This blog is not dead. Yes, I haven't posted in about ten days, and it was probably about ten days before that that I posted last before that, or something.
I have in fact had quite a bit on my mind, stuff that I should probably post about, get it out of my head a little bit. Sunshine is a great disinfectant, and airing out my consciousness would probably help me think through things a bit. I might save all that for the gay blog, because I want to get this one back to what it was when I was happiest with it.
What do I need to get back there?
-mindless rants with lots of cussing
-word of the day? what ever happened to that little fucker?
-book sort-of-reviews-nothing but gay fiction lately and an autobiography of Edmund White (totally gay)
-videos of awesome music that you probably ignore
-mindless rants about things other people post that I should read more deeply into so I don't rant and sound like a douche
Yeah, that about wraps up all the stuff I miss doing. It just feels so often that my head is filled to overflowing with thoughts of things I can't quite control, so instead of placing them in a place where I don't obsess, I let those thoughts take over and push aside all the things I should be doing and/or thinking about.
And that's where we find ourselves as of now. I'm working on getting back to this. I'm needing more than ever to just get my thoughts out of my head. That's what writing is to me, and that's what I need.
That and a tall dark hair/eyed boy, but that's a whole 'nother post for another day.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Sunday, July 06, 2008
two songs in my head
I became aware of Webb Pierce as a person a few short years ago. A local radio station would play songs he'd written being performed by other people from a tribute album title Caught in the Webb. They played a very few of the songs, and I happened to catch them randomly as I so seldom listen to the actual radio.
Caught in the Webb was one of our recent library finds, and as soon as I saw it I knew I was checking it out. Momma and I have both fallen in love with the album. The very first time I listened to I realized how many of Webb Pierce's songs I've known and how few of those songs I'd known he'd written.
One of the songs that jumped out from the very first listen is the song that's been stuck in my head ever since. The song is Wondering and is performed on the album by Emmylou Harris. I've been aware of her as well, but I never really paid a lot of attention. I know I've heard her. I know I've enjoyed her, but I just didn't bother doing anything about.
Then the album was there at the library, and then it was in the cd player of the car as we drove away from the library. Then Wondering came on, Emmylou Harris singing in her voice that I can't even attempt to describe.
A quick search around the dusty corners of YouTube proved that I would not be able to share Emmylou Harris's version of the song, but I did so want to share her voice. So I present two videos, the first being Webb Pierce singing Wondering and the second is Emmylou Harris singing the song Making Believe, another song I love, written by Kitty Wells.
Caught in the Webb was one of our recent library finds, and as soon as I saw it I knew I was checking it out. Momma and I have both fallen in love with the album. The very first time I listened to I realized how many of Webb Pierce's songs I've known and how few of those songs I'd known he'd written.
One of the songs that jumped out from the very first listen is the song that's been stuck in my head ever since. The song is Wondering and is performed on the album by Emmylou Harris. I've been aware of her as well, but I never really paid a lot of attention. I know I've heard her. I know I've enjoyed her, but I just didn't bother doing anything about.
Then the album was there at the library, and then it was in the cd player of the car as we drove away from the library. Then Wondering came on, Emmylou Harris singing in her voice that I can't even attempt to describe.
A quick search around the dusty corners of YouTube proved that I would not be able to share Emmylou Harris's version of the song, but I did so want to share her voice. So I present two videos, the first being Webb Pierce singing Wondering and the second is Emmylou Harris singing the song Making Believe, another song I love, written by Kitty Wells.
Monday, June 30, 2008
if it was . . .
Sometimes I catch myself almost saying things to the kids that I would have no problem saying to any of my grown up friends but that are fairly inappropriate to say to children.
An example:
"I'm trying to find that Spiderman book that Momma used to decorate that cake," Big Brother said.
And the thing I would have said to a grown up friend but caught myself in time not to say to him:
"If it was up your butt you'd know."
An example:
"I'm trying to find that Spiderman book that Momma used to decorate that cake," Big Brother said.
And the thing I would have said to a grown up friend but caught myself in time not to say to him:
"If it was up your butt you'd know."
the fight
Okay, so it never actually ended up in a real fight, but the negativity swirling around between me and the guy we'll call Jim was at a level that no one could have missed. It wasn't something I wanted or looked for, and I completely failed several times to follow up on the request from Jim to, "Go ahead. Hit me."
I'm calling him Jim because, lately, this guy looks like fat, stoned and nearly dead Jim Morrison from the end of The Doors movie.
When I first met Jim he was dating a girl we'll call M. I had hired her at the pizza place I worked at the time, and she turned out to be one of the people I was most happy to have hired. She worked hard, learned fast, had a good enough attitude in general. While I don't currently see her very often she remains a friend and someone I'm always happy to run into. Jim not so much, but I've never disliked him so much. It's that he just tends to come across as a bit of a prick. They haven't actually dated or been a couple for a few years, and some of what I know he's done in terms of relationships with others tends to lower my opinion of him, though honestly the majority of it is none of my business. Sometimes people have a way of making their business become your business as you shall soon see.
Last night saw me attend a going away party for a friend who is all too soon leaving our fair city to move to the west coast. I arrived late to find that nearly everyone else was already well into the keg of beer. I'd had a few beers spread throughout the day, but I was in no way intoxicated as of the point when I arrived.
Jim and M talked throughout the night, and I could tell from the attitudes they displayed that it wasn't a pleasant sort of conversation. She would talk to him until he got annoying at which point she would try to move away. At some point, when the two of them were not talking, I was talking with M and a friend of hers who pointed out M's need to move to a different part of the house in an attempt to avoid Jim who was becoming increasingly belligerent.
The party was mainly in the back of the house and on the back deck, so I suggested that M and I go sit on the front porch. We took our beers and made our way outside to sit on the porch swing where we were having a fine time. She was a bit drunk, and I was on my way as we discussed the most random things. It wasn't long however until Jim again inserted himself into what should have been a fun and peaceful moment.
I could tell that M was in no mood or state to be left alone with Jim who was unwilling to leave her alone. She really needed to not have to deal with his shit, but she also still cares for him very much. I could also tell that my presence at this time was preferable to his, so I stayed in place, trying to allow Jim his space to talk while not allowing him to push me away or make M feel any worse than she did.
And that was really Jim's problem at this point that he was badgering M, trying to guilt her into agreeing with his point, quite likely trying to get her to come home with him. It wasn't going to happen, and I could tell just from M's body language that she was growing more and more upset. Jim was growing frustrated and angry especially when I pointed out how nice a time M and I had been having before he fumbled his way over. He of course tried to use this to further batter M with the suggestion that she obviously loved me more than him. He was acting quite disturbed by this point, especially when he grabbed my shirt in an attempt to forcibly remove me from the porch swing and the conversation he was failing to have.
I jumped quickly to my feet, removing his hands from me and shoving him away from me which only served, in Jim's mind, to prove his accusations. The conversation devolved quickly from that point, though Jim did walk away for the fewest of seconds. I was trying to make sure that M knew I would stay with her or walk away and let her talk to Jim as she wanted, when he came back around the corner in time to hear just enough of the conversation to know that he was the subject. That caused even more drama, though it did almost get rid of him. He had his backpack and actually made it to the street before turning back to once more plead in the most drunken and ridiculous manner for M to please do what he wanted and for me to please leave.
