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At work yesterday, I had to call a dentist in California to find out what he wanted on his postcard campaign. Kate, the graphic designer, was on the line with me as she sat in another room. Receptionist: Hi, this is Dr. Carver’s office, how can I help you? Me: Hi, is Dr. Carver available? Receptionist: He’s with a patient right now, can I take a message? Me: Yes, this is Mike. I have an appointment to speak with him about his postcard advertisement. He mentioned now would be a good time to call. Receptionist: Ok, hold please. * Places me on hold * Me: Patient? HA! Who cares about teeth? Kate: Yeah, who do they think they are, dentists? Me: I could use a cleaning myself, actually. Do you floss? Kate: No, not really. Me: Oh man. Don’t tell the doctor, he’ll beat you with a stick! * Un-hold * Receptionist: I’m sorry. Dr. Carver had to take an emergency appointment. Can he call you back? ... (Today, I called back…) Receptionist: Hi, this is Dr. Carver’s office, how can I help you? Me: Hi, is Dr. Carver available? Receptionist: He’s in a meeting right now, can I take a message? Me: Yes, this is Mike from Postcard— Receptionist: Ohhhh, hi Mike. Me: … Hi. Receptionist: Just so you know, Mike… When we put you on hold, we can still hear everything you say. We heard everything you said yesterday. Who else is on the phone? Kate: That's me. This is Kate. Receptionist: We heard you too, Kate. Me: I’m sorry. I don’t even remember what we said. Did we— Receptionist: “Who cares about teeth?” Me: Oh… ohhhh. That. Yeah, we were just jok— Receptionist: I’m just warning you. You have to be careful about these things. Now, what is it you wanted?  Rarely do my fortune cookies tell me my fortune ... or spell things correctly ... or say anything worthy of my frantic devouring of a cookie in anticipation of finding a solution to all of life's problems. Still, this one I will keep, just for a little while.  (Lucky numbers 3, 12, 27, 9, 37, 30) So, it's a little after 4 a.m. Monday morning. Woke up around 2, have been awake since. This happens sometimes. Let's make use of it, shall we? I smelled Bard College this weekend. It was early Saturday morning as I was walking out to my car and it hit me instantly in the way that one smells cotton candy or freshly mowed grass. It was a very distinct scent: dreary October day at Bard. Of course, it was neither dreary nor October in Elizabethtown on Saturday, but that was what I smelled. And along with it came memories of slow walks to the library, a solitary trip to the on-campus cemetery, and a snobbish Playwriting professor I hated with a passion. So begins an unrelated story... Late May, my sophomore year. All the students had gone for the summer, though the Peer Counselors/Resident Assistants had to stay a few days longer. I was one of them. Five of us, including the Resident Director, threw a small party in the RD's on-campus apartment. We had Tostitos and Saranac Summer Ale, smoked hand-rolled tobacco and shared our creative work: short stories, film, photography. By 4 a.m., we were sitting mostly in the dark and slowly we began to probe each other for secrets and other useless philosophical answers. If you could be anywhere else right now, where would you be and who would you be with? (The beach, with my girlfriend, I answered.) If you were going to be stuck on a deserted island, what 3 items would you bring? (Tennis ball, TV, pen & paper) Which best describes your personality: Earth, Wind, Water, or Fire? They waited for my answer, but looked at me as if they already knew. "You all think I'm Earth!" I said, and couple of them nodded. "That's okay, Michael. Earth is good. It means you're grounded, and stable and --" "No," I said. "I don't want to be Earth. I'm water ... or fire ... or wind even, but I'm not Earth." One of the girls rolled her eyes in typical Bard pretension, and we went on to the next question. As the hours passed, the discussion became more intense and prying. The question that sticks out for me: "If you absolutely had to kill one person in this room, who would it be?" I told them I didn't want to play this game (mostly because I knew my answer already. She was sitting across from me, but I didn't want to have to tell her.) Still, they went on with the question. First the RD. "This is easy for me," he said, "because I don't think I could ever kill a woman. I don't know why, but I just couldn't." I was the only other guy there. "Sorry, Mike. I'd have to kill you." Next came the girl across from me. "I'd kill Michael," she said. "... But, it's only because I know you the least of everyone here." Then the girl next to her. "Michael," she said. "... It's because you're just too nice, I think." "Yeah," said another girl, "It's like you're being fake." I said nothing. One by one, every person in that room killed me. It was hilarious in that oh-god-this-is-really-freaking-painful sort of way. And it was one of those moments when you realize you don't really know yourself through the eyes of people around you. And it got worse. I gave my answer: Kate, the girl across from me ... "Because you said something one time that really mad me angry." Everyone looked at me as if I had just given the stupidest answer anyone could ever give. And worse. "Okay, okay," I said, searching for an out, anything to