Setting: Our home, in our bedroom.
Time: This morning, far too early.
Vicky: I've got to get up. General Counsel's going to be in today.
Ken: Did he get a promotion?
Vicky: What?
Ken: Last I heard, he was a Lieutenant.
Vicky: ....... What?
To think, she's agreed to a lifetime of this.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Hell… The Weekend From… Part Two: About Women, Lies, and Words…
So, the idea was that I'd write about this past weekend in two parts. Part Two would be about women. But then, my internal censor kicked in - and I decided not to do it.
So, I won't be writing to you about my brother, Dwight's, new girlfriend and how I was under whelmed with her. I won't be writing about Vicky and how she can be low-down cold sometimes. I won't be writing about Rosa, and how she's getting industrious about being the second most evil being next to Satan. (That was a typo. I meant to write Santa.)(Oh, and don't worry, you'll hear more by and by if you're good.)
I won't be writing about that.
… something tells me it's already too late.
That said, I reread what I wrote on Monday and was stunned, as I often am, by my own arrogance. Can you believe me, of all people, talking about keeping promises? I should be ashamed of myself. Probably, the only reason I felt the compulsion to take care of Alacrity is because that's the only promise to Rosa I haven't broken.
I'm a louse and I wonder why Vicky would ever want to marry me.
But enough of that. How about some good news? I've hit the 75,000 word mark in the book. (Have I mentioned this?) I seem to be back on track for about 80k. Sweeeeet!
So, I won't be writing to you about my brother, Dwight's, new girlfriend and how I was under whelmed with her. I won't be writing about Vicky and how she can be low-down cold sometimes. I won't be writing about Rosa, and how she's getting industrious about being the second most evil being next to Satan. (That was a typo. I meant to write Santa.)(Oh, and don't worry, you'll hear more by and by if you're good.)
I won't be writing about that.
… something tells me it's already too late.
That said, I reread what I wrote on Monday and was stunned, as I often am, by my own arrogance. Can you believe me, of all people, talking about keeping promises? I should be ashamed of myself. Probably, the only reason I felt the compulsion to take care of Alacrity is because that's the only promise to Rosa I haven't broken.
I'm a louse and I wonder why Vicky would ever want to marry me.
But enough of that. How about some good news? I've hit the 75,000 word mark in the book. (Have I mentioned this?) I seem to be back on track for about 80k. Sweeeeet!
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Chocolate-covered Cockroaches...
No time to write today...
and, so instead, I bring you a query...
Which would be worse?
Eating chocolate-covered cockroaches?
...
... Or sucking off the chocolate?
and, so instead, I bring you a query...
Which would be worse?
Eating chocolate-covered cockroaches?
...
... Or sucking off the chocolate?
Monday, March 14, 2005
Hell… The Weekend from… Part One: Alacrity
Just as I'm beginning this tale of woe (or whoa!), I'm compelled to put it in some relief. And it's a relief to tell you that I reached 75,000 words on the new novel this morning. Yep, that's me. Just ticking off the words.
And it's a good thing, too, because I need good news.
This weekend was so awful, it was one for the books. I mean, sure, Vicky and I argued… but that's normal by now. All my money went into bills, sure…. But that's normal by now.
There was just so much that was Abnormal, well… you'll see.
Let's start with Alacrity, by far the worst thing that happened.
Friday night, I came home as usual - hating my life. I'd just put it my 9 hours at work, been told I didn't know how to write by a guy who could hardly speak, and had to explain articles to idiots… a usual day. What wasn't usual was the screaming I was greeted by when I came home. Screaming! Alacrity was on the sofa, emitting these blood-curdling sounds. So, you know, I knew something was wrong.
I called Vicky, who was on her way home, and we decided to wait until the got there. Meanwhile, I'd go pick up some soda because Dwight and his new girlfriend, Monica, were on the way. When I returned, though, it wasn't Alacrity who was screaming. It was Bandoo! (For those of you who don't know, I have a unique system for naming cats - one I would never apply to kids, lest I totally fuck up their lives.) He was out in front of the house and he was screaming like he'd just lost his best friend.
Realizing this, I ran inside. There was no sound from Alacrity. In fact, there was no sign of Alacrity! He was gone! Disappeared!
Of course, I thought, he's gone off to die. I've lost him! Oh, I felt like such a terrible person, leaving my suffering cat to get soda. I was tempted to call Vicky and tell her not to hurry. It was all over. And I was declared worst pet poppa in the world…
Which was when Alacrity came out from wherever he'd been hiding. "Why you little -" I started to say, but noticed he was still in a lot of pain.
I knew that scream. I'd heard it before from Winky, the first cat Rosa and I had taken in. He hadn't yet been a year old and he started crying and crying. We didn't know what to do; it was a weekend. By the time we brought him to the vet on Monday morning, he was too far gone. He'd had crystals in his bladder and he couldn't pee. As any man who's been on a long trip without stops will tell you, that kind of stuff can kill you!
So, I knew I had to get Alacrity help. Vicky knew it, too, having dealt with the same problem with Othello, who fortunately is alive… even if he doesn't like me much… So, we called the vet and the vet said, "If he's completely blocked, you've got to get him to the emergency room." Oh, great. Sounds like fun…
Mind you, I had woken up that morning at 4am. By the time we got to the emergency room, it was nearly midnight. Now, as bleary-eyed as I was, I was sure that I could just plop my plastic down.
So, imagine my surprise when the bill came to $1600… and I didn't have enough available credit on my card… and, as much as I thought it would be better for my finances, I couldn't have him put to sleep, not for this, not for something that they could fix… But they had something there called CreditCare, which is basically borrowing money from the mob.
Of course, I did it.
I did it without a whole lot of thought. Actually, I was too tired for a whole lot of thought.
We went home. I poured myself a drink and sat outside for a smoke. And that's when I thought. All night, I'd been seeing Alacrity as a kitten, when Rosa and I had first picked him up from the vet. (We'd adopted.) Basically, it was Rosa's fault. She handed him to me and he curled up in my arms like he was nesting - what more did we need? But when I'd left Rosa, I'd promised to take care of the cats. I'd promised. Even now, when years have passed and she'd done more than her fair share to help bring the curtain down on my miserable life, I still feel those promises like steel bands. And I honor them because they let me know I'm still a human being. I haven't turned into one of those "people" who feel that a promise should only last as long as it has to. I still believe that my word should mean something even after the conditions that made my giving it necessary have passed on. And I'd like to think that even Vicky would take some assurance in this, knowing that my promises mean so much to me.
Well, Alacrity came back home on Sunday and I was $1400 poorer. I wonder how I'm ever going to afford to pay it. I even hit Tim up for some money! (Slug feel like a I!)
… and that was only the beginning of my weekend...
And it's a good thing, too, because I need good news.
This weekend was so awful, it was one for the books. I mean, sure, Vicky and I argued… but that's normal by now. All my money went into bills, sure…. But that's normal by now.
There was just so much that was Abnormal, well… you'll see.
Let's start with Alacrity, by far the worst thing that happened.
Friday night, I came home as usual - hating my life. I'd just put it my 9 hours at work, been told I didn't know how to write by a guy who could hardly speak, and had to explain articles to idiots… a usual day. What wasn't usual was the screaming I was greeted by when I came home. Screaming! Alacrity was on the sofa, emitting these blood-curdling sounds. So, you know, I knew something was wrong.
I called Vicky, who was on her way home, and we decided to wait until the got there. Meanwhile, I'd go pick up some soda because Dwight and his new girlfriend, Monica, were on the way. When I returned, though, it wasn't Alacrity who was screaming. It was Bandoo! (For those of you who don't know, I have a unique system for naming cats - one I would never apply to kids, lest I totally fuck up their lives.) He was out in front of the house and he was screaming like he'd just lost his best friend.
Realizing this, I ran inside. There was no sound from Alacrity. In fact, there was no sign of Alacrity! He was gone! Disappeared!
