Category: grindstone

All about breadwinning.

Posted on

urine my prayers

I don't know what even motivated me here...
There was no time to write yesterday, so I’m using some free minutes this morning to cobble together an entry. At least the weekend is here, in eight hours I can collapse into the welcoming arms of Saturday and Sunday.

Here I sit in Chinese class, having just completed the oral portion of my final exam. I think I did well. Last night I was up studying and working past midnight to prepare for what promises to be a packed day. A lot of things work the same, you know? When you’re grocery shopping and you’re not ready to checkout, the registers are always empty. Of course, as soon as you’re done and want to pay, every line is four heaping-baskets of people deep. It’s the same with work. You can have a few days of “coasting,” but then days like today come around. The customers are here, it’s the final exam in Mandarin, and I’ve got a huge deliverable (I know, what a dumb word) that’s due. What’s worse, I can’t stay late to get it all done because tonight is the annual office Christmas party. You’d think me wholly consumed by work, the way I talk… but I really wouldn’t classify myself as a wage-slave or burgeoning office-politico… just some dude who’d rather be camping but needs money.

The other day I was in the men’s room peeing out the coffee I had for breakfast, and I started thinking about the peeing process. Based on other dude’s behavior in the men’s room, it seems peeing is almost a ritual to some. It got me thinking about my process. I’m not too particular about it, but I do notice that I have some standard “motions” and “postures.”

I saunter up to the urinal with a cocksure gait ala John Wayne, staring it down with a menacing look, just to let it know that my pee means business. At about a pace-and-a-half from the wall I unleash the heat, ahem, unzip. As I arrive in the pee-position, I plant the feet squarely facing the wall, as if I were bracing for gale-force winds. Planted firmly, I then wrestle for roughly thirty seconds with the damn hide-the-hole flap in my boxers… struggling to pull back the overlapping layers of fabric and bring the stallion forth from his stable. At this point, the left-hand swoops in to ensure the pants stay clear of any stream-stray by holding the zippered opening wide. The right hand stabilizes the immense weight of my manhood, and for some strange reason the middle finger hooks itself under my right nut. I make sure I distribute my processed coffee evenly around the urinal, lest the powerful jet erode the ceramic and power through to the women’s room behind the wall. When all is done, there’s a little jiggle and then we step away and wash the hands.

Really, why? I apologize for writing that… I got carried away.

Should I be embarrassed that I watch the OC with the giddy enthusiasm of a teenage girl? I’ve even been known to shriek with joy when Summer and Seth flirtfight. I don’t even care.

I have no more time. Have a nice weekend people.

Posted on

fun run

It goes with the running theme... you'll see.
Wednesday goes by without fanfare, and finds me again on the couch… typing. It’s a seemingly extra chilly night, so we flipped the switch on our state–mandated environmentally-friendly gas fireplace. It sucks. I mean, it puts out a lot of heat, but it’s so fake. Fake logs, fake ash, fake fake fake. Really… isn’t there something going on tonight? Am I really still sitting here at 9pm? Crap.

Guys, no… for real guys… check this out… Here are some of what I consider to be the best “search engine referrals” to my blog. I track this kinda crap, these are actual search terms/phrases people have typed into Google or Yahoo or MSN that have somehow led them to my page. They are a comedy goldmine:

removal of caked deodorant
bedroom making love sounds mp3s
Home remedies for treating bumpy toenails
Cold-induced urticaria
pictures of black hairy clits of women
pictures of Jennifer anniston’s hair
candy washing machine faults
new bright eyes leaked
data structures stacks rearranging railroad cars
poop sounds
Gaming Referendums
bananadine
Alchemic Transmutations using cheap materials
The sounds I should make when masturbating
hairy ladies clits
sounds that a giraffe makes
nude native american
free dirty lesbo stories

What’s with the guy obsessed with hairy clits? And worse, how the hell is he getting to my site by searching for them? It’s not an all-inclusive list, but I liked the spread of topics. Nice to know that people may be led to my writing by searches on alchemy, music, rare diseases, and porn. And the number one search string that led users to my site? That honor goes to “poop sounds,” a phrase which has somehow referred searchers to my pages over ten times in the last couple months. I don’t remember talking about poop sounds. Let’s change subjects, shall we?

