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.
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.
Working nights I see a lot of inexperienced people managing work crews. I wouldn't say these people's strong suit is inspiring others, and if I hear one more guy say, "We're making history here boys," I'm going to karate chop them in the neck. Don't get me wrong, I take pride in my work, but I do maintain a sense of perspective.
I am doing something special, but it would have been done without me. Thomas Edison had a crew of a dozen or so people while he worked on the light bulb. They arguably contributed ten zillion gabillion times more effort to that project then I have to Big Event '07. Nobody knows who any of these people are. If I do one day make history, people will remember my name. This isn't it.
And while what I'm doing is cool, its so far down on the list of historic accomplishments, that's its barely worth acknowledging that aspect of it. I think a good measure of historacity of what your doing is how early in the education process it gets taught to a typical student. If there's a clever rhyme putting together 'two' and 'blue' that they teach kindergarten children, then you are probably a big deal. If the year of when this thing happened is choice C on some graduate students Materials final, then you haven't made shistory.
This is just an quick update on some things pertinent to this blog.
Part of why I've been working so much is because we are trying to get ready for a big event, which I will refer to as Big Event '07 in all future posts.
Part of why I hadn't blog the last three days is because I took the time to appreciate my Pittsburgh Pirates come to town to play an interleague series vs. the Mariners. They were shut out twice.
Part of why I'm blogging right at the end of the day is because when I got into work tonight I really had to poop. I feel better now, thanks.
I'm going to be taking the next three days off. I think I'm more than that ahead of the pace anyway. In the meantime, here's some links to tide you over:
I've debated posting this, as I don't think it conveys the type of message I'd like it to, but its just too tragically hilarious that I can't resist. I need to set it up though.
There is this guy at work who is super social, and not creepy about it. I admire that about him. It's only a little weird that he references people in the discussions between us as some sort of relative of mine. Like the girl at work that I am friends with is known as my mom. Another guy I talk to his my uncle. His son is my son; I can't explain that one. It goes on.
This occurred one of the first times I worked nights. I was dead tired and he came in early to his shift so he could introduce me to some of the people I'd need to bug during the night. He gets to his desk shortly before four in the morning, and sends me an IM. Names have been cleverly change to protect anonymity:
Challoway, Garles T [3:55 AM]: Are you awake and ready to rock? Sant, Rory J [3:56 AM]: no, but sure. Challoway, Garles T [3:57 AM]: I will head out there shortly then... Be there by 4:15. Sant, Rory J [3:57 AM]: coo Sant, Rory J [3:57 AM]: thanks buddy Sant, Rory J [3:57 AM]: i really appreciate it Sant, Rory J [3:57 AM]: you're good people Challoway, Garles T [3:58 AM]: I have to make up for when your dad isn't around to take care of you. Sant, Rory J [3:58 AM]: that's been forever Sant, Rory J [3:58 AM]: oh, wait, your talking about Jerry Sant, Rory J [3:58 AM]: yeah, that too. Challoway, Garles T [3:59 AM]: Yes, Jerry... Sant, Rory J [3:59 AM]: that's funny.
For the record, I love my dad. Happy Father's Day.
In the 60s, the British Band Invasion saw a lot of bands from the UK coming to the US with names following a very general formula: 'The [plural noun].' There was The Beatles, The Kinks; the 70s brought The Police, and others I don't feel like looking up, from now on two will be enough to prove my point. The naming convention works well, and it makes sense that they use a noun. You couldn't follow 'The [action verb]' or you'd get a band with a name like The Runs. However, this wasn't exactly the most creative way to name your band. You could pretty much flip a dictionary to a random page and pick the first noun you see. I just did this and I came up with The Operas. ? OK, that's a horrible name; maybe they put a lot of thought into their band names, that's not the point - I'm going somewhere else with this.
So in the early 80s some bands started doing the double name thing with Duran Duran and Talk Talk. That doesn't follow my only two rule, I think those were the only ones. If I were a bad critic trying to write wit in my music reviews, my headline for either of these bands would be "Lame Lame." In the late 80s early 90 came my favorite band naming method "The [Participle] [Plural Noun]," that's when we get The Flaming Lips and The Counting Crows and The Smashing Pumpkins. This is really the only one that I'm not making up. Then came bands with numbers (Blink 182, Sum 41). The bands with alliteration (Scissor Sister, Modest Mouse). Franz Ferdinand is also in this category; thankfully naming your band after murdered Austrian royalty didn't catch on.
