Saturday, April 09, 2022
Wow, This Place Still Exists?!
I haven't written anything here in years. In fact, I properly forgot this place even existed until tonight when I randomly thought to try and find it in a fit of 4 a.m. delirium. Kinda like coming home to find your old self sitting on your couch eating your special yogurt and sharing an uncomfortable conversation in a rip in space time.
Maybe it's time to blow the dust out of this place. I'm sure I have a few things to rant about in the last, oh, decade or so.
I mean, it isn't like the world got any less insane...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The Dumbest Thing that Happened Today
The guy who owns my company hired his son as our company's resident graphic designer.
Can anyone say NEPOTISM? Iiiiiii caaaaaaan. Anyway, it wouldn't be so bad if he did, oh, I don't know, a little more graphic design work and a little less smoking out back every other five minutes. I've never seen a person get a bigger office for doing virtually no work in my life. Nepotism. It blows.
So today I ask him if he could please send me a white version of our logo to use in a Publisher doc I'm working on. Seems like a simple request of someone who is supposedly a graphic designer. A white, high-res logo. That's not too hard is it? Should take less than a whole minute of his time.
Should...
I might as well have asked the guy for the Arc of the Covenant wrapped in the pages of the original Diary of Anne Frank. First of all, I realize that taking all those smoke breaks leaves little time in one's schedule for responding to emails in a timely manner (read: at all). I had to call him and bug him instead. After I explained what I needed, he seemed fine with it. Then an hour and like eight smoke breaks later, he emailed me a PDF.
For all you non-graphic arts peoples, a PDF is bad for like eight reasons, the first of which being that it's really hard to glean much more than a screen capture from one without Photoshop or something similar. But second, and actually most important, a PDF flattens everything inside. So, basically, what I ended up with was a WHITE RECTANGLE.
I asked for our logo, and the graphic designer emailed me a blank, compressed, white rectangle.
Nepotism. It's just bad.
Monday, November 16, 2009
There's Feces in My News and There's Nothing I Can Do
Instead of sleeping, we just spent the last hour switching out phrases in famous songs from the last five decades with the phrase "homeless newspaper" and singing them to each other and laughing about it.
Seriously. I don't think I could even make that up, and I'm a writer.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Poor Cow
On my way home today, I saw as sorry a sight as I've seen in some time (like that alliteration overkill, do ya?). The main road near my home is bordered by grazing fields. Usually there will be a herd of cow on one side of the street or the other. It has always struck us as odd, considering one side of fields borders the parking lot for a gas station/Mcdonald's. Anyway, today the field on the right side of my car was filled with cattle, but the field on the left side of the road only held one single solitary cow. And it was standing all the way up to the fence with its head hanging over, staring directly at all the other cows in the other field.
The grass really is greener, isn't it?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Divorce Land
The long shiny tour tram pulled up to a curb of waiting tourists, cameras in hand and flash-ready. Most of them mulled around, making mundane chatter as they waited. A man in an elaborate plum velvet suit, complete with tails and a top hat, stepped off the front of the tram to welcome people aboard. He looked like a cross between Mark Twain and Colonel Sanders, only with a longer, curlier, whiter moustache and matching eyebrows. The only thing he missed was a monocle. His loud, sing-songy voice seemed to echo off the sunny day.
“Come on folks, welcome, step right aboard! Don’t delay, hurry hurry now, we don’t want to miss anything we could be missing out on right now!”
People crowded into the trams like cattle. The day got progressively hotter with each passing second. The tour guide took his place at the front and switched on a large microphone.
“Testing testing, tra la la.”
People squirmed themselves into place until the tram was full and not one more sweaty body could possibly fit. A few even wondered to themselves how, on such a sweltering hot day as this, the tour guide didn’t melt under his widespread facial hair and material-heavy suit.
“Here we go!”
On go, the tram’s engines came to life with a roar and they pulled away from the curb.