I interface with people much easier in writing than I do in person. Not to say I’m not personable, as in a social setting – but within the confines of a business environment I feel I can communicate much better in writing than in person. I don’t clam up, or stammer or stutter when I have to talk to someone, I just feel so much more comfortable handling things over e-mail or IM. I think it’s the physical detachment factor, and the underlying escape clause it provides. If I don’t want to deal with something, I can write on it later. Reply later, think about it later. Luxuries you’re not afforded in real-time face-to-face communication. I’m a big proponent of informed communication. I don’t like to go into a business conversation without a decent amount of knowledge on possible subjects.

I think it comes down to a basic confidence issue. In writing, I have the entire world as my backup knowledge. Between two sentences in an e-mail, I could’ve done three hours of research. Like I said, I like the optional “safety net” that written communication provides. The chance to resituate my testes while considering an answer, should I so desire. The wall of distance separating myself and the party whom I’m “conversing” with. Taking the idea one step further, I could generalize like this: to me, written communication offers one particularly attractive option over in-person communication – the option to run. Something I’ve known for a long time: in the right situations, I’m a runner. Now, I don’t really like the term “runner,” but I think that’s the term most would relate to. I like to think of it as more of a “pragmatic” approach to things.

Whatever you call it, the symptoms are the same: Occasionally, when things get to a certain point – I cash in and take off. Simply put, it’s giving up; quitting. When things get too uncomfortable, too un-fun, too hard – simply do an about-face and leave the whole mess in your wake. Sounds terrible right? In some ways, it is. You can equate it to being a chicken, soft, milquetoast, a pushover, whatever. On The Rifleman, they’d call it “yeller,” and any cowboy worth his whiskey knows it’s better to be dead than be yeller. That’s the level of shame we’re talking about here.

Surprisingly though, when these rarish situations come about, I manage to feel minimal shame. Probably from years of honing the skill of folding. It’s an interesting two-sided coin though. In some ways, I consider “running” to be both one of my most shameful traits, but also one I’m kinda proud of. On one hand, there’s that aspect of self-preservation, looking out for #1. The great selfishness that most of us possess, but usually try not to acknowledge. In some cases, the shame associated with taking an easy out may be bearable when compared to the pain of the easily-outed activity. Sometimes, I can live with that balance. On the other hand, there’s this whole you-joined-the-little-league-team-and-you’d-be-letting-them-all-down sense of honor that we’re instilled with from a young age. Bailing out, taking the “cowards road,” flies in the face of that notion. That concept of honor is so well ingrained in people, that often it’s the thought of other peoples’ projected shame that can be enough to make me stick to something.

I’ve run away from jobs, from people, from social engagements, from obligations, from responsibilities, from just about everything at some point. Looking back, I am indeed ashamed of the more rash of these choices… but I also look back on them with with something not unlike a sly sense of pride. I did it, and it made it easier, and it’s done, and I don’t have to deal with it, think about it, talk to it, go with it, etc. I escaped. I overcame the shame and did something that made me happier in the long run.

I know, from the outside, where we’re all great human beings – that those paragraphs may lay me bare as a self-centered asshole. I don’t mind. I’m actually done with this topic, but, as often happens with introspective topics, I feel I didn’t do it justice. Whatever. I don’t even care.

Well what do you know. Tonight didn’t remain on the couch, despite starting and ending there. Here are the images from this evening, as part of the “week in pictures” project. Check out the fun, courtesy of “pint night” at the local brewpub. Highlights include: Ben through a pint glass, me finishing off one of the same, Erik in situ, and some artsy attempts at capturing the group, as well as the ride home. Enjoy.




And we’re done. Sharaun’s asleep on the couch, I’m writing with the laptop on one knee, and all is right with the world. Goodnight all, Dave out.

