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Light posting for the next couple days, folks, as I head to the beach with the rest of the creative department. Another message from the boss today: Here’s a list of stuff you should bring: Hey, call it whatever you want. I have a feeling this weekend is going to be very interesting. See you next week!  Dudes just love sparking up a conversation at the gym ... but it's a dialogue I just can't get into, and would rather avoid completely. Within 5 minutes of my second day at the World Gym in Harrisburg, Big Boy Eric was telling me all about his reps, sets, maxes ... everything but what he had for dinner the night before. Eric weighs about 295, he told me, which surprises most people. (Not me ... I could clearly see that he was fat.) So we chatted as we lifted, and when I was done I said "good talkin to ya" and happily went to the other end of the gym. It's true ... I definitely need to meet some more people around here ... but it's not going to be with 300-pound dudes who just NEED to tell me their entire workout routine within 30 seconds of meeting me. These people somewhat frighten me. ---- This week I will receive my first work bonus of any kind since I worked at a pizza shop when I was 16. Saying this makes me hungry for cheese. Mmmm, cheese. ---- Have I mentioned that the walls of my apartment are extremely thin? But noise isn't a problem; my neighbors are quiet. What worries me is the insane number of times I catch myself talking to myself like a damn fool ... especially when I'm in the bathroom. Problem further explained: The neighbor on the other side of my bathroom wall is a project manager at my work (not to mention a seriously hot girl). In the morning, I can hear her using the bathroom--very clearly. So, there's no doubt in my mind that when I begin to holler at myself while I'm in the shower, and when I freakishly repeat the lines of previous conversations aloud ... my neighbor is hearing every single word and then locking her front door as fast as humanly possible. Yep. Now my neighbors AND my coworkers know I'm crazy. Well, that didn't take long. I'm going to go eat some cheese now. In June 2002, I started a completely anonymous blog, which, 7 posts and 9 months later, came to an end with the creation of Munchies. In October 2002, I wrote the following (similar to statements I've made here .. and still as true as ever): have u ever listened to a song u just didnt want to end? not because the song was really good or even because it was one you really liked..but because it was singing the rhythm of your life, and once it stopped your life just wasnt the same. sometimes i guess its good to just change the track or put in a new cd. Important tips for drinking with the boss: -Do not get drunk. -Do not make fun of his obsession with Will Smith. -Always drink 1 oz. faster or slower then he does, no more. -Do not ask for a raise, but hint that you will never be able to afford the truck you've wanted for the past year and a half. -Do not challenge him to an arm wrestle unless you're certain you will not lose to him pathetically. -Ignore whatever your bladder is trying to tell you. Did you ever wonder ... what happens when a blogger dies? Once in a while, a blogger will disappear for a while and you think, ah this person is just being lazy. They'll come back. And they do, usually. But sometimes months go by. Suddenly a blogger who was previously publishing every day hasn't posted anything since last year. They'll be back, you think, and most of the time, they do come back. But then there's the bloggers who disappear forever, without warning, without a goodbye. These people's existence in this world is proven only by the words you have been reading all along. But when those words stop, those people no longer exist. For all you know ... these people are dead. Kind of grim, but interesting nonetheless ... at least to the sick-minded like myself. Eat it up. I am.  ( 7:43 AM Finally, someone told me not to worry about my chest pains, because he gets them all the time! Then I woke up. --- This is neat, yet pointless:  Some local middle school students shadowed me at work today. I showed them all I could, really ... words. I asked them what internet ads they click on ... which emails they open ... what Web sites they visit and why. I also asked them if they had ever seen Kill Bill. The two female coworkers next to me, ages 26 and 35, laughed at the idea. "I hope not!" the one said while the other scoffed in agreement. And, sure enough, the two 14-year-olds replied they had never seen the movie. But why the reaction from the coworkers? When I was 14, I had watched more porn and violent movies than I've seen in the last decade of my life, not to mention I had smoked weed for the first time too. Would it really have been that strange for two 14-year-old boys to have seen Kill Bill? Kudos to the parents who managed to keep them away from it ... but I was actually sort of surprised they hadn't seen it. Then again, maybe that's why I'm insane, and these kids aren't. What were YOU doing when you were 14? Some fast facts about E-town: - People don't abort their babies. - The liquid manure smells pretty bad. All the time. - The college kids don't smoke weed. - The lady at the Chinese food place is a bitch. - No Wawa. - "High DUI crash area," the signs say - "15 min. from the nearest ..." really means 30 minutes Have I told you how much I hate a slow-draining bathtub ... and the CAPS LOCK key ... and the INSERT key ... and the smell of a rotting banana peel in my trashcan? --- Have I mentioned how much I like seeing the sunset from my couch ... and walking to my mailbox ... and hearing someone say "Thundercats, hooooo?" 