So Long July...

It's the end of the month the goal was not met. Not all my fault. Strange internet outages caused problems and class time was spent doing class work, rather than blogging.

*sigh*

OWGAWE didn't show up for work, again. She also didn't call. She was called at least ten times between 4:45AM and 11:00AM, but never answered. This was Wednesday. For me, it was a good day. I figured that OWGAWE would be out of there for good. I was thrilled.

Noonish the same day, GWWSU called and quit. She said she wouldn't be in that night. All three managers were in the store and started to freak out. I giggled hysterically. I'm not one of the people in charge. I'm not the one who did the hiring. I should be getting more hours for a while. GWWSU quitting shocked all the managers. All three said that they never saw it coming. They couldn't tell that she was unhappy. Yeah, the five days that she called in sick during her last two weeks weren't a sign. Plus, she wouldn't shut up about how she didn't want to work because she had other things she'd rather be doing. Surprised she quit? HA. Am I that observant, or are they that stupid?

At about 1:30PM, OWGAWE called work. She claimed that she had asked for the day off, and it had been okayed. One of the assistants pulled out the time off request sheet and saw that OWGAWE had only asked for time off through Tuesday. My smile was so broad you could see my wisdom teeth, if I still had them; OWGAWE was fucked, she was fired. (Does this make me cruel?) Then the assistant said that they would have to talk about what's been going on the next day.

Shit.

My face fell. My jaw clenched. The silver lining on my day turned out to be tin. The only thing that will happen to OWGAWE is a write up, nothing more. Nothing more. NOTHING MORE!

*ah-hem*

Today was my first day back at work with OWGAWE. I had both Thursday and Friday off and I didn't answer the phone in the mornings, just in case work called (which it probably did since FLIG's grandfather died (which is sad, but we all learned about the Circle of Life from the Lion King, right?) and JCFB called in with a "personal" problem (although I think he just didn't want to show up, next Thursday is his last day before he heads back to school)), and made sure to be out for a while. The subject of her two missing days from work. I went in angry, but made the day better, more fun in a number of ways.

The first way is to make sure that I talk to every piece of equipment in the store and often call all of it stupid or a "goat shucker." The second way is to talk out loud to myself; I mumble loud enough to make sure that the person nearest me knows I'm talking, but can't make out what I'm actually saying, when they ask, "What?" I say, "Nothing, just talking to myself." and turn away mumbling. The third way is to make up bizarre stories about why things are the way they are after a coworker says something obvious.

(The best example of this is when GIESW said, "This damn coffee cake keeps falling apart on me."

"Do you know why it keeps falling apart?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Do you want to know?"

"Sure," she said with trepidation in her voice.

"It's because you don't love the coffee cake."

"What?"

"It's because you told the coffee cake you don't love it, that's why it keeps falling apart on you."

"Well, fuck the coffee cake," she said, throwing it into the garbage.

"Don't be sad, coffee cake, she doesn't mean it," I said looking into the trash.

"I don't mean what?"

"You don't mean what you said."

"What was that?"

"You told the coffee cake that you didn't love it, that you didn't think of it in that way, that you only thought of it as a friend, and you don't want to ruin that friendship." By this time, GIESW's grin is as big as mine and is called away. I continue, "The coffee cake got so upset, I could hear its sobs all the way across the room. Then it just crumbles. It can't keep itself together anymore and falls apart, sobbing," by this time, I was calling this to her, "'You only think of me as a friend. As a friend. Dear god, why does she only think of me as her friend. I can be so much more. As a friend!'")

So, I made the day much better than it originally been and didn't come back to the apartment miserable.

*sigh*

Farewell July, here comes August and a new page in my Crumb calendar.

No Post?

Last night, after class, I was prepared to write. I can't remember what it was going to be, but I know it was going to be long. Many words were going to be tapped out by the tips of my fingers. Of course, it didn't happen. The same thing that was wrong with my connection Monday night was wrong last night. I'm still not sure what that could be, or why it only happens at night.

What did I do instead of post to my blog? I read 100+ pages of a Robert Cormier book (We All Fall Down, for those who are interested) and finished it. Cormier is one of those authors that everyone should have read in Junior High just so they could see that there are some book written for young adults (Is that the correct term?) that are willing to remember that things rarely work out perfectly in the end.

Well, off to work.

Bye.

Well...

For those of you who felt slighted at no entry yesterday, whoops. Something was wrong with the connection and I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about setting up any sort of network or fixing the problems. I'm sure I could have taken the time to learn, but I choose to work on my final project for class instead.

Off to work in a couple of minutes.

Bye.

What to Write

I rarely know what I'm going to write when I sit down at the keyboard everyday.