Posted on

what that man said

I don't know what... my obsession is.
Left work early today for a 3:30 appointment. Yeah, an appointment with a lawn mower and my front yard. Since ol’ Ben Franklin took away my after-work daylight, I’ve got to be creative with when I get non-weekend yardwork done. Hey, saw this the day before the election. Seems to say that the real interpretation of Bin Laden’s words on his pre-election tape is actually a threat to individual US states choosing to side with Bush. Dunno how much truth there is to it, but I found it interesting. The website seems credible, and releasing a pre-election video which is directly trying to influence the election makes sense to me. Owell, intro paragraph over.

As often as I’ve complained about my sedentary, cubicle-based, job and my desire for something with a little more “movement,” there is one good thing about it – I get to listen to music all day long. I’ve been lucky, having had a series of jobs where I can indulge in tunes: working in a music store, and desk jobs where I can throw on the headphones and hang out in my own little world. It gives me a great opportunity to hear new tunes. Most of the time, I’m not listening-listening, it’s more like background music – but I do pick up the “feel” of the album that way, which puts me in a better position to appreciate it more if it turns out to be good. Anyway, I have no idea what I’m saying – I just wanted to talk about how I’m happy I have a job where I can listen to tunes all day. There, was that so hard?

I’m going to go against my better judgment and write a paragraph inspired by a TV show… and not any TV show, the new 91210 – the OC. I know, I know… where are my scruples, right? But I’m gonna break it down for y’all, I love that show. I don’t even care, call it a guilty pleasure or something. Anyway, I’m not going to write about the show – I’m going to write about something the show made me think of.

Back in high school, I think our senior year, a friend of mine “ran away” from home. Not in the side-of-a-milk-carton thing, when you’re 18 it’s pretty much your choice to make. He had some problems with his dad, and decided he’d had enough. He moved in with another friend of ours, and stayed in a guest room there. Come graduation, I had grown a lot closer to Jeremy. We were both sticking around the hometown for the next two years, choosing cheaper and easier community college over a four-year school. Our mutual friend, the one he was living with, however, had chosen to move away. This left Jeremy without a place to stay.

On a whim, I suggested he come live with me, at my parents’ house. Out of that casual suggestion, a living arrangement was born. A living arrangement that was awesome. We were best friends, brothers even. Never have I been closer to someone, or enjoyed someone’s company that much. For two years Jeremy lived in our converted garage, just like Ryan on the OC. (I told you it was coming back, didn’t I). Anyway, when I watch that show – I think of those years when Jeremy lived with us, and it just makes me feel good. Every once in a while, I start thinking that the days I’m living in are surely the best days of my life. I’ve thought that a lot, probably every year.

I think that’s the way it should be… every year is the best year. Even when you look back on them, they are still the best years. Today: the best year; last year: the best year. I’ve been extremely fortunate, I try to remember that. I do.

Next week, I already have a couple entries planned. I’m going to write about my New Orleans drug experience, and about getting robbed on the empty streets of Nassau. Holy crap I love this site, reminds me of Dr. Bronner’s soap. The term “bastardy queer” is priceless. Dave out.

Posted on

stop off to top off

GIS for yuppie
The president is still the president, and Americans voted him that way again. No matter what is said about “stealing” the election last time – this time it’s not up for debate. The country prefers Bush, simple as that. I think the democrats made some key mistakes, one of them the fact that they are constantly calling Bush “stupid.” Perhaps not outright, but be it either inferred or insinuated – the impression one would get is that he is too dumb, or inept, to properly lead. Maybe, without knowing it, the dems shot themselves in the foot with this… My bet is that there are plenty of Joe Americans who can identify with Bush’s situation, and view the dems’ assertion of his ignorance as a mocking of their own brainpower. They can give Bush their votes as a big middle-finger to the nerds that made fun of them in school, the jokes that go over their head on Saturday Night Live, and the pretentious, how-can-anyone-think-he’s-funny-compared-to-hilarious-shows-like-Jackass John Stewart. Whatever, be it religious fundamentalists, gun enthusiasts, rich folks, who cares – he won. We, the United States, voted for him, so that’s all she wrote. And that’s all I’ll write about it too.

