Last night I received a belated birthday present from my very good friends Brodie and Kristin. They bought me an autographed Alex Grey poster. For those of you who want to see what the poster looks like do click the link to go to Alex Grey's site, click the shop link or click here and go to the posters page. The poster they bought me is of the "Oversoul" painting. It's freakin' beautiful!
Thank you so much, you two! I absolutely love it. As soon as I buy a frame to put it in that sucker is going up on my wall.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Here's A Headline For You, Asshole: NOBODY CARES!
So, here's another story from my job. It's kind of funny in that sort of way that makes me wish that the rest of humanity was rendered sterile so that people would not be able to bring more fuckwits into the world.
Let me first set the stage a little for you because I could potentially lose you in my little narrative if I don't. Our casino recently converted all of its slot machines to a system we call TITO, which is not only named for the most famous of the Jacksons, but is also a clever acronym for Touch It To Orgasm, no word of a lie. Actually, I lie, TITO actually is a clever acronym that stands for Ticket In Ticket Out, though maybe I should Touch It To Orgasm before I continue.
Ahhhhhh, much better.
So, anyway, Ticket In Ticket Out means, in a nutshell, that instead of slot machines giving you a shitload of coins every time it pays you out for anything you get a little ticket with a barcode on it that can be scanned by a cashier or automated ticket redemption machine and turned into cold, hard cash. It's a great system because the tickets are more accurate and they never short people what they are owed. However, since this system is relatively new in our casino there's a bit of a learning process involved in properly running it. So there are a bunch of little things that a guy like me has to learn as the situations arise.
This is a story about one of those little things.
All tickets that get printed by a slot machine have an expiry date on them. The tickets themselves are good for a month and after that they cannot be cashed in properly. Pretty simple concept, right? Say you have a ticket for a hundred bucks. The expiry on the ticket makes it so that you have to cash that ticket in within a month's time before that ticket is no good anymore. It's like milk or pills. You don't drink expired milk. You don't pop expired pills. Expired tickets aren't as grave a matter as milk or pills, but how hard is it to get a ticket redeemed within a month's time or receiving it?
And if you have your thinking caps on, people, you're probably wondering what kind of person would get a ticket for a substantial amount of money and just hold on to the ticket until it expires since what the fuck good is a ticket to a person when they could instead have the cash. Well, to be honest, I wondered that shit too. I mean, who just keeps the ticket? Why would you want a ticket instead of money?
Last night I found a man who, for some reason or other, thought that holding onto a ticket for $75.00 was way cooler in the long run than cashing that ticket in and actually having $75.00. He let that ticket expire (our casino has been converted to TITO for over a month now) and last night decided, Oh hey, the novelty of this stupid ticket with its sexy barcode and black ink lettering has worn off enough that I think I'll cash this ticket in and get the cash.
Except, of course, the ticket was expired.
After being notified that his ticket could not be redeemed by the cashier because the ticket was expired he demanded to talk to the manager, me:
Are you the manager? Good! This girl won't cash in my ticket because she says it's expired! This is an outrage I demand that you give me the money that I am owed!
So I look at his ticket and, yes, it is expired. When I noticed this I said, "But sir, this ticket is expired. We shouldn't cash this in. These tickets have expiry dates clearly printed on them. Why would you hold on to a ticket for that long?"
The man, in order to establish the upper hand in this debate came back with this:
Fine then! I'll go to the newspapers and tell them my story! This will make the front page!
I guess his strategy by threatening me with a newspaper article was that it would somehow put the fear in me and make me see things his way. Really, though, dealing with these matters was all new to me as I stated earlier. I was going to need to consult with my boss through a telephone call before I ultimately ended up paying him his money because I guess the rules leave it up to the discretion of the managers in charge whether or not an expired ticket gets paid. I paid him, though not because of the newspaper threat, but just because I have to pity anybody who would somehow treasure a ticket more than the money that he would keep the ticket on his person for over a month when he could have easily had the cash for it a long, long time ago.
I mean seriously, does this guy go home and erect a shrine to his unclaimed tickets? You know, just light some incense in front of them. Pray to them. Frame them and show them off to his neighbors and family. That's the only kind of person that I could think of that would want to have a fucking stupid-ass ticket for that long. What the fuck, man?
And another thing, what exactly would you tell the people at the newspapers?
Hi there. I was gambling in a casino and I got a ticket out of a machine and the casino refused to cash the ticket in like they're supposed to because they said the ticket was expired! This is an outrage! I'm bringing this story to you because this is the scoop of the century! I admire your publication and I think this is the type of story that belongs on page 1! I'll even pose for a picture holding the ticket that the evil scumbag slot manager refused to authorize the redemption of! When's a good time for me to come down for the exclusive interview?
I'm sure the editor of a newspaper would do that thing where he's sipping on his morning coffee when he takes this phone call from the ticket fetishist and he would spit the coffee out of him mouth like somebody just punched him in the stomach. There might even be somebody sitting across his desk from him when he spits and whoever it is gets soaked in the ensuing geyser of hot coffee. Then the editor says something almost like Charlton Heston, something along the lines of:
"OH
MY
GOD!
STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES! I HAVE THE SCOOP OF THE CENTURY! SOME GAMBLER FEELS HE WAS THE VICTIM OF RANDOM CASINO DISCRIMINATION! WE NEED OUR ACE REPORTER ON THIS ONE, STAT! SOMEBODY BRING ME ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE! SOMEBODY GET ME OUR BEST PHOTOGRAPHER TOO! THIS GUY WANTS TO POSE FOR A COVER PHOTO! WAIT! WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE ON TOMORROW'S FRONT PAGE? DEAD SOLDIERS IN AFGHANISTAN? FUCK THOSE GUYS! THIS GUY WAS SHORTED MONEY AT A CASINO! HURRY THE FUCK UP PEOPLE! WE DON'T WANT TO LOSE THIS STORY TO TIME MAGAZINE LIKE WE DID THE LAST TIME SOME GUY WAS DENIED HIS MONEY! I SMELL A PULITZER PRIZE FOR THIS SCOOP FOR SURE! FINALLY I WILL HAVE REDEEMED MYSELF IN MY FATHER'S EYES!"
Then the editor would sort of shake his head a little as the euphoria of this monumental story of hardship and injustice washes off. Then he thinks to ask:
"Okay sir, I've got everybody scrambling over here to get your story to our newspaper's front page for tomorrow. I just need a couple of details. How much money were you denied? Was the ticket actually expired?"
Our hapless victim, then:
$75.00 and, yes, the ticket was expired. But I had a good reason to hold onto that ticket for as long as I did.
"What reason would that would be?"
Fuck expiry dates! That's why!
"OKAY BOYS, I MAY HAVE JUMPED THE GUN A LITTLE BIT ON THAT ONE! START THE PRESSES AGAIN! THE ONLY HEADLINE I CAN COME UP WITH FOR THIS STORY IS: NOBODY CARES!"
Look, sometimes when you go to a casino, or any other place of business for that matter, there are new concepts, new ideas, new procedures, etc, that the staff has to learn their way around. Innovations work like that. Implementation of some things takes longer than others. When you know that the staff has to deal with things that they haven't had to deal with before you can expect a lot of delay and for there to be no cast-in-stone rules. Be patient. The first thing out your mouth doesn't have to be a threat to go to a newspaper because while you're mouth might be saying, "I'll go to the press with this! You'll be eaten alive and made a fool on CNN! They'll skewer you on the Larry King Show for months and months! What they did to Anna Nicole Smith will be done to you tenfold! Tenfold!" All I hear is, "I'm a jackass and I let my ticket expire because I can't read expiry dates."
And given the sheer number of stories of hardship that the press has to report to the people I doubt that your $75.00 ranks so high that your story is front page, banner headline material.
So just take a deep breath and calmly say, "Look, I wasn't aware that tickets expire. Could you do something to see to it that I am reimbursed for the money that I am missing because of this expired ticket, please?" I would hear you much more clearly then.
Let me first set the stage a little for you because I could potentially lose you in my little narrative if I don't. Our casino recently converted all of its slot machines to a system we call TITO, which is not only named for the most famous of the Jacksons, but is also a clever acronym for Touch It To Orgasm, no word of a lie. Actually, I lie, TITO actually is a clever acronym that stands for Ticket In Ticket Out, though maybe I should Touch It To Orgasm before I continue.
Ahhhhhh, much better.
So, anyway, Ticket In Ticket Out means, in a nutshell, that instead of slot machines giving you a shitload of coins every time it pays you out for anything you get a little ticket with a barcode on it that can be scanned by a cashier or automated ticket redemption machine and turned into cold, hard cash. It's a great system because the tickets are more accurate and they never short people what they are owed. However, since this system is relatively new in our casino there's a bit of a learning process involved in properly running it. So there are a bunch of little things that a guy like me has to learn as the situations arise.
This is a story about one of those little things.
All tickets that get printed by a slot machine have an expiry date on them. The tickets themselves are good for a month and after that they cannot be cashed in properly. Pretty simple concept, right? Say you have a ticket for a hundred bucks. The expiry on the ticket makes it so that you have to cash that ticket in within a month's time before that ticket is no good anymore. It's like milk or pills. You don't drink expired milk. You don't pop expired pills. Expired tickets aren't as grave a matter as milk or pills, but how hard is it to get a ticket redeemed within a month's time or receiving it?