Tonight is a good example. As I was driving back from work, I pondered possibilities to write about. Should I write about work again, or do I do that too much? Should I write something positive about kittens and puppies? Should I lie and say that I've written a novel and found a publisher? Should I mock President Junior? Should I mention how I've been King of No Pants this weekend, since the roommate is gone? Soluhd I wtrie an etrine bolg tihs way? Should I explain how I've come to the conclusion that the sixth grade was probably the most fomative year for my personality? Should I tell you how wonderful Wil Wheaton's books are? Should I pontificate on the summerschool class? Should I go on about the movie I most want to see next year?

Nah. None of those.

Instead, I sit down and write this.

Absolutely Nothing

I work in just over an hour. GIESW will be there since she only works morning shifts. I wish that I only worked morning shifts, even if it would mean not watching Xaiolin Showdown on Saturdays.

I should probably eat a sandwhich or something, since I'm not going to eat for the rest of the night.

Roommate has gone to Cowtown to a wedding for some friends, which makes them friends of friends to me. I like these friends of friends, I hope everything is wonderful.

I washed and changed the sheets on my bed today. All I really want to do is curl up on them with a stack of comics and the novel that's sitting in my car.

Responsibilty... What is it good for?

Grotching

I was cleaning my room (mostly picking up coffee smelling clothes that I just wanted to get out of and moving the pile of comics away from my bed) and listening to The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (again) when I realized that I had yet to blog today. I don't have much to say, but there's that nutty goal I set for myself to blog something, however useless (which is why the name is what it is) it happens to be. I didn't do anything worth writing about, today.

Is it worth mentioning that I didn't vomit or bleed from my eyes today? If I did those things each day, I suppose it'd be worth mentioning, but since I don't, I doubt it is.

One important thing happened to me, I suppose. I spoke with ~o, who was calling to speak with my roommate. He was happy to learn that my illness wasn't from the food at his party, but probably from work, since three or four people are sick, but keep showing up since we don't have anyone to cover shifts. (The illness has nothing to do with OWGAWE, she was just stupid. How many of you would just take three pills from your roommates, or any roommate you had, without at least asking what they were?) I was happy to learn that ~o understands what it's like for me at large gatherings and he accepted that I had a much better time at the party than my post about it suggested, because I did.

I made some people laugh a couple of times. I listened to some wonderful music. I tried some crappy Japanese snack food, each thing tasted like one I ate before, except for the one with seaweed wrapped around, which tasted the same, but with seaweed. And there was that one time when I said something (I wish I could remember what it was) to a group of people that made all their eyes bug out, jaws drop, and stare at me. I wandered away during that silence. I think I could live off of those moments, if they had the necessary vitamins, minerals, carbs, proteins, oxygen, and water the human animal needs to survive.

OWGAWE

This morning, I covered for the One-Who-Gets-Away-With-Everything this morning. It wasn’t like I was called at 5:30AM and asked if I could come in and cover for OWGAWE. No, I was asked yesterday, when she didn’t show up or call, to cover for her today because they figured she wouldn’t show up, or shouldn’t show up, I’m not sure which.

Yesterday, I went in at 6AM. (The store opens at 5AM, I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned it here before.) I saw the manager’s car parked out front, but didn’t think she was the opener because she opened with me the day before. I also saw that the tables and chairs weren’t put out and there was a pile of newspapers in front of the door. The guy coming out of the store, as I opened the door, said, “You don’t want to go in there. Trust me. You want to run away.”

I wasn’t sure what to think of this, most customers in that early tell me that I should have been there earlier so they could get their coffee faster.

I turned away from the guy and peered through the door. The room was darker than it should have been. I looked at the ceiling and noticed that only half the lights were on, the ones left on during the night. I saw about six people in front of the registers. And I tripped over the pile of pastries that were blocking the way to the back room.

I knew then that OWGAWE had been late.

I looked to my right to see who was there. Huh. Only Girl-I-Enjoy-Speaking-With and The Manager were behind the counter frantically making drinks, but not charging a single customer. Open, emptied, pastry boxes were scattered around the counter and floor. Ice coffee brewed. Tea steeped. Customers rolled their eyes. I fled to the back room to see if OWGAWE was hiding. She wasn’t.

I put on my apron and headed out front to help the best that I could. Together, with GIESW and The Manager, we blazed through the customers and could finally get to setting up the store. I wanted to ask GIESW what had happed, but knew that gossip had to come after the tables and chairs.

Too much time passed because who likes to lift tables and chairs that weigh a million pounds each?

Not enough time passed because I got to be outside instead of trapped in coffee smelling hell, even though it’s been hot and sticky recently.

As soon as I finished and The Manager left the front room, I charged over to GIESW and asked what happed.

“OWGAWE didn’t show up this morning,” she said.

“I figured,” I said.

“First I tried calling OWGAWE’s cell, but there was no answer, so I had to call The Manager. She didn’t get here until fifteen or twenty minutes ago. I just tried calling OWGAWE while you were outside, still no answer.”

