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In part because I regret my sounding like a grumpy old man in the last post, in part because I haven't been posting (or taking) many pictures lately, and in part because I don't have much to say right now ... here, have some random photos from the last couple years ...  In a fine moment of inebriation at The Jinx ... Pat & Jake, Fall 2004.  Amie with my niece, Kaylee.  Kyle, stoned. "Eduardo" with the SHOCKER! Stogies nightclub, SavGA.  The final days in my first apartment. (Notice my designer "coffee table.")  Drunken Red Sox fans leaving Fenway.  RKD and his ex, Cait, at Lancers -- diner of the 70s. Photo circa 7/03.  Cameran ... cold, wet, confused.  Amie, sinking into a giant bowl of salsa.  An empty Memorial Stadium. The first win for our company-sponsored Seaport Seminoles.  Stephanie, her fiance, and a bunch of other people I have not seen since this pre-SavGA farewell party, June 2004.  They call me El Scrawny Whiteboy. My first conference call, poolside at the Howard Johnson, SavGA.  Hi, my name's Mara and I'm in sepia, and so is my Bud Light.  An exorcism at the Cambridge Hilton, June 2004.  A blurry peanut.  Take photos of your bartenders in Greenwich Village. They'll give you free drinks. March 2005.  March 26, 2004. Enough sunglasses to go around.  Nothing unusual here. The boss and coworkers, Ocean City, MD. April 2005.  I'm a loner, Dotty. A rebel.  Beware the age of 24, apparently. I've noticed recently (and maybe this is a local thing) that people my age are incredibly afraid of the thought of being alone for the rest of their lives. And it doesn't help that the people who are older (and not alone) are afraid for you. They start shoving others on you. Telling you to meet people. Saying "I know someone who'd be perfect for you!" So what happens? People marry. They have kids. They find some douche bag guy or girl who they can deal with for the rest of their lives and they start popping out babies like it's their job. And apparently it is. It's what's expected of them. Then, life is over. That's my thought anyway. I'm really not a fan of settling (for less, for her, for misery) just for the sake of time. Hey ... there's nothing wrong with commitment. Or marriage or kids. When she comes along, let's do it. Let's go to the church. Let's tell the government and see what kind of tax breaks we can get. But even the fact that I'm writing about this right now is making me wonder ... why? Why do I care? And, more importantly, why does everyone else? Let's all just calm down for one moment and let me enjoy this god damned cheeseburger in solitude! Can we, please! It's easy for me to forgive and forget.  One thing I've never been good at is staying mad at people. Probably because it's just so much easier for me to be friendly with the people close to me. Plus, I despise drama.But, I have several good reasons to be mad at some people who are living in a small city called Savannah, Georgia. In fact, there's one person in particular who had been on my mind a lot recently. I'm not completely crazy, but over the past few weeks I've been having some recurring thoughts: "Ya know ... I should just hop on a flight down there, show up at his door with a cigar in my mouth and a baseball bat in my hand and just beat the living crap out of him, laughing like a hyena. I HAVE to be laughing like a hyena." Alas, I am not a violent person. I got an email from this person the other day, a long detailed message about his new jobs, his girlfriend, his new apartment, and he reminisced about times when we were working for the newspaper, playing foosball on Monday nights, surviving the crime. And, that fast, I forgave him. I'm not saying I like the kid or am suddenly having sad thoughts about that dirty disgusting city, but at least now I don't have to spend the money on a plane ticket, or worry about fitting my bat into a carry-on. Anyway ... another person got fired at my work today. It's making things pretty tense around the office. 6:37 PM Look at this ... I gotta tell you some BIG news. But before I do ... I need to ask you a very important question ... Are you reading this? Of course you are! You have eyes that can see. And a nose that can smell. Mmmm, smell the blueberries? No? Well how about this ... Okay, let me explain. It may all seem like nonsense. But here's the deal. This is how I have to write. Every day. At work. Short, choppy sentences that people can read. But there's more! No, not really. But you're still paying attention. After all ... if you want to know everything, you gotta keep reading. But you won't find anything. Not at the bottom of this post, anyway. I have nothing to say. But, you just need to know this ... You are reading a sales letter. Except not really. You won't see any product benefits, but you'll keep reading and reading, until ... BAM! You're done. And you're on the way to post office. You're sending away for junk. And you NEED this junk. Why? Because I just said you did. Okay, maybe not YOU. But people. Lots of people. People who buy things. I come home every day with this type of writing on my mind. And you know what? It really messes with things. Like the things I want to say on here. The ways I want to say them. P.S. Congratulations! You reached the end. But wait.... One last thing before you go. There's something I DO need to tell you. Just click here before I take it down! Okay ... so, I'll be your best friend in the world if you do me the favor of spending a super small sum of $129.99 to buy me this jersey:  Size MEDIUM. Thanks! Ya know, I told myself this weekend that I was going to go into Harrisburg, get drunk, and not come back until I had at least 3 STDs. Well, here I am. It's Sunday morning. I'm back. And all I've got is a headache and gas. Not one damn STD. Not even Herpes! I mean, come on! Everyone has herpes! Not me. Headache and gas. That's it. ----- Saw a band last night that slightly changed all the lyrics of Green Day's "American Idiot," and I'm wondering if I was the only one there who noticed. For example, "I'm not a part of a redneck agenda" became "We're all a part of a redneck agenda." This annoyed me at the time, but I forgave the lead guitarist because he was wearing a really cool Thundercats wristband. But therein lies my problem. Maybe if I wasn't taking the time to notice these things, I'd be getting some killer STDs. ----- My friend finally finished the logo for our new biz. Our slogan: Prepare for impact. 