Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The muffins were merely just good

I don’t like not be able to just walk out the door and buy whatever I want, not that I have extravagant desires, but they are frequent and numerous.

I’m busy and poor now and I can’t just leave and buy stuff and I find that annoying.

I’m slightly amazed at how undisciplined I am.

I think I need a woman in thigh high boots to discipline me.

See. I was being serious there for a moment and I was uncomfortable with it so I got ridiculous.

Not that I’m opposed to women in thigh high boots.

Part of me believes that just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should, and another part of me thinks that if you can do something then why not. It could be the same part that is doing all that thinking for all that I know.

Maybe, I’m confused.


I was having second thoughts about it after it was taking me longer than I had wished to finely dice the apples. I had diced two and had two to go. If I had wanted to waste a lot of perfectly good apple, it would have been easier but I guess I like to have something to complain about.

The apples ended up in muffins which I ended up baking at 10:00pm or there about.

Mini muffins and muffin size muffins were baked and the unused batter went into the refrigerator.

I have a surplus of muffins.

What I need is a woman in thigh high books to force me to bake for her.

And maybe force me to read more books.


I wasn't satisfied with good muffins. I wanted at least very good muffins; I thought my effort deserved it.

They were better at room temperature.

I sometimes wonder if published recipes are sometimes sabotaged or are just carelessly written or just plain bad.

I think I know how to improve the muffins for next time, for this time, the left over batter is going to get at least more cinnamon.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

So, I took a few days off.

Tomorrow King Arthur all purpose flour is on sale 2 five pound bags for $6.00. That's a big deal here in Boston. Normally, it's $4.75 for one five pound bag.

I ache because I was installing cans.

Cans are what people in the trade call recessed lighting.

I usually call them recessed lighting.

I'm out of practice in installing recessed lighting.

I'm out of practice in taking a few days off.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

I ended up buying two books.

The challenge is no longer a challenge.

That's one of the reasons I'm not a thrill seeker; I get jaded to the "thrills."

I think more often than not that I reach a point at which I'll just let a thing go as opposed to actually being satisfied with it.


I had a 30% off coupon for any book I wished at Borders and I had some overtime money and I had some time on my hands.

I looked at books on graphic design and I looked at books that were Adobe related and then I looked a cookbooks.

I always try to buy the most expensive book I can find that I actually might use when I have a coupon 25% and above, I like to think that I'm sticking it to the man by doing such a thing.

There was this one book on cooking that is used in culinary schools that had a price of $104.00. I did the math in my head and thought that 10.40 times three ($31.20) subtracted from the price equaled $72.80. (And I still think that.)

Over seventy bucks for a book I won't properly use was more than I wanted to spend but I was determined to get a cookbook so I was milling about in that section when I notice some dude with his girlfriend taking photos of some books, the fronts and the backs.

I thought it was a little odd and most likely it was an action that was frowned upon by the establishment but I had my own worries, so I waited until he left that section before I went over to browse it.

I was in the cooking section for a good amount of time. I probably saw every book at least twice or so I would have thought until I noticed a set of car keys on the shelf. It was the shelf near where I saw the guy taking photos.

I looked up and around, not thinking that I would see the guy because nobody hangs out in the cooking section too long. I thought about just minding my own business and walking away from the keys, after all I was only guessing that they belonged to the guy with the camera.

I spotted his girlfriend first and then I thought, "What if they are her keys?" They weren't standing together, so I had to chose one of them to ask the question. I chose the dude.

I walked over, holding the keys as little as possible. He was occupied with fiddling with his camera. He had to have seen me approaching but he didn't look my way. I wasn't happy that I would have to get his attention and then ask the question.

"Sir," I said and received no reaction so I said it again and moved the keys into his field of vision, "Are these yours?"

He girlfriend had joined us by this time. He acknowledged that the keys were his and then sort of ignored me as he started speaking to his girlfriend, wondering how he could have dropped his keys. I thought he had might want to say "Thank you" or "Shit, yeah they're mine. Where'd you find them?" But no questions were directed at me, so I just walked away. I still hadn't found a book to buy.