OWGAWE is never on time when she’s the opening supervisor. Back in the days when she was the opening supervisor every morning (we opened at 5:30AM in those days), she’d show up fifteen or twenty minutes late every time. When other people are that late, once, we get a warning, usually a loud one that tells us never to do it again. The second time we do it, we get written up. I’m not quite sure what that is, but from what I gather, I don’t want it to happen to me. To the best of my knowledge, OWGAWE has only been written up once because I opened with her for three days on week and each day wrote in the log that she had been late, I don’t think OWGAWE was happy with that. The next day, one girl was a half-hour late and had called to say she over slept and would be late, OWGAWE pulled out the for and wrote the late one up. When the hours were changed so we opened earlier, she refused to come to work before 5:30, except to be the opening supervisor once, maybe twice, a week. Yesterday was her once this week and she didn’t show up.

At about 7:30, when the next person was scheduled to come in, The Manager told GIESW and me that she was concerned about OWGAWE. Not a “Where the hell is she!” like we usually hear when people are no call/no show.

At about 10:30, when I was on my lunch break, The Manager called OWGAWE’s friend who also works at this store. The friend knew nothing. The Manager then called OWGAWE’s brother, who is OWGAWE’s emergency contact and got him to go to OWGAWE’s house and find out what’s going on.

At about that same time, some girl from another store came to our store to cover for two people who were being sent home sick.

Noonish, GIESW came out of the back and headed straight to me. “We’ve just heard from OWGAWE’s brother,” she said and stared at me.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, suppressing a grin, “OWGAWE’s been asleep all this time.”

“Really?”

“Really. Apparently, she took some pills that her roommate gave her and has been asleep ever since.”

“Shit,” I said.

“I know,” GIESW said.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Today, GIESW and I came into work at the same time. Me to cover for OWGAWE and her to cover for The Manager so the schedule could, perhaps, be finished by the end of the day. (It wasn’t finished when I left this afternoon.) It looks like OWGAWE is once again getting away with it. The Manager doesn’t want to blame OWGAWE for what happened since it was because of medication, we are all assuming.

If I took something and slept through my shift, would I just get a pat on the head too?

I’d probably get a boot to the head, instead though. Oh, and I’d be written up for not coming to work one day and then again for the blood I’d probably leak on the floor.

Glasses?

I'm sitting here in class staring at the screen, watching the teacher sort through all the work the class has turned in. My eyes are a bit unfocused, so the screen is fuzzy. I can't see! I think, Where are my glasses? What the fuck did I do with them? I start to look around the desk, my movements getting more frantic as I notice only the monitor, keyboard, mouse, and my CDs. My heart is racing. Did I leave them outside? I start to stand.

I notice the black frames surrounding my field of vision. I'm wearing my glasses. I'm an idiot.

Smile Sharing

Work this morning. Opening shift. It was pretty normal. I go, set up pastries, put out tables and chairs that weigh a million pounds each, and serve coffee based drinks filled with flavors so it doesn't actually taste like coffee.

If anyone, who I actually like, had been to ask me how my day was, I would have answered, "Mweh." That was until about ten.

I was making two iced lattes with sugar-free vanilla for two old ladies. As I was setting the first finished drink on the counter, the one with silver hair ran off to the toilet and the one with blue (I swear it was blue) hair said, "This should help us get to Ashland."

I stared at the shots pouring from the machine. The comment clicked. My head whipped to the left. "Where did you say you're going?" I asked with too much enthusiasm.

"Uhh, Ashland," she said, her eyes shifting down the hall. I'm sure she was hoping her friend would be back very soon.

"Are you going to see plays?"

"Uhh, yeah." She looked the other way, where a line of customers may have been, I wasn't going to look.

"Oh, you are so lucky."

"Really?" She turned toward me.

"Yeah, I've wanted to go to the Ashland festival since high school. I had planned a trip for this summer, but found I had no money."

"That's too bad. I go every year."

"EVERY YEAR?"

"Yup, I'm hoping to see ever play Shakespeare wrote up in Ashland. I think I'm nearly there."

"Wow. I wish I could go. What are you going to see?"

I heard the echoey thud of a paper cup being slammed down to my right. I ignored it and focused on the blue haired lady.

"Well, when we first get there, we're going to see the first part of Henry. Tomorrow is part two and a comedy. Day after that is part three and A Rasin in the Sun."

"When I made my plans to go, I was going to see the Henry series and Raisin and I wanted to see that Oedipus Complex, that looked really cool."

"If you're into that kind of thing," she laughed.

I smiled, "I just like the original and wanted to see this interpretation... Have you seen many repeated plays?"

"Lots, but they always keep it interesting, you know they change times, or let the new actors go a little wild. Last year there was one--I can't remember which, it was a comedy--that they set in the 50s with the puffy dresses and the suits and stuff." Her face broke into a huge grin. "And at the second act, one of the characters enters the scene in a VW van dressed as a hippy." She started to laugh and so did I. "It was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen, especially with the Elizabethan coming out of his mouth."

