Friday, September 19, 2003
This is fun, I'm on a roll
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
(phone rings)
H (looking at caller ID): Hello [R].
R: I can't talk for long. My wife will beat me over the head if I'm any later. Just wanted to let you know I'm on vacation starting next Thursday.
H: I've been meaning to give you a call about the [Super Secret Stupid Project]. A cornered me.
R: Yeah, about your powerpoint presentation. It's like giving a presentation to Waldorf and Astoria on the Muppets. I wouldn't take it personally.
H: (laughing) I did take it personally. But that's OK. I bitched about it to my boss. I'm still working on the excel spreadsheet. Hey, I have a question for you that came up today. I can put it in an e-mail.
R: If it's anything controversial then e-mail's not good. What's it about?
H: Whether we can add [secret] and [super secret]. I said 'yes'.
R: Why don't you put it in an e-mail and pose it as a hypothetical: 'What if we' that kind of thing. Don't say we're already doing it.
H: OK. Hey, where are you going on vacation?
R: Hawaii. My mom says I should bring the sunscreen or I'll get darker than a Samoan.
H: Cool. Are you going to any of those volcanoes that are there?
R: Oh my gosh, what a racist comment! I didn't mean to say anything offensive about Samoans. And I apologize. I only meant that some Samoans have darker pigmentation in their skin.
H: Huh? Oh yeah. Are you going to any volcanoes while you're out there?
R: Yeah yeah. Anyways, I better run. I think it will be ok to send me that e-mail. I'll try to get to it before I leave.
H: Sounds good. Hey have a great time.
H (V.O.): It's Gimlet Time.
(phone rings)
H (looking at caller ID): Hello [R].
R: I can't talk for long. My wife will beat me over the head if I'm any later. Just wanted to let you know I'm on vacation starting next Thursday.
H: I've been meaning to give you a call about the [Super Secret Stupid Project]. A cornered me.
R: Yeah, about your powerpoint presentation. It's like giving a presentation to Waldorf and Astoria on the Muppets. I wouldn't take it personally.
H: (laughing) I did take it personally. But that's OK. I bitched about it to my boss. I'm still working on the excel spreadsheet. Hey, I have a question for you that came up today. I can put it in an e-mail.
R: If it's anything controversial then e-mail's not good. What's it about?
H: Whether we can add [secret] and [super secret]. I said 'yes'.
R: Why don't you put it in an e-mail and pose it as a hypothetical: 'What if we' that kind of thing. Don't say we're already doing it.
H: OK. Hey, where are you going on vacation?
R: Hawaii. My mom says I should bring the sunscreen or I'll get darker than a Samoan.
H: Cool. Are you going to any of those volcanoes that are there?
R: Oh my gosh, what a racist comment! I didn't mean to say anything offensive about Samoans. And I apologize. I only meant that some Samoans have darker pigmentation in their skin.
H: Huh? Oh yeah. Are you going to any volcanoes while you're out there?
R: Yeah yeah. Anyways, I better run. I think it will be ok to send me that e-mail. I'll try to get to it before I leave.
H: Sounds good. Hey have a great time.
H (V.O.): It's Gimlet Time.
Hmmmm.... Quantity Over Quality
That took about a half hour to write. A start, even if it sucks. Guess that High School typing class came in handy after all.
INT. CLASSROOM.
Teen-aged (c. 1977) HUGSHYHERMIT sits at typewriter. Greasy blonde afro (think Little Orphan Annie), pizza-face zits, raggedy hooded sweatshirt. JOCK spits paper-wad on H's cheek.
JOCK: Fag.
AGENT #3 (V.O.): ...meets 'Never Been Kissed'!
INT. CLASSROOM.
Teen-aged (c. 1977) HUGSHYHERMIT sits at typewriter. Greasy blonde afro (think Little Orphan Annie), pizza-face zits, raggedy hooded sweatshirt. JOCK spits paper-wad on H's cheek.
JOCK: Fag.
AGENT #3 (V.O.): ...meets 'Never Been Kissed'!