I though he was self absorbed and socially inept. I pitied him a little because even though I often like to avoid people that I don't know, I do know how to interact with them when it's needed.

I ended up buying two cookbooks both under $26.00 which pretty much means that the man had stuck it to me. And I had to pay two bucks for parking.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

If you're going to ask questions like that, please don't be my 'friend'

"How was your long weekend?"

I think: I was here on Sunday doing banner ads for the window.


I did have an opportunity to be productive but I chose to do something else.

I bought bread and was disappointed.

Two bags of flour got tossed, the third was okay.

I baked the usual and then the unusual.

Unusual for me.

I opened the wheat flour that is kept in the refrigerator.

Cloverleaf Rolls and a loaf.

I should switch to a baker's day.

The phone rings and rings.

I'm on the phone.

I worry the point of it all might put out an eye.

I give up on writing.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

For the unofficial end of Summer I had a Margarita

So, I finished the banner ads; all the ads I could anyway because it turns out that there is no ad copy for the rest of them.

I then went downtown, caught up with the weekend regulars and watched the local ball team win.

Somewhere in the mix we watched this mousey looking man lean across the bar and ask a question of the bartender.

"Pardon me. Do you nightclub here?"


"Do you nightclub here? Do you allow nightclubing?"

"Well, yeah. At night."

The guy then left. He never ordered a drink.

Saturday, September 05, 2009

The Buck Stops Here

“What I thought was good was when you stopped that guy from taking that buck.”

That was what Bob said in the middle of a conversation to me. The incident wasn’t fresh in my mind because it happened two weeks ago and I really thought nothing of it.

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in my usual place and Bob was sitting to my left, the seat next to him was mostly vacant which caused a bunch of people to order from the bar in the void. People would order place down a tip and leave.

When I’m at the bar and not engaged in conversation, I look around and when I look around I notice things, like the dollar tip that was still on the bar when someone walked up to order.

I continued to keep an eye on the dollar, not staring at it but just checking on it with a glance here and there until the bartender came back with the guy’s change, which she placed towards the middle of the bar into one neat pile.

I watched the guy pick up his change in one movement as he was shooting the shit with his friends; he then reached further across the bar and picked up the lone single.

I said “Dude, one of dollars wasn’t yours.”

He half turned to look at me and said “What?”

“One of those dollars that you picked up wasn’t yours; it was a tip someone left.”

He shot a look back at he friends before he asked, “Oh, really? Which one was it?” as he held up his hands which both had bills in them because I made my statement while he was half way through counting the money. I felt as if he thought that I wouldn’t know the answer and that he was partly showing off to his friends.

I could feel Bob’s eyes on me, waiting for what was to come next. I could also feel the eyes of the bartender whose shift had just stated, along with the guy’s two friends. The guy was probably late twenties casually dressed and most likely a candidate for male pattern baldness. He ordered three beers at a dollar fifty apiece for a total of $4.50 and paid with a sawbuck. He was acting like he was doing his buddies some grand favor by buying them beers. I pegged him as an asshole and a pompous one at that.

I slid forward on my barstool to place my feet on the brass foot rail so that I could reach over Bob and unmistakenly point at the actual dollar bill the guy was holding in his left hand. I said, “That one, right there,” and sat back down.

The guy looked at the bill and seemed to hesitate before he placed the buck back on the bar, which the bartender slowly collected. I then watched for him to leave a tip which he did before he and his friends disappeared into the crowd of the main floor.

Bob said, “Wow.”

I said, “What? What kind of asshole steals tips from the bar?” as I turned to Bob. Bob didn’t look at me and he offered no answer to my rhetorical question. “I mean granted, possibly it could have been an honest mistake because he wasn’t paying attention when he was picking up his money, but still.”

“I just can’t believe that you actually said something to the guy.”