The sliver haired lady came down the hall. "Is that mine?" she asked.

"Yeah," said blue.

Silver headed off toward the door.

"Thanks," said blue, following her friend.

"No, thank you," I said actually meaning it. "Have a safe drive and have fun up there. If you're ever in this store again, I'd like to hear more!"

Blue was at the door when she turned and sent a huge toothy smile my way.

I spent the last 90 minutes of my shift sharing that smile and singing all the tracks from TMBGs Flood.

New Comments

Thanks to Queenie leaving me a nice comment, I've learned that Blogger has its own built in comments that will also allow people to link to the actual post rather than the whole month.

Cool.

Now to get rid of the Haloscan one.

Hmmm.

Now, if only I can figure out that nifty title thing without changing my template.

Hmmmm.

Speak No Evil

Today was spent not worrying about espresso, lattes, or evil customers.

Today was a day for comic books, singing with the radio, and Douglas Adams reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Other than the singing, I don't think I've said a word all day.

These days are rare, Josh, treasure them.

Queasy

Well, woke up this morning still feeling like vomiting would be a good idea. It's nice to know that it wasn't the party, isn't it?

Safe Return

Back from the party. I left there at 10:30ish.

I'm sure that everyone there had/is having a wonderful time. I kept putting my hand in my pocket feeling the note I wrote to remind me why I was going, why I was there. I never actually pulled it out, but touching it sent the message through my fingertips and I knew that I couldn't leave yet.

I sat in corners. I stood in corners. I hovered on the edge of groups of people, if I said something it was dirty, but usually said nothing at all. I stood in the breeze and smelled the salt in the air, although it could have been my imagination. I began a conversation with Venus, but I was interrupted. I didn't once start reading the book that was in my pocket. I had some fish, some chicken, two sodas, and a bottle of blackberry/pomegranate sparklely juice stuff. I hunted down cats to pet.

At several times, I found myself asking, "Why don't I just join in and drink? Why not use a social lubricant? It'd open you up. You'd join in with everyone and not sit near a group pretending to be part of it, while really staring out the window or at some girls chest." Then I'd remember why, a chill would go through my body, goose-bumps would develop on my arms, and I'd take another sip of my soda.

I arrived at the house early for the party, a little after 5:30, it wasn't "scheduled" (if you could call it that) to start until 8. I was there for about five hours. I knew it was time for me to leave when I was outside in the breeze and I could feel sweat beading up on my forehead and my hands started shaking. (This was also about the moment when I could easily count 25 people in the house.)

I said my good-byes to the people I knew. I walked out the door, hands shaking, sweat dripping, and my stomach lurched. Maybe it was the chicken or the fish or the sodas or something else entirely, but I was afraid I was about to empty my stomach on the porch. I moved quickly to the street, sat on the curb, put my head between my knees and took deep breaths. I didn't get in the car until I felt settled. Several times on the drive back, I had to release my grip on the steering wheel because I held it so tight, my fingers were getting sore.

Leaving

I was going to leave for El Cerrito (sp?) and hour ago, but I didn't. I find that I have to constantly remind myself why I'm going. Pants are on now and I'm finally going to leave. Hooray for me.

Late

This was supposed to have been written an hour ago, about the time I should have been back from work so it could have yesterday's date. It was also supposed to be about how much I would have liked to have been in bed at ten reading Just a Geek.

Instead, it's just going to say that I'm going to bed now. 'Night.

Dancing Barefoot

Last week, I started an account with Amazon.com. I’ve waited this long because that place is dangerous for a person who like books and movies as much as I do, very dangerous. But I had to so I could get the books that I wanted.

What were they? Well, I’m glad I asked. I got Dancing Barefoot and Just a Geek, both by Wil Wheaton.

Why did I do this? I did it to support someone I haven’t met, but like. I buy comics that Stuart Immonen draws, he’s one of the few artists I pick up a book because of. I buy almost everything that Warren Ellis (or Big Ethel, as Mr. Immonen calls him) writes. The day I get the courage to buy a bitpass is the day I’ll join in on Scott McCloud’s crazy experiment and send him money, of course he’s got some of my cash because of Understanding Comics. And I’m sure I’ll be buying Lore Sjöberg book, after my next credit card bill.

What the hell is the reason for this post? To tell you how much I enjoyed reading Dancing Barefoot. And because I finished the book at 12:15 and couldn’t sleep.

I got in from class at 9:40ish this evening and was directed to a package on the couch. My books had arrived. I broke them open and read the front, back, and inside of the covers. I then put them down and screwed around on the Internet for a while, playing some games and writing a post at other blog. 11ish, I turned off the computer, grabbed Dancing Barefoot and started reading and couldn’t stop reading.

The cover says that it’s five stories that span 30 years, but I don’t think it’s that simple. These five stories are things that could happen to any of us, if things had gone just a little bit differently.

