Wednesday, October 31, 2007

My old neighborhood was weird, but one of the things I miss there was Halloween. When you walked around that night you'd seen people wearing costumes, which really wasn't too different from any other day, and forget the trick or treat, those people just wanted acid. It was like you were skipping through that "Groove is in the Heart" video.

Where I live now, while cool in the daytime, gets real shady at night. Halloween here seems more "I don't want no treat, gimme yo' money." Unfortunately, cause of the rent I pay here, I don't have any money, so rather than get shivved, I'm gonna stay in tonight.

  Tuesday, October 30, 2007

When we left off I had just moved into a new place alone, didn't know how to take care of myself, and regularly worked during the nights. Well I now have internet at home, as well as a couch, and more video games then a fourteen year old asian kid. Though there are some good stories of how I got those, what's amazingly different is that I have a new boss and a job requiring I accomplish things, primarily in the field of engineering. While I won't make it an excuse, it has severely limited my ability to write witty and endearing blogposts that attract the attention so crucial to my everyday satisfaction. That and countless hours of Madden '07.

Thankfully, my new boss's father-in-law passed away and while he gone in mourning I can spout my rhetoric again. Except I have nothing. Even though over the last three months I've seen both my best friends, been to three weddings, gone home to Pittsburgh, went to Cincinnati, Hawaii, and Indiana twice, on one of those trips I freaking lost my notebook with all my funny in it. I am hollow without it. I've done this before and I've tried to prepare for it. Evidently neatly printing my name and address on the back is not enough for random people who stumble upon a person's cherished belonging to make any attempt to find said person. On the next one I will have to add "cash and/or sexual reward if found."

  Sunday, September 30, 2007

Trust me, the last two months haven't sucked as much as this blog makes them out to be.

  Wednesday, August 01, 2007

So had I kept up the pace, this weekend would have seen the completion of 100 posts in 100 days. All told I ended up with 78 posts, which I don't think is bad; however some of them them definitely don't really count, and I have yet to chronicle the intern stories (I will) or write Church reviews (forthcoming) nor perform at an open mic (which I absolutely must do for many reasons before mid September).

I think I learned a lot. I did have a few bright spots including the roommate stories and my courtroom drama, as well as a few other good posts. I really like the real time story arcs, like getting acclimated to living alone (1 2 3 4 5 cont.) or my trip back home (1 2 3 4 5 6). I'd like to do more of this: the trick is to recognize potentially interesting situations while they draw out, and hope that they have some snippy conclusion. Also, blogging on a Friday or Saturday night is stupid.

The hardest part was balancing the need to post with my ability to post something worthwhile. I was not happy about chugging out something I wasn't satisfied with, but if I wait until I'm satisfied I take about four too many months to finish a story. I don't necessarily like putting numbers on things, but I think if I can motivate myself to average 2-3 posts per week, it'd be a good pace. The biggest issue of all is the comments. Evidently, directly soliciting comments doesn't solicit too many comments, and being funny and witty and engaging isn't enough to motivate people to comment either. Unfortunately, not commenting doesn't exactly encourage me to be funny and witty and engaging. It's a vicious cycle, and once I solve that mystery, I'm pretty sure I will easily be the greatest blogger ever.

  Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Yesterday at Allegheny College in Meadville, PA a wrecking ball detached from the crane its swung by and rolled .7 miles down main street smashing into cars and curbs, reeking havoc, eventually rolling up into the trunk of a student waiting patiently at a stop light.


There is insane story potential here. Crane operator Bob Boring (no fabrication, he is actually named like the hero of a children's book) threw bricks at the wrecking ball to try and stop it, which is exactly the opposite of what wrecking balls are designed to do. The police officer on hand told the driver of the last car that the soccer balls he had filling the back seat may have saved his life, which unless each of those soccer balls are made of 27 cubic feet of high density polypropic rubber cushion is impossible.

But I'm not going to write a story. I know nothing about Meadville, but the two friends I have that went to Allegheny sure do. This is a challenge to both of them to write a story about this: a funny recap, or fictional events that may resolve around this incident, whatever, but some sort of story.

BLOGOFF!!!