A test
My scriptwriting tutor has contacted our group: We need to have a 2-3 page scene blocked out for our next session. Ok, so I've never written dialog and I'm supposed to be working on the story of the woman who leaves her kid at a Wendy's. Let's try a dialog-driven blog entry.
INT. LIVING ROOM
HUGSHYHERMIT sits on daybed, D sits in a chair.
H: I went out to Spurs after the SS NOVA reception. {relates story found a few blog entries back titled "And on a completely unrelated note" and ending with...} So I came home and went to sleep.
D: Good for you!
H: How was your date with the ballet dancer?
D: He didn't ask many questions. I had to keep the conversation going.
H: I'm jealous. You're going out on all the dates lately.
D: Did you go to Spurs just to pick someone up?
H: Uh huh.
*Phone rings*
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE.
H: Hello, [BIPC],[real first and last name].
PRODUCT MANAGER: The G product needs to be in the mega library with a cross reference to states.
H: I filed the metadata form for that ... I think.
PM: Well, we're not creating a new library. It takes months to create one of those.
H: Oh! Did I file the wrong form? I filed a create library and file form.
PM: You need to file a modify library form and create new file form. For mega.
H: Shouldn't it be in states? All the other territories are found on the states menu.
PM: It will be cross-filed to states. Did you go to the [BIPC party]? I wasn't invited.
H: You were invited.
INT. TRAILER. 6 months earlier.
H sits on bed. COREY sits in chair. You can see PIKES PEAK through a window. COREY is so high you can see BIRDS chirping, flying around his head.
H: Hey that's cool you got your license back. Are you still drinking?
Corey: No. I stopped last October. Figured I need to get in charge of my life.
H: Cool.
*beat*
How's the job thang looking?
C: Sux. I'm trying to go to school in January. To be a Veterinarian's Assistant.
H: That's cool. I can see you doing that.
C: I like being around animals. Better than most people.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
L: I have a question about the Content Correction Guidelines. I'm sitting validating a document and I want to make sure I'm doing everything absolutely OK before I send it on. I could swear I saw something in there about cites found in the front-ends.
H (hanging up phone): Let's take a look.
H clicks on various menus and links on P.C. intranet screens. Phone rings.
H: Hello, [BIPC].
DK: I'm returning your call.
H: Oh, L's here with a question you might be able to help with. I'm putting you on speaker.
L: Hi DK. Isn't there something in the c. c. g. about segs we don't val to? I want to make absolutely certain I'm not doing something I shouldn't before sending it on. I saw it just the other day, but now that I need it I can't find it. (laughs)
DK: I don't know, I don't seem to be giving out correct answers today.
H: Oh, I'm sure we can find it. I've got the guidelines up on the screen.
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONT.
D: Do you ever count the hundreds of people you've slept with?
H: Hundreds!
D: I slept with two people a week the year after I broke up with [Chen].
H: I used to keep track, but not anymore. I slept with 43 guys up to when I was 28.
D: 43!
H: And three girls. It was the 80s.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
H (wrapping up conversation): ... Does that help you L?
L: Yes, thanks. (leaves)
H (taking speakerphone off): So we answered one question right today. What about the Ed Notes for non-reproducible images? I originally asked T if he felt it was part of the court contact process, but being realistic, LDC isn't going to contact the courts about something we don't reproduce. Then I thought about whether it was restricted, but it's not really. I think Dot can add the note herself, don't you think?
DK: That's what I told her. Te got back with her. Didn't you see the e-mail?
H: No. Did you send it to the right [hugshyhermit]? There's the other [hugshyhermit] who works here you know.
DK: I just sent it. I'll send it again.
INT. TRAILER - CONT.
C: I really like talking to you.
H: We have a good laugh.
C: I don't talk to many people. I respect your opinion.
H: Hey, thanks.
C: I don't just say that. I wish you lived closer. We could go hiking and stuff.
H (V.O.): It'll never work.
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONT.
D: I just want a boyfriend.