I wanted so bad at different points to just have it out, to hit him, to beat his ass, to fuck his whole world up, but I also am not the kind of person who generally feels that way. I don't fight. I don't want to be pushed to the point where I feel as if I'm being forced to fight, partly because I know precisely what sort of fighter I would be. The rage switch would flip on and someone, either me or him is anyone's guess, would be completely beaten senseless. I'm not saying this as a brag or to sound like some sort of bad ass, but of the few things I know about myself, the flipping the fuck out thing is one that secretly scares me sometimes.
The closest it actually came to a fight I had finally had enough of Jim's shit. We were back in the house, and everyone there, the people who'd been ignoring Jim's shit, were finally seeing it in its full shitty glory. I'd had enough and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and back him forcibly against a wall. I was in his face explaining angrily exactly why what he was doing made him a douche bag and telling him just how much he really did finally need to get his shit and fucking go. He just kept pointing to his face and asking me to hit him. I almost wanted to so much.
The not fight was quickly broken up as various people finally jumped in and pulled us apart. A friend of Jim's went with him as they left, and I followed them to the door, watching to be sure they actually left this time. They were actually nice enough, as they reached the street, to remind me that, in their opinion, I'm no more than a fucking faggot, and I had to point out how easy that was to say with the whole yard and the fence between them and me. They reiterated their opinion about me and continued to walk away.
Then I went in the bathroom and cried, but just a little.
And now I've got a whole new subject to brood and obsess over, at least for the day. My brain has to over think everything in order to process it, and that's where I've been stuck.
So, how's your day?
I'm calling him Jim because, lately, this guy looks like fat, stoned and nearly dead Jim Morrison from the end of The Doors movie.
When I first met Jim he was dating a girl we'll call M. I had hired her at the pizza place I worked at the time, and she turned out to be one of the people I was most happy to have hired. She worked hard, learned fast, had a good enough attitude in general. While I don't currently see her very often she remains a friend and someone I'm always happy to run into. Jim not so much, but I've never disliked him so much. It's that he just tends to come across as a bit of a prick. They haven't actually dated or been a couple for a few years, and some of what I know he's done in terms of relationships with others tends to lower my opinion of him, though honestly the majority of it is none of my business. Sometimes people have a way of making their business become your business as you shall soon see.
Last night saw me attend a going away party for a friend who is all too soon leaving our fair city to move to the west coast. I arrived late to find that nearly everyone else was already well into the keg of beer. I'd had a few beers spread throughout the day, but I was in no way intoxicated as of the point when I arrived.
Jim and M talked throughout the night, and I could tell from the attitudes they displayed that it wasn't a pleasant sort of conversation. She would talk to him until he got annoying at which point she would try to move away. At some point, when the two of them were not talking, I was talking with M and a friend of hers who pointed out M's need to move to a different part of the house in an attempt to avoid Jim who was becoming increasingly belligerent.
The party was mainly in the back of the house and on the back deck, so I suggested that M and I go sit on the front porch. We took our beers and made our way outside to sit on the porch swing where we were having a fine time. She was a bit drunk, and I was on my way as we discussed the most random things. It wasn't long however until Jim again inserted himself into what should have been a fun and peaceful moment.
I could tell that M was in no mood or state to be left alone with Jim who was unwilling to leave her alone. She really needed to not have to deal with his shit, but she also still cares for him very much. I could also tell that my presence at this time was preferable to his, so I stayed in place, trying to allow Jim his space to talk while not allowing him to push me away or make M feel any worse than she did.
And that was really Jim's problem at this point that he was badgering M, trying to guilt her into agreeing with his point, quite likely trying to get her to come home with him. It wasn't going to happen, and I could tell just from M's body language that she was growing more and more upset. Jim was growing frustrated and angry especially when I pointed out how nice a time M and I had been having before he fumbled his way over. He of course tried to use this to further batter M with the suggestion that she obviously loved me more than him. He was acting quite disturbed by this point, especially when he grabbed my shirt in an attempt to forcibly remove me from the porch swing and the conversation he was failing to have.
I jumped quickly to my feet, removing his hands from me and shoving him away from me which only served, in Jim's mind, to prove his accusations. The conversation devolved quickly from that point, though Jim did walk away for the fewest of seconds. I was trying to make sure that M knew I would stay with her or walk away and let her talk to Jim as she wanted, when he came back around the corner in time to hear just enough of the conversation to know that he was the subject. That caused even more drama, though it did almost get rid of him. He had his backpack and actually made it to the street before turning back to once more plead in the most drunken and ridiculous manner for M to please do what he wanted and for me to please leave.
I wanted so bad at different points to just have it out, to hit him, to beat his ass, to fuck his whole world up, but I also am not the kind of person who generally feels that way. I don't fight. I don't want to be pushed to the point where I feel as if I'm being forced to fight, partly because I know precisely what sort of fighter I would be. The rage switch would flip on and someone, either me or him is anyone's guess, would be completely beaten senseless. I'm not saying this as a brag or to sound like some sort of bad ass, but of the few things I know about myself, the flipping the fuck out thing is one that secretly scares me sometimes.
The closest it actually came to a fight I had finally had enough of Jim's shit. We were back in the house, and everyone there, the people who'd been ignoring Jim's shit, were finally seeing it in its full shitty glory. I'd had enough and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and back him forcibly against a wall. I was in his face explaining angrily exactly why what he was doing made him a douche bag and telling him just how much he really did finally need to get his shit and fucking go. He just kept pointing to his face and asking me to hit him. I almost wanted to so much.
The not fight was quickly broken up as various people finally jumped in and pulled us apart. A friend of Jim's went with him as they left, and I followed them to the door, watching to be sure they actually left this time. They were actually nice enough, as they reached the street, to remind me that, in their opinion, I'm no more than a fucking faggot, and I had to point out how easy that was to say with the whole yard and the fence between them and me. They reiterated their opinion about me and continued to walk away.
Then I went in the bathroom and cried, but just a little.
And now I've got a whole new subject to brood and obsess over, at least for the day. My brain has to over think everything in order to process it, and that's where I've been stuck.
So, how's your day?
Sunday, June 29, 2008
update=boring post fodder
Here's a bit of a post to prove I'm still alive. I'm stuck in the same rut as ever, go to work, come home, drink some beer, go to bed, go to work, come home, rinse, repeat.
I've been really restless lately, wanting to do . . . something . . . not sure what.
I did quite enjoy watching what I was able to of the Euro 2008 tournament. For anyone unfamiliar with European soccer, please google it and get your own idea of what happened over the past couple of weeks. Basically the national teams of the different countries in Europe all got together at some point in the last year or so and played to find out who would actually go on to the tournament. The final game was played today between Germany and Spain.
In general, because I have a bit of a crush on one of the German players I'd have maybe leaned slightly toward them as far as fandom goes, but today I was a huge Spain fan. They haven't won in something like forty to fifty years (have more hot players.) They were also assumed to be the underdog, and that always gets me. They were certainly no underdog, controlling the ball and the entire game in my opinion, and they walked away with a one to zero win.
Before that I got to watch DC United beat the ever loving shit out of LA, a team I will nearly always cheer against. I don't like Landon Donovan very much, though the episode of Cribs that he was on helped me dislike him slightly less. If he ever decidedes to use his skill for the US men's team then I might change my mind, but his ass turns puss in international games, and I'm tired of seeing that.