Woke up this morning to the sound of rain in the downspouts, which for some reason sounds like it’s fed through and amplifier and piped in through hidden speakers in the wall – so dang loud. That means rain on the way to work, and of course, umbrella usage. I mention this because, this morning, as I was walking into work using my umbrella, I realized something: either umbrellas suck, or I never learned how to use one right. (Man, check out all the commas in that sentence, but I think it’s still grammatically sound, right?) I mean, an umbrella has never performed as billed for me. It’s more cumbersome than protective, and I still get wet. I get wet because water rolls off the top and drips on me, I can’t get the angle right to protect my back and front, and it does nothing for my legs/shoes. About all an umbrella is good for is keeping my head dry… and who cares about that. I should invest in a good hooded rain slicker… seems much more (I never remember, is “much more” OK to say?) sensible. Maybe I’m just inept.

I mentioned earlier that I was “chosen” at work to participate in a class in Mandarin. Some college prof is coming to teach us “survival Chinese,” where we learn things like how to talk money, directions, small-talk, and business stuff. According to the official notice I got for the class, I was “identified as a strategic participant” for the course. Now, I don’t know if that means I’m being shipped to China soon or something – but I am excited about free learning (as someone who currently owes tens-of-thousands to the government for education, free learning is appreciated). Anyway, the course is supposed to be “challenging,” and we were urged not to commit to doing it unless we’ll be able to be dedicated in our studies and “homework.” You know how long it’s been since I’ve had homework? Then, down near the bottom of the notice, there was a line which stated something like “… failure to complete the course with a passing grade will result in corrective action.” Corrective action? Now I can get fired for a B, what pressure. Just like I’m from an Asian family! Y’know, like my wife’s kids whose parents make them sleep outside when they get anything less than an A? (Yes, for real.) Apparently we’re learning the culture as well as the language…

Well guys, I’m on my own. Dropped the wife off in front of the airport around six, and began my brief bachelor weekend by grabbing a burger and hanging out at Anthony’s. Later, I think I’ll go home and stay up late watching TV in my boxers. Actually, since I wrote that last sentence at Anthony’s… it fast became 1am and I find myself at home in front of the PC, after a nice evening at the local brewpub. That’s right. As I was passing said brewpub, Ben called me to inform me of a gathering at the very place… so I did a u-turn, and joined the fracas around 10:30pm. Much talk of the election and war and other less-hotbutton topics later, and with two pints downed, the final holdouts called it a night and headed home. ‘Twas good, talking, drinking, coming home at 1am on a “schoolnight.” What a life I live… pubbing it up on a Wednesday night with friends… coming home with that nice ale-inspired-edge to the evening’s writing… and totally abusing ellipses while at it.

I think this is one of my best entries, found it the other day while trying to search through old entries and fix the commas-turned-into-question-marks problem from my WordPress migration. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but y’know what I mean. Or, maybe only I know what I mean. Seriously… I write as much for me as for anything. I can only hope that someone, somewhere, reads this shit with interest…

Sorry if I pissed off any Asians with the Asian family comment, but you know how I do. All of the sudden I want to write until dawn, but I realize I’ve got a pretty decent wordcount for an entry – and I don’t really have much to say anyway. Until I can’t string words together anymore, Dave out.

Posted on

and my brain folds

Leave now or be ever remembered by the void your bones create in lava.
Mmm… post rock. How many times have I written of thee and thy apocalyptic sound? How fitting that I find another great band tonight, and listen to their clamour as I read about the impending asplosion of Mt. St. Helens. For real y’all, that thing is ready to blow. It might as well be shooting molten earth from my speakers right now as I bang my head, in a mathy kinda way, to some old Mono albums. Rad. Right now I’m drinking straight out of a two-liter bottle of root beer, I don’t even care. Intro paragraph over.