Of course, I thought, he's gone off to die. I've lost him! Oh, I felt like such a terrible person, leaving my suffering cat to get soda. I was tempted to call Vicky and tell her not to hurry. It was all over. And I was declared worst pet poppa in the world…
Which was when Alacrity came out from wherever he'd been hiding. "Why you little -" I started to say, but noticed he was still in a lot of pain.
I knew that scream. I'd heard it before from Winky, the first cat Rosa and I had taken in. He hadn't yet been a year old and he started crying and crying. We didn't know what to do; it was a weekend. By the time we brought him to the vet on Monday morning, he was too far gone. He'd had crystals in his bladder and he couldn't pee. As any man who's been on a long trip without stops will tell you, that kind of stuff can kill you!
So, I knew I had to get Alacrity help. Vicky knew it, too, having dealt with the same problem with Othello, who fortunately is alive… even if he doesn't like me much… So, we called the vet and the vet said, "If he's completely blocked, you've got to get him to the emergency room." Oh, great. Sounds like fun…
Mind you, I had woken up that morning at 4am. By the time we got to the emergency room, it was nearly midnight. Now, as bleary-eyed as I was, I was sure that I could just plop my plastic down.
So, imagine my surprise when the bill came to $1600… and I didn't have enough available credit on my card… and, as much as I thought it would be better for my finances, I couldn't have him put to sleep, not for this, not for something that they could fix… But they had something there called CreditCare, which is basically borrowing money from the mob.
Of course, I did it.
I did it without a whole lot of thought. Actually, I was too tired for a whole lot of thought.
We went home. I poured myself a drink and sat outside for a smoke. And that's when I thought. All night, I'd been seeing Alacrity as a kitten, when Rosa and I had first picked him up from the vet. (We'd adopted.) Basically, it was Rosa's fault. She handed him to me and he curled up in my arms like he was nesting - what more did we need? But when I'd left Rosa, I'd promised to take care of the cats. I'd promised. Even now, when years have passed and she'd done more than her fair share to help bring the curtain down on my miserable life, I still feel those promises like steel bands. And I honor them because they let me know I'm still a human being. I haven't turned into one of those "people" who feel that a promise should only last as long as it has to. I still believe that my word should mean something even after the conditions that made my giving it necessary have passed on. And I'd like to think that even Vicky would take some assurance in this, knowing that my promises mean so much to me.
Well, Alacrity came back home on Sunday and I was $1400 poorer. I wonder how I'm ever going to afford to pay it. I even hit Tim up for some money! (Slug feel like a I!)
… and that was only the beginning of my weekend...
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
As an unbeliever, I can't say it's hell…
Yes, folks, we're talking about my employer today, and a festering pus-boil on humanity they are!
I'd been getting pretty comfortable this past year. I even bought a house - you know, because I thought things would be fine. Boy, what an idiot I am!
Before I begin, though… some background. I started here five years ago, back when I was starting my new life. In fact, the woman who hired me as a Marketing Writer (take note), set one of my passwords as "new life", an inside joke. I was supposed to write the ads, the marketing copy. I thought I had it made. Then, about half a year later, I was accused of sexual harassment by none other than the owner's niece. He pretty much did everything he could to make my life hell and make me want to leave. They took me off Marketing Writing and put me into Technical Writing, which they knew I despised. But, hey, I needed the job. And even after she recanted, said it was a mixture of misunderstanding and lies (on her part), the owner still made my life hell. But time passed and I adapted. Hey, I needed the job. Then, a new marketing director came in and promoted me to Managing Writer, managing the writing team. They asked me what the writer's needed and I said, "Computers that work and equitable compensation," and I was swiftly Demoted way down to data entry. And, even after the marketing director apologized to me for giving me the shaft as he was leaving the company, I remained there. But time passed and I adapted. Hey, I needed the job.
Then, the present marketing director came in. He found out I used to me the Marketing Writer, moved me back up to Technical Writing, and said he'd do everything he could to get me back into Marketing Writing. He still had me write all the ads and copy but I didn't get paid for me. But, hey, I needed the job. When he gave me my first review, he'd only been there a month and hadn't written it and told me I was being shafted. He even apologized, though there was nothing he could do. But, hey, I needed the job. Then, last year, at my review, he told me there was no way I'd ever be the Marketing Writer. I wasn't qualified. He was hiring somebody else. I'd stay in Technical Writing for the rest of my life with no promotion possible - EVER. It was quite a blow. But, hey, I needed the job.
Now, my five-year anniversary is coming. What could they do next?
Then, one month ago, my boss emailed me, asking why I hadn't done any work in a month. I wrote him back with a detailed accounting of all the work I'd done - and there was a lot of it. What could this be all about? What could it mean?
I found out yesterday.
Mike called me into his office and told me I never did any work. Oh, the evidence was very contrary. In fact, I was just given a high-priority job that, I was told, nobody else could do, writing all the documentation for a new product line. Why would they give that to me if I was a flake? I tried to get some specifics out of him. Who said I didn't do my work? What evidence do they have? What about all the contrary evidence I can come up with just from the top of my head?
What the fuck is wrong with a company that keeps looking for ways to screw somebody who just wants to do the job he was hired to do? (Or adapt to the job he was given?)
And the what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't find a new one?
Well, that's the thing, I've got to find a new one. This place just isn't healthy for me. So, if anyone knows of any openings anywhere…. (No, Tim, not Burger King!)
This is not a happy day. Sorry.
I'd been getting pretty comfortable this past year. I even bought a house - you know, because I thought things would be fine. Boy, what an idiot I am!
Before I begin, though… some background. I started here five years ago, back when I was starting my new life. In fact, the woman who hired me as a Marketing Writer (take note), set one of my passwords as "new life", an inside joke. I was supposed to write the ads, the marketing copy. I thought I had it made. Then, about half a year later, I was accused of sexual harassment by none other than the owner's niece. He pretty much did everything he could to make my life hell and make me want to leave. They took me off Marketing Writing and put me into Technical Writing, which they knew I despised. But, hey, I needed the job. And even after she recanted, said it was a mixture of misunderstanding and lies (on her part), the owner still made my life hell. But time passed and I adapted. Hey, I needed the job. Then, a new marketing director came in and promoted me to Managing Writer, managing the writing team. They asked me what the writer's needed and I said, "Computers that work and equitable compensation," and I was swiftly Demoted way down to data entry. And, even after the marketing director apologized to me for giving me the shaft as he was leaving the company, I remained there. But time passed and I adapted. Hey, I needed the job.
Then, the present marketing director came in. He found out I used to me the Marketing Writer, moved me back up to Technical Writing, and said he'd do everything he could to get me back into Marketing Writing. He still had me write all the ads and copy but I didn't get paid for me. But, hey, I needed the job. When he gave me my first review, he'd only been there a month and hadn't written it and told me I was being shafted. He even apologized, though there was nothing he could do. But, hey, I needed the job. Then, last year, at my review, he told me there was no way I'd ever be the Marketing Writer. I wasn't qualified. He was hiring somebody else. I'd stay in Technical Writing for the rest of my life with no promotion possible - EVER. It was quite a blow. But, hey, I needed the job.
Now, my five-year anniversary is coming. What could they do next?
Then, one month ago, my boss emailed me, asking why I hadn't done any work in a month. I wrote him back with a detailed accounting of all the work I'd done - and there was a lot of it. What could this be all about? What could it mean?
I found out yesterday.
Mike called me into his office and told me I never did any work. Oh, the evidence was very contrary. In fact, I was just given a high-priority job that, I was told, nobody else could do, writing all the documentation for a new product line. Why would they give that to me if I was a flake? I tried to get some specifics out of him. Who said I didn't do my work? What evidence do they have? What about all the contrary evidence I can come up with just from the top of my head?
What the fuck is wrong with a company that keeps looking for ways to screw somebody who just wants to do the job he was hired to do? (Or adapt to the job he was given?)
And the what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't find a new one?
Well, that's the thing, I've got to find a new one. This place just isn't healthy for me. So, if anyone knows of any openings anywhere…. (No, Tim, not Burger King!)