Brief summary:

Story 1: "Houses in Motion": Wil visits the house of his dead aunt and revisits his memories.

Story 2: "Ready Or Not Hear I Come": Playing with his stepkids and learning who’s lucky.

Story 3: "Inferno": Love found and lost in the middle of a street.

Story 4: "We Close Our Eyes": Walking in the rain.

Story 5: "The Saga of SpongeBob VegasPants": Learning to let go and love the Trek.

The first four are short, very short. The longest is only seven pages, but that’s part of their charm. Being so short, they have no time for a slow build up, they have to start with the steep climb to the top. Each one does in it’s own way. Each one is it’s own kind of wonderful.

The fifth, takes up most of the book and is so much fun to read. I’ve only been to one Star Trek convention, and it was small compared to most, but he captures everything I saw and more. He has a different view of the Trek mania than I do, I’m part of that mania. I may not be one of those fans who wants would ask how the warp core works, but I think about it. Wil paints a picture of the types he meets, one fan at a time. The One-Who-Dresses-Normal. The Klingons. The Wesley Haters. The One-Who-Claims-To-Not-Be-A-Geek-But-Is. The Detail Seekers. The "Battlefield" Experience. And even when it comes to the insane fans, I never got the feeling that he was making fun of them because he didn’t like them, but because he knows that what they are is a part of him as well, that he appreciates what these people have done to give him the whole Trek experience.

The fifth story also explores how Wil has thought about the whole Trek thing. What it’s meant for him. How it’s controlled him. How it’s hurt him. How it’s helped him. And in the end, how much he’s always enjoyed it.

In the end, my favorite story wasn’t "SpongeBob," but "Inferno." My brief description doesn’t do any justice to specialness this story has. Maybe it’s just me and my need to be a hopeless romantic, but that one made me melt.

In the end, Dancing Barefoot was amazing. Short, sweet, full of fun. Just the sort of thing I needed to end my day on.

Time

4:30AMish, woke up with a sharp pain in my chest and a numb left arm. Fortunately, it was all because I was sleeping oddly on my left arm, the circulation was being cut off, with my thumb poking into a newly formed zit (or ingrown hair, who knows?). I rolled onto my side and soon the arm was doing that many prickly thing it does when circulation is restored and glared at the clock. I didn't have to be into work until 8:30. I had a solid three more hours of sleep ahead of me. I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep.

5AMish, woke up with a start, falling dream. Glanced at clock, closed eyes. Slept.

6AMish, woke up as legs slipped off bed. Quite a ways down. Twisted so feet would hit the floor instead of butt and head. Climbed back into bed, shut eyes. Felt breeze come through window. Felt cool. Drifted to Nemo's world.

6:30AMish, neighbor took a shower, lucky me, my room is right next to the neighbor's toilet room. Saw the time, muttered something about monkey raping pineapples, turned over, put cool side of the pillow over my head to drown out the noise.

7:13AM on the nose (watched the last digit change from one prime to another), still more than twenty minutes until the alarm "eeeeeeents." Nothing to blame the awakeness on but myself. Said, "Fuck this," and climbed out of bed. Stumbled around the room, doing the try-to-step-on-only-carpet dance, and failing. Picked up a book, read until the alarm went off, then showered.

8:00AM, in my car to head to work. Have my books and Flash drive for class. Have music to drown out the drone of classmates. Have a shirt so I won't stink like coffee too much all day. Have a book to read at work. Have cash for crappy lunch. Have apr.... No, don't have apron for work. Washed all them yesterday. Sitting on bed. Shit.

8:04AM, back in car, have everything I need for work, except desire and drive and passion and respect and...

8:23AM, copying next weeks schedule. Huh. Since all those people left the 'Bucks, I've been scheduled for between 32 and 37 hours each week. This week, only 30. Next week, 27. Am I being punished? Is something wrong with the way I work? Do my managers hate me? If there is a God, couldn't he just smite me instead of fucking with me like this?

10:43AM, sitting in back room of work, reading on my break and sipping on a rare cup of caramel iced coffee. Book is okay, the characters a kind of stupid, plot is a little weak, but it's better than talking with coworkers. One coworker is sitting at desk finishing her lunch break, another is back there just talking to the first as they always do. Second is surprised I'm drinking coffee. First insists I always drink coffee Second says she's never seen me First says I drink it all the time. Both turn to me with wondering eyes. With a mouthful of ice, I say, "Hot chocolate." Second says she told first so and that she knows me better than I know me. First says that second should go and give me a high-five and laughs. I laugh too. Second asks me why I don't high-five, is it the touch or "cheese factor"? I say both. She asks if I shake hands. I say I do, but I'm never the one to start a handshake. (All this done not looking up from my book.)

1:02PM, leaving 'Bucks for the day, off for crappy food. Don't have to be back for about 27 hours.

