Here's a shot of what made me take an emergency half day off -- the collected waters that spilled down into my basement abode.
With the persistent rain of the last few weeks, the water table is just high enough that this big puddle shoved everything down until water was literally -- yes, literally-- squirting out of my cellar stairs. Big ass fun. Not the worst flood I've ever had in a basement (and this makes three floods in three houses), but a pain in the ass none-the-less.
And by desk, I mean the door that I use as a desk that its on top of two 2-draw filing cabinets, plus the pulled out file drawer I stack stuff on, plus the "clutter column" on the other side that also stack stuff on....
Box of tissues ("Pure Softness")
Five remote controls (for tv, Bose radio, VCR, network video chat camera that hasn't been used in two years, DirecTV tuner
Picture of me and the wife on our wedding day
Cable modem
Homemade lip balm and skin cream (made by wife)
Tin cup I got for high school graduation, filled with all the shopping cards I can't bring myself to throw away, like for supermarkets that don't exist in this state.
Wireless Microsoft keyboard and mouse
Linksys wired mouse (for backup)
A six inch high stack of all the business cards I have ever had in my professional life.
One inch stack of cards from others that I never reference.
Picture of me and Joe at a Ziff-Davis picnic circa 1997.
Oral-b Satin dental floss
Two VISA cards (one from Yahoo that I'm canceling because their points system sucks; the other branded with Amazon.com because they have better points for merchandise).
An APS UPS.
Oxo-brand flyswatter
Two Viewsonic VG700b LCD 17-inch monitors
All my CBLDF membership cards from over the years.
Base for my Panasonic Multi-talk phone (to be replaced this year)
Canned air
Map of Steuben County
One thousand cables. Or damn close.
Half a cup of pens. Literally, the cup is cut in half for some eBay promotion called "A Better Half"
Swearing is an integral part of my daily speech and I believe it is an integral part of most other people's as well. There are many people I've met who claim they don't swear and then they offer to drive you somewhere and fifteen seconds later this person is a cunt, that person is a bitch, that other person is a cocksucker, and that guy driving that bus is a fucking cocksucking cunt bitch. They apologize, act shameful and then call a couple kids jaywalking buttfuckers and, well, the cycle continues. Heck, even our President swore this week -- he said "shit" -- and we all know that he's the right hand to Jesus, a chief executive officer of the Illuminati and all around proper guy (apart from the war mongering, the coke, the alcohol, the fact that he still can't commit to global warming despite the fact that it was 126 here the other day). Swearing is simply a part of language and always has been.
It's 1:22am. I should be in bed. But I just now all but finished the second draft of my action-packed debut novel and felt the need to crow.
I still have some little stray things to go in and fix:
1) have to write a couple of spells. I think one involves fish. 2) have to get rid of the attacking tree. Any suggestions on a replacement? I'm thinking trolls.... 3) need to clean up the bit about the jumper-cables on the PDA. 4) need to establish the whole lion-tamer costume gag a little better. Establishing it at all, would be nice
But otherwise, hell, I'm done. As if the word "finished" can ever truly apply to such a thing.
My wife wanted me to blog about the movie we saw tonight, An Inconvenient Truth, which is as much a documentary about Al Gore as it is just a PowerPoint presentation. That sounds bad, but it's not, actually. He would have made a great God damn president. As much fun to pick on as the current retard in office, but probably with some decent policies.
My wife, who I adore, and who I call An Inconvenient Squanto, drank the Kool-aid of this film with extra sugar -- she'll be yelling at me for the next few months about every light I leave on -- but it's hard to blame her. Gore actually uses these things called "statistics" and "science" to get his point across. Remember those? I thought having "scientific proof" went out the door a long while ago (about 2000, I think). I mean, everyone knows just by looking at it that a banana proves the existence of a truly creative God, right? He wouldn't smite us.
Though come to think of it, sneaking up on us to smite us with global warming is pretty creative. Way to go, God!
Anyway, the point is, we've got a hybrid car, so Al Gore likes us best.
Wait, no, the point is, it actually isn't too late. Depressing as the film is -- and Christ on a crutch, is it ever (and that's not a dis, since that's the whole point: depression as motivation) -- it actually points out that something can be done. Remember the hole in the ozone layer? We fixed that. I had no idea, I just assumed we'd all gotten used to it. But eliminated PCBs fixed it. (No one ever reports the good news.)