This is not a happy day. Sorry.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Adventures in Customer Service…
Well, we're back to classic My Side mode here at the Foundation and I wouldn't be too surprised if you heard me reading this on a CD at some point. If that's not possible, I'll put my head up by your bedroom window and whisper it in sweet, sweet tones…
But enough about my hobbies.
You might know I got into a car accident recently. While not on par with the time my brakes failed in my old Saturn (we'll know recognize a moment of silence) ("Hey, Si! How's it shaking?"), it was rather interesting getting rear-ended in the fast lane by a guy who was just answering a call from his son on his cell phone. Did I say interesting? I mean shocking! My teeth felt loose! Thankfully, though, he was fine and my car was drivable.
I contacted my insurance company, Farmers, who I had recently become insured by after dumping Mercury, and was promptly ordered to "Go fuck myself." Apparently, it seemed, that because it wasn't my fault they wouldn't help me… the only way you can get service, I guess, is to go on a killing spree. So, I had to contact the other guy's insurance: Infinity.
Remember these names: Farmers, Mercury, and Infinity. Now, stay away. Far, far away.
I first took my car to a shop in Anaheim, thinking I'd keep things near my home. Unfortunately, though, they had a big poster showing that they'd donated to (burning) Bush. They also displayed guns that had killed "niggers" and pictures of them spitting on the poor.
I left.
The second place I took my car was also close to home. In fact, I walked home after dropping it off, taking the day off of work. And it's a good thing I took the day off, too, because by mid-day, I had to walk back to pick it up. Now, walking one way had been fun but both ways was what the Pakistani's refer to as a "Bitch". (They're such a gentle people.) Why did I have to do it? "Infinity doesn't pay," the shop manager had told me, explaining why they don't work with Infinity. Good reason.
And so, today I was to bring my car to the third place, referred to me by the Infinity adjuster himself, which brings us to the beginning of our story. (Yes. That's right. The beginning.)
I left at lunch and drove to a place called ICC, Insurance Collision Center. A misnomer, actually. They aren't a center for colliding automobiles for the insurance money at all but, rather, a repair shop. When you pull in, there's a big sign that reads, "Lobby at front entrance". Looking at the building, however, you quickly notice that the front entrance could not possibly hold a lobby… But, hey, I'm a man of the 21st Century (another crappy insurance company, or so I've heard). I can deal with change.
I walked into the front entrance.
It was the shop floor. No lobby or anything remotely lobby-esque was visible.
But, heck, I'll play along. I walked to the nearest repair guy, an old (my age old, not elderly) asian guy. Actually, I noticed that they were all old asian guys…. Bizarre. "Excuse me," I called out over the sound of compressors. Lots of painting in there.
He didn't look at me.
"Pardon me," I tried again.
This time he looked at me. He smiled. And then, he turned away.
"I'm looking for the lobby."
He looked at me again, smiling.
"I am looking for the lobby!"
For just a moment, I thought some immense joke was being played upon me.
It was about to get worse.
"Lobby in front!" Honest to God, that's what he said. He looked at me and he said, "Lobby in front!"
It took me a moment to speak. "This IS the front," I told him.
"No," he shouted at me, pointing to the rear of the building. "The FRONT!"
Now, I'm no idiot but it seems to me that the side of the building facing the street, the side in front of the "No Trespassing" signs, the side with the parking lot, IS THE FRONT!
I almost walked out, but someone else rushed up to meet me. A young, mexican man, he asked me, "Do you need help with anything, sir?"
"I was just looking for the lobby."
He ushered me outside and pointed to the back of the building. "It's in the front."
"Yes," I acknowledged, "but wouldn't you agree that this seems to be the front since the customer parking is up here and the No Trespassing signs are there?"
"Oh, don't worry about the No Trespassing signs. That's for the employees so they don't park there."
I was in FUCKING BIZARRO WORLD!
So, I went to the "front" and entered. You don't work with a mechanic there. You work with an account manager. He facilitates your repair and works with you and your insurance company… to get their fucking money. The first words out of his mouth were, "Goddammit, I hate Infinity Insurance!"
It was the beginning of a long story of woe, which centered on how many hoops this guy had to go through to get Infinity to pay. I wouldn't suggest it as a bed-time story.
"But they will pay, right?"
"Eventually," he said, deflated.
That done, I contacted Hertz to pick me up so I could get a rental car. They have an office at the Embassy Suites on Dyer, close to the shop, and it was to there I was brought to pick up my rental. I had called before to make sure Infinity had set up an account with Hertz and was assured that all I would have to do was go in and get the car. … Um, no. The salesman tried to sell me the insurance and the gas - he would have tried to sell me my own shoes if I'd been biting but I wasn't. The insurance company was paying for this so not only did I not need to buy the gas but I was triple-covered in case of an accident. (Both insurance companies and my VISA card, which I used to clear the car.) In fact, by the time I was done saying NO, time after time after time, he ended with slapping the keys on the counter. "Your cars out front," he snapped at me. "It's the silver one."
Hertz advertises that they rent Fords and Toyotas. What they don't tell you is what I found out when I walked outside and found a silver KIA…. Ugh! But, it's a rental, what do you expect? (The one upside to this story has nothing to do with humans but machines: The KIA drives really well. Color me pleasantly bemused!)
I got in and drove to my next destination… my bank. I used to like going to the bank, smiling people behind a counter giving you money! What's not to like?! But I'm not six any more and times have changed. I walked up to the counter to deposit a check and get some cash back for lunch. Now, before you ask why I didn't just use the ATM, try to understand that beneath this cynical shell I am something of a wide-eyed optimist, wishing the best for human-kind, thinking that I may be surprised one day.
I wasn't.
My check was deposited. My cash was back. I was about to walk away when the manager jumped in front of my teller, a rather quiet, older lady, and shouted at me, "You need loan?!"
I didn't know if it was a statement or a question.
"You need loan!" This time, there was no doubt. It was a statement. Yes, the poor syntax was how he put it. He was asian but fit homogenously into that breed of younger person who has been raised in a society where only the most predatory survive. Quiet respect and manners were shed long ago like snakeskin.
"No," I said, quietly offended.
"You need new car. You need new home."
"Actually, I don't." And, with that, I walked away.
And I went to Taco Bell for lunch. What can I say, even I need a shot of junk food now and then. The girl at the counter couldn't have been more than 18 and I wondered why she wasn't at school. The thought irritated me… and I'm afraid I took it out on her. I thought I'd get a surprise for lunch. The easiest way to do this, of course, is to place a rather complicated order with someone just like this. You don't have to get nasty. It can be very simple.
"Could I have two bean burritos with extra cheese, one green sauce and one red sauce and no onions in the one with green sauce, with a small Dr. Pepper." You could see her brain derail for a second as she overlooked the "SM SODA" button, trying to find Dr. Pepper.
She charged me about three dollars, which would be about right.
I took my bag and filled my soda and walked to my car. I had one burrito supreme and one chicken soft taco.
Based on this story alone, I really hope the human race dies off very soon… I'm terrified by how much less intelligent we can get...
But enough about my hobbies.
You might know I got into a car accident recently. While not on par with the time my brakes failed in my old Saturn (we'll know recognize a moment of silence) ("Hey, Si! How's it shaking?"), it was rather interesting getting rear-ended in the fast lane by a guy who was just answering a call from his son on his cell phone. Did I say interesting? I mean shocking! My teeth felt loose! Thankfully, though, he was fine and my car was drivable.
I contacted my insurance company, Farmers, who I had recently become insured by after dumping Mercury, and was promptly ordered to "Go fuck myself." Apparently, it seemed, that because it wasn't my fault they wouldn't help me… the only way you can get service, I guess, is to go on a killing spree. So, I had to contact the other guy's insurance: Infinity.
Remember these names: Farmers, Mercury, and Infinity. Now, stay away. Far, far away.
I first took my car to a shop in Anaheim, thinking I'd keep things near my home. Unfortunately, though, they had a big poster showing that they'd donated to (burning) Bush. They also displayed guns that had killed "niggers" and pictures of them spitting on the poor.
I left.