3:01 AM Lately, every once in a while, now and then, these days, occasionally, from time to time ... usually when it's getting late and I've had a bit to drink ... I can't think of one person I know (or don't know) whom I'm not slightly angry at. Even myself -- for several reasons, not the least of which that I just ended that last sentence with a preposition. But even more so that I'm taking the time to mention that. I hope my music isn't waking the old man who lives next door. He gives me a big thumbs-up when I say hello to him. It's kind of insulting actually. What an ass. Shhhhh. Stop talking already! It's a good song. me dicen el desagradecido pero esa no es la verdad // // // They call me the ungrateful, But that's not the way it is.  I wasn't planning on mentioning the fact that yesterday marked exactly one year since I started my 4-month job in Georgia. But now I have a small reason to do so. While I was in Savannah, a 20-year-old girl in my apartment complex was abducted from the parking lot, taken to "remote location," and raped. In the months that followed, the same suspected rapist kidnapped and assaulted at least 4 other women. The city went crazy. People were being shot, stabbed and raped every single day in Savannah, but suddenly every one was afraid of the mysterious Savannah Serial Rapist. The police said they had more calls from people who thought they saw the rapist than any other crime in the history of their Crimestoppers hotline. Mace sales went up. Gun sales went up. The manager of a local gun shop told me: "Some females want the semi-automatics, but they can't pull the slide back, so I recommend the revolver. For those that can pull the slide back, I say 'Which one do you want?'" The last article I wrote for our newspaper was a cover story about the suspected rapist, the media coverage, the widespread fear and panic. On the day I finished the story (Election Day), we were told we'd have to shut down the company. The issue would never come out.  Fuck that. It was our biggest issue ever. It was the biggest news story. It was something I had been working on for weeks. I'd deliver the newspaper myself, I said.And I did, with the two closest people I worked with. On a ridiculously hot and sticky November day, the three of us shoved 14,000 newspapers into the back of a Jeep and dropped them off at the most sketchy, run-down quicky marts, restaurants and auto centers throughout the city. It was the last real work I did in Savannah. Yesterday, one year since my first day at the newspaper, I got an email from the guy who hired me saying the serial rapist had just been caught. It's a barely a coincidence. We had nothing to do with the arrest. But the news was, at the very least, surprising to me yesterday. I'm slightly confused by this online campaign for Mercury ... but so intrigued. If you have some minutes to spare, watch the whole opening, check out some of the characters' episodes, click around. It's all very ... strange.  Had to steal this link from another blog ... Tom Cruise Kills Oprah! One of the crappy things about living in farmland ... the one-lane roads just aren't conducive to racing people from redlights. Don't me wrong. I don't have a fast car. In fact, one might say that I have one of the slowest cars in Central PA. I'm confident an Amish family could beat me in their horse and buggy (if the occasion were to arise, and God, I hope it does some day). But there's just something about revving the tiny 4-cylinder engine in my '98 Ford Escort when I'm sitting next to someone at a red light--it entertains me every time. Getting the other driver to race is really the fun part, and it doesn't take much. I'll creep up a few inches, pump the brakes a bit ... maybe give a quick look at the other driver that says, "I got an Escort, bitch, whatchu got?!" ... inch forward a bit more... Then, we're off! It usually takes about 5 seconds for the other car to realize I'm seriously trying to race, and then they hit the accelerator and quickly pull far ahead. Race over. You got me this time, Isaac! You got me this time. If only there were larger highways in this town, my life here would be complete. What the fuck - when did all my posts become so over-dramatic? This has got to stop. Happy Fourth! One year ago today, Amie was driving me to a farewell dinner with my family when another car slammed into us from the side. In the second before the car drove into my door, I tried to climb out of my seat, thinking that--since I wasn't wearing a seatbelt--it was the only thing I could do to avoid death. But the damage was minor, and even then (four days before I totaled my own car) I joked that it could be a sign of things to come in my move to Savannah. That night, Amie and I slept for 3 hours on an inflatable mattress, waking at 3 a.m. to begin the endless drive down I-95. When we reached Georgia, the heat index was 106, and my Jeep's A/C was broken. We stopped at a mall to cool off. We ate lunch at Chilis. We watched a Phillies game on cable before going to bed in hotel off the interstate. The details are uneventful and meaningless, but I will never forget them.  |
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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