“Welcome welcome one and all, ladies and gentlemen, to DIVORCE LAND.” A few people stirred in their seats, but it could’ve just been because of how suddenly the tour guide’s voice boomed so forcefully loud across the little speakers.
“First a little history… All living things die—people, plants, animals, stars. Other things die too, like relationships. Trust. The soul. Hope. Lots of things die. We’re all here today to find out a little bit about what happens when our spouse leaves us to face the world all alone after promising to love and cherish us in sickness and in health until we were supposed to die—but didn’t.”
Thick blackness fell over the tram as it pulled through a long dark tunnel. People bumped and bobbed silently as the tram came through the bright light at the other end.
“Now ladies and gentle lads, if you look out the tram to your left, sprawled out in the greener grass on the other side is a giant and quite rare flock of pure breed, white DENIAL!” Several tourists scooted closer to the edge of their safety bars for a better look.
“Go ahead: wave, scream, yell, stomp your feet even—these majestic denial won’t even acknowledge you in any way that could possibly be confused for you mattering to them in the least!” A middle-aged red-haired lady halfway up from the back snapped a few pictures. The tan line on her ring finger missing its ring stood out white across the black camera it helped steady.
“And don’t look now folks! That’s rhetorical you know. You’re really supposed to look, and you’ll really want to, because we’re coming up on a dirty alley with a surprise guest. Yes, across from the pimps and crack dealers, behind that cliché trash barrel that’s required to be burning to set the atmosphere in alleys like this, it’s the rabid, frothing, cynicismally—is that a word?—diseased monster ANGER!” The tram slowed to a stop at the side of the road. The red-haired lady leaned over the elderly Asian man next to her and forced half her torso across the edge of the tram to get a photo.
“Oh ma’am? Ma’am?? Please keep all body parts inside the tram. No folks, you don’t want to get too close to the anger. It likes to bite hard and once clamped, it tears anything in its maw to tiny bits, leaving nothing but a smear of regret behind.” Oohs and aahs rose and fell through the seats. The tram pulled on. People began to fan themselves as the sun came back out from behind a cloud.
“Yes, but let’s do hurry along—we have a schedule to keep.”
The tram conductor starts to whisper, and the Asian man asks the guy in front of him what difference it makes since he has a microphone.
“Ooh, hush hush now, be very quiet. We’re coming upon the shyest member of our natural community: BARGAINING. Watch closely now, folks. Apparently bargaining wants to keep the heirloom china her grandmother left her and she’s willing to give up the car, yes, the family car, but she won’t let him have the kids on the weekends, no, not if that slut’s gonna be there! It’s so exciting folks! Tears and sweat won’t stop her! Look at her go!” The red-haired woman’s face turned a darker shade than her hair and she put the lens cap back on her camera.
“Now I really must insist you keep all sharp metal objects well-hidden and use caution. Right up ahead is that ruthless and miserable animal DEPRESSION. Don’t be alarmed folks; depression always howls in desperate anguish like that. But please, whatever you do, don’t feed it. It tends to overeat to excess rivaled only by black holes. Again, don’t be alarmed, folks; you knew it would come to this.” A tear slipped down the Asian man’s cheek.
“And that is the end of the tour! I thank you kindly for stopping by this afternoon. Please step off to your left and exit through those red gates ahead. Have a nice day!” With that, he flipped off his microphone switch and was about to step off the tram when he noticed the red-haired lady still seated, rubbing at the lens on her camera absently with a cloth. He came over to see if she needed help off the tram.
“Yes, can I help you?” She didn’t turn to look at him when she answered.
“Well, it’s just that… I thought this tour went all the way to acceptance.”
“ACCEPTANCE? Why no ma’am! Acceptance is truly rare, almost extinct. We’ve yet to capture one. In fact, most of us here have only read about acceptance in books or seen it in movies. Of course if you can always check back…” The lady sighed deeply, then put her camera back in its case and stood up slowly.
“Okay then, buh-bye now. Step down please. Step down.”
“Come on folks, welcome, step right aboard! Don’t delay, hurry hurry now, we don’t want to miss anything we could be missing out on right now!”