I'm having truck problems again. It decided a couple weeks after getting a new battery to just stop working. I discovered one problem was a worn out battery cable clamp and replaced that to learn that there is still something wrong. No amount of attempting to jump start it will help, so we're a one car family again.
Speaking of one car, the one car needs some tender loving maintainence. It's a tiny (lot) bit past due for an oil change which I keep insisting I'm going to do myself, and I will. The brakes are a little soft as I've still not found the time to bleed the brake lines, so we play chicken with our mortality every time we drive (though not really.)
Not sure if I mentioned it, but Momma has rejoined her roller derby sisters and is working hard to get back in shape, hoping to bout as soon as possible. She was sorely missed by both derby girls as well as fans, and her reappearance on the rink will be truly exciting.
I've really run out of anything I'm willing to talk about here. You've got an update out of me, and soon I hope to get back to some reasonable facsimile of my old blogging self. And that's all you get.
I've been really restless lately, wanting to do . . . something . . . not sure what.
I did quite enjoy watching what I was able to of the Euro 2008 tournament. For anyone unfamiliar with European soccer, please google it and get your own idea of what happened over the past couple of weeks. Basically the national teams of the different countries in Europe all got together at some point in the last year or so and played to find out who would actually go on to the tournament. The final game was played today between Germany and Spain.
In general, because I have a bit of a crush on one of the German players I'd have maybe leaned slightly toward them as far as fandom goes, but today I was a huge Spain fan. They haven't won in something like forty to fifty years (have more hot players.) They were also assumed to be the underdog, and that always gets me. They were certainly no underdog, controlling the ball and the entire game in my opinion, and they walked away with a one to zero win.
Before that I got to watch DC United beat the ever loving shit out of LA, a team I will nearly always cheer against. I don't like Landon Donovan very much, though the episode of Cribs that he was on helped me dislike him slightly less. If he ever decidedes to use his skill for the US men's team then I might change my mind, but his ass turns puss in international games, and I'm tired of seeing that.
I'm having truck problems again. It decided a couple weeks after getting a new battery to just stop working. I discovered one problem was a worn out battery cable clamp and replaced that to learn that there is still something wrong. No amount of attempting to jump start it will help, so we're a one car family again.
Speaking of one car, the one car needs some tender loving maintainence. It's a tiny (lot) bit past due for an oil change which I keep insisting I'm going to do myself, and I will. The brakes are a little soft as I've still not found the time to bleed the brake lines, so we play chicken with our mortality every time we drive (though not really.)
Not sure if I mentioned it, but Momma has rejoined her roller derby sisters and is working hard to get back in shape, hoping to bout as soon as possible. She was sorely missed by both derby girls as well as fans, and her reappearance on the rink will be truly exciting.
I've really run out of anything I'm willing to talk about here. You've got an update out of me, and soon I hope to get back to some reasonable facsimile of my old blogging self. And that's all you get.
Friday, June 27, 2008
is it secret? is it safe?
The scene, Big Brother and The Boy are playing The Lord of the Rings. I'm not sure which characters either are pretending to be, but what I do know is that there, on The Boy's finger rests the One Ring. You know, . . . one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. Yeah, that ring.
I don't question, and I don't nose around any more than is healthy. You'd have to have been living under a rock not to know of this ring and the power it has, not to know the true owner is ever watching for his ring. We won't mention that other fellow searching for his precious.
No, tonight is no night for worrying with that ring. I've got a chicken in the oven and a timer set. Fifteen minutes at 450 and up to an hour more at 350. I've got vegetables to cut and toss in halfway through. I've got sitting on my ass on the sofa to do.
I have a cigarette to smoke as soon as the chicken is in the oven, and The Boy is right there, light saber . . . err, I mean battle sword in hand.
"Do you still have the ring of power?" I ask, settling back in the plastic chair.
"No, I ate it," he answers.
Whew! It really was just a pretzel.
I don't question, and I don't nose around any more than is healthy. You'd have to have been living under a rock not to know of this ring and the power it has, not to know the true owner is ever watching for his ring. We won't mention that other fellow searching for his precious.
No, tonight is no night for worrying with that ring. I've got a chicken in the oven and a timer set. Fifteen minutes at 450 and up to an hour more at 350. I've got vegetables to cut and toss in halfway through. I've got sitting on my ass on the sofa to do.
I have a cigarette to smoke as soon as the chicken is in the oven, and The Boy is right there, light saber . . . err, I mean battle sword in hand.
"Do you still have the ring of power?" I ask, settling back in the plastic chair.
"No, I ate it," he answers.
Whew! It really was just a pretzel.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
mildly unamusing anecdote
Supper last night was polenta with a sausage and tomato sauce. To add a vegetable Momma stirred in a bag of spinach. All in all it was a very tasty meal, and both the boys ate their share. The Boy did pick his spinach out, and he did only eat a bit over half what we served him, but it was nice that he ate what he did. Big Brother, as usual, disliked nothing about the meal and got himself seconds.
Momma cooked most of the meal. While she was getting the sausage and tomato sauce working I started the polenta. Polenta is easy if a bit of work. We use a version of the Joy recipe, three cups of water on to boil, one cup of water mixed with one cup of corn meal stirred into the boiling water.
The alternative method would be to bring four cups water to a boil and slowly sprinkle in the dry corn meal stirring contstantly to prevent lumps. Lumps in polenta are not entirely impossible to get rid of, but they do became a rather large pain in the ass.
Either version works, but more important to keep in mind is to maintain the merest boil at the lowest heat reasonable. Polenta boils like nothing else I've cooked so far. Before it really has a chance to thicken it tends to boil hugely in that it bubbles big and may just shoot you in the arm with a blast of scalding corn meal. So get the heat turned down quick.
I stirred the polenta for a while then let Momma have a turn before taking it back over so that she could do other things. The polenta finished cooking enough for our taste and got a bit of salt, pepper and some parmesan cheese. A nice spoonful of the polenta topped by a lovely spoonful of sausage, tomato and spinach sauce and finished with a bit more parmesan all went into the bowl.
Momma prepared The Boy's bowl while I fixed a bowl for Big Brother at which point I did the thing. I caught myself wiping a bit of sauce drip off the side of the bowl, much as I would do at work, though not something I usually do at home. It was a mildly humorous moment, but I must admit the bowl of food was beautiful, and the kids deserve great service.
Momma cooked most of the meal. While she was getting the sausage and tomato sauce working I started the polenta. Polenta is easy if a bit of work. We use a version of the Joy recipe, three cups of water on to boil, one cup of water mixed with one cup of corn meal stirred into the boiling water.
The alternative method would be to bring four cups water to a boil and slowly sprinkle in the dry corn meal stirring contstantly to prevent lumps. Lumps in polenta are not entirely impossible to get rid of, but they do became a rather large pain in the ass.
Either version works, but more important to keep in mind is to maintain the merest boil at the lowest heat reasonable. Polenta boils like nothing else I've cooked so far. Before it really has a chance to thicken it tends to boil hugely in that it bubbles big and may just shoot you in the arm with a blast of scalding corn meal. So get the heat turned down quick.
I stirred the polenta for a while then let Momma have a turn before taking it back over so that she could do other things. The polenta finished cooking enough for our taste and got a bit of salt, pepper and some parmesan cheese. A nice spoonful of the polenta topped by a lovely spoonful of sausage, tomato and spinach sauce and finished with a bit more parmesan all went into the bowl.