The second place I took my car was also close to home. In fact, I walked home after dropping it off, taking the day off of work. And it's a good thing I took the day off, too, because by mid-day, I had to walk back to pick it up. Now, walking one way had been fun but both ways was what the Pakistani's refer to as a "Bitch". (They're such a gentle people.) Why did I have to do it? "Infinity doesn't pay," the shop manager had told me, explaining why they don't work with Infinity. Good reason.
And so, today I was to bring my car to the third place, referred to me by the Infinity adjuster himself, which brings us to the beginning of our story. (Yes. That's right. The beginning.)
I left at lunch and drove to a place called ICC, Insurance Collision Center. A misnomer, actually. They aren't a center for colliding automobiles for the insurance money at all but, rather, a repair shop. When you pull in, there's a big sign that reads, "Lobby at front entrance". Looking at the building, however, you quickly notice that the front entrance could not possibly hold a lobby… But, hey, I'm a man of the 21st Century (another crappy insurance company, or so I've heard). I can deal with change.
I walked into the front entrance.
It was the shop floor. No lobby or anything remotely lobby-esque was visible.
But, heck, I'll play along. I walked to the nearest repair guy, an old (my age old, not elderly) asian guy. Actually, I noticed that they were all old asian guys…. Bizarre. "Excuse me," I called out over the sound of compressors. Lots of painting in there.
He didn't look at me.
"Pardon me," I tried again.
This time he looked at me. He smiled. And then, he turned away.
"I'm looking for the lobby."
He looked at me again, smiling.
"I am looking for the lobby!"
For just a moment, I thought some immense joke was being played upon me.
It was about to get worse.
"Lobby in front!" Honest to God, that's what he said. He looked at me and he said, "Lobby in front!"
It took me a moment to speak. "This IS the front," I told him.
"No," he shouted at me, pointing to the rear of the building. "The FRONT!"
Now, I'm no idiot but it seems to me that the side of the building facing the street, the side in front of the "No Trespassing" signs, the side with the parking lot, IS THE FRONT!
I almost walked out, but someone else rushed up to meet me. A young, mexican man, he asked me, "Do you need help with anything, sir?"
"I was just looking for the lobby."
He ushered me outside and pointed to the back of the building. "It's in the front."
"Yes," I acknowledged, "but wouldn't you agree that this seems to be the front since the customer parking is up here and the No Trespassing signs are there?"
"Oh, don't worry about the No Trespassing signs. That's for the employees so they don't park there."
I was in FUCKING BIZARRO WORLD!
So, I went to the "front" and entered. You don't work with a mechanic there. You work with an account manager. He facilitates your repair and works with you and your insurance company… to get their fucking money. The first words out of his mouth were, "Goddammit, I hate Infinity Insurance!"
It was the beginning of a long story of woe, which centered on how many hoops this guy had to go through to get Infinity to pay. I wouldn't suggest it as a bed-time story.
"But they will pay, right?"
"Eventually," he said, deflated.
That done, I contacted Hertz to pick me up so I could get a rental car. They have an office at the Embassy Suites on Dyer, close to the shop, and it was to there I was brought to pick up my rental. I had called before to make sure Infinity had set up an account with Hertz and was assured that all I would have to do was go in and get the car. … Um, no. The salesman tried to sell me the insurance and the gas - he would have tried to sell me my own shoes if I'd been biting but I wasn't. The insurance company was paying for this so not only did I not need to buy the gas but I was triple-covered in case of an accident. (Both insurance companies and my VISA card, which I used to clear the car.) In fact, by the time I was done saying NO, time after time after time, he ended with slapping the keys on the counter. "Your cars out front," he snapped at me. "It's the silver one."
Hertz advertises that they rent Fords and Toyotas. What they don't tell you is what I found out when I walked outside and found a silver KIA…. Ugh! But, it's a rental, what do you expect? (The one upside to this story has nothing to do with humans but machines: The KIA drives really well. Color me pleasantly bemused!)
I got in and drove to my next destination… my bank. I used to like going to the bank, smiling people behind a counter giving you money! What's not to like?! But I'm not six any more and times have changed. I walked up to the counter to deposit a check and get some cash back for lunch. Now, before you ask why I didn't just use the ATM, try to understand that beneath this cynical shell I am something of a wide-eyed optimist, wishing the best for human-kind, thinking that I may be surprised one day.
I wasn't.
My check was deposited. My cash was back. I was about to walk away when the manager jumped in front of my teller, a rather quiet, older lady, and shouted at me, "You need loan?!"
I didn't know if it was a statement or a question.
"You need loan!" This time, there was no doubt. It was a statement. Yes, the poor syntax was how he put it. He was asian but fit homogenously into that breed of younger person who has been raised in a society where only the most predatory survive. Quiet respect and manners were shed long ago like snakeskin.
"No," I said, quietly offended.
"You need new car. You need new home."
"Actually, I don't." And, with that, I walked away.
And I went to Taco Bell for lunch. What can I say, even I need a shot of junk food now and then. The girl at the counter couldn't have been more than 18 and I wondered why she wasn't at school. The thought irritated me… and I'm afraid I took it out on her. I thought I'd get a surprise for lunch. The easiest way to do this, of course, is to place a rather complicated order with someone just like this. You don't have to get nasty. It can be very simple.
"Could I have two bean burritos with extra cheese, one green sauce and one red sauce and no onions in the one with green sauce, with a small Dr. Pepper." You could see her brain derail for a second as she overlooked the "SM SODA" button, trying to find Dr. Pepper.
She charged me about three dollars, which would be about right.
I took my bag and filled my soda and walked to my car. I had one burrito supreme and one chicken soft taco.
Based on this story alone, I really hope the human race dies off very soon… I'm terrified by how much less intelligent we can get...
Notes of Community Interest…
Occasionally, I have to clear out old ideas from my head, lest the clutter start coming out in the form of incessant babbling that…. Um…. Has already happened, I guess…
Anyways!!!!!
(Note: No "s" on "anyways"…)
So, let's get this party started:
Booze. Tim came up this weekend and, in a move that shocked a not-yet-shocked nation, we got drunk. Vicky had to get up early Sunday morning so we couldn't make any noise so we opted for something far more mature - and by "mature", I mean "stupid". We staggered out to the freeway overpass and screamed, hooted, and hollered at the passing cars. Yes, this is how Ken has a good time, yelling and laughing at the 91 freeway. Oddly enough, one side of the overpass had a high fence, keeping people from jumping over… but the other side had no fence. So, it wasn't so much "preventing" as it was "herding". I'm surprised I remember this because I was so incredibly drunk, it was all I could do to keep Tim from picking his way down a path to the freeway. Drunken games of freeway "Frogger" are not my idea of a good time.
Lori. I've tried emails. I've tried worrying. I've tried prayer… well, not in this case, but there were plenty of times in my childhood… Anyway, I can't think of a way to get word to my dear friend, Lori. So, Lori, if you're reading - what the hell happened to you?! Where are you?! And where's my five bucks??? (No, she doesn't owe me five bucks but I figured I might get a little money out of this…)
Vicky. With me playing World of Warcraft (19th lvl Paladin, 9th lvl Priest - to those players out there who are reading), Vicky has taken possession of my copy of Sims2. She's fallen deeply within its spell of goofy characters, funny situations, and the possibility of getting them to have sex… or was that just me? Anyway, I haven't seen her so involved in a game and, while I've offered her my cheat codes (oh, stop it - you know you do it, too!), she tells me she wants to play "right". Meanwhile, I just want her game to go faster… little does she know I'm playing vicariously through her. One of her characters is pregnant and I want to know what happens next…
Writing. The end of the book is coming much faster than I thought it would. 80,000 words? Try 75,000! And that's just wrong… but I can't over-analyze this. I have to stay in the moment, moment-by-moment…. Not momentarily… And as I write it, I can't help but think about what I want to write next. This book is so serious and filled with its own sense of importance… I just want to write something goofy and absurd. I had a dream last night about a play in which, at one point, two guys are the on the stage. One had just become a father and is gushing about his baby's cute socks and cute hat and cute shoes and - the other guy slaps him. Not yet, Ken. Not yet.