I say all this because I'm just picking up on a trend that may be the worst naming method in the history of bands. Take a noun, anything that you don't hear often, you could even use a proper name. Take that noun and make it an adjective modifying some word that has no business being the subject of any sentence. I know that's vague, but I haven't yet refined the theory you skeptics. This results in what I believe are horrid, stank-o-rific, bloated goat sounding band names like Dashboard Confessionals and Silversun Pickups. I mean Dashboard Confessionals might be a good name for an album, I get it. But you're whole band? You're just setting yourself up ultimately for total failure. And Silversun Pickups? Cock in the eye, that's just a dumb name!
What I think is cool and I hope becomes the de facto band naming method, is just something you saw twenty minutes ago that sounds like a cool band name. I think Cake did that. My band would be called Two Bitches in a Plymouth.
One thing I've learned while riding the bus, is to shut up. I want to keep my eyes and ears open in case something psycho-awesome happens, but normally its just weird, creepy people doing weird, creepy things. This can be quietly observed rather than participated in, lest I piss someone off and get stabbed or spat upon or hand-jobbed: three things a crazy person on the bus is equally likely to do to you. By in large my trips have been pretty tame as I reverse commute to work. I had a drunk guy in a wheelchair tip over in my lap and another dude asked me to leave the backseat so he could pee. That's about it.
But now I am reverse commuting with a reverse schedule, so I've got to take the bus with everyone else and their mothers. The trip in today was atrocious as at the second busiest interchange in the state, traffic went down to one lane on the highway (five normally). I'm pretty sure they weren't doing anything either; two Department of Transportation guys, pissed cause they have to work a Friday night, coned off two miles of highway just for shits. And you know, I got to respect that, I can only hope to work with people who attempt to amuse themselves.
Against my better judgment I opened my mouth and shared my theory with some of my other bus riders. The last and only time I said anything on the bus, a cello case carrying couple grabbed the handrail in front of me, and I asked if they were going bowling; it was not received well. But to my surprise imagining two state workers dicking around with the Seattle commuters got a few laughs. It even helped initiate a conversation between myself and a very pretty girl. One of her eyes was a slightly different color than the other, so it wasn't going to lead to anything, but it was good to get the feet wet: baby steps, right?
In case you can't tell, my last four or five days of posts have been pretty unremarkable. I'm stalling to avoiding writing a real story that I have to think about. I have a lot of good stories, I just don't want to write them. This will continue until I climb out of this little funk.
Facing an important college deadline, I asked an old friend of mine what sort of techniques she uses to force her self to work. "I study with a big water bottle," she says, "and I keep studying until I have to pee. I hold it in until I absolutely can't anymore, then I study for five more minutes." I'm not bonkers, so I will not be doing that, but I am interested in any sort of procrastination countermeasures you guys use.
I've got a million stories about the Interns my company hired, or maybe 0.0007% of that amount. But there just so cute, watching them communicate with each other and interact with the outside world; it's like a trip to the zoo. I told one of them this one day, "Your friends are cute, like puppies are cute."
Throughout the summer I will be serializing my experience with the Interns. Stay Tuned.
One of the cool things my company does is pay for school. Not just a specific curriculum either, anything. I could go to culinary school and as long as its accredited and doesn't interfere with me doing my job, they'll pay for it. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn't take full advantage of this, yet I haven't.
So as I have committed myself to things before that I haven't done yet, but will, I am doing again: I will be enrolled in something before these 100 days are over. I'd be limited to pretty much night classes, though with the current work schedule I could just take a full semester at a major university. I would like to get me a teaching certificate, but with limited options I may take a writing course, or maybe some other under-the-radar classes you guys might think I'd find interesting.
I've ran out of the shitty little snippets of something potentially funny that I've been posting on here when I haven't given any thought to a real blog post. This means I have to start putting some of these notes I have together into real stories, or find a new hobby.