Momma prepared The Boy's bowl while I fixed a bowl for Big Brother at which point I did the thing. I caught myself wiping a bit of sauce drip off the side of the bowl, much as I would do at work, though not something I usually do at home. It was a mildly humorous moment, but I must admit the bowl of food was beautiful, and the kids deserve great service.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
visiting the outlet
Any regular reader I have can attest to the steep decline in posts to this here blog. I think a lot of that has to do with some amount of gayness that I finally accepted. I've posted some of my thoughts recently, but somehow this never quite seemed the place to really be as open about things as I might have liked.
I easily accepted when the blog didn't become a homeschooling blog way back in the beginning, though I did orignally think that that was what I was doing. It was an amazing pile of homeshoolers who also blog that prompted me to begin blogging, and I loved it from the beginning. Time passed and things happened, but the blog mostly remained the same. I was getting into a groove that I quite liked.
Then some other things happened and the gayness, and suddenly I just didn't feel that the thing I'd built was the place to share. Only recently did I realize that I could just start a new blog. It's not that I don't want the gay to infect the desk full of clutter I never seem to clean, but I just never was comfortable sharing quite as much as I feel I need to write.
So I've begun a new blog. Because I am a gay full of clutter I've chosen that as the name for the new blog. It's all gay all the time. It's the dumping ground for the things that don't go here. It hopefully gives me the outlet I need for the gay so that the desk can once more become the bright shiny thing that captured your little eyes in the beginning.
So click over and add the feed or don't. I don't care. But if things work as planned I'll have two different outlets for the nonsense I try to pass off as thought. By giving vent to the gay I'll make room for the other stuff that I used to write about and amuse you with.
Just think, you could be moments away from me finally posting another rant about a commercial that pissed me off just now. And before you know it there will be another quote of the day. Shit, I might even find a music video that you won't watch.
I easily accepted when the blog didn't become a homeschooling blog way back in the beginning, though I did orignally think that that was what I was doing. It was an amazing pile of homeshoolers who also blog that prompted me to begin blogging, and I loved it from the beginning. Time passed and things happened, but the blog mostly remained the same. I was getting into a groove that I quite liked.
Then some other things happened and the gayness, and suddenly I just didn't feel that the thing I'd built was the place to share. Only recently did I realize that I could just start a new blog. It's not that I don't want the gay to infect the desk full of clutter I never seem to clean, but I just never was comfortable sharing quite as much as I feel I need to write.
So I've begun a new blog. Because I am a gay full of clutter I've chosen that as the name for the new blog. It's all gay all the time. It's the dumping ground for the things that don't go here. It hopefully gives me the outlet I need for the gay so that the desk can once more become the bright shiny thing that captured your little eyes in the beginning.
So click over and add the feed or don't. I don't care. But if things work as planned I'll have two different outlets for the nonsense I try to pass off as thought. By giving vent to the gay I'll make room for the other stuff that I used to write about and amuse you with.
Just think, you could be moments away from me finally posting another rant about a commercial that pissed me off just now. And before you know it there will be another quote of the day. Shit, I might even find a music video that you won't watch.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
mouth meet soap
Be warned now that at some point while reading this there is some fair amount of chance that you will read something that you can never unread. I'm not saying, you know, I'm just saying.
I really just want right now to share with you the the horrible thing I said today. It isn't the most horrible thing that I said today, a day filled, it seems, with me saying horrible things. The most horrible thing was an extremely horrid yet funny joke involving a minor shaking hands with a good friend for a long time. It finds less notoriety than the other horrible thing I said solely because of the volume at which each were said relative to time and place. The horrible joke was only told to a few people, and if you want to know, ask in the comments and I might share. The other horrible thing had more audience than I intended.
One of the servers who worked lunch today actually approached the window within a couple minutes of the horrible thing I said and pointed out that perhaps my voice carries farther than I realize. Sadly, my voice does in fact carry, and I've know this since getting in trouble during church youth groups type activities when I never failed to get caught saying whatever horrible thing I said.
As a bit of a side note, I decided to learn how to say, "Hago las cosas que hacen que grita el bebé Jesús," a thing that some may consider horrible, after a Mexican coworker asked me if I went to church. I'm sure the news has gotten to her, though I can't be certain, concerning my interest in the fairer(as far as I'm concerned) sex and that was my immediate response, but I only know the English, having waited till just now to go to Babel Fish and get it translated. I add this only as a blatant attempt to raise my horrible-things-said score.
As we re-approach the main story I have to introduce you to Gruff. He's typical kitchen if not a little more punk than most. Our families have a little something in common though a different parent turned out to be the gay in their situation, and their outcome was somewhat different. I love working the line with him because he's great to talk shit to. He's a regular kitchen type, perhaps a little more punk than most. We say some crazy/stupid shit to each other.
Basically I told Gruff that I was going to rip his head off and douche my ass with the blood that gushed out of his neck.
And we were both on the line directly in front of the window looking out onto the dining room.
And my voice carries farther than I sometimes remember. Or maybe I'm just not bright enough to figure it out.
I really just want right now to share with you the the horrible thing I said today. It isn't the most horrible thing that I said today, a day filled, it seems, with me saying horrible things. The most horrible thing was an extremely horrid yet funny joke involving a minor shaking hands with a good friend for a long time. It finds less notoriety than the other horrible thing I said solely because of the volume at which each were said relative to time and place. The horrible joke was only told to a few people, and if you want to know, ask in the comments and I might share. The other horrible thing had more audience than I intended.
One of the servers who worked lunch today actually approached the window within a couple minutes of the horrible thing I said and pointed out that perhaps my voice carries farther than I realize. Sadly, my voice does in fact carry, and I've know this since getting in trouble during church youth groups type activities when I never failed to get caught saying whatever horrible thing I said.
As a bit of a side note, I decided to learn how to say, "Hago las cosas que hacen que grita el bebé Jesús," a thing that some may consider horrible, after a Mexican coworker asked me if I went to church. I'm sure the news has gotten to her, though I can't be certain, concerning my interest in the fairer(as far as I'm concerned) sex and that was my immediate response, but I only know the English, having waited till just now to go to Babel Fish and get it translated. I add this only as a blatant attempt to raise my horrible-things-said score.
As we re-approach the main story I have to introduce you to Gruff. He's typical kitchen if not a little more punk than most. Our families have a little something in common though a different parent turned out to be the gay in their situation, and their outcome was somewhat different. I love working the line with him because he's great to talk shit to. He's a regular kitchen type, perhaps a little more punk than most. We say some crazy/stupid shit to each other.
Basically I told Gruff that I was going to rip his head off and douche my ass with the blood that gushed out of his neck.
And we were both on the line directly in front of the window looking out onto the dining room.
And my voice carries farther than I sometimes remember. Or maybe I'm just not bright enough to figure it out.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
wild abandon
Hat tip to Todd X at Iced Tea & Sarcasm for the following video. I'm a little jealous that he actually got to see this up close and personal as the closest I'll get will most likely involve the song Rocky Top and absolutely no dancing, or at least nothing that should be called such.
It's a must see, so without further ado, dancing with wild abandon to Bjork's It's Oh So Quiet in San Francisco's Union Square. And I really love the random people that dance past the camera.
