myself that that is not my problem.

I think: So stop being a hero. She doesn't even know the half of what you are doing.

I think: When have you ever sought glory, money or fame? I think: She's a friend in need.

I think: I have needs too.

I hear back: Those are wants.

I think: You once complained that your gold chain was too heavy around your neck.


The thing with walking is that you have time to think and what I was thinking was how much his stupid behavior is fucking with my life which is certainly a little more dramatic then the way things actually are but I was still a little bit steamed. He had my car doing someone else's job which caused me to have to walk because when the boss says jump, it's my job to jump. He had my car because his car is in the garage.

He was in the office when I got back and he asked if I walked to where I had had to go. He got an angry answer. He apologized for having my car and I lied and said that it wasn't his fault.


Being good is its own reward. Often it's the only reward, there are no pats on the back, no 'job-well-done's'.

Conversely, often being bad is its own and only punishment; which isn't a steep price to pay. Often it's a bargain.

Water transcends to its lowest level just like a lot of folks I know.

So, quickly (01-08-08)

So, I hide my stuff so people don't take it. I shouldn't have to but it's not a very big deal. It's merely an inconvenience; I can live with it.

Before I left for vacation I caught myself racing people down the stairs to catch a subway train that wasn't there. I was rushing for a chance to get home seven minutes earlier.

My first day back, I caught myself racing again. I think it's stupid. I would rather use those seven minutes to relax. Seven minutes is meager. Rat-racing for three minutes is a poor deal to gain seven minutes. What's the hurry?

Thursday, January 10, 2008

it's a bitter taste

I know all the words to break her heart and sometimes they sit at the tip of my tongue.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Thursday, January 03, 2008


So, I finished that novel, Delirium.

It’s four stories told all at once. The stories all have a relation to Agustina, who suffers from delirium. The stories seemed to interrupt each other; to me anyway. At times it irritated me.

wards of re

So, I kind of thought that there might be more posts with me being on vacation and all. ‘And all’ is code for me sitting around the house.

New Year’s Eve, at about nine thirty at night, someone tried to knock my front door down, or at least that’s what it sounded like. It was such a noise as I would imagine that a bill collector would make after he hasn’t been paid for six months and if that bill collector was collecting for the mob.

None of my debts were past due so I turned on the hallway and porch lights and then pushed aside the vinyl mini blinds. I opened the door because what a saw was a little old lady and not a leg breaker. She came bearing gifts or rather gift. It was a bottle of Prosecco.

She told me that the bottle of sparkling wine was for that time I did her sidewalk which was actually that time I did everyone’s side walk. She told me she was in the hospital at the time visiting her daughter who was injured falling from a twenty two foot deck. She also told me a few of her other woes in between of telling me what an uncommon feat I had done.

I opened the bottle two hours later, getting a slight jump on the New Year and I may have even smiled a little.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

one one

I just thought there should be a post for the first of the new year