People crowded into the trams like cattle. The day got progressively hotter with each passing second. The tour guide took his place at the front and switched on a large microphone.
“Testing testing, tra la la.”
People squirmed themselves into place until the tram was full and not one more sweaty body could possibly fit. A few even wondered to themselves how, on such a sweltering hot day as this, the tour guide didn’t melt under his widespread facial hair and material-heavy suit.
“Here we go!”
On go, the tram’s engines came to life with a roar and they pulled away from the curb.
“Welcome welcome one and all, ladies and gentlemen, to DIVORCE LAND.” A few people stirred in their seats, but it could’ve just been because of how suddenly the tour guide’s voice boomed so forcefully loud across the little speakers.
“First a little history… All living things die—people, plants, animals, stars. Other things die too, like relationships. Trust. The soul. Hope. Lots of things die. We’re all here today to find out a little bit about what happens when our spouse leaves us to face the world all alone after promising to love and cherish us in sickness and in health until we were supposed to die—but didn’t.”
Thick blackness fell over the tram as it pulled through a long dark tunnel. People bumped and bobbed silently as the tram came through the bright light at the other end.
“Now ladies and gentle lads, if you look out the tram to your left, sprawled out in the greener grass on the other side is a giant and quite rare flock of pure breed, white DENIAL!” Several tourists scooted closer to the edge of their safety bars for a better look.
“Go ahead: wave, scream, yell, stomp your feet even—these majestic denial won’t even acknowledge you in any way that could possibly be confused for you mattering to them in the least!” A middle-aged red-haired lady halfway up from the back snapped a few pictures. The tan line on her ring finger missing its ring stood out white across the black camera it helped steady.
“And don’t look now folks! That’s rhetorical you know. You’re really supposed to look, and you’ll really want to, because we’re coming up on a dirty alley with a surprise guest. Yes, across from the pimps and crack dealers, behind that cliché trash barrel that’s required to be burning to set the atmosphere in alleys like this, it’s the rabid, frothing, cynicismally—is that a word?—diseased monster ANGER!” The tram slowed to a stop at the side of the road. The red-haired lady leaned over the elderly Asian man next to her and forced half her torso across the edge of the tram to get a photo.
“Oh ma’am? Ma’am?? Please keep all body parts inside the tram. No folks, you don’t want to get too close to the anger. It likes to bite hard and once clamped, it tears anything in its maw to tiny bits, leaving nothing but a smear of regret behind.” Oohs and aahs rose and fell through the seats. The tram pulled on. People began to fan themselves as the sun came back out from behind a cloud.
“Yes, but let’s do hurry along—we have a schedule to keep.”
The tram conductor starts to whisper, and the Asian man asks the guy in front of him what difference it makes since he has a microphone.
“Ooh, hush hush now, be very quiet. We’re coming upon the shyest member of our natural community: BARGAINING. Watch closely now, folks. Apparently bargaining wants to keep the heirloom china her grandmother left her and she’s willing to give up the car, yes, the family car, but she won’t let him have the kids on the weekends, no, not if that slut’s gonna be there! It’s so exciting folks! Tears and sweat won’t stop her! Look at her go!” The red-haired woman’s face turned a darker shade than her hair and she put the lens cap back on her camera.
“Now I really must insist you keep all sharp metal objects well-hidden and use caution. Right up ahead is that ruthless and miserable animal DEPRESSION. Don’t be alarmed folks; depression always howls in desperate anguish like that. But please, whatever you do, don’t feed it. It tends to overeat to excess rivaled only by black holes. Again, don’t be alarmed, folks; you knew it would come to this.” A tear slipped down the Asian man’s cheek.
“And that is the end of the tour! I thank you kindly for stopping by this afternoon. Please step off to your left and exit through those red gates ahead. Have a nice day!” With that, he flipped off his microphone switch and was about to step off the tram when he noticed the red-haired lady still seated, rubbing at the lens on her camera absently with a cloth. He came over to see if she needed help off the tram.