And because I couldn't stand not to hear that song again in better quality I give you the video.
It's a must see, so without further ado, dancing with wild abandon to Bjork's It's Oh So Quiet in San Francisco's Union Square. And I really love the random people that dance past the camera.
And because I couldn't stand not to hear that song again in better quality I give you the video.
should've just shut his ass up
Of the widgets on my Google homepage, a couple are news feeds about soccer. I get the little headlines about international soccer and sometimes a tidbit about our own Major League Soccer. I rarely actually click on any of them, only skimming the headlines often enough to know when they change.
HERE is a story I did click on, and I'm curious as to what people think about it. A fan captured on video another fan yelling a racial slur at a player who had just scored. The filming fan posted the video on YouTube, and the racial slur somehow got the attention of MLS. They claim that the racist fan will be barred for life from all league games as soon as they can learn his identity.
Racism has no place in sports (or anywhere else for what it's worth) and it's especially ugly in a sport that can be argued to have brought more of the world's people together than anything else.
So, is a lifetime ban taking away the rights of the fans to express themselves, or is it completely justifiable in the attempt to stamp out the ugliness of racism?
P.S. Maybe soon we'll see more people willing to stand up against homophobia in sports as well as players finally start to come out and admit they are gay.
HERE is a story I did click on, and I'm curious as to what people think about it. A fan captured on video another fan yelling a racial slur at a player who had just scored. The filming fan posted the video on YouTube, and the racial slur somehow got the attention of MLS. They claim that the racist fan will be barred for life from all league games as soon as they can learn his identity.
Racism has no place in sports (or anywhere else for what it's worth) and it's especially ugly in a sport that can be argued to have brought more of the world's people together than anything else.
So, is a lifetime ban taking away the rights of the fans to express themselves, or is it completely justifiable in the attempt to stamp out the ugliness of racism?
P.S. Maybe soon we'll see more people willing to stand up against homophobia in sports as well as players finally start to come out and admit they are gay.
because you need to know
Hard Knox Roller Girls site is finally up and looks for real awesome. Go visit, check out all the cool things, buy some merchandise and most importantly, check out the schedule and start making plans to attend each and every bout. It's really the least you can do.
And because you need to know, someone is back. Momma attended practice last Wednesday and is so back that the derby world felt a bit of a tremor and still doesn't know if it was an earthquake or the return of one amazing jammer.
And because you need to know, someone is back. Momma attended practice last Wednesday and is so back that the derby world felt a bit of a tremor and still doesn't know if it was an earthquake or the return of one amazing jammer.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
thirty seconds for your candidate
There's no way I can do this in thirty seconds, partly because I don't get anything said in thirty seconds, partly because I have to be contrary. It's who I am.
I'm getting to the Thinking Parents question a little early this time around, and I'm a little curious as to who actually decided that this time around we are to write a thirty second pitch for our presidential candidate of choice.
My candidate of choice, Mike Gravel, is running as an independent and will obviously not become president. However, of all the candidates, I feel that he speaks more to the larger variety of issues that concern me, and I feel that his ideas are what we need to really turn our country from the direction we are headed currently. I don't see either of the two likelier nominees as distancing themselves nearly enough from the status quo other than to lean it slightly more toward the progressive ideals that I have. Of course why ideals such as equality for all people should seem progressive as opposed to overdue is beyond me.
As for Hillary versus Barack, I still lean toward Hillary. I can't help myself. I like her stance on gay issues and on health care a fraction more than his, and I feel that she's gotten shit on by the media throughout the race. I don't dislike Obama. I just like Hillary more. I'm sure I'll end up voting for him in the end.
I really wish people would take more chances early on in the process. I wish more that the media didn't get to decide for us who our final choices are going to be. I wish Clinton's and Obama's supporters had been less shitty to each other, and I wish the candidates would both have kept the voters in mind, had given thought (rather than paid lip service) to the idea of uniting the country around the ideals that Democrats are supposed to believe in. I wish that, for once in my life, as I say every four years, I was given options that made me want to vote.
So, Gravel for president in a better world, likely Obama in the reality that I have.
I'm getting to the Thinking Parents question a little early this time around, and I'm a little curious as to who actually decided that this time around we are to write a thirty second pitch for our presidential candidate of choice.
My candidate of choice, Mike Gravel, is running as an independent and will obviously not become president. However, of all the candidates, I feel that he speaks more to the larger variety of issues that concern me, and I feel that his ideas are what we need to really turn our country from the direction we are headed currently. I don't see either of the two likelier nominees as distancing themselves nearly enough from the status quo other than to lean it slightly more toward the progressive ideals that I have. Of course why ideals such as equality for all people should seem progressive as opposed to overdue is beyond me.
As for Hillary versus Barack, I still lean toward Hillary. I can't help myself. I like her stance on gay issues and on health care a fraction more than his, and I feel that she's gotten shit on by the media throughout the race. I don't dislike Obama. I just like Hillary more. I'm sure I'll end up voting for him in the end.
I really wish people would take more chances early on in the process. I wish more that the media didn't get to decide for us who our final choices are going to be. I wish Clinton's and Obama's supporters had been less shitty to each other, and I wish the candidates would both have kept the voters in mind, had given thought (rather than paid lip service) to the idea of uniting the country around the ideals that Democrats are supposed to believe in. I wish that, for once in my life, as I say every four years, I was given options that made me want to vote.
So, Gravel for president in a better world, likely Obama in the reality that I have.
Monday, June 02, 2008
my mouth on t.v.
As mentioned, Hard Knox Roller Girls played a bout this past Saturday night. Unbeknownst to me, we had some fine folks from one of our local channel's news, and they featured roller derby where it belongs, with the rest of the sports.
Follow THIS LINK to see WATE feature barely any of me, just a little mouth in the beginning. You'll also see Momma and a friend cheering on our girls, Momma in the light green shirt matching our girls' Goblynn Green theme.
Also of note in the video, Tank Her A knocking down a jammer and Drop Dead Gorgeous easing effortlessly through the pack.
Also worth mentioning, look for more derby to make a comeback in the blog as Momma plans her own comeback to derby. Hard Knox is getting the Skull back! HIP! HIP! Fuck Yeah! HIP! HIP! Fuck Yeah!
Follow THIS LINK to see WATE feature barely any of me, just a little mouth in the beginning. You'll also see Momma and a friend cheering on our girls, Momma in the light green shirt matching our girls' Goblynn Green theme.
Also of note in the video, Tank Her A knocking down a jammer and Drop Dead Gorgeous easing effortlessly through the pack.
Also worth mentioning, look for more derby to make a comeback in the blog as Momma plans her own comeback to derby. Hard Knox is getting the Skull back! HIP! HIP! Fuck Yeah! HIP! HIP! Fuck Yeah!
irksome ads makes a return
Easily one of the worst things I've ever seen in a commercial and a perfect example of why I so loathe commercials and advertising.
The ad is for Dixie Ultra paper plates. Sorry, but I can't bother to link. Look and see if your computer machine has Google and use that if you must know.
"I deserve a paper plate that's as strong as I am," she says in some sort of backward feminist home maker rhetoric that serves more to devalue her as a woman as opposed to something or other. I don't know exactly why it bothers me in the whole women-as-equals thing, but I'm sure it's there.