2:14PM, finished crappy fish 'n chips. Only had dill tartar sauce, not sweet. Didn't even have vinegar. Was offered ranch dressing, however. Wished that I could have some good fish 'n chips. Wished for good tart vinegar. Could feel the tingle on the back underside of tongue and had a large pool of saliva developing.

5PMish, book is done. It ended like I thought it would and characters were still stupid. After everything had happened, they finally pieced together the clues they had been spouting throughout to understand why it ended like it did. Didn't understand why, exactly, I read it, then remembered that it's a book from mother that is to be returned, hopefully, soon.

6:08PM, class is supposed to start at 6, teacher just showed up and let us in the room. Time to plug in headphones and finish book work.

9:07PM, book work finished. Three chapters tonight. Can't say I'm ready to complete the next assignment, but at least there's no more work from the book. Time to pack up and leave.

9:11PM, driving toward apartment, only commercials, Spanish, and Christian rock on the radio. Couldn't God just smite me instead of torturing me?

10:30PMish, started writing this thing.

11PMish, finished.

They're Back

Parents are officially back from their quasi-religious cruise to Alaska. I'm sure that we'll all soon be able to read about it at SuziFitz Beads. I know I can't wait.

And Little Fluffy Industries has posted a wonderful game. It takes some figuring out, but it's worth it.

Problem with Music

I finished my animation on Sunday afternoon, before work. There's something up with the music, it wouldn't sync the way it's supposed to, as in, let's say, I have a scene that 158 frames long, when I cut the music to be 158 frames, it would be too short, so I figured out a way to make it run through the whole thing then fade out a little bit before the whole thing ends. I wanted to be able to edit the music better, but I don't know how to. Oh well. It's due tonight, and I think I did a pretty good job.

Party

So, this Saturday, unless I hear differently, I'm off to ~o's "grandma" house for a good-byeish party for him, who is going to China, and Johnny Logic and Heels, who are going to Pittsburgh. I know the where, but I don't know the when yet. I'm also not sure if there's a what involved. The only thing I'm sure of is that I'll be leaving relatively early, since I have work the next day.

Saturday sure looks like it's a long way away from this side of the week.

Flash

How important is it to have moving clouds in every outdoor scene of my animation? Probably not very, but I just added them to each one. Why? Because I'm anal, that's why. This must be what real animators go through. They must constantly ask themselves how much detail to add. Everyone wants these things to be as close to reality as possible, but no one wants to do extra work if they don't have to. So, how important are the damn clouds? To me? Very important. I have to have them to prove that I can do it. It's like all the movement in the first chunk of animation, do I need it? A moving roller coaster, a moving Ferris Wheel, a moving flag, then they all get larger so I can do a zoom. Will anyone out there really notice these things on the first or second viewing? Do I need to stay consistent with the positioning? Should blueberry pie vomit have bobbing chunks of blueberries? Will I go mad trying to answer all of these questions?

I didn't go to work today, but I've been workin' hard.

Except for the two hour sanity break this afternoon (and a couple of trips to the potty room), I've been working on the next Flash project for my class since ten AM. So, that's like ten hours of work. Thats a lot. I'm almost finished. I know what my problem is, I made it too complicated for me. Lots of things moving and not enough repitition.

Tomorrow, before work, I have to complete one more scene then add the music, then I'm done. Hooray! Only two more projects and summer school is done! Hooray!

Modest No More

(at least for today)

I’m a pretty modest guy. I don’t gloat about myself, much. I rarely think that the things I do are all that amazing and that everyone can do the things I do as well or better than me. It’s not often that I get off my ass and shout the glory that is me at the world.

I bet you can see where this post will be going.

Earlier, I was bored and trying to think of something to write, so I decided to skim the other things that I’ve written here. I’ve been doing this Blog intermittently for the past ten months (okay, so ten months will actually be next Friday, but none of you knew that until just now, and most of you still don’t care, do you?) and Blogger says that I have over 170 posts, that’s about a post ever other day.

As expected, much of it is crap. Lots of short crap, one or two lines or a picture with a line or just a picture or stupid quiz results, basically useless stuff. Then there are longer posts, over five lines, that are crap, posts where I write a lot, but don’t really say anything at all. Yeah, there are lots of posts like that (like this one will probably turn out to be).

Then there are those posts that I read that surprised me. As I read them, I couldn’t believe that I was the person who had written them. They were actually well written. They told the story or gave the information in a way that kept me interested. These were the posts that I actually read all the way through, word for word, rather than just skimming to get some basic content. Thinking back on those posts, I’m still surprised that I wrote them.

They were, and still are, damn good reading. And I feel like I need a pat on the back right now, even if it comes from me.

Here it is:

Sometimes, I’m a damn fine writer.
Sometimes, I rival the professionals I read.
Sometimes, I surpass the quality of some professionals.
Sometimes, I’m amazing.