“Yes, can I help you?” She didn’t turn to look at him when she answered.
“Well, it’s just that… I thought this tour went all the way to acceptance.”
“ACCEPTANCE? Why no ma’am! Acceptance is truly rare, almost extinct. We’ve yet to capture one. In fact, most of us here have only read about acceptance in books or seen it in movies. Of course if you can always check back…” The lady sighed deeply, then put her camera back in its case and stood up slowly.
“Okay then, buh-bye now. Step down please. Step down.”
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Good News - A Short Play
Jalopy Englebert, an intelligent young albino man in his 20s also known as ‘The Inflammable Iridescent Bob,’ because he is a flame retardant vertically challenged entertainer (in layman’s term’s, he’s a circus midget who doesn’t catch fire) & Malkovich Jr., a full-time pothead in his late teens with negative brain cells, even less common sense, and no other friends or life outside of past issues of Victoria’s Secret catalogs, noontime showings of “The People’s Court,” and his little friend Jalopy, meet in an undisclosed location to discuss very very very very important top secret undisclosed things.
They are standing in the middle of a large room in said undisclosed location.
The lights come on and they begin to speak.
Jalopy:
Why won’t you LISTEN TO ME??? I have to tell you my good news.
Malkovich Jr:
I thought I was... wait, did you speak before now? I thought that was just the buzzing of the hungry fleas living in my ear hair. I’ve named them all.
Hey, did you know that if you eat peaches with Lysol, it makes you fart like a rhino?
Jalopy:
No. But, before tonight, I was also unaware that you owned a key to Martha Stewart’s Basement. Man this place is huge! And so unbelievably clean and neat and smelling of elderberries…
What’s that over there, in the back? What?
No way, an ascot store?? A store dedicated to selling only ascots? ROCK ON!!!
Oh wait, it’s closed.
Bummer.
At least there’s a slip ‘n slide in the corner...
Malkovich Jr:
Yeah. I got the key when I won some sweepstakes on the inside of a cheetos package. Of course, cheetos are good enough on their own with all their orangey goodness, even without special sweepstakes that have prizes including keys to Martha Stewart’s Basement.
Jalopy:
Man, I should really switch to cheetos... the good old days are gone bro. I mean, when did cracker jacks stop giving good prizes?
Malkovich Jr:
Hey dude, don’t diss the Jacks, YO!
I got my driver’s license out of one of those boxes.
Jalopy:
So did I, but I still had to wait in line at the DMV and let that perv with the clipboard and rank halitosis ride around in the van with me all afternoon anyway before he’d give me that box of cracker jacks.
Malkovich Jr:
Awww, MAN! At least YOU got to take the test! I mean, every time a DMV examination dude would get in the car with me, I’d just look at him and say, “Hi. This is my Wednesday face. Wanna dance?” And he’d DIE. Apparently it’s an ancient voodoo curse involving authority figures or rank halitosis or something.
Jalopy:
Oh yeah man, that’s too bad. I think I saw something about that on the Discovery Channel.
*a short silence is spent looking around at the utter gloriousness of Martha Stewart’s Basement.*
Malkovich Jr:
So, dude, why did you want me to come here. I’m missing “People’s Court” and today’s case is some guy who is suing because he bought some dandruff shampoo from a small company based in some old chick’s bathroom and it appears his hair has melted off and it’s caused his scalp to be an unsightly shade of neon clear.
Jalopy:
Well, I wrote a letter about my good news to the President.
Malkovich Jr:
You did WHAT to the President? You haven’t even told ME your good news yet!!
Jalopy:
I’m afraid to now. I mean, after those burly secret service men wrestled me and a nearby chicken to the ground and intercepted my well thought out letter and burned it in a ritualistic fashion, complete with costumes and campfire songs, and I—
Malkovich Jr:
Man, I’m horny.
Jalopy:
Did you hear anything I just said?
Malkovich Jr:
Yeah. It was all like, “Malkovich, Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich. Malkovich Malkovich. Malkovich. Tonguing a platypus, Malkovich.”