Today (yesterday, for those who don’t understand my nightly posting schedule) was a good day at work. Not because I got some praise or anything, but because I worked hard and got a lot done. And at the end of the day, or, around 7pm, I had my junk ready and was able to head home with a clear conscience. Sometimes the best days are when I’m just busy enough that I’m hovering right above that “one more task and my brain folds” line, and that’s what today was. I was right at the limit of my multitasking, a limit which I consider to be pretty respectable. The day ended well too, with a free communal meal at Anthony’s place, where I managed to draw a couple cold ones off the keg before it sputtered out. Yeah, just about the right end to a productive day.

I contrast days like today with their antithesis, days I like to chalk up to dissolution. Maybe I’m the only one who has these days, I dunno, maybe I’m the only one who can sail through them without guilt. I’m talking about days where I come into work, and literally don’t do a dang thing unless it’s unavoidable. Most of the time, you end up doing something, because just being there seems to make people want to ask you questions or answer e-mail. But there are those rare days where my brain checks out and I’m just sitting there. I dunno, in the beginning when I started working at my job – I was new and there wasn’t much to do, so I would always go home feeling guilty for taking a paycheck. Nowadays, things are so busy I relish the slow times, giving myself one-off “working vacation” days when there’s nothing pressing to attend to. It’s just, sometimes, you get a bit tired of it all – and need to check out. Or, at least, I do.

You guys wanna hear some crap? Well, if you remember, I was recently complaining about having to shell out two deductibles to our auto insurance because a) Sharaun’s car got broken into, and b) her windshield cracked down the middle when she washed it with cold water on a hot day? Well, that was the second windshield she’d been through on that car since we bought it, only a year ago. We got it back two on Friday, today is Wednesday. Today a rock flew up and shattered her windshield. Again. For the third time her windshield is broken.

You can imagine the scene. It’s circa 3pm yesterday and I get a phone call at my desk, “Why can’t I just have an effing windshield?!?!” “What?,” I reply. Through sobs I hear, “A rock just flew up and broke my windshield!!” A frustrated teary scream and then, “I don’t understand!! Why?!?!” “Calm down,” I urge, holding back my own rage at the fates for casting us this hand, “We’ll get it fixed, I know it sucks but it’ll be OK.” Why y’all, why? Like I said, the insurance agency must be taking one hell of a toll and paying out their ass for all the hurricane damage – so they’ve got adjusters on the roadside chucking rocks at passing cars to make up for losses. Well we’re done, stop breaking our junk and leave us alone.

11:30 in the PM, time for me to put away the root beer, turn off the lights, and hit the hay. G’night. Oh, and, hey new kid, the block welcomes you. Dave out.

Posted on

a bigger desk this time

Workin' hard to make a better blog for you.
A quick entry before bed. No bloggin’ lately because I’ve been working on the new calendar and PermaLink features for the site. They are both up and working now, with some minor changes still needed (calendar needs to “grey out” days without entries, and should give a more elegant 404 page when you try to click on an entry in the future).

Anyway, I’ve been feeling pretty sick. I think I’ll just go ahead and clear the blog “cache” by posting all the half-written entries from this week, right now…. so… get… umm… ready. Because here comes some disjointed, unfinished stuff, but I gotta get rid if it.

Written sometime on Tuesday, during my non-presenting time at the customers:

Conference room, two people openly sleeping in their chairs with no shame. Full of Starbucks and watching a catering van pull up out front. Must be lunch, looks like sandwiches… I was hoping for something more extravagant. As much as I complain about presenting the same thing over and over again, I actually really enjoy going out and meeting with customers. I like when people recognize you from the last time you were here, I like answering questions and feeling smart, and I like the “worldly” feeling I get from traveling. So far I’ve answered five or so questions, and otherwise just sat here taking notes to keep busy. Figured I’d try and write a bit.

Slept from takeoff to landing on the flight today. Put on my little flash MP3 player and let the Arcade Fire drive my dreams. I woke up with my mouth hanging open as we hit the runway, hoping that I hadn’t been snoring, but pretty sure I had. Now I’m stuck singing the songs in my head as this guy presents and these people ask questions. Falling asleep hard, just caught myself with my eyes closed and head falling forward.

Across town, dodging lunchtime traffic on the 808, another customer and another presentation. A bigger desk this time, darker wood and more chairs – same sleepiness. Three more hours and I can head back to the airport for the jet home. At least then I can sleep.