  Thursday, July 05, 2007

I'm watching fireworks on a rooftop and this guys is faking intelligence to impress women:

"This is a pretty amazing fireworks show. It cost somewhere near five million dollars."

I don't know anything about fireworks, but no. No it did not.

  Tuesday, July 03, 2007

The very helpful quiet man who used to work in the cubicle next to me moved on to another job and now I have a completely useless loud man in in his place. This is the guy who asks you what's up without getting your attention or seeing if you are busy or without any sense of tact. He's also ugly.

Everyday he spends twenty minutes discussing dinner and lame activities over the phone with his girlfriend. I've theorized, and my other coworkers won't entertain me on this, that he is actually his own girlfriend. I can't imagine a woman on any planet I know of finding this man's behavior endearing, and when they talk its always in such a way so that the whole conversation is known to those of who can hear him.

That's circumstantial, but I have noticed that she never calls him, it's always him doing the calling. And if it is true I don't know if it's him just trying to get attention or if he actually hears a voice coming through the other end. I'm guessing the latter, hence my belief that they are the same person.

There's a picture of her on his desk. In it she is smothered in make-up, to the point where you can't tell if there's a beautiful woman underneath or an unkempt middle age man, covered in boils. But the tell-tale sign, if you stare at the picture closely and look past the stubble and huge Adam's apple, they have almost the exact same eyes.

  Monday, July 02, 2007

This weekend witnessed my first off-day in nearly a month and also an interesting corollary: if I'm not blogging, it's not cause I'm busy, it's exactly the opposite. When I'm active, I can't wait to tell everyone about the ridiculous awesomeness of some mundane thing I accomplished. But do nothing, and I'm suddenly engorged with shame, and seclude myself, resulting in more inactivity. It's called a funk, and in younger times it was a much harder cycle to break.

I was so completely lazy the last two days. I'm not exaggerating: It may have been the least productive weekend of my life, and that's saying something. I am exaggerating: I had to fight off atrophy this morning to make it in to work. Still, really freaking unproductive. Why is it so bright in this office?

And I don't care. Normally, I do this and I say to myself, "What am I doing with my life? Shit. If I died in my sleep how many weeks would it be until someone found me. After that long I can't reek much more then I do know. I better delete my Internet cache, I don't want that to be my dieing legacy. Frick I'm hungry, but food is not within a two foot radius surrounding me." But not this time. This time there was a primal anger to my laziness. Each moment of inactivity was vengeful; that's the best I can describe it, and it was rewarding.

  Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I've temporarily been moved back to a normal shift and its affected my blogging ability. It's not that I haven't had anything to write, or I've been too busy; it's been that when I do and I'm not, there isn't a computer around.

But don't fret bastion of blog admirers who lack the ability to show appreciation. I will take care of those missing days as well as more that may occur. Good thing I have plenty of work stories just waiting on a few follow ups that the day shift will afford me. And a good think I can write crap like this that totally counts as a post.

  Monday, June 25, 2007

Once in a while, I come into the main office after my night shift is over and talk to a few of the people back there about what's up, who's sleeping with who, and other general pertinent office information.

I head down to the cafeteria with one of my favorite chums for some tea and coffee respectively. We chat on the way in, and on our way out, one of the breakfast workers setting up the fruit drops oranges all over the floor.

This woman just started work on a Monday; I'm fresh off of work on a day indeterminable from the rest. She led off the day dumping her work on the ground, while I'm looking for where the next party is. Inside her cold foreign, not understanding English face is a woman who just wants to feel like part of something.

I bare-hand an orange from about eight feet away flip it with style across my body. Had someone done this to me, I'd have looked to turn two and think about gunning down the guy at the register before he can pay for his oatmeal, and I'm thinking at the least, she'll muster a polite little grin out of it, and feel that her life now has meaning.

No, she flips out. She waves her hands frantically in the air, like I just tossed her a grenade wrapped in a porcupine dipped in Rosie O'Donnell's ball sweat. Then she covers her face as the orange hits the ground a foot in front of her.

Look alive lady. This has been a problem. People aren't as awake as I am in the morning, and as a result there putting in less effort into my amusement then I need. But in this situation, rather then adapt, I'm just going to say that everyone one but me is lame.