H (V.O.): It'll never work.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
H is shifting some papers around on desk. Uncovers SHORT STORY about Mom who discovers kid has burned down next-door neighbor's home, along with SUBMISSION FORM to obscure midwestern Literary Journal.
H (V.O.): It'll never work.
*phone rings*
D (on phone, melodically): Hell-o, [real name].
H: Hey. Still up for getting a tattoo this weekend?
INT. OFFICE -- a year from now
AGENTS sit around coffee table with SCREENPLAY on it. They have just finished sniffing COKE.
AGENT #1 (coughing): It's better than 'Adaptation'...
AGENT #2: I was thinking 'The Swimming Pool'...
AGENT #3: It's 'American Splendor' meets 'Mulholland Drive' meets 'All Over The Guy'!
AGENT #2: Who else this guy showing to?
AGENT #1: Coppola said he might opt.
AGENT #2: Whaddya think. A mil? Two?
AGENT #3: Let's start with that. I'll make the call. (reaches for telephone) *beat*
(All laugh.)
AGENT #1: What a load of crap!
AGENT #2: What a self-centered, self-important bitch!
AGENT #3 (taking out cigarette): Anyone got a light?
AGENT #2 takes SCREENPLAY and dips it in lighter, then extends burning paper over to cigarette. CLOSE IN on title: 'LUSCIOUS DESERT'
INT. LIVING ROOM
HUGSHYHERMIT sits on daybed, D sits in a chair.
H: I went out to Spurs after the SS NOVA reception. {relates story found a few blog entries back titled "And on a completely unrelated note" and ending with...} So I came home and went to sleep.
D: Good for you!
H: How was your date with the ballet dancer?
D: He didn't ask many questions. I had to keep the conversation going.
H: I'm jealous. You're going out on all the dates lately.
D: Did you go to Spurs just to pick someone up?
H: Uh huh.
*Phone rings*
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE.
H: Hello, [BIPC],[real first and last name].
PRODUCT MANAGER: The G product needs to be in the mega library with a cross reference to states.
H: I filed the metadata form for that ... I think.
PM: Well, we're not creating a new library. It takes months to create one of those.
H: Oh! Did I file the wrong form? I filed a create library and file form.
PM: You need to file a modify library form and create new file form. For mega.
H: Shouldn't it be in states? All the other territories are found on the states menu.
PM: It will be cross-filed to states. Did you go to the [BIPC party]? I wasn't invited.
H: You were invited.
INT. TRAILER. 6 months earlier.
H sits on bed. COREY sits in chair. You can see PIKES PEAK through a window. COREY is so high you can see BIRDS chirping, flying around his head.
H: Hey that's cool you got your license back. Are you still drinking?
Corey: No. I stopped last October. Figured I need to get in charge of my life.
H: Cool.
*beat*
How's the job thang looking?
C: Sux. I'm trying to go to school in January. To be a Veterinarian's Assistant.
H: That's cool. I can see you doing that.
C: I like being around animals. Better than most people.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
L: I have a question about the Content Correction Guidelines. I'm sitting validating a document and I want to make sure I'm doing everything absolutely OK before I send it on. I could swear I saw something in there about cites found in the front-ends.
H (hanging up phone): Let's take a look.
H clicks on various menus and links on P.C. intranet screens. Phone rings.
H: Hello, [BIPC].
DK: I'm returning your call.
H: Oh, L's here with a question you might be able to help with. I'm putting you on speaker.
L: Hi DK. Isn't there something in the c. c. g. about segs we don't val to? I want to make absolutely certain I'm not doing something I shouldn't before sending it on. I saw it just the other day, but now that I need it I can't find it. (laughs)
DK: I don't know, I don't seem to be giving out correct answers today.
H: Oh, I'm sure we can find it. I've got the guidelines up on the screen.
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONT.
D: Do you ever count the hundreds of people you've slept with?
H: Hundreds!
D: I slept with two people a week the year after I broke up with [Chen].
H: I used to keep track, but not anymore. I slept with 43 guys up to when I was 28.
D: 43!