And if you have your thinking caps on, people, you're probably wondering what kind of person would get a ticket for a substantial amount of money and just hold on to the ticket until it expires since what the fuck good is a ticket to a person when they could instead have the cash. Well, to be honest, I wondered that shit too. I mean, who just keeps the ticket? Why would you want a ticket instead of money?
Last night I found a man who, for some reason or other, thought that holding onto a ticket for $75.00 was way cooler in the long run than cashing that ticket in and actually having $75.00. He let that ticket expire (our casino has been converted to TITO for over a month now) and last night decided, Oh hey, the novelty of this stupid ticket with its sexy barcode and black ink lettering has worn off enough that I think I'll cash this ticket in and get the cash.
Except, of course, the ticket was expired.
After being notified that his ticket could not be redeemed by the cashier because the ticket was expired he demanded to talk to the manager, me:
Are you the manager? Good! This girl won't cash in my ticket because she says it's expired! This is an outrage I demand that you give me the money that I am owed!
So I look at his ticket and, yes, it is expired. When I noticed this I said, "But sir, this ticket is expired. We shouldn't cash this in. These tickets have expiry dates clearly printed on them. Why would you hold on to a ticket for that long?"
The man, in order to establish the upper hand in this debate came back with this:
Fine then! I'll go to the newspapers and tell them my story! This will make the front page!
I guess his strategy by threatening me with a newspaper article was that it would somehow put the fear in me and make me see things his way. Really, though, dealing with these matters was all new to me as I stated earlier. I was going to need to consult with my boss through a telephone call before I ultimately ended up paying him his money because I guess the rules leave it up to the discretion of the managers in charge whether or not an expired ticket gets paid. I paid him, though not because of the newspaper threat, but just because I have to pity anybody who would somehow treasure a ticket more than the money that he would keep the ticket on his person for over a month when he could have easily had the cash for it a long, long time ago.
I mean seriously, does this guy go home and erect a shrine to his unclaimed tickets? You know, just light some incense in front of them. Pray to them. Frame them and show them off to his neighbors and family. That's the only kind of person that I could think of that would want to have a fucking stupid-ass ticket for that long. What the fuck, man?
And another thing, what exactly would you tell the people at the newspapers?
Hi there. I was gambling in a casino and I got a ticket out of a machine and the casino refused to cash the ticket in like they're supposed to because they said the ticket was expired! This is an outrage! I'm bringing this story to you because this is the scoop of the century! I admire your publication and I think this is the type of story that belongs on page 1! I'll even pose for a picture holding the ticket that the evil scumbag slot manager refused to authorize the redemption of! When's a good time for me to come down for the exclusive interview?
I'm sure the editor of a newspaper would do that thing where he's sipping on his morning coffee when he takes this phone call from the ticket fetishist and he would spit the coffee out of him mouth like somebody just punched him in the stomach. There might even be somebody sitting across his desk from him when he spits and whoever it is gets soaked in the ensuing geyser of hot coffee. Then the editor says something almost like Charlton Heston, something along the lines of:
"OH
MY
GOD!
STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES! I HAVE THE SCOOP OF THE CENTURY! SOME GAMBLER FEELS HE WAS THE VICTIM OF RANDOM CASINO DISCRIMINATION! WE NEED OUR ACE REPORTER ON THIS ONE, STAT! SOMEBODY BRING ME ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE! SOMEBODY GET ME OUR BEST PHOTOGRAPHER TOO! THIS GUY WANTS TO POSE FOR A COVER PHOTO! WAIT! WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE ON TOMORROW'S FRONT PAGE? DEAD SOLDIERS IN AFGHANISTAN? FUCK THOSE GUYS! THIS GUY WAS SHORTED MONEY AT A CASINO! HURRY THE FUCK UP PEOPLE! WE DON'T WANT TO LOSE THIS STORY TO TIME MAGAZINE LIKE WE DID THE LAST TIME SOME GUY WAS DENIED HIS MONEY! I SMELL A PULITZER PRIZE FOR THIS SCOOP FOR SURE! FINALLY I WILL HAVE REDEEMED MYSELF IN MY FATHER'S EYES!"
Then the editor would sort of shake his head a little as the euphoria of this monumental story of hardship and injustice washes off. Then he thinks to ask:
"Okay sir, I've got everybody scrambling over here to get your story to our newspaper's front page for tomorrow. I just need a couple of details. How much money were you denied? Was the ticket actually expired?"
Our hapless victim, then:
$75.00 and, yes, the ticket was expired. But I had a good reason to hold onto that ticket for as long as I did.
"What reason would that would be?"
Fuck expiry dates! That's why!
"OKAY BOYS, I MAY HAVE JUMPED THE GUN A LITTLE BIT ON THAT ONE! START THE PRESSES AGAIN! THE ONLY HEADLINE I CAN COME UP WITH FOR THIS STORY IS: NOBODY CARES!"
Look, sometimes when you go to a casino, or any other place of business for that matter, there are new concepts, new ideas, new procedures, etc, that the staff has to learn their way around. Innovations work like that. Implementation of some things takes longer than others. When you know that the staff has to deal with things that they haven't had to deal with before you can expect a lot of delay and for there to be no cast-in-stone rules. Be patient. The first thing out your mouth doesn't have to be a threat to go to a newspaper because while you're mouth might be saying, "I'll go to the press with this! You'll be eaten alive and made a fool on CNN! They'll skewer you on the Larry King Show for months and months! What they did to Anna Nicole Smith will be done to you tenfold! Tenfold!" All I hear is, "I'm a jackass and I let my ticket expire because I can't read expiry dates."
And given the sheer number of stories of hardship that the press has to report to the people I doubt that your $75.00 ranks so high that your story is front page, banner headline material.
So just take a deep breath and calmly say, "Look, I wasn't aware that tickets expire. Could you do something to see to it that I am reimbursed for the money that I am missing because of this expired ticket, please?" I would hear you much more clearly then.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Bad Idea #238
So I was doing my regular perusal of the news around the internet thanks to the good folks at Fark and I found a link to this article on CNN:
Click here.
The link goes to an article about porn addiction. I'm sure it's something that affects somebody somewhere. Okay, maybe not just "somebody somewhere," it affects a lot of people. Okay, you're clearly onto my clever ruse, I have a window open on my desktop with a huge pair of tits that are practically begging me to lick them. Yeah, giant pair of titties on my desktop, I'm looking at you. Thankfully, I'm an accurate typist otherwise these worlds would all be fucked up beyond all recognition. Okay, you got me, I'm typing this one handed.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
Oh god yes!
At this time I would like to thank my proud sponsors at Kleenex.
Okay, but if I can be fucking serious now...
So, if you look at the article I linked to there will be some stats right at the top of the screen. That's what I want you to see. The article itself is not as pornographic as you're probably hoping it is. Now, can anybody guess why I want to draw your attention to the stats at the top of the article?
Is it because you want us to be aware that at any given point in time there are approximately 28,258 people viewing pornography on the internet?
Noooooooo, but you're close. And, if I might just do a little aside here (it's my fucking right as a blogger to have an aside), that number is disappointingly small. Think about it, there are probably hundreds of thousands of pages of porn, hundreds and hundreds of thousands of videos, erotic text, and interactive video games, and, at any given time only a fraction of it all is actually being used by somebody. Now, unless these people, wankers most of them, are multitasking and viewing four or five different pieces of pornography at one time then we clearly have a waste of valuable pornographic resources happening constantly. But that's just an aside. You should open up some porn at this point as you continue to read my brilliant missive so that all that porn isn't going to waste. Back to my tirade.
What I did actually want to draw to your attention, first and foremost, is breakfast.
You mean the breakfast event that was designed for men to talk about how pornography is having an affect on their lives and verility?
Yes, that bit. You are an astute audience if ever I did write for one.
Now, we've all had breakfast before. Isn't it great? You sit yourself down at the kitchen table or Denny's or wherever the fuck you are. In front of you is a plate with a short stack of pancakes covered with maple syrup, maybe a few sausages and some buttered toast or an English muffin, a tall glass of milk. It looks like a fucking breakfast feast, that's what that is. You are about to be thoroughly satisfied. You take your fork and knife and you cut through that first pancake and it's literally dripping with maple syrup, the nectar of the gods, if the gods were all maple trees, and then somebody speaks up:
Hi, my name is Frank, and I'm addicted to porn. I started young, looking at my dad's Playboys and touching myself. I use to shoot loads and loads of hot, sticky cum into an old gym sock and...
And, suddenly, breakfast takes a very weird, very horrible turn for tragedy. I mean, there you are, and you've just stuffed this wonderful bit of pancake into your mouth and it's just so delicious and when you put it into your mouth there was so much maple syrup on it that some of it dribbled onto your chin before some guy named Frank had to go and start talking about splooging into a sock.
How the fuck do you digest food listening to that?
Hi there, my name is Dave, and for me it was always the sick, twisted Japanese stuff that works for me best. I love, I mean, I absolutely love watching barely legal Japanese girls when they shit on older men's chests.
And you've just started eating your sausages.
I like Bukkake! some anonymous weirdo blurts out like that's just something you say to a room filled with strangers.
That milk you just finished sipping doesn't seem so good now, does it?
Now, I'm sure that whoever had this brainchild had good intentions, but there's a time and place to talk about porn and anything to do with male plumbling. If people need help with their porn addictions they need help with their porn addictions. Bravo for trying to be there for them. Breakfast, though you might think that it's perfect for such things, is actually not.