Jalopy:
Fine, be that way, see if I really care!!! It was more traumatic than you’ll ever know, you MEAT SNEEZE!
*Jalopy crosses his little arms, stomps his little foot and turns away, miffed. More silence ensues. Finally Malkovich speaks again as if the outburst never happened.*
Malkovich Jr:
Every time I go swimming, kids laugh, LAUGH at my giant pink bunny suit and high heels. Don’t they know that sunscreen doesn’t always prevent the everlasting damage done by harmful UV rays penetrating the earth’s atmosphere? Don’t they watch Schoolhouse Rock and infomercials about clearing up zits and dehydrating meat?
Man I’m deep.
Jalopy:
Oh yeah? Beat this. I knew a lady once. She had rubies on her lips and when she spoke they drooled down her chin like the tears we all shed in the war. And I can say that too because I had two uncles that died in the war and
THIS IS AMERICA DAMMIT!
Malkovich Jr:
What??
Jalopy:
*sighs*
Oh nothin’.
Malkovich Jr:
(out of nowhere) I can’t take this space-filling witty banter anymore!
I have to KNOW what your good news is!! TELL ME! TELL ME NOW!!!
Jalopy:
I just don’t know if you can handle it… if your fragile psyche is truly ready… Are you suuuuure you wanna know?
Malkovich Jr:
We’re in Martha Stewart’s Basement aren’t we? What is it huh? The answer to a conundrum? The secret files of Bea Arthur and Brittney Spears shemale porn? The meaning of life according to Dr. Phil’s psychiatrist? A shave and a haircut, two bits??
WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?
*holds breath during a moment of dramatic pause just as someone would during a moment of dramatic pause *
Jalopy:
No, none of those things. It’s bet-ter.
*More overuse of dramatic pauses until the Dramatic Pause Company, Inc. starts to complain of abuse and threatens litigation. Finally, Jalopy says what he came to say.*
Jalopy:
I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico.
*more silence. The crickets off of Bugs Bunny cartoons begin to chirp in the background. Time passes.*
Malkovich Jr:
Dude...
I’m still horny.
Turn over, dammit!
Jalopy:
ARRRGGGGGHHHH!
Down baby, good boy, take a treat.
Lights dim.
Canned Laughter and Clapping.
Curtain.
They are standing in the middle of a large room in said undisclosed location.
The lights come on and they begin to speak.
Jalopy:
Why won’t you LISTEN TO ME??? I have to tell you my good news.
Malkovich Jr:
I thought I was... wait, did you speak before now? I thought that was just the buzzing of the hungry fleas living in my ear hair. I’ve named them all.
Hey, did you know that if you eat peaches with Lysol, it makes you fart like a rhino?
Jalopy:
No. But, before tonight, I was also unaware that you owned a key to Martha Stewart’s Basement. Man this place is huge! And so unbelievably clean and neat and smelling of elderberries…
What’s that over there, in the back? What?
No way, an ascot store?? A store dedicated to selling only ascots? ROCK ON!!!
Oh wait, it’s closed.
Bummer.
At least there’s a slip ‘n slide in the corner...
Malkovich Jr:
Yeah. I got the key when I won some sweepstakes on the inside of a cheetos package. Of course, cheetos are good enough on their own with all their orangey goodness, even without special sweepstakes that have prizes including keys to Martha Stewart’s Basement.
Jalopy:
Man, I should really switch to cheetos... the good old days are gone bro. I mean, when did cracker jacks stop giving good prizes?
Malkovich Jr:
Hey dude, don’t diss the Jacks, YO!
I got my driver’s license out of one of those boxes.
Jalopy:
So did I, but I still had to wait in line at the DMV and let that perv with the clipboard and rank halitosis ride around in the van with me all afternoon anyway before he’d give me that box of cracker jacks.