That’s it, no more of that from me.

I’m not going to tell you people which posts I think push the boarder of good toward great, that’s for each reader to decide for his or herself. Feel free to make random guesses at the posts I like, or just say which you like, I could use the ego boost after yesterday’s post. Thanks.

Grave Concern

I think that I worry the assistant manager at my store. It’s not because I constantly hum, or whistle, or sing under my breath. It’s because I’m antisocial.

Supposedly, my store gets a day (or maybe it’s just a night, I’m not sure) where other managers and district managers take over and us regular folks get the day off. We get this because we had three 5-star snapshots (secret customers grade our store) in a row.

Last week, the assistant was bitching that a couple of the employees want to take the day to go rafting on the river, then she turned to me and asked if I’d want to go rafting for our day. I told her that I wasn’t planning on going to any store social gathering.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I don’t like people in large groups and I don’t much care for people.”

She looked at me. And looked at me. And looked at me. The look was on the verge of turning into a stare when she asked, “These people, or all people.”

“People in general,” I said and headed off to my lunch.

Today, early in her shift, while we were working on the bar together, she started whispering to me about this thing again. She wanted to know if I’d be willing to go bowling, or on a picnic, or out to a restaurant, and on, and on. Each time I said I didn’t know because I figured it would get her off my back, but it didn’t. Eventually, I told her that unless I’m getting paid for my time, it’s very unlikely that I was going to do anything with a group of my co-workers.

“Are you agoraphobic?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. “It’s not going out that I don’t like, it’s people. Being around too many people makes me nervous. Being in a situation with lots of people I don’t know is hard.”

“But you went to that wedding a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but I was with some really close friends and that made it easier. If it weren’t for them, I would have gotten a stomach ache to go along with my clammy hands.”

“Oh,” she said.

Later, while I was counting out my drawer, she started talking to me about this again. I wanted to scream that we’ve been over enough already, but I didn’t. This time, she started talking about drugs to help me. I said I’d rather not take drugs if I don’t have to, that I can function in the world when I need to, that drugs should be a last resort not a first strike, that I doubt anything could make me like or trust people more than I do now, and that I needed her to double check my money. She started to count and also started to tell me about how drugs aren’t a stigma and that she’s on Prozac and it just helps to even her out. On and on. When she finished, she pulled out a piece of paper and started to write the name of a doctor who I should go to and asked if I had benefits. I said I didn’t and she stopped writing. I dropped my money, grabbed my book, and hauled ass out of there.

Picture

Good Byes

Sometimes, when someone says good-bye to me, my stomach lurches and my heart flutter and I get this fear that I'll never see that person again. So far nothing has happened. I've always seen the person again, but it hasn't helped with the lurching and fluttering.

Read This Book

“On the 5th of August the Prime Minister, accompanied by the Home Secretary, arrived at Lambeth Palace and presented the Head of the Church of England with the six billion pounds as promised in the Restoration Bill.

Two hours later the Archbishop of Canterbury walked into the very first betting shop and blew the entire six billion on a single metaphysical bet.

The bet was this: God is love.”

Bursting With Light

The apartment smells like sulfur and popcorn.

The sulfur comes from the people who have been lighting little, loud fireworks on the road and in the parking spaces.

The popcorn comes from me because I wanted something to eat while I watched the big fireworks.

The show was pretty far away, but still wonderful. I liked the ones that had a ring around the ball of sparkling light. I also like the ones that burst, then the sparkles do some erratic flying of their own. These people had a lot that burst into shapes--hearts, stars, smiley faces, cat faces, other thing--I don't much care for those. Not enough to them. Give me the large spheres of color, not stupid flat shapes.

I didn't get to see my cousins today. I woke up late. (Silly me, I didn't set the alarm. Of course Saturday morning, I woke up at six-thirty, with no alarm.) I had to rush to get out and then get to work on time. It turns out that I had miss written my schedule. I showed up just before one, but didn't have to start until one-thirty. I guess I could have spent some time with my cousins, but is it really fair to see them for maybe a half hour, when I haven't seen them in a year or so? I think that if I had visited with them and had to run away after only twenty or thirty minutes, I would be feeling much more guilty than I am right now.

*Sigh*

TRIP!

So, yesterday, I left the madness of Cowcity, for the absurdity of Cowtown. Yes, at this very moment, I’m in my hometown in my parents’ house. The parents are gone. They went on a quasi-religious cruise to Alaska. So, I’m in charge of feeding the cats and fish for them for three days.

Today was a good day.

It started with a trip to my first Starbucks. The place where I couldn’t keep my mouth shut enough and started to have a miserable time so I quit, only to come back to be rehired after the old manager left. It was nice seeing these people. I prefer them to nearly all of the people I work with in Cowcity. The difference is that nearly all the people at the Cowtown ‘Bucks have personality. In Cowcity, many of the people watch the MTV and seem to want to be the people they see. In Cowtown, the people seem much more willing to be themselves, to break out in a spontaneous song about cappuccino foam, or do the “No More Customer” dance (which never worked), or shoot spit-balls at the drive-thru window.