Holy shit. If some guy comes up to me when I'm dining on an exquisite breakfast and starts talking about how the night before he watched a movie where a woman sucked off a zebra I'm stabbing that fuckwit in the face with my fork. There are about 375,234 things you can start discussing at any meal that will make me want to vomit on your shoe and zebra blowjobs are easily somewhere in the top 50 or so. I don't know where it is precisely on the list insofar as rank goes because it makes me want to puke even going through the list, but, trust me, it's there.
It's great that you want to "help" all these people with porn addiction, but couldn't it wait until they're not stuffing their faces full of sausages and pancakes? I don't know. It's just a suggestion. I'm just just trying to help poor people with their meals. Call me a concerned citizen. I have the welfare of innocent eaters on my mind.
In all seriousness, though, only a small fraction of all the porn on the internet is getting used at any given time. A small fraction. That's wasteful. Wasteful, indeed. Make sure you do your part to give all that porn a reason for being there. If there's one thing that makes the internet cry, it's a waste of resources.
If this porn keeps getting wasted like that I'm afraid I'll have to shut down the internet. Don't let it come to that.
Click here.
The link goes to an article about porn addiction. I'm sure it's something that affects somebody somewhere. Okay, maybe not just "somebody somewhere," it affects a lot of people. Okay, you're clearly onto my clever ruse, I have a window open on my desktop with a huge pair of tits that are practically begging me to lick them. Yeah, giant pair of titties on my desktop, I'm looking at you. Thankfully, I'm an accurate typist otherwise these worlds would all be fucked up beyond all recognition. Okay, you got me, I'm typing this one handed.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
Oh god yes!
At this time I would like to thank my proud sponsors at Kleenex.
Okay, but if I can be fucking serious now...
So, if you look at the article I linked to there will be some stats right at the top of the screen. That's what I want you to see. The article itself is not as pornographic as you're probably hoping it is. Now, can anybody guess why I want to draw your attention to the stats at the top of the article?
Is it because you want us to be aware that at any given point in time there are approximately 28,258 people viewing pornography on the internet?
Noooooooo, but you're close. And, if I might just do a little aside here (it's my fucking right as a blogger to have an aside), that number is disappointingly small. Think about it, there are probably hundreds of thousands of pages of porn, hundreds and hundreds of thousands of videos, erotic text, and interactive video games, and, at any given time only a fraction of it all is actually being used by somebody. Now, unless these people, wankers most of them, are multitasking and viewing four or five different pieces of pornography at one time then we clearly have a waste of valuable pornographic resources happening constantly. But that's just an aside. You should open up some porn at this point as you continue to read my brilliant missive so that all that porn isn't going to waste. Back to my tirade.
What I did actually want to draw to your attention, first and foremost, is breakfast.
You mean the breakfast event that was designed for men to talk about how pornography is having an affect on their lives and verility?
Yes, that bit. You are an astute audience if ever I did write for one.
Now, we've all had breakfast before. Isn't it great? You sit yourself down at the kitchen table or Denny's or wherever the fuck you are. In front of you is a plate with a short stack of pancakes covered with maple syrup, maybe a few sausages and some buttered toast or an English muffin, a tall glass of milk. It looks like a fucking breakfast feast, that's what that is. You are about to be thoroughly satisfied. You take your fork and knife and you cut through that first pancake and it's literally dripping with maple syrup, the nectar of the gods, if the gods were all maple trees, and then somebody speaks up:
Hi, my name is Frank, and I'm addicted to porn. I started young, looking at my dad's Playboys and touching myself. I use to shoot loads and loads of hot, sticky cum into an old gym sock and...
And, suddenly, breakfast takes a very weird, very horrible turn for tragedy. I mean, there you are, and you've just stuffed this wonderful bit of pancake into your mouth and it's just so delicious and when you put it into your mouth there was so much maple syrup on it that some of it dribbled onto your chin before some guy named Frank had to go and start talking about splooging into a sock.
How the fuck do you digest food listening to that?
Hi there, my name is Dave, and for me it was always the sick, twisted Japanese stuff that works for me best. I love, I mean, I absolutely love watching barely legal Japanese girls when they shit on older men's chests.
And you've just started eating your sausages.
I like Bukkake! some anonymous weirdo blurts out like that's just something you say to a room filled with strangers.
That milk you just finished sipping doesn't seem so good now, does it?
Now, I'm sure that whoever had this brainchild had good intentions, but there's a time and place to talk about porn and anything to do with male plumbling. If people need help with their porn addictions they need help with their porn addictions. Bravo for trying to be there for them. Breakfast, though you might think that it's perfect for such things, is actually not.
Holy shit. If some guy comes up to me when I'm dining on an exquisite breakfast and starts talking about how the night before he watched a movie where a woman sucked off a zebra I'm stabbing that fuckwit in the face with my fork. There are about 375,234 things you can start discussing at any meal that will make me want to vomit on your shoe and zebra blowjobs are easily somewhere in the top 50 or so. I don't know where it is precisely on the list insofar as rank goes because it makes me want to puke even going through the list, but, trust me, it's there.
It's great that you want to "help" all these people with porn addiction, but couldn't it wait until they're not stuffing their faces full of sausages and pancakes? I don't know. It's just a suggestion. I'm just just trying to help poor people with their meals. Call me a concerned citizen. I have the welfare of innocent eaters on my mind.
In all seriousness, though, only a small fraction of all the porn on the internet is getting used at any given time. A small fraction. That's wasteful. Wasteful, indeed. Make sure you do your part to give all that porn a reason for being there. If there's one thing that makes the internet cry, it's a waste of resources.
If this porn keeps getting wasted like that I'm afraid I'll have to shut down the internet. Don't let it come to that.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Free Uniform? Thanks, But No Thanks, Assholes!
About two weeks ago I was finding myself a few spare moments to eat a very quick dinner after work. I was on my way to the weekly Raving Poets show at Yianni's, but didn't feel much like eating Greek food that night. So anyway, a little bit of time, a quick dinner? I went to McDonald's.
Now, bear in mind that I've drastically cut down my McDonald's intake over the past few years. In fact, I can hardly keep up with all the weird shit they've been doing with their menu (a topic for another rant should be how fast food joints get away with calling their list of barely passable food as a "menu") so in order to get something that I want to eat I decided it best to forgo the drive-thru where I would hold up traffic while I ponder the french fry du jour and other possibilities.
While inside the restaurant I looked up at the menu board and noticed a Help Wanted graphic on the display, which is really no rare sight in Alberta these days, but what struck me about this Help Wanted ad was that it gave a fairly comprehensive list of the advantages of working at McDonald's. The listed off things like scholarships and growth potential, but one peculiar thing I noticed that was also listed was "Free Uniforms."
Free uniforms?
Free uniforms.
You mean to tell me that if I get a job at McDonald's I can get a free uniform?
Yes.
Holy fucking shit! I can't sign a job application fast enough for that shit! Why didn't you assholes tell me about the free uniforms sooner?
Alright, here's the deal. If the job ad you are looking at touts free uniforms as one of the deal-closing advantages of the job opening you are considering yourself for it's probably not that good of a job. In fact, "free uniforms" should read, if only in your mind, "free corporate whore costume."
Okay, I'm probably being a little too harsh on people who have to wear a uniform to work. Really, they're good people and they're not actually "corporate whores," but it just bugs me, the gall of whoever puts the help wanted ads together to suggest that being required to wear a uniform to work is a deal-closing advantage. It's like the ad is geared toward people who have trouble coordinating their outfits and are looking for an employer who will offer free help for their socially debilitating disease. Maybe it's people who just lost all their clothes in a fire or ninja attack and they need free clothes, any clothes, even McDonald's uniforms just so that their wangs aren't hanging out.
Either way, I just can't see in my mind's eye somebody walking in to a McDonald's restaurant, seeing the Help Wanted ad, noticing the "Free Uniform" advantage and practically jizzing their underwear to fill out a job application based on the fact that they might finally get a job where they can dress exactly like everybody else in the room. I'd even go so far as to suggest that if somebody did come in, jizz their pants at "Free Uniform" and immediately apply for a job, that I wouldn't hire that person based solely on the fact that something is fucking wrong with their heads, not too mention the jizz stains.
The rule of thumb for "Free Uniforms" being listed as an advantage of any given job should be as follows. If the uniform is such that the Chief Executive Officer of the company is willing to wear it to work each day then it's a uniform that can feasibly be listed as being an advantage because the only Chief Executive Officers who would be willing to wear a shitty looking, stigmatizing uniform to his cushy six figure desk job are the same Chief Executive Officers who suffer from something so bad that I don't think I can understand what it is. All other uniforms, then, are not listed as an advantage to a job. It might even be listed as a drawback.
That should be the rule.
Now, bear in mind that I've drastically cut down my McDonald's intake over the past few years. In fact, I can hardly keep up with all the weird shit they've been doing with their menu (a topic for another rant should be how fast food joints get away with calling their list of barely passable food as a "menu") so in order to get something that I want to eat I decided it best to forgo the drive-thru where I would hold up traffic while I ponder the french fry du jour and other possibilities.
While inside the restaurant I looked up at the menu board and noticed a Help Wanted graphic on the display, which is really no rare sight in Alberta these days, but what struck me about this Help Wanted ad was that it gave a fairly comprehensive list of the advantages of working at McDonald's. The listed off things like scholarships and growth potential, but one peculiar thing I noticed that was also listed was "Free Uniforms."
Free uniforms?
Free uniforms.
You mean to tell me that if I get a job at McDonald's I can get a free uniform?
Yes.
Holy fucking shit! I can't sign a job application fast enough for that shit! Why didn't you assholes tell me about the free uniforms sooner?