More Vicky. Here's a date you should keep in mind: April 13th! That just happens to be Vicky's birthday! (And, boy, if I got that wrong, I'll never hear the end of it!) Here's your advanced notice to send cards, emails, letters, or comments (or GREAT BIG WADS OF CASH) wishing her a happy birthday. This will coincide with massive celebrations in Anaheim, California, bent on feeding Vicky as many Apple-tinis as humanly possible.
Dentist. Let's face it, people. I needs ta go! It's been five years and things need cleaning and polishing and - I'm sure without a doubt - drilling and scraping and extracting and hammering and chiseling and mortaring and bombing and torturing and…. I'm sorry, where was I? Anyway, I'll be going soon - and you'll hear all about it… Trust me.
Waiting and Weighting. It's been over a month since I started working out in the morning and the weight has finally started to come off! Where's the ice cream?
The other white Tim. And, by the way, I see Fred Mertz has been making comments on this site but I haven't spoken to Tim Murphy in a while. Why is that? Well, I hope he and Autumn are doing well. Gotta remember to call…. You know…. Eventually…
Rob. Another on the long list of "Great Friends Ken Never Speaks To" and, I promise, the last one I mention here. I'll keep this short. Rob? How the hell are ya???
Okay, I'm going to start shutting up now. This was going to go on a while longer but my internal censor is kicking in… so you won't read:
* Kissing women other than my girlfriend - I haven't done a show in a while
* World of Warcraft - I'm fucking hooked and I love it
* All women are crazy and the GameStop employee who asked if turnabout really is fair play
* Hometown Buffet - someone kill me before I eat there!
The shutting up process is taking a while but, at least, my brain is cleared out enough to stop the babbling… oh, wait.
Anyways!!!!!
(Note: No "s" on "anyways"…)
So, let's get this party started:
Booze. Tim came up this weekend and, in a move that shocked a not-yet-shocked nation, we got drunk. Vicky had to get up early Sunday morning so we couldn't make any noise so we opted for something far more mature - and by "mature", I mean "stupid". We staggered out to the freeway overpass and screamed, hooted, and hollered at the passing cars. Yes, this is how Ken has a good time, yelling and laughing at the 91 freeway. Oddly enough, one side of the overpass had a high fence, keeping people from jumping over… but the other side had no fence. So, it wasn't so much "preventing" as it was "herding". I'm surprised I remember this because I was so incredibly drunk, it was all I could do to keep Tim from picking his way down a path to the freeway. Drunken games of freeway "Frogger" are not my idea of a good time.
Lori. I've tried emails. I've tried worrying. I've tried prayer… well, not in this case, but there were plenty of times in my childhood… Anyway, I can't think of a way to get word to my dear friend, Lori. So, Lori, if you're reading - what the hell happened to you?! Where are you?! And where's my five bucks??? (No, she doesn't owe me five bucks but I figured I might get a little money out of this…)
Vicky. With me playing World of Warcraft (19th lvl Paladin, 9th lvl Priest - to those players out there who are reading), Vicky has taken possession of my copy of Sims2. She's fallen deeply within its spell of goofy characters, funny situations, and the possibility of getting them to have sex… or was that just me? Anyway, I haven't seen her so involved in a game and, while I've offered her my cheat codes (oh, stop it - you know you do it, too!), she tells me she wants to play "right". Meanwhile, I just want her game to go faster… little does she know I'm playing vicariously through her. One of her characters is pregnant and I want to know what happens next…
Writing. The end of the book is coming much faster than I thought it would. 80,000 words? Try 75,000! And that's just wrong… but I can't over-analyze this. I have to stay in the moment, moment-by-moment…. Not momentarily… And as I write it, I can't help but think about what I want to write next. This book is so serious and filled with its own sense of importance… I just want to write something goofy and absurd. I had a dream last night about a play in which, at one point, two guys are the on the stage. One had just become a father and is gushing about his baby's cute socks and cute hat and cute shoes and - the other guy slaps him. Not yet, Ken. Not yet.
More Vicky. Here's a date you should keep in mind: April 13th! That just happens to be Vicky's birthday! (And, boy, if I got that wrong, I'll never hear the end of it!) Here's your advanced notice to send cards, emails, letters, or comments (or GREAT BIG WADS OF CASH) wishing her a happy birthday. This will coincide with massive celebrations in Anaheim, California, bent on feeding Vicky as many Apple-tinis as humanly possible.
Dentist. Let's face it, people. I needs ta go! It's been five years and things need cleaning and polishing and - I'm sure without a doubt - drilling and scraping and extracting and hammering and chiseling and mortaring and bombing and torturing and…. I'm sorry, where was I? Anyway, I'll be going soon - and you'll hear all about it… Trust me.
Waiting and Weighting. It's been over a month since I started working out in the morning and the weight has finally started to come off! Where's the ice cream?
The other white Tim. And, by the way, I see Fred Mertz has been making comments on this site but I haven't spoken to Tim Murphy in a while. Why is that? Well, I hope he and Autumn are doing well. Gotta remember to call…. You know…. Eventually…
Rob. Another on the long list of "Great Friends Ken Never Speaks To" and, I promise, the last one I mention here. I'll keep this short. Rob? How the hell are ya???
Okay, I'm going to start shutting up now. This was going to go on a while longer but my internal censor is kicking in… so you won't read:
* Kissing women other than my girlfriend - I haven't done a show in a while
* World of Warcraft - I'm fucking hooked and I love it
* All women are crazy and the GameStop employee who asked if turnabout really is fair play
* Hometown Buffet - someone kill me before I eat there!
The shutting up process is taking a while but, at least, my brain is cleared out enough to stop the babbling… oh, wait.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Things change…
Got up late this morning… at 4:30 am!!!!!!!!!
When did this become late?
I was going to stay in bed. I was feeling a bit nauseas. But, then, I thought, "No, I'll miss my work out!" and up I got. And, nearly immediately, I thought, "I'm not staying in bed because I want to go to the gym at 4:30 in the morning? What's wrong with this picture??"
But go, I did. And I started thinking about how weird my life has become in the last four weeks. I work out 4-5 times each week. (Though it hasn't helped much.) I'm writing a book instead of acting (or writing) a play. I go to bed shortly after 9pm….
These things might not seem strange to you but, listen, I'm telling you, this is not me. Only a year ago, I was a thinner actor who didn't work out and slept at all hours. Now, I'm heavier but I work out, write a novel, and sleep decent hours. And that "decent hours" thing - just a couple years ago, I wasn't sleeping at all, or sleepwalking!
Some people thing you go through a few big changes in your life. Well, I'm here to tell you they happen all the time!
When did this become late?
I was going to stay in bed. I was feeling a bit nauseas. But, then, I thought, "No, I'll miss my work out!" and up I got. And, nearly immediately, I thought, "I'm not staying in bed because I want to go to the gym at 4:30 in the morning? What's wrong with this picture??"
But go, I did. And I started thinking about how weird my life has become in the last four weeks. I work out 4-5 times each week. (Though it hasn't helped much.) I'm writing a book instead of acting (or writing) a play. I go to bed shortly after 9pm….
These things might not seem strange to you but, listen, I'm telling you, this is not me. Only a year ago, I was a thinner actor who didn't work out and slept at all hours. Now, I'm heavier but I work out, write a novel, and sleep decent hours. And that "decent hours" thing - just a couple years ago, I wasn't sleeping at all, or sleepwalking!
Some people thing you go through a few big changes in your life. Well, I'm here to tell you they happen all the time!
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Ice cream! Get your free ice cream!!
As a public service to you - me public - I thought I'd turn you on to THIS.
Yes, turns out Yahoo is celebrating it's 10 year anniversary, of which I'm sure you give great piles of shit, by giving out FREE ice cream at Baskin Robbins!
Check it out!
Yes, turns out Yahoo is celebrating it's 10 year anniversary, of which I'm sure you give great piles of shit, by giving out FREE ice cream at Baskin Robbins!
Check it out!
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Writing and Playing (continued…)
So, you're probably wondering how I can still find time to write now that I have World of Warcraft. (Those who aren't wondering when I'll shut up.)