Malkovich Jr:
Awww, MAN! At least YOU got to take the test! I mean, every time a DMV examination dude would get in the car with me, I’d just look at him and say, “Hi. This is my Wednesday face. Wanna dance?” And he’d DIE. Apparently it’s an ancient voodoo curse involving authority figures or rank halitosis or something.
Jalopy:
Oh yeah man, that’s too bad. I think I saw something about that on the Discovery Channel.
*a short silence is spent looking around at the utter gloriousness of Martha Stewart’s Basement.*
Malkovich Jr:
So, dude, why did you want me to come here. I’m missing “People’s Court” and today’s case is some guy who is suing because he bought some dandruff shampoo from a small company based in some old chick’s bathroom and it appears his hair has melted off and it’s caused his scalp to be an unsightly shade of neon clear.
Jalopy:
Well, I wrote a letter about my good news to the President.
Malkovich Jr:
You did WHAT to the President? You haven’t even told ME your good news yet!!
Jalopy:
I’m afraid to now. I mean, after those burly secret service men wrestled me and a nearby chicken to the ground and intercepted my well thought out letter and burned it in a ritualistic fashion, complete with costumes and campfire songs, and I—
Malkovich Jr:
Man, I’m horny.
Jalopy:
Did you hear anything I just said?
Malkovich Jr:
Yeah. It was all like, “Malkovich, Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich. Malkovich Malkovich. Malkovich. Tonguing a platypus, Malkovich.”
Jalopy:
Fine, be that way, see if I really care!!! It was more traumatic than you’ll ever know, you MEAT SNEEZE!
*Jalopy crosses his little arms, stomps his little foot and turns away, miffed. More silence ensues. Finally Malkovich speaks again as if the outburst never happened.*
Malkovich Jr:
Every time I go swimming, kids laugh, LAUGH at my giant pink bunny suit and high heels. Don’t they know that sunscreen doesn’t always prevent the everlasting damage done by harmful UV rays penetrating the earth’s atmosphere? Don’t they watch Schoolhouse Rock and infomercials about clearing up zits and dehydrating meat?
Man I’m deep.
Jalopy:
Oh yeah? Beat this. I knew a lady once. She had rubies on her lips and when she spoke they drooled down her chin like the tears we all shed in the war. And I can say that too because I had two uncles that died in the war and
THIS IS AMERICA DAMMIT!
Malkovich Jr:
What??
Jalopy:
*sighs*
Oh nothin’.
Malkovich Jr:
(out of nowhere) I can’t take this space-filling witty banter anymore!
I have to KNOW what your good news is!! TELL ME! TELL ME NOW!!!
Jalopy:
I just don’t know if you can handle it… if your fragile psyche is truly ready… Are you suuuuure you wanna know?
Malkovich Jr:
We’re in Martha Stewart’s Basement aren’t we? What is it huh? The answer to a conundrum? The secret files of Bea Arthur and Brittney Spears shemale porn? The meaning of life according to Dr. Phil’s psychiatrist? A shave and a haircut, two bits??
WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?
*holds breath during a moment of dramatic pause just as someone would during a moment of dramatic pause *
Jalopy:
No, none of those things. It’s bet-ter.
*More overuse of dramatic pauses until the Dramatic Pause Company, Inc. starts to complain of abuse and threatens litigation. Finally, Jalopy says what he came to say.*
Jalopy:
I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico.
*more silence. The crickets off of Bugs Bunny cartoons begin to chirp in the background. Time passes.*
Malkovich Jr:
Dude...
I’m still horny.
Turn over, dammit!
Jalopy:
ARRRGGGGGHHHH!
Down baby, good boy, take a treat.
Lights dim.
Canned Laughter and Clapping.
Curtain.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Walking It Off.
We were watching on those televangelist shows in the middle of the other night and some lady was on there talking about how bad her cancer is. She stood up and walked around a bit (though presumably the cancer wasn't in her legs) and the preacher man goes, "Gooooood has heeeealed her cancer, ladies and gentlemen!"
Seth said, "Nuh uh, she's just walked it off."
Seth said, "Nuh uh, she's just walked it off."
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