5:39 PM Sometime around the fall of 1999, I lost about half of my total confidence. The things I say. The things I do. The way I act around other people. Suddenly, with the vulnerability felt in going to college, meeting new people, pretending to know things, I wasn't so assure of myself. In the years that followed, especially the last, I lost all the confidence that remained. Forget making real friends, being smart, or accomplishing anything worthy of someone else's attention. I could hope for these things, and they could be right in front of my face, but I wouldn't believe in them. I like to think that I'm having a bit of a Renaissance lately ... figuring things out ... repositioning myself in this crazy world. But, still, in the downtime, in between the moments of clarity and content is the debilitating sense of being completely incapable. It was somewhere around the part in the new Amityville Horror movie when the babysitter gets stuck in the closet and is forced to finger the bullet-holed head of a little dead girl that I became very nostalgic and thought to myself, ya know, I really do miss ordering pizza and renting movies with my ex-girlfriend. It was kind of sad moment, seriously. 6:19 PM So I did it. It took almost a month and half, but it happened, and I'm glad it's over with. Previously, I had often wondered ... what would the first time be like? How would it feel? When would it happen? Would it be uncomfortable? Maybe I could avoid it forever! Regurgitating alcohol in your new home is a relatively easy initiation process: 1) Drink heavily. 2) Suddenly realize that last shot was probably four too many. 3) Take the safe route: drive home drunk, rather than puke in the bar. (The following steps assume you did not die or go to jail on the way home.) 4) Once you're in the door, immediately pick the closest spot to sleep ... i.e. the floor. 5) Focus on a spot in your home that least appears to be bouncing around in circles, but DO NOT, and I mean ABSOLUTELY DO NOT CLOSE YOUR-- 6) You close your eyes and minutes later get to know your bathroom better than ever before. Congratulations! Your home is officially yours. There's gold in them there hills! More posts this week--guaranteed or your money back!   I had forgotten about rollercoasters. I remember it being one of the first days of Spring. It was a Friday night. I was the only telemarketer making calls in the non-smoking section. But the boss invited us all to get high. She asked me if I was a Narc. I said 'no.' Afterwards, I went back to work and it was dark out, but a warm wind was blowing the sounds of car stereos and motorcycles through the window. In the handset, the sound of a ringing line was suddenly frightening and I hung up for the rest of night. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for the last hour, knowing it would take me years to forget this trivial moment in my life. Welcome, Spring. Here I am, drowning in projects all day long, wishing there were more hours in the day, writing, revising, proofing, revising, wondering if an end is ever in sight, and then I get this email from my boss: Good afternoon! Okay. Well, that's just great. Having just finished scrubbing my bathroom tub, I concocted the idea that I would create a list entitled "You Know It's Sunday When ..." Alas, I immediately surrendered to laziness and figured a decent list already existed on the Internet. Apparently not. But, there are several people who have started blog entries with that very statement. So, to keep you entertained without much brain function on my part, I have compiled a list of those entries here, which you can click on if you want to read more from that person's blog. (New window will open for each.) Happy Sunday. You know it's Sunday when you reach for your jeans, crumpled on the floor and give 'em a good shake to make sure that Saturday's underwear fall out before you put them on. You know it's sunday when you're dancing around eating left-over jambalaya and listening to the sounds of sprinklers and funky kingston in sunlit windy-ness. You know it's Sunday when you spend 1500 words and two hours doing a livejournal meme.... :). You know it's Sunday when the bells begin ringing out from Gubbio's many churches. You have time to explore Italy's best preserved medieval city on your own. You know it's Sunday when there is an Elvis or Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis film on television. You know it's Sunday when you get multiple facebook friend requests. You know it's Sunday when Toni calls in 'sick.' ... you know it’s Sunday when that kind of meal arrives. I tend to get a bit worried we’re going to have a Sunday night Songs of Praise type crowd ... You know it's Sunday when i've posted on here more than once. So my little brother came back from a birthday party today, and he said "Here, do you want my necco wafers? I don't like them". You know it's Sunday when 1) Pastor sends his sermon presentation to you at 11:30 Saturday night. You know it's Sunday when all the freaks and geeks come out to play near Harajuku Station. You know it is Sunday when: 1. You can hear a football game going on almost the entire day 2. No one is doing anything constructive except you. We left a message on my boss's voicemail yesterday: "Hi this Mr. Baer. Phil told me to call you about the project we're working on. I need you to call me as soon as possible so we can get the ball rolling with this. My number is 215-243-1100. Please call me right away." Little did my boss realize he would be calling the Philadelphia Zoo. And only after he had asked for Mr. Baer and the woman on the line had answered dryly, "Ha, Ha," did he realize the ridiculousness of what he had done. In other April Fools antics:   |
Late night snacks. Bite-sized ramblings. Old-fashioned eats, served fresh daily. Open 24-7.  Other blogs Fireballs and Tsunami JeffreyDavis.net Mismatched Parentheses NimbleSixpence One Tortured Soul Palpably Inadequate Picnic, Lightning Pony Legs, Temporarily Supernouveau Wander Lust In my DVD player Archives June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 Other stuff Homestarrunner One Slime DeepDiscountDVD Olde English Sketch Comedy Live Music Archive Copy Army Copywriting Service Love & Radio This One Time Email me mmjunior / at / hotmail   
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