take the attention off of me, but I wasn't thinking straight. "What if we had the option to kill ourselves before each other. Would that change anyone's answers?" And they all quietly shook their heads and mumbled "No." Around 6 a.m. the sun rose, but it was gray and cloudy as each of us went back to our dorms. When I got in my car, it began to pour. I stopped to ask two of the girls if they wanted a ride, since they had a long walk back to Main Campus ahead of them, but they stared at me, standing in the rain without any umbrellas or jackets, and said "No, thanks." And with that response, they killed me again. I can never tell this story without laughing ... except, of course, when I'm writing about it at four in the morning on only a couple hours of sleep and only a couple more left before it's time to go to work. Then it all just seems really depressing. This has been coming up in conversation a lot recently, so I figured I'd mention it here. I've been saying it for years now, but still no one believes me: In a fight bewteen me and a grizzly bear, I would win. I'm pretty confident about this. Granted, I've never actually seen a grizzly bear in person. But when I do, it will not be a good day for that guy, that's for sure. I'm willing to take a trip somewhere to prove this. Who's with me? Anyway, some quick pics from a wedding in York this weekend ...  Surprisingly, this is the only photo I have of both the bride and groom.  Joe begins to rip the spine out of his girlfriend's back. That's when things got really weird.  Later, he shows us the 3-inch hair growing out of his arm.  Jess lays down some wicked beats on her air turntables. We all look on with grave concern.  I know, it looks cute, but really these people were born like that. All attached by the chin and stuff. It's hard not to stare. Why do you think I took a picture?  Oh, oh damn. I'm on the dance floor. This is awkward. Turn away.  "Umm, guys? Why am I standing on the ceiling, and how did I get here?"  Fight! Fight! Fi-- ... Oh.  Sucker!!! I mean, congratuations!  Hey, you guys are in color! Just in time for the after party!  Mark says, "Check out more of Mike's photos on his Flickr page! Larger sizes of these pics and more! Whoooooooo!" There's something not quite right about the quality of my vegging in this apartment. It's not as comfortable as it should be. This was a huge problem for me in Savannah, and it's less of one now, but I'm realizing that I cannot call my apartment 'home' until I find a way to truly appreciate the solitude that I seek. My coworkers, I think, are the problem, as I've mentioned before. When I'm home alone, I feel like I should be doing something just so that I have something to say the next day when they ask me what I did the night before. For whatever reason, I'm not comfortable telling them I spent 3 hours trying to redesign the banner on my blog, or that I was downloading episodes of Dr. Katz. I don't really expect them to understand that my sanity depends on the need to sometimes do absolutely nothing in the way that other people constantly need to do something. (For the record, doing nothing with another person also constitutes doing nothing. Isn't that something? No, it's not, and that's what makes it so great.) I have a letter I need to write. The kind composed with a pen, paper, and the most humbling of sober honesty. That which should be thrown away just before it is dropped in the mail. A message that begins with "Dear So-and-so," and ends with sheer humiliation. A year ago, I told myself I would not need to write a letter like this. Seven years ago, I would have laughed at the idea. Even now, I pity myself for the words that will appear on each page. But, it has to be done. When you say goodbye to someone, some things cannot be left unsaid. ---- Now for something completely different ... I tried two new foods tonight ... rattlesnake and bull testicles. Tasted like chicken. Really, it did. ---- The trick to not deleting my posts, I've realized, is to cover up any seriousness with completely useless information about my life. ---- I like the color blue. When I was younger, I always thought the day my family moved out of their house would be one of the sadder moments in my life. I realize now, someone must have been feeding me crack. After an entire back-breaking weekend of packing, storing, boxing, lifting, loading, carrying, and trucking what must have been fifty thousand tons of absolute junk that my parents could have trashed years ago rather than waiting two days before settlement to have their son nearly kill himself moving out of storage, into two trucks, and back into storage (don't even try questioning these logistics) ... let's just say I was more than happy to lock up the doors when we were finished and get the hell out of there. But, I did take some time to snap a few pics, in case the unlikely day comes that I get a little sentimental about that place.  Layer one of shit in our 16-foot "POD," Portable On Demand Storage. As a point of reference to those who are somewhat familiar with my personal belongings, in the bottom left hand corner you can see my 4-speaker Randall guitar amp. I hope to see it never again.  Good old 110 Cameron Road. The numbers were intentionally positioned like an exclamation point to warn visitors of the drama they would encounter the second they walked in the door.  