Alright, here's the deal. If the job ad you are looking at touts free uniforms as one of the deal-closing advantages of the job opening you are considering yourself for it's probably not that good of a job. In fact, "free uniforms" should read, if only in your mind, "free corporate whore costume."
Okay, I'm probably being a little too harsh on people who have to wear a uniform to work. Really, they're good people and they're not actually "corporate whores," but it just bugs me, the gall of whoever puts the help wanted ads together to suggest that being required to wear a uniform to work is a deal-closing advantage. It's like the ad is geared toward people who have trouble coordinating their outfits and are looking for an employer who will offer free help for their socially debilitating disease. Maybe it's people who just lost all their clothes in a fire or ninja attack and they need free clothes, any clothes, even McDonald's uniforms just so that their wangs aren't hanging out.
Either way, I just can't see in my mind's eye somebody walking in to a McDonald's restaurant, seeing the Help Wanted ad, noticing the "Free Uniform" advantage and practically jizzing their underwear to fill out a job application based on the fact that they might finally get a job where they can dress exactly like everybody else in the room. I'd even go so far as to suggest that if somebody did come in, jizz their pants at "Free Uniform" and immediately apply for a job, that I wouldn't hire that person based solely on the fact that something is fucking wrong with their heads, not too mention the jizz stains.
The rule of thumb for "Free Uniforms" being listed as an advantage of any given job should be as follows. If the uniform is such that the Chief Executive Officer of the company is willing to wear it to work each day then it's a uniform that can feasibly be listed as being an advantage because the only Chief Executive Officers who would be willing to wear a shitty looking, stigmatizing uniform to his cushy six figure desk job are the same Chief Executive Officers who suffer from something so bad that I don't think I can understand what it is. All other uniforms, then, are not listed as an advantage to a job. It might even be listed as a drawback.
That should be the rule.
Monday, April 02, 2007
A Definitive 200
The Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame has recently released it's Definitive 200 albums list. These are the albums you are supposed to own. I'm not sure how I feel about the list myself. Naturally, not everybody is going to agree with all the selections, but it's a good topic of discussion. Where would you rank some of these albums? Would some of these albums not even rank at all? Are there albums not on this list that you think should be there? I'm interested in hearing this sort of shit.
[author's note: Tool's Lateralus ranks on this list at #123. Not too shabby. Not too shabby.]
Click Here To View The List
[author's note: Tool's Lateralus ranks on this list at #123. Not too shabby. Not too shabby.]
Click Here To View The List
Neon Bible
I suppose there are a few of you out there who are wondering why it took me so long to finally get around to posting a review (or my best attempt at a review)of The Arcade Fire's latest album, Neon Bible. It's definitely not a case of me not buying the album as soon as humanly possible, that's for sure. I was at HMV the morning of the release to pick it up as is customary for me when it comes to music releases that I highly anticipate (remember, I did book a day off work just for the day that Tool's 10,000 Days was released). So why the delay in telling you, my gentle readers, what I thought of the disc?
Well, to be very honest with you, I wanted to love the album as much as I possibly could so that I could properly gush over it. In order to do that I had to listen to it a number of times just so that it could emerge from the mighty, practically monolithic, shadow that the Arcade Fire album that preceeded it Funeral I knew would cast. I love Funeral so much that I'm sure I'll be gushing about that one for years and years to come. My grandchildren (or the grandchildren that I one day hope to have) will find it more than mildly irritating to listen to me hype Funeral and that will be decades and decades from now. They will subsequently disown me, but you know what? Fuck 'em! Funeral is that fucking great!
So you can imagine how difficult for me it would be to just pick up any album that would have the gall to try to follow-up such a huge album.
I don't want you to think that the album didn't appeal to me at all when I first heard it. Almost instantly "Intervention" had me hooked, but, truthfully, I bought it as a pre-release single off iTunes weeks before Neon Bible came out so it had some time to sink in. Even though "Keep The Car Running" seems to be the first single from the disc I think it will be "Intervention" that will hook the casual listeners. I mean how many radio-friendly songs out there are built around the sound of a big church organ? 274. I checked. But damn it, this one will be 275!
What Neon Bible does more than Funeral is it brings to the forefront of The Arcade Fire's music an immense sound. Immediately I was struck by how loud this CD can get at times. The aforementioned organ in "Intervention" is grandiose, and it gets even bigger, possibly as big as an organ can sound during "My Heart Is A Cage." But aside from the organ, horns come to life in "An Ocean Of Noise" and strings almost drown lead singer Win Butler's voice out during the Bruce Springsteen-esque "(Antichrist Television Blues)."
Gone, though, is a lot of the romance that really made Funeral so stunning for me to listen to. And at first I was actually a little disappointed by that, but now I see it as necessary. The subject matter that the band is dealing with here is actually quite a bit darker, but ultimately I think the message that comes through is that there is redemption to be had. The romance that I detected in Funeral had a time and place and it was on that album. This album is a completely different beast and has its own voice and messages to convey. There is a bleakness that seems to haunt a lot of the music here:
"Mirror, mirror on the wall,
show me where the bombs will fall,"
Win Butler closes "Black Mirror" with. He then goes on to sing:
"Oh God! well look at you now!
Oh! you lost it, but you don't know how!
In the light of a golden calf,
Oh God! I had to laugh!
Take the poison of your age
Don't lick your fingers when you turn the page,
It was wrong but you said it was right,
In the future I will read at night."
in Neon Bible's title track. This is bleak. And, sure enough, as the album nears its end the message becomes more uplifting; its ultimate optimism starts to show.
Which leads me to a somewhat interesting aside about this CD. The second-to-last track on the disc is "No Cars Go," which puzzled me by its inclusion since it was a song that was released on a prior recording by The Arcade Fire, in particular, their self-titled EP, which even got some more widespread commercial appeal in a reissue after the band became a critical darling. So it was odd to see a song that was already released being re-release, albeit arranged slightly differently than its first incarnation. However, in the scheme of Neon Bible's evolution, it's a song from the catalogue that fits in the cycle perfectly, being the last song before the culmination of the album.
The culmination comes in the form of "My Body Is A Cage" and it's my favorite track on the disc so far because its the biggest sound and it erupts from such a humble start. But the message of redemption is its most painfully obvious during this last song. And climax? This song has climax in spades:
"Set my spirit free!
Set my body free!"
You have to check this album out. It comes with my highest recommendation.
I'll leave you with a video that I found on youtube of an unofficial music video some guy made for "My Body Is A Cage" out of ripped footage from Once Upon A Time In The West. I love how technology is letting people do stuff like this. It's strange to see this song played over a gunfight, but it seems to work. Check the video out even if you just want to hear a good song.
Friday, March 30, 2007
The Bottom Ten, March 2007
10.) Tony Blair- Click here. Apparently in his youth the current Prime Minister of England made a lewd hand gesture in a photograph once. Gasp! On top of that he flashed an office full of secretaries through a window in a building across the street. Shudder! Why is any of this even news? Nobody fucking cares what happened over 30 years ago with a lewd hand gesture and/or flashing a bunch of middle-aged secretaries. No complaints were made at the time so why the fuck should complaints be made now? I'm no fan of Tony Blair, but come on, a scandal is whipping your dick out of window and probably not even being seen by anyone?
9.) Pantyhose For Men- Click here. I don't even know what the fuck to say about this. Gah! There, that's my quick response. What the hell is there for any man to gain from wearing pantyhose?
8.) The P-Mate- Click here. Between this and the pantyhose for men I'm predicting a totally androgenous society by the year 2013. Enjoy your genders while you can, folks.
7.) Dick Cheney- Click here. Oh, so when Dick Cheney leads police on a high speed chase all he gets is sent in for a psychiatric evaluation. This is bullshit! I fucking wish I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
6.) Van Wilder: The Rise Of Taj- Okay, so there's a sequel to National Lampoon's Van Wilder. It stars Kal Penn, that guy from the original movie who went on to be Kumar of Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle fame. Van Wilder, for those of you out there who aren't familiar with the movie is about a guy named Van Wilder and his college adventures (or at least that's the movie in a nutshell). Kal Penn didn't play Van Wilder in the original and yet the sequel still bears the name Van Wilder. Only there's no Van Wilder in it at all. Now, I'm no tinseltown big shot, but what we have here is a movie which bears the name of a character who doesn't even appear in the movie. Can you imagine if they made an Indiana Jones movie without Indiana Jones in it? How the fuck did this movie even get a green light? Who sits behind a desk and thinks to himself, "I know, I'll make a sequel to that movie about that guy Van Wilder, but I won't actually put that character in that movie at all. And I'll keep the title of the movie Van Wilder just to fuck with people's heads. I'm a fucking genius!" It's really been a long time since I've seen a movie idea this bad. Incidentally, you can rent Van Wilder: The Rise Of Taj on DVD now. You know, if you're a glutton for punishment or something.
5.) Rise Of The Zombies- Click here. I, for one, welcome out forthcoming zombie overlords and I would like to inform them that as a somewhat middle-tier internet celebrity as well as being a man wih years of supervisory experience under his belt I would be most excellent at rounding up fresh human brains for you to pilfer and snack on. But seriously, zombie cows? Wouldn't the necrosis of zombie flesh make zombie beef a little on the gamey side?