On top of that, the whole idea of being deserving of a paper plate of any caliber just doesn't seem to be anywhere close to widest narrow part of the hierarchy of needs.
Seriously? Paper plates as need? You just failed at life.
The ad is for Dixie Ultra paper plates. Sorry, but I can't bother to link. Look and see if your computer machine has Google and use that if you must know.
"I deserve a paper plate that's as strong as I am," she says in some sort of backward feminist home maker rhetoric that serves more to devalue her as a woman as opposed to something or other. I don't know exactly why it bothers me in the whole women-as-equals thing, but I'm sure it's there.
On top of that, the whole idea of being deserving of a paper plate of any caliber just doesn't seem to be anywhere close to widest narrow part of the hierarchy of needs.
Seriously? Paper plates as need? You just failed at life.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
pissing people off . . . again
As seems to happen often enough, I pissed off at least three different people last night, though to their credit, two of them apologized for what was clearly their problem and not my own.
I'm not getting into too many specifics, but last night saw me behind the microphone once again announcing what was one hell of a roller derby bout. Though unable to gain the lead our much loved Hard Knox Roller Girls played amazingly.
So on to the pissing people off.
Apparently plenty of people seem to think I do a good job as announcer. I, in my typical pessimistic and cynical and self deprecating sort of way assume that they mean to say I do a good enough job or that I'm okay till they find someone at least as competent as me. It's this sort of thing I do where I have trouble having nice thoughts about myself and my abilities, but that's been covered often enough throughout the recent postings.
I've long had a problem with the reffing in roller derby bouts. I don't want to be the sour grapes guy and suggest anything other than that too many refs just don't seem to quite get the rules, and in any sport, if you give the athletes too much space, there will always be some that jump at the chance to take any advantage they can.
Many penalties were missed last night, and many attempts at rule breaking were missed. If you see someone attempt a trip but not succeed do you still punish the attempt? Is a baseball slide into someone's ankles as bad as trying but failing to baseball slide into someone's ankles?
Over the time I've been announcing for HKRG I've gotten more comfortable with what I'm doing, and sometimes I see things that the refs apparently missed, like the cheap shot into the back while the skater getting hit was already out of bounds. Yeah, the ref completely missed two fouls at once, but I didn't, and I told our fans about it.
Part of announcing for me is to inform the fans as much as possible about roller derby. It is new to so many of them, and if you are not familiar with the sport you may well see it as a huge nearly free for all of speed and skates and cute girls and hits. But it's my job to set you straight, to let you know that it is a sport, that there are rules, that regardless of what the refs do we can inform ourselves of the rules and demand better.
Two different refs and one of the opposing skaters, at different times, demanded that I stop calling penalties. I informed the refs that I was just doing my job of announcing and went so far as to tell one of the refs that if they weren't going to call the fouls then not to get mad at me when I did. I'm personally sick of seeing derby being degraded by teams/skaters flaunting the rules and making it unfair and unsafe.
The third person to demand I halt my calls was the skater from the other team. The irony of this is that she was in the penalty box when she shouted at me. My answer was quite simple. I told her that if she wanted me to stop calling fouls then maybe she should stop committing them. She was one of the three to apologize after the bout was finally over. We hugged and commiserated and had some laughs together at the after party. She's an amazing skater and one of her team's best, so it really sucks that she can't manage to stay within twenty feet of the pack.
And that's my story. I roll through life in a pissing-people-off sort of way. Or so it seems. Maybe that's part of me coming off as an asshole. Maybe I'll look into that one day.
or not
I'm not getting into too many specifics, but last night saw me behind the microphone once again announcing what was one hell of a roller derby bout. Though unable to gain the lead our much loved Hard Knox Roller Girls played amazingly.
So on to the pissing people off.
Apparently plenty of people seem to think I do a good job as announcer. I, in my typical pessimistic and cynical and self deprecating sort of way assume that they mean to say I do a good enough job or that I'm okay till they find someone at least as competent as me. It's this sort of thing I do where I have trouble having nice thoughts about myself and my abilities, but that's been covered often enough throughout the recent postings.
I've long had a problem with the reffing in roller derby bouts. I don't want to be the sour grapes guy and suggest anything other than that too many refs just don't seem to quite get the rules, and in any sport, if you give the athletes too much space, there will always be some that jump at the chance to take any advantage they can.
Many penalties were missed last night, and many attempts at rule breaking were missed. If you see someone attempt a trip but not succeed do you still punish the attempt? Is a baseball slide into someone's ankles as bad as trying but failing to baseball slide into someone's ankles?
Over the time I've been announcing for HKRG I've gotten more comfortable with what I'm doing, and sometimes I see things that the refs apparently missed, like the cheap shot into the back while the skater getting hit was already out of bounds. Yeah, the ref completely missed two fouls at once, but I didn't, and I told our fans about it.
Part of announcing for me is to inform the fans as much as possible about roller derby. It is new to so many of them, and if you are not familiar with the sport you may well see it as a huge nearly free for all of speed and skates and cute girls and hits. But it's my job to set you straight, to let you know that it is a sport, that there are rules, that regardless of what the refs do we can inform ourselves of the rules and demand better.
Two different refs and one of the opposing skaters, at different times, demanded that I stop calling penalties. I informed the refs that I was just doing my job of announcing and went so far as to tell one of the refs that if they weren't going to call the fouls then not to get mad at me when I did. I'm personally sick of seeing derby being degraded by teams/skaters flaunting the rules and making it unfair and unsafe.
The third person to demand I halt my calls was the skater from the other team. The irony of this is that she was in the penalty box when she shouted at me. My answer was quite simple. I told her that if she wanted me to stop calling fouls then maybe she should stop committing them. She was one of the three to apologize after the bout was finally over. We hugged and commiserated and had some laughs together at the after party. She's an amazing skater and one of her team's best, so it really sucks that she can't manage to stay within twenty feet of the pack.
And that's my story. I roll through life in a pissing-people-off sort of way. Or so it seems. Maybe that's part of me coming off as an asshole. Maybe I'll look into that one day.
or not
Saturday, May 31, 2008
birfday greetin'
Happy birthday to one of my favorite blogs, Ugly Sheet Cake. The name pretty much says it all. If you love getting to see some truly ugly cakes and the occasional less ugly cake, then pay Collidah a visit.
Friday, May 30, 2008
without children
The newest topic for the Thinking Parents wiki asks what we would be doing if we'd not had kids. I hadn't really considered one aspect that I've only seen with Doc and Molly, and it was the latter who mentioned it, but I add myself to those that didn't necessarily intend to have kids before doing so.
Okay, admitting right now that I attempted a couple times last night to write this post and didn't quite like the direction it turned any of those times. I'm trying yet again, and we'll wait to see how this one turns out. It's partly the entrance of personal history that I didn't really consider when considering how to approach this topic..
What would I be doing if I didn't have kids? Where would I be?
I can't imagine where I'd have ended up living. Hailing from Atlanta, I moved to Charlotte in the mid '90's, happily and often loudly proclaiming myself bisexual, though I really did know better. I'm somewhat certain that, considering Big Brother's approaching arrival prompted our move to Knoxville, I'd not have moved here, though I'm equally certain I'd have moved or at least attempted to leave Charlotte.