If you don't believe in global warming, well... get your head out of your ass, look around, turn off some lights anyway, and go eat a banana.
2. What don't you write about? Anything considered a no-no in your book?
It's all about me and my daily crap. (Not literally, but perhaps that would be a better topic -- scientific exploration of size, frequency, volume, etc. of a daily crap? Anyone?) My biggest no-no is writing about my job (which is a pain not to write about, since it takes up most of the week), second biggest is writing about my wife's job (which is far more interesting and really could sustain a whole blog by itself), third biggest is whatever my wife -- whom I call Squanto -- would find too embarrassing to be made public. After almost 17 years with me, there isn't much left.
3. Are you and your blogging persona the same person?
Sadly, yes.
4. How do you use blogging to build friendships?
I can't think of anyone I know that I've become friends with just because I blog. Mostly, my existing friends who bother to read it probably get to feel like we're still in touch, even though they never call, they never write. And neither do I.
5. How would you describe your writing style?
If you mixed Dave Barry with Lewis Black in a blender, and poured them into a chilled glass that was hand crafted by Shakespeare and Stan Lee, then drank the concoction while on the toilet reading an Ed McBain novel... well, you'd probably be a sick-ass cannibal with expensive glassware. What that has to do with writing I have no idea.
My style? Stream of consciousness whines with occasional big words. Like "protuberance." Or "malarkey."
It pays to write a letter when you're unhappy. Tonight I got a personal phone call from the manager of the Regal Cinema, sight of my unhappy Superman Returns experience on June 28, with an apology and four free tickets to make up for not just the line-waiting fiasco but also the MovieTickets.com non-refundables. His call came after the corporate office, which I wrote to first, did send a email acknowledgement, but not much else, the cheapskates. He apologized profusely, and I told him I was grateful for the call (and the tickets). I told him I was probably just as sarcastic as he'd been, tho I didn't apologize because, well, I want to retain my right to sarcasm in the future. That said, I did and do feel bad, since he probably got his ass handed to him by corporate. (Though if he didn't, well, kudos to him and corporate can go suck it. Again. Cheapskates.) Yeah, I felt bad, but that won't stop me using them free tix.
Now if I can just get my brother's ass-hat of a neighbor to start parking my car for me, I'll be officially on board the confrontation bandwagon full-time.
Perhaps the silliest junk mail ever... got this from a company that
sells embossed foil stickers that you can personalize. They want me to
celebrate the 10th Anniversary of being me by buying some. I can only
assume whatever list they got my name from goes back to the purchase
of my first house, because that's the only signficant thing I can
remember about 1996 outside of getting my dog. Otherwise, the actual
anniversary of being me is -- gulp -- 37 years.
When I was a boy, I thought there were three things I should learn to do.
Play Harmonica.
Juggle.
Ride a unicycle.
At one point I played a pretty pathetic "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain," on the ol' mouth harp. (Or was it "Oh, Susanna"? I forget.)
Juggling, well, uh, no. I'm lucky I learned to walk upright.
As for unicycle, well, that dream officially died today when I gave mine away.
I don't know where my unicycle came from... I seem to recall my friend Brian gave it to me back in high school, when I thought I still had all the time in the world to do anything.
It was old even then, had a little sticker on it that said Sears, so you know it was high quality, because back then, that catalog ruled. For the last 18 years or so, it was stored in the roof crawl space of my parents' garage. When my brother and I cleaned attached woodshop a couple of years ago, they made me take it home with me, as if they need the room for storing something precious like old pieces of scrap wood.
Did they think I was going to suddenly start using it? Age, girth, and fear of bruising made that a big no. Of course, the flat tire on the rusted rim didn't help much, either.
After the misery of trying to become an in-line skater just a few years ago, I learned to like my feet touching ground. Hell, I've got two bicycles here, with TWO wheels, and those I know how to ride --but have not sat on either in two years.
Who was I kidding, holding on to this one-wheel death trap? It doesn't even have the nostalgia value of items like my Han Solo Blaster (without the orange barrel!), my Animal hand puppet, my Atari 2600, or my spring-shoes (which really should have got me on the porch roof and not turned my ankle).