4.) The Resemblance Of A Bearded Man Being Likened To Jesus- Click here. Why is that every time an ultrasound scan or a grease stain or an oil spill or a pancake takes on the resemblance to an image of a bearded man it gets called an image of Jesus? Why don't any of these naturally occurring resemblances to bearded men get likened to ZZ Top or Santa Claus? I think ZZ Top and Santa Claus have beards that are just as majestic and just as likely to be seen in a grease stain or pancake as that of Jesus.
3.) Oh Snap!- Click here. What's the proper salutation on an email to your college professor when you've accidentally submitted a CD-ROM filled with child pornography instead of a CD-ROM with your final exam on it? That's right, "Oh snap." Why the fuck would a college professor even have students do final exams on CD-ROM at home anyway? What guarantee is there that the student who is supposed to be taking the test is the one writing the test? I hate how whoever wrote this article failed to even look into why students at this college get to write their final exams at home on their computers while for five years I had to slug it through the cold Canadian tundra to write my final exams on old-fashioned paper? It ain't right! I am outraged by this story!
2.) Anna Nicole Smith- Proof that there is life after death for B-list celebrities even if it's only on CNN.
1.) Fall-Out Boy- That ain't a song, it's a goddamn waste of 5 minutes of my life!
9.) Pantyhose For Men- Click here. I don't even know what the fuck to say about this. Gah! There, that's my quick response. What the hell is there for any man to gain from wearing pantyhose?
8.) The P-Mate- Click here. Between this and the pantyhose for men I'm predicting a totally androgenous society by the year 2013. Enjoy your genders while you can, folks.
7.) Dick Cheney- Click here. Oh, so when Dick Cheney leads police on a high speed chase all he gets is sent in for a psychiatric evaluation. This is bullshit! I fucking wish I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
6.) Van Wilder: The Rise Of Taj- Okay, so there's a sequel to National Lampoon's Van Wilder. It stars Kal Penn, that guy from the original movie who went on to be Kumar of Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle fame. Van Wilder, for those of you out there who aren't familiar with the movie is about a guy named Van Wilder and his college adventures (or at least that's the movie in a nutshell). Kal Penn didn't play Van Wilder in the original and yet the sequel still bears the name Van Wilder. Only there's no Van Wilder in it at all. Now, I'm no tinseltown big shot, but what we have here is a movie which bears the name of a character who doesn't even appear in the movie. Can you imagine if they made an Indiana Jones movie without Indiana Jones in it? How the fuck did this movie even get a green light? Who sits behind a desk and thinks to himself, "I know, I'll make a sequel to that movie about that guy Van Wilder, but I won't actually put that character in that movie at all. And I'll keep the title of the movie Van Wilder just to fuck with people's heads. I'm a fucking genius!" It's really been a long time since I've seen a movie idea this bad. Incidentally, you can rent Van Wilder: The Rise Of Taj on DVD now. You know, if you're a glutton for punishment or something.
5.) Rise Of The Zombies- Click here. I, for one, welcome out forthcoming zombie overlords and I would like to inform them that as a somewhat middle-tier internet celebrity as well as being a man wih years of supervisory experience under his belt I would be most excellent at rounding up fresh human brains for you to pilfer and snack on. But seriously, zombie cows? Wouldn't the necrosis of zombie flesh make zombie beef a little on the gamey side?
4.) The Resemblance Of A Bearded Man Being Likened To Jesus- Click here. Why is that every time an ultrasound scan or a grease stain or an oil spill or a pancake takes on the resemblance to an image of a bearded man it gets called an image of Jesus? Why don't any of these naturally occurring resemblances to bearded men get likened to ZZ Top or Santa Claus? I think ZZ Top and Santa Claus have beards that are just as majestic and just as likely to be seen in a grease stain or pancake as that of Jesus.
3.) Oh Snap!- Click here. What's the proper salutation on an email to your college professor when you've accidentally submitted a CD-ROM filled with child pornography instead of a CD-ROM with your final exam on it? That's right, "Oh snap." Why the fuck would a college professor even have students do final exams on CD-ROM at home anyway? What guarantee is there that the student who is supposed to be taking the test is the one writing the test? I hate how whoever wrote this article failed to even look into why students at this college get to write their final exams at home on their computers while for five years I had to slug it through the cold Canadian tundra to write my final exams on old-fashioned paper? It ain't right! I am outraged by this story!
2.) Anna Nicole Smith- Proof that there is life after death for B-list celebrities even if it's only on CNN.
1.) Fall-Out Boy- That ain't a song, it's a goddamn waste of 5 minutes of my life!
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
No Threat
No Threat
#1 A prop telephone for
my brilliant one-man skits
involving telephone conversations.
#13 A somewhat surprisingly sturdy
hammer
with a grip that is velvety smooth,
and easy on my calluses.
#20 An impromptu piece
of exercise equipment,
the bending back and forth.
I can feel the burn in my chest
that may or may not heartache.
Yes.
I have found twenty uses for your dildo
since you stormed out in a fit of rage
yesterday afternoon.
You used to reassure me
that it posed no threat to my manhood
and for the first time
I can actually see that it doesn’t.
Quite the contrary.
#21 A prosthetic hand
to scare away solicitors,
girl guides and jehovah’s witnesses
that misguide themselves
toward our door.
What you meant to say
was that I, too, would derive enjoyment
from such a trifle.
No threat at all, but rather a utensil.
And yesterday,
our latest fight.
No matter how many nails I hammer
with this rubber dong,
how many
“Oh my god it’s the President”
telephone conversations
I have with myself
(he’s usually asking me
to save the world from terrorists,
nasty, nasty terrorists),
I can’t get your monologue
out of my mind.
Twenty-four hours later
I think you may have been right.
I’m not going anywhere.
I’m not doing anything.
Look at me,
I’m trying to scratch my back
with an eight-inch factory-built cock
for Christ’s sake.
A university degree will hang on the wall,
but goddamn if I’m going to let
#22 A veiny dick-shaped snake
that springs forth out of the gutted peanut can.
Surprise!
go to waste.
Every job interview ended infamously.
Every resume written cynically.
And look at me.
Thirty-years-old,
#23 The sexiest flyswatter you have ever seen
firmly in hand,
like some boring hippo
sits in a mudhole
and tries to swat at flies.
I just sit there.
That’s my problem.
You were right.
And now I feel bad.
I want you back and
it’s scary to admit it
because I have my pride and
it takes a lot,
a lot to admit that I was wrong.
But here I am.
And baby,
if you come back,
you can have a new dildo,
no threat to me,
bigger, better than this dildo,
which I would given back to you
except
#24 The implement to Ron Jeremy out stubborn toilet clogs.
But, please, come back.
-Michael Appleby
March, 2007
#1 A prop telephone for
my brilliant one-man skits
involving telephone conversations.
#13 A somewhat surprisingly sturdy
hammer
with a grip that is velvety smooth,
and easy on my calluses.
#20 An impromptu piece
of exercise equipment,
the bending back and forth.
I can feel the burn in my chest
that may or may not heartache.
Yes.
I have found twenty uses for your dildo
since you stormed out in a fit of rage
yesterday afternoon.
You used to reassure me
that it posed no threat to my manhood
and for the first time
I can actually see that it doesn’t.
Quite the contrary.
#21 A prosthetic hand
to scare away solicitors,
girl guides and jehovah’s witnesses
that misguide themselves
toward our door.
What you meant to say
was that I, too, would derive enjoyment
from such a trifle.
No threat at all, but rather a utensil.
And yesterday,
our latest fight.
No matter how many nails I hammer
with this rubber dong,
how many
“Oh my god it’s the President”
telephone conversations
I have with myself
(he’s usually asking me
to save the world from terrorists,
nasty, nasty terrorists),
I can’t get your monologue
out of my mind.
Twenty-four hours later
I think you may have been right.
I’m not going anywhere.
I’m not doing anything.
Look at me,
I’m trying to scratch my back
with an eight-inch factory-built cock
for Christ’s sake.
A university degree will hang on the wall,
but goddamn if I’m going to let
#22 A veiny dick-shaped snake
that springs forth out of the gutted peanut can.
Surprise!
go to waste.
Every job interview ended infamously.
Every resume written cynically.
And look at me.
Thirty-years-old,
#23 The sexiest flyswatter you have ever seen
firmly in hand,
like some boring hippo
sits in a mudhole
and tries to swat at flies.
I just sit there.
That’s my problem.
You were right.
And now I feel bad.
I want you back and
it’s scary to admit it
because I have my pride and
it takes a lot,
a lot to admit that I was wrong.
But here I am.
And baby,
if you come back,
you can have a new dildo,
no threat to me,
bigger, better than this dildo,
which I would given back to you
except
#24 The implement to Ron Jeremy out stubborn toilet clogs.
But, please, come back.
-Michael Appleby
March, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Lori's 30th Birthday Party
So this weekend marked Lori's 30th birthday party (happy birthday, Lori!). And the gang got together as the gang is wont to do on such an occasion. We started our Saturday night with a dinner at Chianti's and then finished our night at The Billiard Club.
All-in-all it was a hell of a night, but for some reason I only got a few pictures and only a couple of those pictures turned out well. So here are a couple of pictures that I managed to get.
Jay, Darcy, Jordan, and Jeff give the night the thumbs up.
Nadine, Lori (the birthday girl), and Cathy share a moment.
All-in-all it was a hell of a night, but for some reason I only got a few pictures and only a couple of those pictures turned out well. So here are a couple of pictures that I managed to get.
Jay, Darcy, Jordan, and Jeff give the night the thumbs up.
Nadine, Lori (the birthday girl), and Cathy share a moment.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Rapture: Raving Poets Live!
