Sunday, August 29

Time Spent Worrying

  “We, the American working population/ Hate the fact that eight hours a day/ Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn’t us/ And we may not hate our jobs,/ But we hate jobs in general/ That don’t have to do with fighting our own causes.”  I recently filled out a survey from Best Buy.  Offers come printed on the receipt with a website and a 16 digit code, along with promises of $10,000 shopping sprees.  Now, after years of buying things at Best Buy, I know that for every dollar I spend, I’ll be spending two to three more within the span of five years.  Upgrades.  It’s all about the toy you have being the newest, and the manufacturer’s know it, but the customers aren’t ignorant to it either.  We need the newest toys because the old ones get boring.  They get boring quickly, and as time passes that boredom occurs faster and faster.  We’ve been given too much time to play.  Too much time to think.  I know, working in a factory where little to no thought is required, that thinking too much can be dangerous.  Many days I can leave work in a foul mood, only to realize that I’ve done it to myself, and have nothing of any real consequence to be upset about.
     So, you can imagine my frustration when I read that a professor - a learned person - has gone off the handle with an employee of a chain coffee store.  Apparently, her problem with the global chain is their use of language in ordering.  She feels that when a customer orders a “plain” bagel that means your standard bagel with nothing on it.  I am, because of the reporting, unaware of whether this also includes toasting or not.  Starbucks’ website describes the plain bagel as, “‘plain’ because it’s your simple, classic bagel.  But don’t take that to mean it’s anything less than superb.  It’s got a lustrous, golden crust with a subtle crisp.  A moist, chewy texture with just the right bounce for toothy, satisfying bites.  And the mild yeasty tang that every bagel worth its salt should deliver.  In other words, it’s plain delicious.”  Unfortunately, for Ms. Rosenthal (the professor involved in the incident) this is not the only flavor of bagel that Starbucks offers.  There are 4 other types of bagels included in the bakery section of the menu, and the fact that one of them is called a “plain bagel” only makes this argument so much more frustrating.  Ordering a “plain bagel” determines the type of ingredients used in the production of the bagel.  As to toppings (i.e. cream cheese, butter, etc.), just stating “plain” in the order does not qualify towards condiment request.
  Ms. Rosenthal is an idiot.  This isn’t even a case of overeducation, as one commentator put it.  This is a case of a woman whose social strengths must shine on Facebook or eHarmony.  Face-to-face interactions are simply too much for this person.  I get the feeling that she might enjoy commenting on web posts and claiming that everyone else has the wrong opinion if it’s not her opinion.  Working in a bakery, I can attest to the fact that saying you want a crusty loaf of bread is vague, at best.  We sell several loaves of crusty bread, all white bread inside, but with subtle flavor variations.  In certain areas of the country it’s okay to call all sodas “Coke” or “pop.”  If you order the wrong way outside of those areas no one will know what you’re talking about.  Why wouldn’t you want to make sure you’re order comes out correct?  What value does that hold?  In an economy where money is tight and prices keep rising, why would you risk spending money on something that isn’t what you want?
It seems that Ms. Rosenthal was just looking for a way to vent some other frustration on another human being.  The reason she was able to do all this, and get kicked out of Starbucks, is too much time.  When anyone else in a rush would have just gone ahead and given the cashier the ordering language they were looking for, Ms. Rosenthal was just going to Starbucks to use their wireless internet.  It was guilt that made her decide to buy a bagel anyway.  She was only going to Starbucks to get out and sit and stare at a computer.  Something, in the 21st century, we do to make ourselves look like we’re actually doing something.  What might have happened if she had decided to order coffee?  With all the possible configurations of drinks (Starbucks claims the number is around 87,000) one can truly see the importance of order specificity.  The “I’m right, you’re wrong” mentality just came through too strong in this case.
The same goes for worrying about iris scanners.  I know what you’re saying.  “Woah, how did we get from a woman accosting a Starbucks employee because of language to iris scanners?”  Well, the only reason that I can see people might be afraid that iris scanners will take over as our standard forms of identification is a lack of more important things to worry about.  People refuse to look at issues that cannot be solved.  They’ll throw endless amounts of cash at them to reconcile the fact that they aren’t smart enough or involved enough to make a difference.  So what do they do?  They pick small things that have not yet come to pass, and latch onto them.  They listen to gossip and read rumor blogs that support a consensus that change is bad.
Cast your mind back, and you may have to go a little farther than you expect, to a time when accomplishment was the reward of hard work.  Seeing a task fulfilled was what made you proud to have done the work of the day.  If it didn’t make you proud, then you survived because of it.  Toil in the fields led to food on the table and money in the bank.  Now, we focus on doing the least work for the most profit, and most of our jobs don’t heavily weigh on our survival.  A number cruncher or an IT professional can be sick for a week, and never be missed.  Yet we pay them the most, when people that serve your food and make sure you’re comfortable in your day to day life are paid a pittance, if not paid in tips that the customer can chose to ignore.
We have too much time on our hands.  The days of watering the lawn and washing the dishes, scrubbing the clothes and ringing them are over.  Machines have made our lives easy and stress free (until they break).  It’s just a question of finding what to worry about, and what to leave alone.  Let change happen, and you’ll see unimpeded progress.  Only time can say if that progress will be worth it, but you can’t know until you try.  Unfortunately, we may never see the progress that comes with an adventurous spirit if people continue to fret over every little change.  As for iris scanners linking all aspects of my life, great!  I look forward to my bank account being more secure; my security in public more secure; my locations known in case some harm should befall me.  We live in a society of huddled masturbators who feel everything should be hidden.  All blinds should be pulled and doors locked.  Let’s work on getting ourselves out in the open a bit more, feeling secure and confident.