I miss those crazy people.

Next was a trip to Grandma’s house. I was hoping to see an uncle and three cousins who are down from Washington, but they did a strange thing on a hot day and went swimming. I didn’t see them. Instead, I visited with Grandma. Mostly, I listened. I think she just had a lot of stuff that needed to be said that she hasn’t been able to, since my Mom is out of town. It was nice. I learned about lots of relatives and the odd things that they did. That was fun.

After Grandma’s house was a trip to see Johnny Logic and Heels. They’re having a yard sale this weekend, due to all the moving they’ll be doing at the end of the month. We visited. I forgot to bring then the books and movies they loaned me, left them at the house, so I’ll be dropping them off tomorrow on my way back to Cowcity. We talked books, movies, Pittsburgh, moving, my life, their summer job, Douglass Adams, and other whatnot. Eventually, Heels packed up the sale to go to a barbeque, I was also invited. There we ate, we talked, they (all the they there) drank, some they smoked, and I took Spencer to the dirt so he could dig. (He mostly shoveled pine needles and dry leaves then threw them down the hill.) I had a good time.

Tomorrow brings another trip to Grandma’s to try to see cousins and uncle, then to drop of books and movies, then back to Cowcity to work. I may get to see some fireworks from the porch. I hope so.

Why Me?

What is it about me?

Is it my face? Do I have a face that says to people, “Tell me everything”?

Is there an air about me? Does this air make people feel that I’m a person they can trust?

What is it about me that makes people, who I barely know, want to tell me things about themselves, or ask for advice in their lives?

Today at work is a good example. I was sitting in the back room reading my book on my break when one of the girls comes back to count out her drawer. I said hi, scooted out of the way, and continued my reading. Suddenly, she goes into this story about her and her boyfriend and how it’s been wonderful. It all led up to her saying that he wanted them to get a joint bank account and she wanted to know what I thought.

What am I supposed to do? If I say to do it, she’d tell me all the reasons she shouldn’t. If I say not to do it, she’d launch into another story and give me all the reasons she should. If I just ignore her, I’m rude and then everyone in the store would be told how rude I am and I’d be hated. (As much as I don’t care for people in general, I don’t like to be hated. Who does?) If I mumble incoherently, she’d get curious and ask me what I said and pester me until I say something.

What am I supposed to do?

I played it as safe as I could. I said that if she’s worried about the two of them breaking up at some point soon not to get the account, but if she thought that marriage, or years and years together, were in their future that getting it should be fine.

Then I did a stupid thing, I started to read again. She started to tell me that they’ve been together for four years and that she loved him a lot and that she wanted them to be together forever, but that she liked her money being her money and she didn’t always trust his judgement with his money and it was always possible that he may leave her or she may leave him.

What am I supposed to do here? I’ve been in, like, zero long term relationships. I guard my money almost as well as Scrooge McDuck. I can barely picture a future past tomorrow. I only seem to love women who don’t want to love me back. And I trust almost no one. I don’t think I’m the best person to be giving advice in a relationship situation. Hell, I don’t think I’m qualified to give advice in any situation, unless it’s about what Spider-man should do while fighting Doc Ock or Electro or some other guy. Observations, sure. I like to give observations, and I think I’m pretty good at them, but not advice. No, never advice.

The silence between us had gone from being thoughtful, to awkward as I was trying to figure out the safe thing to say. She was staring at me, her blue-green eyes magnified by her glasses. My palms had become clammy. There was nothing safe to say. Anything that I could say would have led to her telling me more things and wanting me to say more and the cycle would grow until it would, in time, come to me having to convince her to stay with or break up with her boyfriend. I don’t want weeks worth of stupid relationship crap to waste my breaks every time we worked together.

Sure, it would give me lots to write about here, but is that really worth ruining my time over?

She was getting impatient. I could tell by the flush in her cheeks, the pursing of her lips, the tapping of her fingers on the printer, and the way her other hand was planted on her hip.

“I... th–,” I started to say when the shift supervisor came back and said, “Kelsey, what’s going on? We need you out front. Just drop your money and come pour some coffee.”

Kelsey glanced over at the shift, then gave me a glare that tried to peel the skin from my face. She dropped her money, grabbed her drawer, and headed out front. I rolled my chair back to the desk, took a deep breath, and started to read again.

UP UP UP

Once again, I have a day that I don't have to wake up until the afternoon, and when do I wake up? Why, seven AM, of course. Lucky me.

I also have an earworm. I've had it since Tuesday, when I saw Fahrenheit 9/11. It's the theme song from The Greatest American Hero. At least when it's worming its way into my ear now, I have images of Bush running around the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. It could be worse.