There was a summer, my first in Charlotte, of sort of breaking away from the old person I'd been, though I can't claim I did a great job of that. We could also accurately call it the summer that I began drinking in earnest and sold enough acid to pay for the acid I ate or shared with friends. I spent days at a time tripping wherever I was. I dropped alone and even dropped alone when I had other things to do. I was high at work. I tripped so often that summer that people often didn't know whether or not I was on any given day.
I met Momma at this time. There was no interest between either of us, in fact quite the opposite. We both eventually went through a bit of trouble separately, and life pulled me in new directions and pulled us closer to each other. I had no concept of future and certainly no concern. In fact, her becoming pregnant was what really pushed me to a point where I was finally thinking about things outside of how high or drunk I was or was soon going to become.
I'd likely still be in kitchens as far as work goes. I'd be drinking a lot. I'd probably be a fairly slutty person but in a totally good way. If possible, I can see myself even more cynical than I find myself now.
I can't honestly say that any scenario is certainly what would have occured. I can imagine lots of things as well as give a best case scenario. I'd probably be a bit more of the punk I was. I'd have come out much sooner. I'd be that anomaly, the gay punk, as opposed to the married with kids gay I became instead. Perhaps I'd have controlled my drug/drink intake and have climbed a corporate ladder at any of the chain restaurants I worked around the time, though one must admit that drug/drink control will likely never be a trait featured by most of us in the business.
Okay, admitting right now that I attempted a couple times last night to write this post and didn't quite like the direction it turned any of those times. I'm trying yet again, and we'll wait to see how this one turns out. It's partly the entrance of personal history that I didn't really consider when considering how to approach this topic..
What would I be doing if I didn't have kids? Where would I be?
I can't imagine where I'd have ended up living. Hailing from Atlanta, I moved to Charlotte in the mid '90's, happily and often loudly proclaiming myself bisexual, though I really did know better. I'm somewhat certain that, considering Big Brother's approaching arrival prompted our move to Knoxville, I'd not have moved here, though I'm equally certain I'd have moved or at least attempted to leave Charlotte.
There was a summer, my first in Charlotte, of sort of breaking away from the old person I'd been, though I can't claim I did a great job of that. We could also accurately call it the summer that I began drinking in earnest and sold enough acid to pay for the acid I ate or shared with friends. I spent days at a time tripping wherever I was. I dropped alone and even dropped alone when I had other things to do. I was high at work. I tripped so often that summer that people often didn't know whether or not I was on any given day.
I met Momma at this time. There was no interest between either of us, in fact quite the opposite. We both eventually went through a bit of trouble separately, and life pulled me in new directions and pulled us closer to each other. I had no concept of future and certainly no concern. In fact, her becoming pregnant was what really pushed me to a point where I was finally thinking about things outside of how high or drunk I was or was soon going to become.
I'd likely still be in kitchens as far as work goes. I'd be drinking a lot. I'd probably be a fairly slutty person but in a totally good way. If possible, I can see myself even more cynical than I find myself now.
I can't honestly say that any scenario is certainly what would have occured. I can imagine lots of things as well as give a best case scenario. I'd probably be a bit more of the punk I was. I'd have come out much sooner. I'd be that anomaly, the gay punk, as opposed to the married with kids gay I became instead. Perhaps I'd have controlled my drug/drink intake and have climbed a corporate ladder at any of the chain restaurants I worked around the time, though one must admit that drug/drink control will likely never be a trait featured by most of us in the business.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
yesterday
Yesterday's day at work actually began the night before. I was one of the closers Tuesday night and pretty much ended my night taking out the trash.
I could hear a lovely sloshing sound at the bottom of the first can, so after I hefted the tied at the top garbage bag out I flipped the can over, upside down. I repeated this operation with the four remaining trash cans, leaving them in a row, half on the concrete slab behind the gpub and half off in the gravel next to the concrete.
I opened the next day, and after the owner, I was the first person in. My first job of course was to go and fetch those same four trash cans, line them and place them around the kitchen. The previous night ended weatherwise with a bang, showers and downpours leaving our town damp and my place of employment a muddy mess, at least in the back where I'd left my trash cans.
Each of the trash cans had picked up their share of mud and funk in the little turned edge at the top. I flipped each can upright and dragged them into the dish area. My idea was to quickly spray off the mess, but my plan wasn't quite what I ended up with.
The first couple of cans were easy enough if a bit unweildy. I think it was the third can that was the worst. Wrestling it into submission I lost control for a moment. It flipped upward to where the rack is that holds racks for dirty glasses. I knocked one off, an extra large one that is tall enough to hold our unusually tall wine glasses.
I think we lost four wine glasses, another miraculously not breaking as it landed. The glass rack itself bounced off my hand. In addition to the mud and gravel I knew I needed to clean I now had a mass of broken glass. Conscience dictates, or should, that one insure they've cleaned up all broken glass when one has an accident involving glass. I picked up the biggest pieces and squeegeed the remaining contents of the entire table into the trash can.
Adding insult to injury, my attempt to do right also resulted in a huge muddy trail running from the door to the dish area. Someone else was nice enough to clean that mess while I was busy cleaning glass and wondering how hurt my hand really was.
At some point later in the day two coworkers had a bit of a tiff over space issues. We really don't have a lot of room for prep, but when we work together (and certain of us can stop being pricks) it all works. Today, these two people just would not even bother.
At one point, the bitchiness involved one person banging dishes and foodstuffs around in anger. This brought the other to the tipping point as he began his own stomping and banging and bitching declaring that everything the other person was doing was, and I quote, "faggot ass shit."
I tried to ignore this and did for an hour or so, sort of, but the general shittiness of him saying such, with me standing right there a foot away, I was taken aback at the time. Beyond that, his anger was not worth inserting myself in the middle of. So I tried to forget it and put my head down and work. I do too much of that. Also, while he was bitching I somehow managed to accidentally bang my head on the corner of the wall.
Coworker finally realized that something was bothering me and asked. I asked him, considering the situation, what about it was exactly faggot ass shit? He didn't quite get it, so I reminded him what he'd said.
He laughed for a moment and tried to assure me that he hadn't been talking about me. I told him that I knew for a fact that he hadn't been talking about me, that I knew exactly what he was discussing at the time and asked again what it was about the situation that was faggot ass shit. He again tried to assure me that he hadn't meant me, but I had to make him understand my point.
I'll take a moment and provide the knowledge that this particular coworker is black. We have another black employee that was working at the moment, and adding to the nonwhite kitchen population we'll include the three Mexican coworkers.
"Look around the kitchen," I told him. "Do you see anyone here about whom I could think of words to use that, though I may not mean that person would still upset them?"
I'm pretty sure he understood what I meant. He ended the conversation basically laughing at himself for what he'd done.
The rest of the shift was uneventful.
I left work around three. Momma let me know when I got home what she'd done supper wise which included having almost everything ready for me to cook. I debated with myself whether to cook before or after my shower that I desparately needed. The decision, a surprise, was made for me as I washed the press pot and my cup for some coffee. The water was obviously not right, not hot enough and not staying hot.
I knew immediately it had been the previous night's rain. My basement had flooded because, most likely, the pump had gotten clogged, and the water heater's pilot had been extinguished. This was in fact the case, and while it was soon remedied as far as getting the pump working, I still had to wait, listening for the pump, making sure it kept working, staying ready to go back into the basement and tilt it or stir up the muck.
The boys got healthy enough snacks as I watched the clock. I needed to be somewhere, preferrably around sixish. I arrived at seven, insisting first on a shower once the water was hot enough.