The latest reading series from The Raving Poets is set to kick off tonight. The name of the series is Rapture.
So if you are looking for something entertaining to do on Wednesday nights between now (February 21, 2007) and then (May 31, 2007) you should definitely come on down to Yianni's Taverna (10444 - 82 Ave, Edmonton, Alberta) for some literary ass-kickery.
They've streamlined the format a little this time around. Instead of their customary 22 reader line-up, which made for some long nights of poetry, which while great for literary enthusiasts still made for a long night, the founding fathers of The Raving Poets movement have cut the line-up down to 16 readers per night. Those 16 will be determined by a draw. So there might be nights when I read. There might be nights when I don't read. It's a surprise every week. They're also going to be kicking the evening off earlier this time around with sign-up for the draw starting at 7:30 p.m. and the show itself starting at 8:00 p.m.
So if you're interested in coming down to a good old-fashioned poetry reading show with some interesting twists, you should definitely come on down and check us out. Here's the pertinent information one more time for you...
Rapture: Raving Poets Live!
Yianni's Taverna
10444 - 82 Avenue
Edmonton, Alberta
Sign-up: 7:30 p.m.
Show starts at: 8:00 p.m.
I hope to see you all there.
So if you are looking for something entertaining to do on Wednesday nights between now (February 21, 2007) and then (May 31, 2007) you should definitely come on down to Yianni's Taverna (10444 - 82 Ave, Edmonton, Alberta) for some literary ass-kickery.
They've streamlined the format a little this time around. Instead of their customary 22 reader line-up, which made for some long nights of poetry, which while great for literary enthusiasts still made for a long night, the founding fathers of The Raving Poets movement have cut the line-up down to 16 readers per night. Those 16 will be determined by a draw. So there might be nights when I read. There might be nights when I don't read. It's a surprise every week. They're also going to be kicking the evening off earlier this time around with sign-up for the draw starting at 7:30 p.m. and the show itself starting at 8:00 p.m.
So if you're interested in coming down to a good old-fashioned poetry reading show with some interesting twists, you should definitely come on down and check us out. Here's the pertinent information one more time for you...
Rapture: Raving Poets Live!
Yianni's Taverna
10444 - 82 Avenue
Edmonton, Alberta
Sign-up: 7:30 p.m.
Show starts at: 8:00 p.m.
I hope to see you all there.
Friday, February 16, 2007
My 30th Birthday Party: A Photo Essay
Sorry for the lateness in finally posting something. My work schedule has been a little crazy lately (waking up "really early" now as opposed to "just early"), but here's a little peak at some of the better photographs we got from my big 30th birthday bash.
A group shot at Beerfest.
Our table of dead soldiers at Beerfest.
Cheers!
Jeff and Jay rawking out.
Before Jeff gives his official endorsement of water at The Billards Club on Whyte. That Jeff, he's hard fuckin' core! To the max!
Lori and Jordan being all mushy with each other. For fuck's sake, get a room you jerks!
A toast at The Billiards Club.
Aftermath of the toast. Don't worry, folks. I kept that one down.
Hey ladies! Two cunning linguists flash their skills.
After another round. Oh yeah, I kept that one down too.
Group sex.
I don't know how to describe this one. I was checking out the official Jay Sparrow autograph on Jordan's chest.
Then Jay goes to inspect his own autograph. And more!
The best picture of Ian anybody has ever taken.
It was nice that everybody was having so much fun.
A hug from Nadine.
Michelle and Stephanie.
I just had to post this one because I really had to photoshop the hell out of this one. The glare was amazing before I started working on this one. Maybe if people would tan more I wouldn't have this problem.
Two geezers show their disdain for 30. Yeah 30, you ain't so fucking tough. You ain't nothin' at all, bitch!
A birthday kiss from Stephanie.
And I will leave you now with what is, quite possibly, the greatest single photograph of a human being I have ever seen. I'm not just saying that, either. I have literally seen thousands and thousands of pictures of people, but none have matched the brilliance of this last photograph. I really need to build the hype on this one because it's absolutely stunning. I wish that I was the photographer who captured this next bit of the human spirit, but, sadly, it's not one that I snapped because I happened to be the model in the picture. Brace yourself
.
.
.
.
because
.
.
.
here
.
.
.
it
.
.
.
comes
.
.
.
Thirty ain't shit!
A group shot at Beerfest.
Our table of dead soldiers at Beerfest.
Cheers!
Jeff and Jay rawking out.
Before Jeff gives his official endorsement of water at The Billards Club on Whyte. That Jeff, he's hard fuckin' core! To the max!
Lori and Jordan being all mushy with each other. For fuck's sake, get a room you jerks!
A toast at The Billiards Club.
Aftermath of the toast. Don't worry, folks. I kept that one down.
Hey ladies! Two cunning linguists flash their skills.
After another round. Oh yeah, I kept that one down too.
Group sex.
I don't know how to describe this one. I was checking out the official Jay Sparrow autograph on Jordan's chest.
Then Jay goes to inspect his own autograph. And more!
The best picture of Ian anybody has ever taken.
It was nice that everybody was having so much fun.
A hug from Nadine.
Michelle and Stephanie.
I just had to post this one because I really had to photoshop the hell out of this one. The glare was amazing before I started working on this one. Maybe if people would tan more I wouldn't have this problem.
Two geezers show their disdain for 30. Yeah 30, you ain't so fucking tough. You ain't nothin' at all, bitch!
A birthday kiss from Stephanie.
And I will leave you now with what is, quite possibly, the greatest single photograph of a human being I have ever seen. I'm not just saying that, either. I have literally seen thousands and thousands of pictures of people, but none have matched the brilliance of this last photograph. I really need to build the hype on this one because it's absolutely stunning. I wish that I was the photographer who captured this next bit of the human spirit, but, sadly, it's not one that I snapped because I happened to be the model in the picture. Brace yourself
.
.
.
.
because
.
.
.
here
.
.
.
it
.
.
.
comes
.
.
.
Thirty ain't shit!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Michael Appleby: 30 Years
Today is my 30th birthday.
There was a part of me that for a long time was just a little apprehensive about the prospects of turning 30. Now it's here and nothing is all that different about me. I still feel the same.
Anyway, I'll try to get some pictures from the birthday party tonight. I can't make any promises, though, because if the people at Beerfest, happening tonight at the Dinwoodie Lounge here in Edmonton don't allow cameras on the premises I'm pretty much S.O.L. But I'll try.
If anybody cares to join us for beers and fond memories feel free to show up. It will be a good time.
I'll post something more later. Sorry for the slow posting week. I had a bunch of shit to juggle this week and it was hard to sit myself down at my computer long enough to post.
There was a part of me that for a long time was just a little apprehensive about the prospects of turning 30. Now it's here and nothing is all that different about me. I still feel the same.
Anyway, I'll try to get some pictures from the birthday party tonight. I can't make any promises, though, because if the people at Beerfest, happening tonight at the Dinwoodie Lounge here in Edmonton don't allow cameras on the premises I'm pretty much S.O.L. But I'll try.
If anybody cares to join us for beers and fond memories feel free to show up. It will be a good time.
I'll post something more later. Sorry for the slow posting week. I had a bunch of shit to juggle this week and it was hard to sit myself down at my computer long enough to post.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Intercourse: Love Poems And Other Chemical Imbalances
Okay, I apologize for putting up this notification so soon before the performance. I realize that this doesn't give you much time to make plans to be there if you want to be there.
Anyway, I do hope that you can make it out for this show. It's happening on Frebruary 7, 2007 at the La Boheme Tango Lounge here in Edmonton. The address to the joint is 6427 - 112 Avenue and it's the show kicks off at 7:00 p.m. Now the reason why you should attend this show is because it is called Intercourse and it's a Valentine's Day themed show, meaning that a lot of the poetry that will be presented is on the subject of love and romance. So if you have a certain special someone in your life and you want to impress them with some culture, romantic culture at that, a full week before the commercial holiday of Valentine's Day, take him/her out to the La Boheme Tango Lounge and it will definitely surprise that special someone. You might even get lucky when you get home.
Now, what's even cooler is the line-up. I know that there are a lot of you out there who cringe when you think of poetry readings because the poetry being performed is either too dumb or too stuffed-collar-ish and it makes for either a night where you are bored to tears or you wish you were without a sense of hearing, maybe both. But the great thing about our show is that every poet we have on the line-up is great. And I'm not just saying that because I'm part of the line-up for that evening. Intercourse is going to be great. We have some of the brightest talent that the Edmonton literary scene has to offer on one bill.
Representing the ladies are Kathy Fisher, Laurie MacFayden, Mandie Lopatka, Nicole Pakan, and Amy Willans. And representing the men are Michael Gravel, Michael Appleby, Jocko Benoit, Patrick Pilarski. I have seen all these poets in action and they are terrific. I hate sounding like a used car salesman, but trust me, it will be awesome.
So, once again here's the info you need....
Intercourse: Love Poems & Other Chemical Imbalances
La Boheme Tango Lounge (6427 - 112 Avenue, Edmonton, Alberta)
7:00 p.m. , February 7, 2007
Please come out for this one. I assure you it will be a sexy, sexy night.