Sunday, August 15

Second Floor, One-Room Apartment

     Can't sleep tonight.  At least right now.  I've been laying in there for a half hour and something is nagging at me keeping me awake.  I don't know what it is.  This is the first time since I've been back that sleeping has been a problem.  Perhaps it's a sign that sleep is a luxury again.  For the three weeks I was in Saratoga Springs, sleep was the necessity.  Now, I guess my body can take it or leave it.
     Martha's bed is cozy enough.  Kind of fluffy for my taste, but I've not had trouble sleeping here before.  And I am tired.  I can feel my eyes burn dry in the cool night, and my lids are heavy.  Avi is awake, and jacked up.  I'm watching him flip over a twist tie, trying to conquer it.  I'll probably put on some Dr. Who in a moment.  Haven't watched any since I got home.
     I have to say, there was something so cozy about being on the second floor, in a single room, twin bed against a wall with an industrial lock on the door.  That is absolute comfort to me.  The idea that no one can get in except me and a security guard sworn to protect me.  Just being on the second floor is good enough, sometimes.  Checking into a hotel: give me the highest floor possible, please.  I've never slept so good as when I'm at moderately higher altitudes.  Sleepless nights like these make me miss the necessity of sleep and my one-room apartment, so far away.

Tuesday, May 4

It's like a big salad on top.

     As usual, I have overlooked something.  Something very important.  I'll explain.  Last week at work was very difficult, as this week is proving to be.  The entire summer has the possibility of being the same way.  We're rolling out a lot of new products that are all very labor intensive since the Atlanta Bakehouse closed.  Apparently, they had a staff that could handle bagging and labeling 900 pound cakes every day.  We do not.
     So, after that week I was in a terrible mood.  Cameron was coming to town for the weekend, and I knew she was having a party at the house for her friend who got engaged.  I didn't want to be any part of that.  I did have a lot to do, and I was playing golf with my Uncle Mark on Sunday morning.  Martha called me mid-day to suggest that I drive down there to spend the evening with her.  She said she would make me dinner (anything I wanted) and we could relax and watch a movie and just have a good night.  I was hesitant.  I had already planned to go out that night and buy myself an external DVD burner as the one in the iMac has been acting up.  Yeah.  That was my big plan for Friday night.  Also, and I almost forgot this, I was supposed to help Dan from work move on Saturday morning.  I found out that he wasn't going to call me until Saturday morning if he needed me, and that was an inconvenience.  So, after work on Friday, I sped home, changed into some shorts and drove down to Southern Pines.  Martha had just started dinner when I arrived, and she said there wasn't anything I could do to help, so I took a shower.  When I got out, the tacos were ready.  She made these delicious Tuna tacos with a lime/jalapeno marinade.  There was fresh guacamole and jicama for some crunch.  I found sweet tea in the fridge, which I had bought the weekend before when we moved into the new house.  We sat back, ate and watched Spartacus episodes on Netflix.  It was a great night.  I loved everything about it.  I actually wished I had gotten to her house sooner so we could have enjoyed a good episode of Jeopardy.  We are competitive with one another.  We fell asleep with the A/C blowing and Avi sleeping between us.
     The next day we woke and I did the dishes.  We looked for my sunglasses, which I had lost the weekend prior.  And then I showered and we went for hot dogs at this little stand down in historic Aberdeen.  They were delicious!  I had my very first Chicago style hot dog, which I've been trying to do for a long time.  It's like a hot dog with a big salad on top.  Watching Food Network gives me weird goals.  On the way to the ATM down the street to get more money for hot dogs I ran into Glenn, the bartender at Tripp's, and a friend of Martha.  He and I walked back and enjoyed another hot dog.  This time I had a reuben style hot dog complete with 1,000 island dressing, which wasn't so bad.  It was a good day.  Another good day.  And it was barely noon when I left (with my newly found sunglasses).
     Martha made it all possible.
     I have mood swings.  I subject people to attitudes and comments that I shouldn't.  Martha sometimes gets the brunt of this because I talk to her more than anyone else.  It's not fair to her, and I do my best to keep some things hidden so I don't unleash on her.  Sometimes things are just too much and they spill over.  I've just been irritated a lot lately at some things.  Things I can't control.  My inability to say no to people is also a problem.  Martha makes it all better.  She makes me smile when I think I can't.  She cooks for me when I have a crappy week.  She's been supportive while my Mom has been going through this breast cancer period.  She's great.  I love her.  I would probably be resigning myself to staying at Whole Foods for a lot longer without her encouragement.  But, now I'm going to be enrolled in school come December and we will live together soon!  In our own little house.  It's all very exciting, and I'm happy in that aspect of my life.  Martha is everything I want.  She's everything I strive to keep going in my life.  It's like she's got a big salad on top.