The wife recently joined some email list called IthacaFreeCycle, where locals can post stuff they want, or they want to give away, all in hopes of not sending things to the landfill (or going there to look for something). People clamor for the strangest items that others find worthless. I just looked and saw, among other things, horse manure, a rooster, and a corn snake.
Such it was with the uni. We posted it, I put it on the driveway this morning, tire still dead, Sear sticker still intact, and now... it's gone.
My wife doesn't always appreciate that I'm not a very confrontational guy. I don't like conflict. Yelling at her is really all the conflict I need. Taking that to the public just doesn't seem fair, when she married me for those skills. Why should I share?
Still, last week was a weird one for me, as I had a fair share of verbal confrontation. For example, last Sunday, sitting at my in-laws by myself, some guy called for my father-in-law, and when I answered (I said "hello," like I lived there, which was a mistake, I should have answered with the family name like a butler) and the guy realized I wasn't who he wanted, he said "Where's Milty?" and as I told him, he hung up on me. (Or got cut off... I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.)
On the fourth of July I got into it with my brother's next door neighbor. I'd parked on the street in front of his house, and he made some noise to one of my brother's guest that he wanted my minivan moved. I walked over and saw him standing in his door way.
"Is there a problem with the van?" I asked.
He stomped out, smacking his door hard enough to show he was looking for a quarrel. "Yeah, there's a problem. I got people coming over."
"Uh, okay, but this is a public street."
"Where are my guest supposed to park?" Mind you, my brother's guests had all taken up spots on the grass across the street in a strip of land owned by the city, so there was nothing stopping his so-called guests. "They supposed to park around the corner?"
"Well, that's an idea, isn't it?" I said.
"I can just go inside and call the police," he said. I was parked backwards, against traffic, so I could have got a ticket for that, but that would have been rectified in 30 seconds with a K-turn.
"Yeah, that would be pretty funny considering the chief of police will probably be next door pretty soon," I told him. Which is true, the Hornell chief of police is my sister-in-law's uncle. Though he didn't show up this year, which is too bad.
He babbled on about the police some more, not believing me about the chief. I finally said, "You know what, I'm a helluva a guy. So I'm going to move the van. So have a great day."
I got in and moved it. I felt like both a wuss and the better man for taking the high road at the same time (and avoided him coming out and keying the door). Later, I found out he'd set off fireworks the night before that landed on the roof of my brother's garage. I should have moved the van back. The next-door homunculus became the butt of jokes out on the deck for the rest of the day. His "guests" even set off some fireworks later and my brother and I went over and confronted him about it. Paul asked him to come off his deck and to the fence separating them so they could "talk." In a perfectly modulated and calm cop voice, Officer Paul said, "I've got two kids sleeping in the house and I'd appreciate if you'd cut out the fireworks."
Simple as that, the guy folded like a house of cards, apologizing, saying it wouldn't happen again. Paul might as well as had his gun on his hip and truncheon out, slapping it into his palm.
Maybe I need a truncheon.
I'll take it to the movies with me. That's where my week of confrontation started, on the night I saw Superman Returns. Below is the letter I wrote about it to the corporate HQ of Regal Cinemas. We'll see if they get back to me.
Dear Regal Entertainment Group:
I'm no firm believer in that axiom "the customer is always right." I've seen far too many stupid people make the lives of working stiffs difficult, at best. I've worked with the general public and I know its not something I'd want to do again.
However, what I do believe in, is the ability for those in service industries to at least pretend to make the customer feel right. I'm not talking about a verbal boot-licking, just some well-faked sympathy to a customer's plight.
Which brings me to the night of June 28, 2006. I went to the Regal Cinema's Pyramid Mall 10 in Ithaca, New York, to see Superman Returns. To say I was excited to see this flick is an understatement. In fact, I purchased tickets online a week before the opening day -- but my plan was to see it at the Regal Stadium 12in Binghamton. I wanted to have comfy stadium seating and better sound, something sorely lacking at my local Ithaca theater (though I hear you're building something new). Unfortunately for me that was the day the city of Binghamton was treated to a New Orleans-like disaster with flash flooding and evacuations. So I wasn't able to get to the theater. MovieTickets.com, bless their greedy hearts, has a no-refund policy on all sales, so that meant buying another set of tickets to see Supes in Ithaca.