Anyway, I do hope that you can make it out for this show. It's happening on Frebruary 7, 2007 at the La Boheme Tango Lounge here in Edmonton. The address to the joint is 6427 - 112 Avenue and it's the show kicks off at 7:00 p.m. Now the reason why you should attend this show is because it is called Intercourse and it's a Valentine's Day themed show, meaning that a lot of the poetry that will be presented is on the subject of love and romance. So if you have a certain special someone in your life and you want to impress them with some culture, romantic culture at that, a full week before the commercial holiday of Valentine's Day, take him/her out to the La Boheme Tango Lounge and it will definitely surprise that special someone. You might even get lucky when you get home.
Now, what's even cooler is the line-up. I know that there are a lot of you out there who cringe when you think of poetry readings because the poetry being performed is either too dumb or too stuffed-collar-ish and it makes for either a night where you are bored to tears or you wish you were without a sense of hearing, maybe both. But the great thing about our show is that every poet we have on the line-up is great. And I'm not just saying that because I'm part of the line-up for that evening. Intercourse is going to be great. We have some of the brightest talent that the Edmonton literary scene has to offer on one bill.
Representing the ladies are Kathy Fisher, Laurie MacFayden, Mandie Lopatka, Nicole Pakan, and Amy Willans. And representing the men are Michael Gravel, Michael Appleby, Jocko Benoit, Patrick Pilarski. I have seen all these poets in action and they are terrific. I hate sounding like a used car salesman, but trust me, it will be awesome.
So, once again here's the info you need....
Intercourse: Love Poems & Other Chemical Imbalances
La Boheme Tango Lounge (6427 - 112 Avenue, Edmonton, Alberta)
7:00 p.m. , February 7, 2007
Please come out for this one. I assure you it will be a sexy, sexy night.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Just A Note
My statcounter lets me see how people stumble upon my little slice of internet heaven here. One amusing way to find me apparently is to Google "assholes named mike". Ouch! That really smarts.
Click to see if you don't believe me.
So now you can say you know an asshole named Mike. You know, in case you brag about such things.
Click to see if you don't believe me.
So now you can say you know an asshole named Mike. You know, in case you brag about such things.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
The Second Embedded Video Ever Posted On Massive Missives
I saw this while reading up on the forthcoming Arcade Fire album (Mar. 6 in North America) and found it pretty amusing.
Friday, January 26, 2007
A Most Peculiar Dream I Just Woke From
Okay, so I had the strangest dream.
I was, I guess, for lack of a better word, a minister. The church I presided over was one of those churches where people tend to sing gospel music more than preach (the kind of church that is actually a lot cooler than 60 minutes of being told you are going to hell). I had just been promoted to minister since the last minister of the church had just recently died.
So anyway, I had to help lead all the songs that were being sung. And, if you know me, I don't know any gospel songs really. So people would be singing and I'd be fudging the words and mumbling incoherently or doing that thing here you sing, "la la la la" to at least make it look like you are interested. And if you do that in church you can get away with it because other people's voices tend to drown you out. In the dream, though, I couldn't because I had a microphone, like a game show host has a microphone. A long skinny one, and whenever the songs would break down into this sort of spot where everybody would hum in unison or something like that, almost like people just know when a good spot for an instrumental section comes. During those spots, I would wander out into the audience and ask them to share stories of their hardships and triumphs with the congregation.
Pretty weird, huh?
But then... finally a song was played that I knew the words to and I was just belting it out with the guest singer who was Gordon Downie, except that he was trying to dress as the devil (who in my dreams wore tacky, tacky, but evil pajamas). Anyway, we were singing "Pretend" which isn't gospel music at all, but for some reason it was on the list of songs to sing. Then just before I wandered out into the audience for more testimonials Gord came up close to me to say:
"Hey, that was pretty good. Pretty good job, kid."
Yeah, it was a pretty good job, wasn't it?
I was, I guess, for lack of a better word, a minister. The church I presided over was one of those churches where people tend to sing gospel music more than preach (the kind of church that is actually a lot cooler than 60 minutes of being told you are going to hell). I had just been promoted to minister since the last minister of the church had just recently died.
So anyway, I had to help lead all the songs that were being sung. And, if you know me, I don't know any gospel songs really. So people would be singing and I'd be fudging the words and mumbling incoherently or doing that thing here you sing, "la la la la" to at least make it look like you are interested. And if you do that in church you can get away with it because other people's voices tend to drown you out. In the dream, though, I couldn't because I had a microphone, like a game show host has a microphone. A long skinny one, and whenever the songs would break down into this sort of spot where everybody would hum in unison or something like that, almost like people just know when a good spot for an instrumental section comes. During those spots, I would wander out into the audience and ask them to share stories of their hardships and triumphs with the congregation.
Pretty weird, huh?
But then... finally a song was played that I knew the words to and I was just belting it out with the guest singer who was Gordon Downie, except that he was trying to dress as the devil (who in my dreams wore tacky, tacky, but evil pajamas). Anyway, we were singing "Pretend" which isn't gospel music at all, but for some reason it was on the list of songs to sing. Then just before I wandered out into the audience for more testimonials Gord came up close to me to say:
"Hey, that was pretty good. Pretty good job, kid."
Yeah, it was a pretty good job, wasn't it?
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Viagra Makes My Nose Stop Working? Oh Nose!
Click here.
A German research team has discovered that larger doses of Viagra can cause a decrease in a man's ability to smell things. Viagra, for those of you who just woke from a 30-year-long nap, is the pill that men can take to get erections for hours on end. The reason why the pill also decreases the ability to smell is nasal congestion.
While this may seem like a drawback to Viagra I think it's quite the opposite.
But Michael, the sense of smell is a wonderful thing. Why when I pop a Viagra and make some quality time with my special lady I like to have a lot of those aroma therapy candles burning not only for mood lighting, but also because the smell is transportive and it's ceases to be us just "making love" and it becomes two souls really "bonding".
Seriously, who the fuck talks like that?
Viagra inhibits my abiliy to smell? Good!
Okay, first off, don't get me wrong. Sex is good and all that, but Viagra hard-ons last quite a while. And I don't give a fuck who you are, after hours of sex, something in that bedroom is going to smell not quite right. If I can't smell it because I'm on Viagra that's a good thing. It can stink and stink and stink and the only person who has to deal with that stench is the woman? Bonus! Maybe if the smell is strong enough it will be incentive enough to have that orgasm she's always bothering me about so we can get the fuck out of the bedroom and into some place with fresh air or soap and water for our naughty bits.
But, here's another way to look at Viagra. Instead of it being strictly a pill for erectile disfunction it can now be marketed as a pill for people who have to work in smelly environs. I mean, take the lowly sewer worker. He goes to work each day and all he gets to smell is shit. What does he do down in the sewers? Nobody really knows, but in addition to doing whatever that is he also has to breathe. I can't imagine being a sewer worker because I just don't have the constitution to deal with that smell.
But now? Oh shit, just bring it on. I'll pop Viagra like Pez just so I don't have to smell anything.
But Michael, won't you also have a huge erection that won't go away?
Yeah, but so what? It's just another hook for me to hang tools off of while I'm sloshing around down there in the sewers.
But what about the people who have to work with you?
Those people are just going to have to give me a wide berth in which to work. Oh no! You mean I won't be able to spoon my fellow sewer workers without it turning into a gay thing? Damn! Besides, if I happen to encounter a willing woman down in the sewer (hey, it could happen; I saw documentaries on sewer prostitutes in one of those third world nations) then it's always go time. Thanks to Viagra I can't smell fecal matter and I'm ready and willing for any sewer prostitute I encounter.
And consider this...would your coworkers bug you to borrow your tools if they knew where those tools were just hanging from?
I didn't think so.
Viagra: The Hard-On Stimulator AND Smell Inhibitor.
I'm a marketing genius.
A German research team has discovered that larger doses of Viagra can cause a decrease in a man's ability to smell things. Viagra, for those of you who just woke from a 30-year-long nap, is the pill that men can take to get erections for hours on end. The reason why the pill also decreases the ability to smell is nasal congestion.
While this may seem like a drawback to Viagra I think it's quite the opposite.
But Michael, the sense of smell is a wonderful thing. Why when I pop a Viagra and make some quality time with my special lady I like to have a lot of those aroma therapy candles burning not only for mood lighting, but also because the smell is transportive and it's ceases to be us just "making love" and it becomes two souls really "bonding".
Seriously, who the fuck talks like that?
Viagra inhibits my abiliy to smell? Good!
Okay, first off, don't get me wrong. Sex is good and all that, but Viagra hard-ons last quite a while. And I don't give a fuck who you are, after hours of sex, something in that bedroom is going to smell not quite right. If I can't smell it because I'm on Viagra that's a good thing. It can stink and stink and stink and the only person who has to deal with that stench is the woman? Bonus! Maybe if the smell is strong enough it will be incentive enough to have that orgasm she's always bothering me about so we can get the fuck out of the bedroom and into some place with fresh air or soap and water for our naughty bits.
But, here's another way to look at Viagra. Instead of it being strictly a pill for erectile disfunction it can now be marketed as a pill for people who have to work in smelly environs. I mean, take the lowly sewer worker. He goes to work each day and all he gets to smell is shit. What does he do down in the sewers? Nobody really knows, but in addition to doing whatever that is he also has to breathe. I can't imagine being a sewer worker because I just don't have the constitution to deal with that smell.
But now? Oh shit, just bring it on. I'll pop Viagra like Pez just so I don't have to smell anything.
But Michael, won't you also have a huge erection that won't go away?
Yeah, but so what? It's just another hook for me to hang tools off of while I'm sloshing around down there in the sewers.
But what about the people who have to work with you?