“Yeah, I know it’s only a buck and the bartenders probably would never miss it but stealing tips?”

I let it go after that.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

I'm rather unimpressed with myself

I'm rather unimpressed with myself...

I typed that title and then had the urge to change my blog template because my titles don't stand out too much but I would want to save my current template which is only just a little bit more work than a cut and a paste but then I would have to come back and retype the title or save this post as a draft.

So, I saved the post as a draft and here we are: new template.

I'm still rather unimpressed with myself but the thing of it is: my past self sometimes impresses my present self.

I'm not the best at anything I do and I don't strive to be even though occasionally I do give it my all.

I'm not the best story teller
I'm not the best code writer
I'm not the best paper pusher
I'm not the best graphic designer
I'm not the best bookkeeper
I'm not the best house painter
I'm not the best carpenter
I'm not the best electrician
I'm not the best note taker
I'm not the best at paying attention
I'm not the best at typing

I'm not the best at a lot of things.

But probably what I'm best at is: jumping in when someone's Plan B has failed.

That's where I was, or probably more precisely, where I am; because I don't think things are going to change tomorrow.

I've been plugging holes. I've been doing other people's job while my own job goes undone and I know when crunch time comes, there will be no reciprocation.

But such is life.

Such is my life.

A fantasy of mine is that there will come a day when all my co-workers will reach a point when they will all just do what they have been hired to do.

I just want them to do their jobs.

I just want to do my job.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Mother Ef'ers

So, the night before, while I was at the bar, after work; I got three work phone calls, each time I ran out the door, so that the sound system in the bar couldn't be heard.

So, the next day, I went to work a little bit early to take care of some stuff before my important weekly meeting. In work, I got three more phone calls all about different things, all things I usually help out with but are not actually my job; with a slight sigh, I do all three things, which makes me leave for the meeting later than usual.

So, I get to the meeting on time and then proceed to get eight phone calls, all from important bosses. I was hardly in the meeting at all. Next time I'm just going to shut the phone off completely, instead of flipping it to vibrate.

I'm in a G D meeting, leave me alone.

I thought it was a reasonable theory

The nipple lady was in my office today. She was talking to someone else and that someone else called me over due to the nature of her request.

I asked what she was doing and if she had already had a meeting on it and she said that she had but I didn't recall it.

Later, I wanted to say "Yeah, now I remember. You're the one that I couldn't look at because you were a little nipple-ly that day."

And then, "How come only one of them popped?"

I told a co-worker the story on why I didn't recognize her and he said that the one that popped was the one that always gets teased.

His name isn't really, Frank.

In between when things were a little bit cuckoo, a got a chance to talk to my friends at the bar. These friends are mutual friends to one of my co-workers. My co-worker had came and went by the time I got there but he took it upon himself to fill the folks in as to what I was going.

“Yeah, Frank was by and he was saying that everybody is asking you to do a bunch of stuff and he said that you should say to everyone “Go fuck yourself,” and I’m thinking: you’re still pretty young and you’re pretty level headed so I thought that you are probably not going to say that.”

“Yeah, I managed to get through the day without saying that. And the thing of it is, nobody is asking for crazy things and they are things that need to get done and it’s not like it’s anybody’s fault that all these things need to be done right now. Believe me, if I were being asked for all these things because some chucklehead didn’t plan properly, I might be telling them to “Fuck off,” but that’s not the case. So, you do what you have to do.”

As, I was leaving, I stopped by the regular at the end to shake his hand and he said, “You know, Tim, I like watching people that are the best at what they do and I like watching you. You’re the best at what you do.”

I think he was a little bit drunk and I wasn’t certain he knew actually what I was doing that day because he was getting the information second hand so I replied, “Yeah, whatever that may be.”

“No. I’m serious. You’re the best at what you do,” he assured me. I wasn’t going to argue with him so I just thanked him for his words, shook his hand and left.

I’m not the best, I’m just the best-they-got; but at times, I am pretty damn good.