This is just a heads up, not meant to be funny, though I guess I could add "then I found five bucks" to the end of it to make it seem like interesting story. Eh, I got a good little device I fall back on in situations like this.
Anyway. I will be working nights seven days a week indefinitely, boobies.
There's a inordinate amount of chaos in my life. Not that my life is chaotic, just that there are so many things that need addressed from the apartment, to my job, and general activities; it's so much to sort through that I just don't bother. So tonight, I've decided to make some lists. I haven't made a list in a while and writing down the things I need to think about or work on might help me get some of it done.
First list:
Things to Make a List For
1) Lists I Need (This List) 2)
That's as far as I got before I started looking up stuff on Rubik's Cubes
I don't know much about electricity or physics or science. Sure, I know some things, but despite my attendance at the Rose Hulman Institute of Technology, I know less about what my school is 'of' then most people. Most people I know... that read this blog anyway.
So it would make sense that most of my ideas in the field of science are met with a level of skepticism, a "consider the source" mentality that I believe might incline someone to be overly dismissive. But one idea of mine was always met with declarations of being "Impossible!" Isn't that a little rash? I'm no scienstician, but I do know that we are aware of less then like .0% of all knowledge there is. To classify something as 'impossible,' that just seems careless.
And guess who's idea wasn't so impossible after all. In your face. It would seem it's the opposite of impossible, it's pretty unimpossible. Yes, by successfully powering a light bulb from an unconnected power sorce seven feet away, MIT scientists have proved that power can be transmitted wirelessly. So take that Marks and Aarons and Martins and Rons of the world, and all you other dorkii that said I didn't know what I was talking about. My vision of wireless extension cords is now completely substantiated.
The worst thing about working nights, worse then the being super tired constantly, or the increased threat of werewolf run-ins, is the lack of social deviation. A typically boring day at work and I can have a rapid fire email exchange with a buddy or even call a friend for ten minutes I've been meaning to talk to. But at night, none of you are up, don't you love me?
Anyway, I've been told I will be continuing this until at least next Monday, the good still outweighs the bad, but it would be nice to have a day off; although, what the hell am I going to do with a free 10:00 PM to 6:30 AM?
When I was looking for a new place, I concluded that the additional cost of renting a place with its own laundry machine was less then the cost of just paying someone else to do it for me. Although, I resolved to do this, I hadn't bothered to call the place yet, and when I took yesterdays socks from a stinky igloo of clothes I realized it was time.
I call this place while waiting for the bus home and all I need is to drop it off in a laundry bag and eight hours later it will be ready. I don't have a laundry bag, but the bus doesn't come for twenty minutes.
The following occurs between 11:47:00 AM and 12:07:00 PM
I hop in the car and speed out of the Park & Ride, up the hill towards the mall. The mall itself will be a pain in the ass to find anything, I'll drive a little down the road to the Target. In my hurry I'm in the wrong lane. I go past the shopping center, up the access road, and come in from the side. Rush inside and head to the HOME section. Linens, furniture, where the hell is this stuff. Where's the help? Last time I was here they kept offering me assistance like I was the Pope coming in to buy khaki shorts. I see laundry detergent, should be close. It says 'BAGS' on the overhead marker. Sandwich bags, freezer bags, aluminum foil; shit, wrong bags. Toys are across the isle from the large storage containers. Oh, Transformers... this new Optimus Prime looks lame, why does he have flame decals? He's transforming to blend in, no trucker puts flames on their rig. You might as well write, "Hey I'm a giant transforming cyborg!" on the side of his trailer? Focus. Storage bins and cleaning supplies. Bathroom mat, hey I need one of those. Ironing boards, hampers, laundry bags, bingo! Book it to the front, flirt with the attainable check out lady. You're pretty but don't talk to me about weather, you're boring. Back to the car. I book it through traffic, and merge onto the home stretch right behind the bus I'm trying to get on. In a very Top Gun like maneuver I go around the bus loop the opposite direction of the bus, then turn, park, and get out of the car all in one movement. As I run to intercept the bus, an old man in a wheelchair bides me enough time to get on. Roll credits.