Wednesday, April 7

Reminder: I'm cool.

Every now and then I have to reassure myself that I'm pretty cool.  This is one of those times.  No big-headedness about it.

Friday, February 26

Almost got it.

I don't see why I should recycle when you can't do math.

Assume there exists an elephant (x).  x = 9,600 lbs.

8 elephant(s) = 8x.

8 multiplied by the accepted value of x (9,600 lbs.) is equal to 76,800 lbs.

Now, don't go thinking you have to convert pounds to metrics because all measurements are the same.  We're just dealing with pounds.  Unfortunately, the drop-out that made this flyer was about 75 elephants off, give or take a trunk or two.  Is this what we're teaching our children?

Sunday, February 21

{found poetry}


You are the only person who/ has blocked out the sun./ You & you, only one who ever smeared their faces, their/ actions, in a blur behind us/ here, doing a crossword/ @ six am -- all love/ I do not [unreadable], you said.


hang curtains
WHOLD FOODS:
- flax oil
- salt
- luna (less fat)
- chips 4 sunday
- salsa too
- tomato to add

clean
laundary
pillow
run





Wednesday, February 17

Everyone says "Hi," except David Bowie.

     I won't bore you with the fabulous details of the first dream I remember having last night.  The second one would be more interesting to everyone.  Unless you're a frat boy.  Then the first one would be quite entertaining.  I say this only on the basis that there were frat boys in it, and frat boys love other frat boys, right?
     So, the dream started and I was walking through a mall.  Departments store entrances and Christmas displays.  It wasn't Christmas though.  The mall was dead.  Just a few people lingering around.  I remember passing some kids playing on a display, and smiling that approving smile that you do when you wish you were small enough to do the same, but have to act like an adult.  Outside of the department store was a grand lobby of sorts with a couple small stores.  It was mostly just a tucked away entrance, but this is where the music store was, and that's where I was headed.  This, apparently, was before the little music stores had shut down in the malls and been replaced by Hot Topics.  I went in, and began looking around.  The cashier actually greeted me, which made me feel cool.  To my left was a tall blonde man and a slightly shorter, but not much, blonde woman.  He was wearing well-cut grey slacks and a thin, Summery button-down shirt.  She was in tan, but stylish, slacks and a wrap around white shirt.  They were together, but not romantically.  Their body language was that of old friends.  I went to look next to the man and found that it was David Bowie!  I was shocked.  What was he doing in a small record store wherever I was in the dream in a mall?  As soon as I noticed, he was rushed.  A gaggle of screaming fans were asking for autographs, and I watched him pull out a pen and start signing.  I had my pockets filled with things, and I started looking for stuff that could be signed.  Receipts and money were what I found, but in my back pocket I found a thick napkin.  This would be it!  I waited patiently, pretending to be too cool to be phased by the throngs of people.  He signed and didn't smile, but didn't frown.  The daily life of a rock star legend.  Soon, the store was empty again.  Just David Bowie, his friend and I.  One more person came on the scene soon after.  "David.  I have this killer demo to play for you.  I think you'll really dig it.  My sound is [this obscure band] mixed with [another obscure band] with a little bit of a playful cadence of [a poetic description of Summer sounds].  Bowie agreed to sit down and listen, and this boy, who gave me evil looks from the time I approached, sat beside him with a tape player.  They both began listening, and the worst part is that Bowie was really getting into it.  I snuck inside the inner circle, and asked David for his autograph.  He took the napkin and a pen that I lent to him.  He turned away and the boy jumped out of his chair.  He began moshing with himself.  Slamming his head around and flinging his arms.  I heard the high drone of bagpipes in the boy's demo.  I said, "Oh, bagpipes.  Nice."  They both looked at me at that instant and stared.  Bowie handed me back my napkin, folded neatly into quarters.  I held it, warm from his concentrated hand, and then put it into my pocket.  The two got up and walked away to a back room to continue listening uninterrupted.  I stayed in the store and looked around a little more.  No one was there now except for some young kids looking at buttons in a display case and laughing.  I turned to leave and the cashier gave me a "that was pretty cool" look.  I smiled and took the napkin out of my pocket.  I was so much cooler than everyone in that store.  In that mall, maybe.  Definitely in that city.  I unfolded it carefully, and scanned one side.  Nothing.  I scanned the other and no dark marks were to be found.  Then I looked to the top edge.  There were two small splotches of a pale color near the top.  They were somewhat perfect reflections of one another.  A Rorschach if you will, of snot.  David Bowie had blown his nose on my napkin while I was watching the boy jump around.  I was crestfallen, and disillusioned and I awoke.  Who was he but a rock star anyway?  It's four in the morning.  More time for sleep.