Now, I know I gave you a link to free Anarchy Online. I did play that for a couple of days but, like I said, I couldn't compare to WoW. If AO was ice cream, WoW is Ben & Jerry's! And if I was going to play a game like that, I might as well play a good one.
So, I got WoW over the weekend and played and played and, well, you get it. In the midst of that, though, there are so many other things to do. House work. Time with Vicky. Sleeping. Eating. There just aren't enough hours in the day!!
But I'm happy to announce that I hit the 70,000 word mark this morning! As I look towards the end, I think I have just two more chapters after the one I'm presently on. That should put me slightly over 80,000 words, as I'd hoped. Then, after a break, will come the real work. "The Virtue of Reason", the indictment against the Vampire Society - and easily the hardest thing I've ever had to write. Who the hell do I think I am, anyway?
Thankfully, though, I have WoW to bring me back down to earth and put me in my place - still just a guy who plays video games.
Now, I know I gave you a link to free Anarchy Online. I did play that for a couple of days but, like I said, I couldn't compare to WoW. If AO was ice cream, WoW is Ben & Jerry's! And if I was going to play a game like that, I might as well play a good one.
So, I got WoW over the weekend and played and played and, well, you get it. In the midst of that, though, there are so many other things to do. House work. Time with Vicky. Sleeping. Eating. There just aren't enough hours in the day!!
But I'm happy to announce that I hit the 70,000 word mark this morning! As I look towards the end, I think I have just two more chapters after the one I'm presently on. That should put me slightly over 80,000 words, as I'd hoped. Then, after a break, will come the real work. "The Virtue of Reason", the indictment against the Vampire Society - and easily the hardest thing I've ever had to write. Who the hell do I think I am, anyway?
Thankfully, though, I have WoW to bring me back down to earth and put me in my place - still just a guy who plays video games.
Writing and Playing…
So, you're probably wondering how I can still find time to write now that I have World of Warcraft. (Those who aren't wondering when I'll shut up.)
Now, I know I gave you a link to free Anarchy Online. I did play that for a couple of days but, like I said, I couldn't compare to WoW. If AO was ice cream, WoW is Ben & Jerry's! And if I was going to play a game like that, I might as well play a good one.
So, I got WoW over the weekend and played and played and, well, you get it. In the midst of that, though, there are so many other things to do. House work. Time with Vicky. Sleeping. Eating. There just aren't enough hours in the day!!
But I'm happy to announce that I hit the 70,000 word mark this morning! As I look towards the end, I think I have just two more chapters after the one I'm presently on. That should put me slightly over 80,000 words, as I'd hoped. Then, after a break, will come the real work. "The Virtue of Reason", the indictment against the Vampire Society - and easily the hardest thing I've ever had to write. Who the hell do I think I am, anyway?
Thankfully, though, I have WoW to bring me back down to earth and put me in my place - still just a guy who plays video games.
Now, I know I gave you a link to free Anarchy Online. I did play that for a couple of days but, like I said, I couldn't compare to WoW. If AO was ice cream, WoW is Ben & Jerry's! And if I was going to play a game like that, I might as well play a good one.
So, I got WoW over the weekend and played and played and, well, you get it. In the midst of that, though, there are so many other things to do. House work. Time with Vicky. Sleeping. Eating. There just aren't enough hours in the day!!
But I'm happy to announce that I hit the 70,000 word mark this morning! As I look towards the end, I think I have just two more chapters after the one I'm presently on. That should put me slightly over 80,000 words, as I'd hoped. Then, after a break, will come the real work. "The Virtue of Reason", the indictment against the Vampire Society - and easily the hardest thing I've ever had to write. Who the hell do I think I am, anyway?
Thankfully, though, I have WoW to bring me back down to earth and put me in my place - still just a guy who plays video games.
Monday, February 28, 2005
On writing and writing and … okay, so I played video games…
It has often been said that writing a novel is like running a marathon, you need a lot of longevity and get ready for a sprint at the end.
Well, I'm sprinting. I can see the finish line. I am winded and I am sore and I am tired. I can't imagine what writing this book in one stretch would have been like and understand fully why I had to stop when I did - I pulled a muscle from overexertion. But I stretched with some acting and I walked it off by writing some plays and I'm back. Oh, baby, am I back!
I wrote some great stuff Friday and I was ready to spend my Saturday hammering out even more pages! Four hours on Saturday! Six hours! Eight hours!
… but then we went to Target and I bought World of Warcraft…
(Okay, so we all need some down time, right?)
I returned to work this morning feeling… cooled off. Like running, you can't just start and stop. You need to warm up if you take too much time away.
And how do you warm up your philosophical muscles? You think? You see, I'm coming to a pretty pivotal scene towards the end - actually, they're all pretty damned pivotal at this point. I had to set it up in my mind. I knew what I wanted to have happen but I had to find the context in which it would. Philosophical context, that is. Context about the Vampire Society, a society whose highest virtue is consumption. I began to think of public policy: the privatization of national parks, welfare reform, etc. But this is a very deconstructionist philosophy - that is: it all comes down to YOU - so government becomes but a scapegoat. You must move beyond that. You must reduce. You go to the scale of a city. You go to the scale of a neighborhood. You go to the scale of a family. You move smaller and smaller and then, finally, as if on its own, it starts to hit you and you get one, single line.
Here's what I got today: Our society is only as ethical as you are when you're given the wrong change.
And then you put that into the context of a love triangle… and then you realize you still have a long way to go...
Well, I'm sprinting. I can see the finish line. I am winded and I am sore and I am tired. I can't imagine what writing this book in one stretch would have been like and understand fully why I had to stop when I did - I pulled a muscle from overexertion. But I stretched with some acting and I walked it off by writing some plays and I'm back. Oh, baby, am I back!
I wrote some great stuff Friday and I was ready to spend my Saturday hammering out even more pages! Four hours on Saturday! Six hours! Eight hours!
… but then we went to Target and I bought World of Warcraft…
(Okay, so we all need some down time, right?)
I returned to work this morning feeling… cooled off. Like running, you can't just start and stop. You need to warm up if you take too much time away.
And how do you warm up your philosophical muscles? You think? You see, I'm coming to a pretty pivotal scene towards the end - actually, they're all pretty damned pivotal at this point. I had to set it up in my mind. I knew what I wanted to have happen but I had to find the context in which it would. Philosophical context, that is. Context about the Vampire Society, a society whose highest virtue is consumption. I began to think of public policy: the privatization of national parks, welfare reform, etc. But this is a very deconstructionist philosophy - that is: it all comes down to YOU - so government becomes but a scapegoat. You must move beyond that. You must reduce. You go to the scale of a city. You go to the scale of a neighborhood. You go to the scale of a family. You move smaller and smaller and then, finally, as if on its own, it starts to hit you and you get one, single line.
Here's what I got today: Our society is only as ethical as you are when you're given the wrong change.
And then you put that into the context of a love triangle… and then you realize you still have a long way to go...
Friday, February 25, 2005
You listen to my bitching - I give you game…
As many of you know, I was one of the Alpha-Beta testers for World of Warcraft last year. (And to think, before the Lucky's merger, that would have made for a great grocery store joke…) I loved WoW (as we affectionately call it). It was fun, easy to use, addictive, beautiful to look at - it had everything!
But, alas, I had to give it up, cause, well, the Beta test ended and I'd have to pay.
PAY?! PAY?! How dare they!!!
I may be cheap but at least I'm consistent.
But now I've found another MMORPG to play - and if you don't know the acronym you really should join us here in the 21st century, we've got great wars you know - and that one is Anarchy Online.
And now, you can too! And it's so cheap, it's free! Sure, you don't get the cool expansion packs but, hell, IT'S FREE!
Mind you, I only started playing last night and things are still a bit shaky. I mean…. It's not WoW.
BUT IT'S FREE!
What are you complaining about? IT'S FREE!
Ben & Jerry's, please take note!
But, alas, I had to give it up, cause, well, the Beta test ended and I'd have to pay.
PAY?! PAY?! How dare they!!!
I may be cheap but at least I'm consistent.