Later that day I picked up my laundry, holy sweetness, this is the best idea I've ever had. Its all folded and stacked neatly. My whites are so white. They even mated my socks, I have never done that ever. This is the most awesome thing. This is better than strawberry/banana smoothies. This is better than four people leaving comments on a blog post. This is better than Jessica Alba riding shotgun on our way to a bathing suit convention. This is better then a pet monkey that can play a competitive game of 500 rummy. OK, maybe it's not that awesome.
I sit down at a restaurant bar to enjoy dinner and I pick up pieces of a conversation between three off duty bus drivers. The stars of my show:
The Rookie: Young and naive, he boasts about the time he jammed a gay man in a coffee shop. Evidently jam in now slang for a zinger, and not butt sex. Didn't know that.
The Lonely Black Man: "I'm home alone so much, I should have been in that movie," he says. "Just an hour and a half of me sitting on my couch, not doin shit."
The Experienced Female: While she applies her fifth layer of lip gloss, the other other two make fun of her bear-trap sized vagina.
None of this was real special, but I was lucky to stumble on something even half this interesting at the places I've been eating at lately. It reminds me of how I've gotten away from basing my decisions on what will make the best story, and I want to get back to that. I need to start putting myself in crazy and possibly dangerous situations: steal food from a clown convention buffet, or start eating in a biker bar or on a cactus or something. Change it up a little.
Three consecutive days of trying to stave off boredom have helped me refine my method of finding cool things online. I was foolish at first, I'd check digg or look at the top 100 google videos, but I've learned that you can't hold out hope that what someone else thinks is funny is going to keep you entertained for the next six hours. Especially when 80% of "funny" videos are just people singing crappy songs crapily.
What I do now, is go about my normal business: checking websites I would check anyway, and as soon as I see something interesting I look up more info on it. After, I can go back to whatever I was reading, but during my investigation I may find something additionally intriguing, so I'll check that out, and so on. You end up going down a lot of bunny holes, but eventually you find something really cool.
I've had the snarts lately. A snart is a sneeze fart combination. It's not coincidental like burp-farts (furps? maybe, it's still debated by etymologists); typically, the sneeze robs you of fart control. Anyway, I'm freaking doing it a lot, like right now even. Where's a damn Kleenex?
What sucks about it, is you have no idea how loud you were since you are sneezing at the time. They feel loud as hell, I mean the sneeze is blowing air out your ass at least 3.5 times the speed of sound. People are smelling it before they hear, and when they do, I'm sure its awful.
There's always the chance though, that despite your perception, there may have been no sound. Or perhaps the sound produced is so momentous that it doesn't register within the spectrum of perceivable noise. So there is no choice but to sit quietly like an asshole an hope that everyone in the Denny's is staring at you for some other reason.
I "engineer" for a company that produces things. As the specific item that we produce transitions into production, it is necessary for those of us familiar with the production process to support the mechanics responsible for producing it. The produced item is in production 24/7 and there aren't enough producers to support production during all the producing hours. Production, produce. Producibility.
I hate talking about work, particularly at work, and I'm doing both of those right now. Since I have no life/activities/reasons-for-existence I volunteered to support the night shift until Monday so that my coworkers can get tossed and drunkenly shag their spouses. It isn't at all busy so I pretty much get paid to watch baseball and post to my blog; though, that's normally what I get paid for anyway.
I show up tonight and the second shift guy is introducing me to other second shift people that I won't be working with. He presents me to this young South American hussy woman, and I introduce myself as the guy who will be working third shift over the weekend.
"You have no life."
This foreign woman probably knows about 20,000+ plus words of the English language, and those four are the first ones she decides to say to me. She starts rambling on about how she's willing to work the evenings but at eleven she's out and hitting the clubs; getting railed by Dominican men in a stall in the men's room of some shady karaoke bar. Or something like that, I stopped listening. The guy from my group, thinking he's been clever chimes in with, "He has a life, just no personality."
"Then you wouldn't know how to talk to a woman anyway."
Well that's a pick me up. I'm trying to start my day and this trollop is part of my complete breakfast? I said maybe seven words to her, how's she have me pegged so accurately?