The appointment was at the new venue for bouts for our derby bouts. We have a bout Saturday, and last night was last minute sort of dry run/practice so our girls would have as early a heads up as possible about the quality of the floor.
It turned out I didn't need to go in the end. It was good to see everyone again, as we don't see the derby girls often at all since Momma dropped it. Plenty of kids were there, even a couple that we don't know. As usual the boys immediately made friends with the kids and played well all night.
So the night didn't end as poorly as the majority of the day would have one think it must. And what seems especially sad as I consider it, this doesn't even seem like a bad day at all considering some of the asshole days I've had lately. It was full of annoyances and the smashed hand from the glass rack, but it wasn't (or was it?) as bad as it seemed at the time.
I could hear a lovely sloshing sound at the bottom of the first can, so after I hefted the tied at the top garbage bag out I flipped the can over, upside down. I repeated this operation with the four remaining trash cans, leaving them in a row, half on the concrete slab behind the gpub and half off in the gravel next to the concrete.
I opened the next day, and after the owner, I was the first person in. My first job of course was to go and fetch those same four trash cans, line them and place them around the kitchen. The previous night ended weatherwise with a bang, showers and downpours leaving our town damp and my place of employment a muddy mess, at least in the back where I'd left my trash cans.
Each of the trash cans had picked up their share of mud and funk in the little turned edge at the top. I flipped each can upright and dragged them into the dish area. My idea was to quickly spray off the mess, but my plan wasn't quite what I ended up with.
The first couple of cans were easy enough if a bit unweildy. I think it was the third can that was the worst. Wrestling it into submission I lost control for a moment. It flipped upward to where the rack is that holds racks for dirty glasses. I knocked one off, an extra large one that is tall enough to hold our unusually tall wine glasses.
I think we lost four wine glasses, another miraculously not breaking as it landed. The glass rack itself bounced off my hand. In addition to the mud and gravel I knew I needed to clean I now had a mass of broken glass. Conscience dictates, or should, that one insure they've cleaned up all broken glass when one has an accident involving glass. I picked up the biggest pieces and squeegeed the remaining contents of the entire table into the trash can.
Adding insult to injury, my attempt to do right also resulted in a huge muddy trail running from the door to the dish area. Someone else was nice enough to clean that mess while I was busy cleaning glass and wondering how hurt my hand really was.
At some point later in the day two coworkers had a bit of a tiff over space issues. We really don't have a lot of room for prep, but when we work together (and certain of us can stop being pricks) it all works. Today, these two people just would not even bother.
At one point, the bitchiness involved one person banging dishes and foodstuffs around in anger. This brought the other to the tipping point as he began his own stomping and banging and bitching declaring that everything the other person was doing was, and I quote, "faggot ass shit."
I tried to ignore this and did for an hour or so, sort of, but the general shittiness of him saying such, with me standing right there a foot away, I was taken aback at the time. Beyond that, his anger was not worth inserting myself in the middle of. So I tried to forget it and put my head down and work. I do too much of that. Also, while he was bitching I somehow managed to accidentally bang my head on the corner of the wall.
Coworker finally realized that something was bothering me and asked. I asked him, considering the situation, what about it was exactly faggot ass shit? He didn't quite get it, so I reminded him what he'd said.
He laughed for a moment and tried to assure me that he hadn't been talking about me. I told him that I knew for a fact that he hadn't been talking about me, that I knew exactly what he was discussing at the time and asked again what it was about the situation that was faggot ass shit. He again tried to assure me that he hadn't meant me, but I had to make him understand my point.
I'll take a moment and provide the knowledge that this particular coworker is black. We have another black employee that was working at the moment, and adding to the nonwhite kitchen population we'll include the three Mexican coworkers.
"Look around the kitchen," I told him. "Do you see anyone here about whom I could think of words to use that, though I may not mean that person would still upset them?"
I'm pretty sure he understood what I meant. He ended the conversation basically laughing at himself for what he'd done.
The rest of the shift was uneventful.
I left work around three. Momma let me know when I got home what she'd done supper wise which included having almost everything ready for me to cook. I debated with myself whether to cook before or after my shower that I desparately needed. The decision, a surprise, was made for me as I washed the press pot and my cup for some coffee. The water was obviously not right, not hot enough and not staying hot.
I knew immediately it had been the previous night's rain. My basement had flooded because, most likely, the pump had gotten clogged, and the water heater's pilot had been extinguished. This was in fact the case, and while it was soon remedied as far as getting the pump working, I still had to wait, listening for the pump, making sure it kept working, staying ready to go back into the basement and tilt it or stir up the muck.
The boys got healthy enough snacks as I watched the clock. I needed to be somewhere, preferrably around sixish. I arrived at seven, insisting first on a shower once the water was hot enough.
The appointment was at the new venue for bouts for our derby bouts. We have a bout Saturday, and last night was last minute sort of dry run/practice so our girls would have as early a heads up as possible about the quality of the floor.
It turned out I didn't need to go in the end. It was good to see everyone again, as we don't see the derby girls often at all since Momma dropped it. Plenty of kids were there, even a couple that we don't know. As usual the boys immediately made friends with the kids and played well all night.
So the night didn't end as poorly as the majority of the day would have one think it must. And what seems especially sad as I consider it, this doesn't even seem like a bad day at all considering some of the asshole days I've had lately. It was full of annoyances and the smashed hand from the glass rack, but it wasn't (or was it?) as bad as it seemed at the time.
Monday, May 26, 2008
not entirely gone from blogville
In a comment to a recent post Molly of Red Molly's Picayune Democrat blog asked about my well being. I knew it had been a while since I'd posted, but I looked today to see that it's been a bit over two weeks since my last post, and it was a sort of weekend update.
I will say up front that I can't be in too bad a shape. I manage to wake up everyday, go to work, feed the kids. I do what I have to do, but I can't say that I'm in especially great shape either. Too many things just seem pointless too many days of too many weeks.
Throughout my life I've run up against any number of questions. I'm good at questions, but all too often I just can't figure out answers that seem to make any sense. Maybe one day soon I'll post a list of all the stupid questions that keep me flummoxed.
I'm just generally in a place where I feel very depressed and very discouraged, and that makes it difficult to want to post. I don't want to end up posting the same whiny drivel over and over. I don't want to keep wallowing in my bad feelings. I do want to find my way out of ending up here again.
And that's where I am. I keep wanting to post more, but life doesn't make it easy. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon as far as blogging goes, but there will sometimes be dead air when you tune in.
I will say up front that I can't be in too bad a shape. I manage to wake up everyday, go to work, feed the kids. I do what I have to do, but I can't say that I'm in especially great shape either. Too many things just seem pointless too many days of too many weeks.
Throughout my life I've run up against any number of questions. I'm good at questions, but all too often I just can't figure out answers that seem to make any sense. Maybe one day soon I'll post a list of all the stupid questions that keep me flummoxed.
I'm just generally in a place where I feel very depressed and very discouraged, and that makes it difficult to want to post. I don't want to end up posting the same whiny drivel over and over. I don't want to keep wallowing in my bad feelings. I do want to find my way out of ending up here again.
And that's where I am. I keep wanting to post more, but life doesn't make it easy. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon as far as blogging goes, but there will sometimes be dead air when you tune in.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)