But now I've found another MMORPG to play - and if you don't know the acronym you really should join us here in the 21st century, we've got great wars you know - and that one is Anarchy Online.
And now, you can too! And it's so cheap, it's free! Sure, you don't get the cool expansion packs but, hell, IT'S FREE!
Mind you, I only started playing last night and things are still a bit shaky. I mean…. It's not WoW.
BUT IT'S FREE!
What are you complaining about? IT'S FREE!
Ben & Jerry's, please take note!
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Canada to USA: "You ain't my daddy!"
Canada, once again, has shown the good sense to not in line with the United States. They're too smart for that and they're too smart for a missile shield that could, at best, not work, and at worst start a new arms race (no, not the present one - a NEWER one). Sorry (burning) Bush, but not everyone's going to bend over when you say "Jump".
Head hit wall - Brains splatter forth…
I have a headache this morning so you'll have to forgive me. Yes, you will, too.
I'm about to write more stuff about Vicky and I can't help but think, "Who would want to read such tripe?" The answer, of course, is NO ONE. So, why do I write it? Well, considering I've been writing like this for over 20 years, I guess it's a little late to start asking stupid questions now.
Vicky and I are having problem. What couples don't? Vicky has this "you will" mindset that's beginning to drive me right to the edge. It's especially noticeable when it comes to the wedding. "You will wear this kind of tuxedo." "You will behave this certain way." "You will do this at this precise time." If she keeps this up, she'll be lucky to see me there at all!
I don't think anyone ever explained to her that giving orders, in any situation where you're in no position to do so, is a fast way of finding disappointment. Or, they didn't do a very good job. And, after a while, I begin feeling more like table-dressing than a groom. (You know, 50% of the wedding couple.) She never asks, "Could you?" She never says, "I would like it if." She never even tries, "I would like".
And, quite frankly, I'm getting sick of it.
This only becomes a problem when, after suggesting we talk over and over, she completely ignores me. Yes, obviously, we're riding two different rails here and, folks, I did that once. I'm not doing it again.
Maybe it's her upbringing. Her folks, wonderful people, are decidedly middle class. Mind you, when I first met them, I couldn't help think they were upper class but then I started reflecting on what "middle class" once met and…. They is that. But they are people who are used to quick requests in short terms, i.e. orders. My family is from the lower rungs of lower middle class - we considered ourselves "upper destitute". My mom had to beg and plead a lot. There was no, "Do the dishes." It was either "I'd really appreciate if you did the dishes. I had a rough day and will probably die if I do one more thing but if you want to live with your mother's death on your head, then…" or "Do the fucking dishes god-dammit! Can't you stop making my life hell?!" - very little in between. So, I'm not used to orders and, in fact, react very poorly to them. I'm more apt to do just the opposite! Requests I can consider and threats I can acknowledge but orders tend to get laughed at.
Vicky and I seriously need to work on how we communicate and I write this only because I know she's a reader. We need to work together. Seriously. And you know it's serious when I'm putting it out there for everyone to read.
I'm about to write more stuff about Vicky and I can't help but think, "Who would want to read such tripe?" The answer, of course, is NO ONE. So, why do I write it? Well, considering I've been writing like this for over 20 years, I guess it's a little late to start asking stupid questions now.
Vicky and I are having problem. What couples don't? Vicky has this "you will" mindset that's beginning to drive me right to the edge. It's especially noticeable when it comes to the wedding. "You will wear this kind of tuxedo." "You will behave this certain way." "You will do this at this precise time." If she keeps this up, she'll be lucky to see me there at all!
I don't think anyone ever explained to her that giving orders, in any situation where you're in no position to do so, is a fast way of finding disappointment. Or, they didn't do a very good job. And, after a while, I begin feeling more like table-dressing than a groom. (You know, 50% of the wedding couple.) She never asks, "Could you?" She never says, "I would like it if." She never even tries, "I would like".
And, quite frankly, I'm getting sick of it.
This only becomes a problem when, after suggesting we talk over and over, she completely ignores me. Yes, obviously, we're riding two different rails here and, folks, I did that once. I'm not doing it again.
Maybe it's her upbringing. Her folks, wonderful people, are decidedly middle class. Mind you, when I first met them, I couldn't help think they were upper class but then I started reflecting on what "middle class" once met and…. They is that. But they are people who are used to quick requests in short terms, i.e. orders. My family is from the lower rungs of lower middle class - we considered ourselves "upper destitute". My mom had to beg and plead a lot. There was no, "Do the dishes." It was either "I'd really appreciate if you did the dishes. I had a rough day and will probably die if I do one more thing but if you want to live with your mother's death on your head, then…" or "Do the fucking dishes god-dammit! Can't you stop making my life hell?!" - very little in between. So, I'm not used to orders and, in fact, react very poorly to them. I'm more apt to do just the opposite! Requests I can consider and threats I can acknowledge but orders tend to get laughed at.
Vicky and I seriously need to work on how we communicate and I write this only because I know she's a reader. We need to work together. Seriously. And you know it's serious when I'm putting it out there for everyone to read.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
On weekends and women…
Vicky and I went up to Lancaster this weekend to see her family. Vicky's family is very different from my own, which is to say I get along with them. It's quite a shock, especially when you consider my previous in-laws and the ex-mother-in-law who threatened to have a "hit" put out on me. It's nice.
We visited her grandmother, who lives in a residential rest-home. This isn't your stereotypical rest-home, with elderly folks cramped together like cattle. She has her own room, which she'll soon be sharing with her husband. They have a nice living room, kitchen - it's just a regular house. And I was glad to see that because she's such a nice lady. Vicky and she talked for a while, had a nice visit, as I watched this horrible movie with Snoop. It was one of those typical "black man on a rampage, taking a helpless woman prisoner in her own home while the white police (and "oreo" cop) (Okay, so I HATE the "safe black man" stereotype because it basically says there's nothing about a black man that can't fixed by making him white!) try to coax him out by saying they'll treat him with respect though you know they won't, not in our society, anyway he has to be evil because, after all, he is black" kind of movies. Worse than junk food, completely disrespectful towards anyone's intelligence, just preying on our fears. I was ashamed for Snoop. Worst still, I didn't get to see how it ended…
Then, we had coffee at an IHOP with her aunt and uncle and grandfather. I feel terrible for her grandfather, who's mental faculties have left him over the years. What a sad way to age.
We finished the evening at her mother's restaurant. Thankfully, she didn't stuff us like the last time - though we did leave there FULL. They're so good to me!
And on top of that, her mom bought me a watch. A rather expensive watch! Now, I don't like watches. I don't wear watches. I'm not at all attracted to watches. I already own three and they just gather dust! Well, I figure I'm going to wear this one because she was kind enough to think of me. I think I'm going to like being their son-in-law.
Oh, one more thing. Her grandmother - whose name is Audrey, pretty funny considering my mom and sister also have that name - asked took my hand before we left and asked if I would like to be her grand-son. Now, look, I'm not a big fan of old people. Not only have I been conditioned through years of television to consider them disposable, I don't like the previews of coming attractions, you know? But this old woman has such incredible grace and the undeniable dignity of love, I would have given her what little youth I have had she asked and had such a thing been possible. I guess I’m fortunate it's not! I leaned in and said that I would be happy to be her grandson… and it was kind of liking proposing all over again. They say you don't just marry the girl but that you also marry the family. With Rosa's family, I never felt that. They were all to quick to take advantage of me while disrespecting me. Now, with Vicky, I'm not even married yet and I already feel this incredible devotion to them.
… which is good because Vicky can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. (Sure, but I love her.)