Written sometime yesterday, before I felt too crappy to keep going:

I’m no longer afraid y’all, this is the best album released thus far this year. At first I was hesitant, thinking it might have been puppy love, a crush with no long-term emotional roots. I was wrong, it only gets better each time. Arcade Fire you’re my hero.

And finally, written right now:

I’m tired. A more proper entry tomorrow, I promise. Dave out.

Posted on

does this count?

Old dude in black and white.
10pm on a Monday night. Trying to decide whether or not to iron tomorrow’s monkey-suit tonight or wake up early and get it done. Since I have to split around 5:30am to make my short flight, I don’t think I want to wake up early. But, I really don’t feel like ironing right now. If I was in Taiwan, I’d have already sent tomorrow’s shirt and pants to be pressed, and some unseen laborer would’ve hung them nicely in my closet. Where are my unseen laborers? Owell. The nice thing about tomorrow is that I’m really only going to press flesh; I’m not even presenting. I’m there for “face time,” and to answer any questions that might come up. To me my motivation is more like a free lunch and a day away from the office… nearly as noble, right?

I’m sitting here looking at my desk before me, and I’m disgusted by how messy and cluttered it is. Here’s just a rundown of what I can see: a bottle, one-fourth full, of generic tropical-flavored Tums antacids; a Diet Coke; electric nosehair trimmers; a ziplock bag full of Garbage Pail Kids; stacks and stacks of CDs; a plush monkey; spindles and spindles of blank media; a wedding-cake groom figurine; a vintage cassette walkman; two cans of Play-Doh; a wireless universal garage door keypad; piles of mail; fingernail clippers; pipes and pipe tobacco; an empty prescription bottle of allergy medicine; one plastic troll with bright blue hair; one plastic troll with bright red hair; an incense burner shaped like a wizard; an empty glass on a coaster; loose batteries; a faucet attachment for a sink; and it goes on and on. I gotta get less pack-ratty.

I don’t really have time to be writing right now, on top of having nothing to say – I should be sleeping. Instead, I’m sitting here listening to the Arcade Fire and staring at my Word doc. I think I’m going to take some vacation soon. Not that I’ve been taxing myself at work lately or anything, I just started thinking. We’re not going anywhere for Christmas this year, so the five or six days I usually reserve for that are just going to go unused if I don’t do something with them. I was thinking, since Sharaun’s off for a while now – that we could maybe take a trip or something. Maybe run away and hide out somewhere for a while, just us. I used the word “thinking” a lot in this paragraph.

Midnight and my fingers don’t seem to be writing anymore. They keep asking my brain for more words, but he mutters back something about being sleepy and kinda hot. Sharaun’s been asleep on the couch for hours, so I’ll now go through my light-turning-out, door-closing, wife-waking routine. Today on the phone I laughed at a joke I wasn’t really listening to, just because the teller of the joke was laughing, and then realized that can be dangerous. What the heck, or who the heck, am I laughing at? What am I associating myself with, what did I just find funny? Better not to laugh when you’re not paying attention, this today I learned.

Hey Kirby corporation, you send one damn vacuum representative to our house each week; we still haven’t bought your $2000 vacuum, despite your kind offer for a “payment plan.” The day I take out a line of credit to pay for a damn vacuum is the day my identity has been stolen. Your van-ferried teenage salespeople in loose-fitting khaki’s and reeking of Hilfiger cologne can’t market for crap, the 2hr training session they went to only makes them come off like pre-pubescent used-car salesmen. Stop coming to my house, we know our vacuum sucks. It’s made of plastic and came from Wal Mart, yours is all metal and can tow a boat or suck up piles of my dead skin – I don’t care. My wife hates you and so do I.

It’s gone! He already took down the site, just as I was getting to like it. Owell. Loaded the Arcade Fire and Grand National to my MP3 thumbdrive and I’m ready for the flight tomorrow. Not related to anything, I found this in my old journal and loved it so much:

I describe, visually in the form of a Venn diagram, my ability to detach.

Dave out.