Sunday, January 24

[Something of New York is]

     Something of New York is something of New York is something of New York she's moving through the kitchen she's moving, knows the cups, knows her hands, knows the cups and the tearing torn clothes tearing torn tearing torn clothes and skin where clothes would be shouldn't and all the fumblings of something of New York is her waist and pulling her close is her waist is her pulling her close. And the tear of clothes and her hands and the waist of her pants and she breaths in and the waist of her pants and the tear of clothes is New York and she breaths in and the waist of her jeans and we're sliding down hard is New York.

Saturday, January 23

Engulf a system.

Engulf a system.  Remember it so you can adhere to it.  Adhere to it, and engulf it.  With time, everything that comes in will go out, and that system has to save everything.  There need to be tape recorders and file cabinets.  A keyboard's keys should be worn, and muscle memory will be the only thing that lets you know which stroke is which.  There need to be file cabinets, dated and alphabetized.  Never trust a man with a clean desk.  There is too much going on.  Too much in my head these days.  I've saved it up and let it fester and age.  Don't grow old.  I hear all their voices: the curse of listening.  There's nothing original because you all came up with it.  You sat in your cafes with your cigarettes and coffee and your typewriters lubricating everything until it spilled out in shapes and colors no one would appreciate as stern years later.  But you had fun.  You taught and you watched.  You watched the world get sick and old.  "America is old."  It's stories and history are lost to loneliness.  A lonely continent existing before oral tradition and long before anal tradition, shitting America falling off the wagon again.  This is what happens when you hold it in.  This constipation of thought and energy until you want to scream.  You want to fight.  Fight me.  Take me on.  Drop me.  Challenge me.  Rub me to raw and tearing.  I'll fight you because I'd miss you if you were gone.  I've got ideas written on pages of journals and word documents lost in the ether of terabytes.  I've been writing to miss you.  Writing to get over you.  Old loves.  New loves.  Loves that should have been, but got complicated.  Writing to apologize.  Writing to prove myself.  That's what it all is.  Proving myself.  When will it stop?  When will you know me to be just like you, full of passion and power?  I think of you with him now.  Do you still wear that little silk robe?  Do you make him sit in the cold morning air?  When will he be leaving?  When will the next one move in?  I know he's there. And you.  We parted with such harsh emotions and fresh scars.  That emergency room still holds dark words and cold. Believe me.  How can I say I'm sorry?  Just keep trying.  Just keep trying.  There is so much good now I know I can spare some for all.  It just needs to be written down.  Engulf a system.  Remember it so you can adhere to it.

Friday, January 22

If it's good enough for Jesus...

I want to build this desk.  Right now, carpentry might be my hobby when I start grad school.  I come from a long line of carpenters, and it's only proper that I should continue.  How else will I get good enough to build my own boat?