The rest of the weekend was not what I'd call a thrill-ride. I awoke Sunday morning with my shoulder screaming "I HATE YOU!" and Vicky was feeling pretty crappy on Monday. But a weekend is a weekend, after all, even the worst of them. We went to a birthday party on Sunday and spend Monday saying, "We should start getting up", which we did around 5pm…
We visited her grandmother, who lives in a residential rest-home. This isn't your stereotypical rest-home, with elderly folks cramped together like cattle. She has her own room, which she'll soon be sharing with her husband. They have a nice living room, kitchen - it's just a regular house. And I was glad to see that because she's such a nice lady. Vicky and she talked for a while, had a nice visit, as I watched this horrible movie with Snoop. It was one of those typical "black man on a rampage, taking a helpless woman prisoner in her own home while the white police (and "oreo" cop) (Okay, so I HATE the "safe black man" stereotype because it basically says there's nothing about a black man that can't fixed by making him white!) try to coax him out by saying they'll treat him with respect though you know they won't, not in our society, anyway he has to be evil because, after all, he is black" kind of movies. Worse than junk food, completely disrespectful towards anyone's intelligence, just preying on our fears. I was ashamed for Snoop. Worst still, I didn't get to see how it ended…
Then, we had coffee at an IHOP with her aunt and uncle and grandfather. I feel terrible for her grandfather, who's mental faculties have left him over the years. What a sad way to age.
We finished the evening at her mother's restaurant. Thankfully, she didn't stuff us like the last time - though we did leave there FULL. They're so good to me!
And on top of that, her mom bought me a watch. A rather expensive watch! Now, I don't like watches. I don't wear watches. I'm not at all attracted to watches. I already own three and they just gather dust! Well, I figure I'm going to wear this one because she was kind enough to think of me. I think I'm going to like being their son-in-law.
Oh, one more thing. Her grandmother - whose name is Audrey, pretty funny considering my mom and sister also have that name - asked took my hand before we left and asked if I would like to be her grand-son. Now, look, I'm not a big fan of old people. Not only have I been conditioned through years of television to consider them disposable, I don't like the previews of coming attractions, you know? But this old woman has such incredible grace and the undeniable dignity of love, I would have given her what little youth I have had she asked and had such a thing been possible. I guess I’m fortunate it's not! I leaned in and said that I would be happy to be her grandson… and it was kind of liking proposing all over again. They say you don't just marry the girl but that you also marry the family. With Rosa's family, I never felt that. They were all to quick to take advantage of me while disrespecting me. Now, with Vicky, I'm not even married yet and I already feel this incredible devotion to them.
… which is good because Vicky can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. (Sure, but I love her.)
The rest of the weekend was not what I'd call a thrill-ride. I awoke Sunday morning with my shoulder screaming "I HATE YOU!" and Vicky was feeling pretty crappy on Monday. But a weekend is a weekend, after all, even the worst of them. We went to a birthday party on Sunday and spend Monday saying, "We should start getting up", which we did around 5pm…
Friday, February 18, 2005
Geek Addictions...
Everyone knows I'm a smoker.
Everyone knows I'm a drinker.
Everyone knows I'm addicted to ice cream and video games and puns of many lands...
I am what they called an "addictive personality", which is to say I get into shit.
My most recent addiction has been moderately better for me than most but so steeped in geekdom that I have to a crown of geekliness around the house. Vicky makes me. I'm not kidding.
Yes, we're talking about Audible. Oh my god, how I love Audible. I joined back in July, thinking it would only be temporary... and was shocked to discover that this morning! Temporary?! Sure, like life if temporary! Hell, if this keeps up, people are going to wonder which relationship will last longer: Vicky or Audible!
With that in mind, I decided to cancel my account. It was getting to be too much! (Submitted for your consideration for the Understatement of the Year Award!) I downloaded my last two last night, one history book and one travel book (by Michael Palin), and this morning I was ready to cancel the whole thing.
... But then, I found out I could lower my subscription to the Basic level, saving me some money. Sure it would mean only one book each month but - believe me - once you burn a book on CD and put it in your car and listen to it as you drive - OKAY! SO I'M A GEEK! FINE! I SAID IT! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!
... I need help.
Everyone knows I'm a drinker.
Everyone knows I'm addicted to ice cream and video games and puns of many lands...
I am what they called an "addictive personality", which is to say I get into shit.
My most recent addiction has been moderately better for me than most but so steeped in geekdom that I have to a crown of geekliness around the house. Vicky makes me. I'm not kidding.
Yes, we're talking about Audible. Oh my god, how I love Audible. I joined back in July, thinking it would only be temporary... and was shocked to discover that this morning! Temporary?! Sure, like life if temporary! Hell, if this keeps up, people are going to wonder which relationship will last longer: Vicky or Audible!
With that in mind, I decided to cancel my account. It was getting to be too much! (Submitted for your consideration for the Understatement of the Year Award!) I downloaded my last two last night, one history book and one travel book (by Michael Palin), and this morning I was ready to cancel the whole thing.
... But then, I found out I could lower my subscription to the Basic level, saving me some money. Sure it would mean only one book each month but - believe me - once you burn a book on CD and put it in your car and listen to it as you drive - OKAY! SO I'M A GEEK! FINE! I SAID IT! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!
... I need help.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Scatologically speaking…
Today's My Side is dedicated to the foul and gross. Here's to you! (clink!)
So, this morning I was at the gym again, as I am most mornings. As I went to the sit-up/cruncher bench, I realized, to my dismay, that I really had to fart. But you don't do that in a gym. There are other people around. They'll know where it came from.
But you can probably understand that doing sit-ups puts pressure on your stomach muscles. It squeezes things….. Out.
And so, I crunched.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
(Uh oh. I really need to…)
Six. Seven Eight. Nine.
(You'd better stop this, son…)
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
(Pressure building. Can't hold it back…)
Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
(This is gonna be loud. Seriously. Cut it out or I'm cutting it!)
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
(Control! Must have control!)
After 120 sit-ups, I got up. I finished my workout. I went outside into the empty parking lot.
Boy, did it echo.
Now, to Suki…
Suki is my dog, through Vicky, and like most dogs she feels compelled to eat most things we wouldn't.
Cat shit, for example. She loves the taste of cat shit. The texture. The bouquet. I don't know what it is about it but she just loves it. (Vicky calls it "Almost Rocha"…. Totally ruining almond rocha for the rest of my life. To think, I used to love it.)
A couple of weeks ago, when Tim was visiting, he told us that cat shit is composed mostly of protein.
… Hmmm… Protein.
And I suddenly realized that Vicky and I could save a heck of a lot of time and money. It would work like this:
a) Cats eat cat food.
b) Cats poop.
c) Suki eats poop.
d) Cat box is cleaned.
e) EVERYBODY IS HAPPY!
But Vicky doesn't want Suki to eat the poop. Vicky is the wrench in so many of my great plans.
And, of course, I can't close this without making one more scatological statement: George Bush.
So, this morning I was at the gym again, as I am most mornings. As I went to the sit-up/cruncher bench, I realized, to my dismay, that I really had to fart. But you don't do that in a gym. There are other people around. They'll know where it came from.
But you can probably understand that doing sit-ups puts pressure on your stomach muscles. It squeezes things….. Out.
And so, I crunched.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
(Uh oh. I really need to…)
Six. Seven Eight. Nine.
(You'd better stop this, son…)
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
(Pressure building. Can't hold it back…)
Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
(This is gonna be loud. Seriously. Cut it out or I'm cutting it!)
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
(Control! Must have control!)
After 120 sit-ups, I got up. I finished my workout. I went outside into the empty parking lot.
Boy, did it echo.
Now, to Suki…
Suki is my dog, through Vicky, and like most dogs she feels compelled to eat most things we wouldn't.
Cat shit, for example. She loves the taste of cat shit. The texture. The bouquet. I don't know what it is about it but she just loves it. (Vicky calls it "Almost Rocha"…. Totally ruining almond rocha for the rest of my life. To think, I used to love it.)
A couple of weeks ago, when Tim was visiting, he told us that cat shit is composed mostly of protein.
… Hmmm… Protein.
And I suddenly realized that Vicky and I could save a heck of a lot of time and money. It would work like this:
a) Cats eat cat food.
b) Cats poop.
c) Suki eats poop.
d) Cat box is cleaned.
e) EVERYBODY IS HAPPY!
But Vicky doesn't want Suki to eat the poop. Vicky is the wrench in so many of my great plans.
And, of course, I can't close this without making one more scatological statement: George Bush.
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