The back of my house, home to many a whiffle ball game, and Frisbee toss with Cameran. (Cameran ... Cameron Road? Coincidence? I think not.) For this photo, I am standing where a friend, age 7, once tried to start a bonfire around the roots of some tall trees behind our house. (A neighbor kindly extinguished it for us, since our shoes clearly weren't doing the job.)  Once my bedroom, now an unrecognizable void. I once climbed in and out of these windows with my sister and the help of some cinder blocks on the ground outside. We stopped doing this the day I sort of pushed her out and sent her to the hospital for stitches in her knee. Damn cinder blocks.  The basement ... home to the supernatural and spiders that can eat you whole.  The neighbor's front bushes, behind which I had my first kiss, and several others, with my best friend's older sister when I was about 8 years old. I was the coolest kid ever ... back in 1988, of course.  Our house ... is a very, very, very ... What I Did Over Summer Vacation By Manuel G. Martinez III Jack shit. THE END. EPILOGUE I'm thinking somebody forgot to wake me for July and August. I have no recollection of those months ever happening. There were a few surprises this summer though. A couple unexpected visitors, a half-eaten taco. But aside from all the wild sex, toga parties and blood baths, I'd say the past three months have been pretty uneventful. It's the quieter moments I have appreciated the most, I think ... late night conversations on my patio, incoherent babble over 2 eggs, wheat toast and home fries at the 24-hour diner. Have I mentioned I've become obsessed with going to the gym? Yeah, I've turned into one those people. It's just a phase though, I assure you. Something to pass the time until they give me my gun back. Somehow I had almost forgotten about the existence of miniature golf. After a quick 'round' in the Philly area this weekend, I realized that I don't know the location of even one mini golf course in Central Pa. Something must be done about this. I haven't been buying nearly enough DVDs lately, mostly because I haven't won the lottery. Out of about 300 titles, I watch a few minutes of the same 10 movies every night. Three DVDs have been sitting in my Columbuia House shopping cart for the past 4 months: Evil Dead, Dawn of the Dead ... and, umm, Galaxy Quest. I think I keep expecting the subtotal to show up as FREE. Maybe tomorrow. September and October force back the same old memories. Middle school football practice, homework, a new locker combination! Going "back to school" is unfortunately something I always hated about these months, and it's an association I will make for the rest of my life. But slowly, over time, as I've learned to keep my patio door open all night long and have come to appreciate hearing the high school marching band practicing from across town every night, I'm realizing ... autumn's not such a bad time of year, ey? This weekend I added another brilliant idea to my growing list of absurd things to do while driving alone. I call this one, simply, "The Toast." Take your coffee mug, bottled water, beer can, whatever contained drink you have at the time you're driving down the road, and then reach your arm out the window for a big CHEERS aimed at the closest car in oncoming traffic. Most drivers across from you won't have much time to react, which is why their confused expression is a sign you've accomplished the goal perfectly. All in all, this isn't so much different from one of my favorite absurd driving exercises: "The I'm Pointing At You, Buddy, And You Don't Even Know Why." This one is most ideal in heavy traffic, or after a red light, when you are driving past a long line of unmoving cars. Here's what you do: Just point your finger through the windshield toward the cars opposite you and keep your face absolutely expressionless. You do not have move your arm at all -- just keep it pointed in one direction. For about 2 seconds, every driver you pass will think you are either blaming them for something they didn't do, or -- unfortunately less likely -- hexing their souls to an eternity of misfortune. And remember, what's great about this is that you are staring each driver in the eye only momentarily before the movement of your car forces you to stare at the next. You can appear to hex an entire line of 100 drivers, one at a time, in about 30 seconds. It's brilliant. Go out and try it yourself. Right now. At some point over the last week or two, everything suddenly became difficult. Motivation completely gone. Brain incapable of functioning. My kitchen sink is filling up with dirty dishes. The trash needs to be taken out. Tying my shoelaces is a task so strenuous I need to lie down when I'm finished. Even now, the completion of each of these sentences deserves nothing less than a celebratory resting of my head on the desk. I'm not quite sure what might have caused the sudden lack of energy, but I know this: It's annoying the hell out of me. I have things I need to do, and I would like to them, but I just feel very ... incapable. It's a feeling I have elaborated on before, but there's no way I'm going to search my archives to find the link. That could take, like ... minutes. |
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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