Those people are just going to have to give me a wide berth in which to work. Oh no! You mean I won't be able to spoon my fellow sewer workers without it turning into a gay thing? Damn! Besides, if I happen to encounter a willing woman down in the sewer (hey, it could happen; I saw documentaries on sewer prostitutes in one of those third world nations) then it's always go time. Thanks to Viagra I can't smell fecal matter and I'm ready and willing for any sewer prostitute I encounter.
And consider this...would your coworkers bug you to borrow your tools if they knew where those tools were just hanging from?
I didn't think so.
Viagra: The Hard-On Stimulator AND Smell Inhibitor.
I'm a marketing genius.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Classic Michael Appleby
From the regional finals of the 2005 National Poetry Face-off. It's a shame I couldn't go further into the contest with this. I just read it back for the first time in a long time and didn't think it to be half bad. Maybe I'll have to do this one for a Raving Poets show one day since it's only ever been performed once and almost forgotten since.
Nuclear Families
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And have that bagged lunch of the peanut butter sandwiches,
crusts cut off,
handed to me at the door.
It was fun to wait for sleep at night
and giddy in my imagination
and the billion or so what if’s
that rained down on me in the dark
soaked to the bone with
my own personal utopia.
It was fun to think that a hammock could be anything more
than a cradle swinging me into my grave
and that the Sunday afternoon summer picnics
were anything more than fast food take out eaten on a wooden bench
in the park
with the initials M.A. + C.I. carved precariously close to wads of dried gum
and the edge from which we inevitably fall.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to go through motions like reaching for her hand
and moving in for a kiss goodnight, close my eyes doing so.
Only expecting a hug when one of us was sick.
It was fun to talk about things that didn’t mean much,
pretend to be Professor Frink to her rest of the population of Springfield,
explain concepts and ideas that nobody could be interested in except me
and accept the Wow, that’s interesting with a shower of fingernail clippings
and the agitated roll of paper, the turning leaves in a magazine.
It was fun to quote Downie’s line about brassieres
and know that all the while I thought it to sound romantic
for her to think it to sound perverted and creepy;
cull love songs from my CD library
and have each of them dismissed:
thoroughly obscure
tragically cacophonous.
It was fun play make believe one more time.
It was fun to be struck out of nowhere
by You were really good to me and all. Very nice, but…
and actually know every single word that would follow that but
right down to a perfectly played apology
and feeling more like an operator at a psychic hotline
than a man who just had his heart broken.
My lucky numbers that day were 13, 27, and 36.
I could see a long, hot shower in my immediate future
and lo and behold
I went to bed clean.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And hear nothing in response except the slap of my own hand against my forehead:
Oh yeah. I forgot.
It was fun to get completely lost again
wondering how I would ever manage to fit in with people anymore.
Back to my curmudgeonly little room:
computer games with strangers from across the world
and literary self-abuse.
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world,
maybe next time I’ll stay long enough to put my feet up for a change.
-Michael Appleby
January, 2005
Nuclear Families
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And have that bagged lunch of the peanut butter sandwiches,
crusts cut off,
handed to me at the door.
It was fun to wait for sleep at night
and giddy in my imagination
and the billion or so what if’s
that rained down on me in the dark
soaked to the bone with
my own personal utopia.
It was fun to think that a hammock could be anything more
than a cradle swinging me into my grave
and that the Sunday afternoon summer picnics
were anything more than fast food take out eaten on a wooden bench
in the park
with the initials M.A. + C.I. carved precariously close to wads of dried gum
and the edge from which we inevitably fall.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to go through motions like reaching for her hand
and moving in for a kiss goodnight, close my eyes doing so.
Only expecting a hug when one of us was sick.
It was fun to talk about things that didn’t mean much,
pretend to be Professor Frink to her rest of the population of Springfield,
explain concepts and ideas that nobody could be interested in except me
and accept the Wow, that’s interesting with a shower of fingernail clippings
and the agitated roll of paper, the turning leaves in a magazine.
It was fun to quote Downie’s line about brassieres
and know that all the while I thought it to sound romantic
for her to think it to sound perverted and creepy;
cull love songs from my CD library
and have each of them dismissed:
thoroughly obscure
tragically cacophonous.
It was fun play make believe one more time.
It was fun to be struck out of nowhere
by You were really good to me and all. Very nice, but…
and actually know every single word that would follow that but
right down to a perfectly played apology
and feeling more like an operator at a psychic hotline
than a man who just had his heart broken.
My lucky numbers that day were 13, 27, and 36.
I could see a long, hot shower in my immediate future
and lo and behold
I went to bed clean.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And hear nothing in response except the slap of my own hand against my forehead:
Oh yeah. I forgot.
It was fun to get completely lost again
wondering how I would ever manage to fit in with people anymore.
Back to my curmudgeonly little room:
computer games with strangers from across the world
and literary self-abuse.
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world,
maybe next time I’ll stay long enough to put my feet up for a change.
-Michael Appleby
January, 2005
Friday, January 12, 2007
A Taste Of Chicken Little: A Novel
So I'm keeping up with pretty much all of my new year's resolutions so far despite the depression, depsite the heartbreak, and despite the weather. One of the resolutions that I had, if you might recall was to resume work on my novel, which I've tentatively tiled Chicken Little: A Novel. Maybe it won't go anywhere. Maybe I won't have the discipline to finish it. Maybe it won't get published. Maybe it's all a dead end, but it's helping me cope. So if nothing else comes of it I've had a bunch of words to rest my head on to cry. Anyway, I'll try to keep you all posted on my progress. My plan isn't to post the whole thing as it's being written because I really like to revise and I just don't like the permanence of posting. But I'll maybe throw a bit to you here and there. If something I'm sharing needs some context I'll give it, but otherwise you can kind of get an idea of what my opus is like even if it's only in snippets and excerpts. I'm still just getting into the meat of the manuscript, here's a bit from the early pages.
So this is it?
Once a month a mortgage payment, a car payment, bills from credit card, line of credit, cable, electric, gas, water, phone, cell phone, internet, condo fees, and a gym membership.
And that’s it.
That’s how you get to mark your time on the planet. Every month it’s the same group of envelopes sitting on my kitchen table for a few days before I actually put in the effort of to go pay them. They get paid and a month later another group of those same envelopes from the same representatives of those same companies, those same utilities are delivered to my mail box, forwarded to my kitchen table, waiting to be paid for.
And that’s it.
Sometimes a cheque will come. Sometimes a pre-approved credit card application. Sometimes a letter from my folks to let me know how old so-and-so, a relative that I don’t even remember having, is doing, when are you going to settle down, we’re in Hamburg for a while and then it’ll be off to who knows where, but when we get there you should take some time off work to come visit.
And that’s it.
I get preoccupied with trying to remember even five years back when my responsibilities were minimal, when I was this 24-year-old boy. I could stay out all night drinking, having fun. I spent all my free moments with my friends. I had a roommate and we split the rent on a two bedroom townhouse; threw parties all the time. Work was just a job. If things didn’t work out I could just quit and take a job somewhere else. All I really had to worry about was making my rent payment. Sometimes I’d even wake up with a girl sleeping beside me.
When you talk to a lot of people my age, you’re going to hear the same thing over and over again: Where did it all go? Or maybe it’s supposed to be: Where did it all come from? Responsibility. Duty. Career. Family. Life. At some point between the ages of 26 and 29 everything really starts to get a whole lot more complicated. You can’t just shirk your commitments for the sake of fun. You get a whole lot more institutionalized. Fall into a cookie cutter, button down collar and briefcase, lifestyle and live the dream. I just can’t remember really having this dream, but here I am. My friends are all married off or moved away, honoring their own professional promises, living their own monthly bills.
I’m all alone.
And that’s it.
So this is it?
Once a month a mortgage payment, a car payment, bills from credit card, line of credit, cable, electric, gas, water, phone, cell phone, internet, condo fees, and a gym membership.
And that’s it.
That’s how you get to mark your time on the planet. Every month it’s the same group of envelopes sitting on my kitchen table for a few days before I actually put in the effort of to go pay them. They get paid and a month later another group of those same envelopes from the same representatives of those same companies, those same utilities are delivered to my mail box, forwarded to my kitchen table, waiting to be paid for.
And that’s it.
Sometimes a cheque will come. Sometimes a pre-approved credit card application. Sometimes a letter from my folks to let me know how old so-and-so, a relative that I don’t even remember having, is doing, when are you going to settle down, we’re in Hamburg for a while and then it’ll be off to who knows where, but when we get there you should take some time off work to come visit.
And that’s it.
I get preoccupied with trying to remember even five years back when my responsibilities were minimal, when I was this 24-year-old boy. I could stay out all night drinking, having fun. I spent all my free moments with my friends. I had a roommate and we split the rent on a two bedroom townhouse; threw parties all the time. Work was just a job. If things didn’t work out I could just quit and take a job somewhere else. All I really had to worry about was making my rent payment. Sometimes I’d even wake up with a girl sleeping beside me.
When you talk to a lot of people my age, you’re going to hear the same thing over and over again: Where did it all go? Or maybe it’s supposed to be: Where did it all come from? Responsibility. Duty. Career. Family. Life. At some point between the ages of 26 and 29 everything really starts to get a whole lot more complicated. You can’t just shirk your commitments for the sake of fun. You get a whole lot more institutionalized. Fall into a cookie cutter, button down collar and briefcase, lifestyle and live the dream. I just can’t remember really having this dream, but here I am. My friends are all married off or moved away, honoring their own professional promises, living their own monthly bills.
I’m all alone.
And that’s it.
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