I paid twice to see the movie once.
But that's not what I'm bitching about.
My wife and I arrived a full 45 minutes early to get a good seat (as instructed by the box office ticket seller earlier in the afternoon). We were told that "the theater was being cleaned" and that we should go to the other side of the lobby to wait in line. Which we did, up in front, while the queue grew behind us ever longer.
No cleaning staff ever exited the theater, by the way. Unless they went out the back emergency exit, which I doubt.
We waited a half an hour, up until 7pm (the movie's reported start time was 7:15pm), well in sight of the ticket taker. Much to the shock of those of us in the front of the line, we watched as the ticket taker directed three people into the theater.
Ahead of us. The people in line. In front.
This goes against all the laws of nature and creation and jurisprudence. We learn this in kindergarten: Don't eat Play-doh, crayons shouldn't be used on walls, and you don't cut ahead in line.
I stepped over to ask was up. I was told that those people had won a radio contest earlier in the day. Apparently their award was to pick out seats ahead of the rest of us.
Fine, fair enough, I'm all for rewards, but perhaps we paying customers should have been informed of this ahead of time, instead of being given the bold-faced lie about the "cleaning"?
About this time most of us in the front of the line are quite convinced that the air conditioning in the lobby -- at least the part we're standing in -- is no longer working.
By 7:12, I'm rather incensed. Sweat in my eyes does that to me. I couldn't believe that not only was I not sitting in the theater with an ridiculously over-priced bucket o' corn.
There was a short, bald, skinny manager type standing with the ticket taker now, occasionally giving a side-glance to the Superman queue (maybe because the frat/fan boys behind me were talking about storming the theater, wondering just who was going to stop them).
I took it upon myself, as older and wiser, to find out what was up. I stepped over to him and, my sarcasm barely restrained, said:
"Are we going to be getting into the film by the start time? 7:15? Or are we waiting here for more 'contest winners?"
The manager obviously had little time or patience for a repeat movie-goer like myself, as his own sarcasm made mine look like it was in diapers, just learning to become cynicism. "Oh we'll try," he said.
"You do know that we've missed that precious 20 minutes of commercial advertising before the trailers even start, right? I mean, we do pay to watch the ads now, isn't that the American way?" (I do so worry about your corporation's corporate sponsors, after all. Buy Coke! [or is it Pepsi? I forget...])
"Just a few more minutes, sir."
"Next time, you may want to let those of us who paid know ahead of time we've got to wait on the special contest winners," I said. But I dutifully headed back to the line, not one to cause civil unrest. Luckily, we only stood for another 3 minutes. And hey, look, we got inside just at 7:15, but the adverteasments (you should trademark that) were still running. They must have started late. Wow, lucky for me I got to see that I missed out on previews for TV shows. At a movie. No irony there. Remember when TV was going to eat movie profits up? Maybe you guys should also advertise DVDs and Internet video downloads...
Also, amid the extra commercials following the adverteasments, at least two of them were out of date by June 28 -- I recall one shilling for the premiere of "Saved" on TNT, which had premiered at least two weeks earlier. C'mon. Can't I even see up to date commercials when I pay for them?
So, in closing, I'd like to say, I truly look forward to the day Regal gets the new theater built in Ithaca. I know most of your staff is hard working, but I'll be going out of my way to avoid the bald little jerk, and if I have to have dealings with him, I'll put his derision to the test to see just how cut out he is to work with me. And by me, I mean "us," the general public, who already feel like we pay too much to see movies that will be on HBO in six months, especially when most films aren't as good as an episode of "Deadwood." I'm sure we'll feel even better about it when the price goes up just to sit in a brand-spanking-new, well cushioned seat without a rusted frame (Ithaca's theater's 1-3 -- gross). Just don't let your management drones give the cock-and-bull "cleaning" story unless it's true, okay?
Another video blog entry for your.... "entertainment?"
I hope the audio is in synch this time. Horray, the audio is in synch. Pays to reduce the video down to 2MB instead of 22. Oh, and I realize now that for me to say this is the most disturbing thing I've ever seen makes me sound pretty sheltered. How about, most disturbing thing with someone else's plumbing?