H: And three girls. It was the 80s.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
H (wrapping up conversation): ... Does that help you L?
L: Yes, thanks. (leaves)
H (taking speakerphone off): So we answered one question right today. What about the Ed Notes for non-reproducible images? I originally asked T if he felt it was part of the court contact process, but being realistic, LDC isn't going to contact the courts about something we don't reproduce. Then I thought about whether it was restricted, but it's not really. I think Dot can add the note herself, don't you think?
DK: That's what I told her. Te got back with her. Didn't you see the e-mail?
H: No. Did you send it to the right [hugshyhermit]? There's the other [hugshyhermit] who works here you know.
DK: I just sent it. I'll send it again.
INT. TRAILER - CONT.
C: I really like talking to you.
H: We have a good laugh.
C: I don't talk to many people. I respect your opinion.
H: Hey, thanks.
C: I don't just say that. I wish you lived closer. We could go hiking and stuff.
H (V.O.): It'll never work.
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONT.
D: I just want a boyfriend.
H (V.O.): It'll never work.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE - CONT.
H is shifting some papers around on desk. Uncovers SHORT STORY about Mom who discovers kid has burned down next-door neighbor's home, along with SUBMISSION FORM to obscure midwestern Literary Journal.
H (V.O.): It'll never work.
*phone rings*
D (on phone, melodically): Hell-o, [real name].
H: Hey. Still up for getting a tattoo this weekend?
INT. OFFICE -- a year from now
AGENTS sit around coffee table with SCREENPLAY on it. They have just finished sniffing COKE.
AGENT #1 (coughing): It's better than 'Adaptation'...
AGENT #2: I was thinking 'The Swimming Pool'...
AGENT #3: It's 'American Splendor' meets 'Mulholland Drive' meets 'All Over The Guy'!
AGENT #2: Who else this guy showing to?
AGENT #1: Coppola said he might opt.
AGENT #2: Whaddya think. A mil? Two?
AGENT #3: Let's start with that. I'll make the call. (reaches for telephone) *beat*
(All laugh.)
AGENT #1: What a load of crap!
AGENT #2: What a self-centered, self-important bitch!
AGENT #3 (taking out cigarette): Anyone got a light?
AGENT #2 takes SCREENPLAY and dips it in lighter, then extends burning paper over to cigarette. CLOSE IN on title: 'LUSCIOUS DESERT'
Thursday, September 18, 2003
How Perfidious
I thought I was having technical problems with this BLOG site. And, because I didn't have enough sleep or enough to occupy my compulsive little brain, I repeatedly visited and revisited the templates, posts and profile to stress over whether anything had been lost or broken with the site. I ended up reading everything I've written -- and found I use this word too much. Time to break out the Thesaurus!
From the following: Merriam-Webster Dictionary Free, and Corporate Core Value-Approved.
From the following: Merriam-Webster Dictionary Free, and Corporate Core Value-Approved.
Main Entry: in·sid·i·ous
Etymology: Latin insidiosus, from insidiae ambush, from insidEre to sit in, sit on, from in- + sedEre to sit -- more at SIT
Date: 1545
1 a : awaiting a chance to entrap : TREACHEROUS b : harmful but enticing : SEDUCTIVE
2 a : having a gradual and cumulative effect : SUBTLE b of a disease : developing so gradually as to be well established before becoming apparent
- in·sid·i·ous·ly adverb
- in·sid·i·ous·ness noun
Synonyms SLY 2, artful, astute, crafty, cunning, deep, foxy, guileful, tricky, wily
Related Word perfidious, treacherous; dangerous, perilous; gradual, subtle
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Rant On Rant, Heartache On Heartache
The Price for Success: Let's Get Snarky
Today was productive at work: Most folks were devoted to preparing for the big celebration for winning -- and completing the retroactive conversion -- of a certain large Western state's publishing contract. I cleaned my messy little cubicle. And while it's still a mess, I filled up two wastebaskets with old crap.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I went to the celebration, too. I played a round of Euchre, and ho ho ho it was a lot of fun.
So, here I am, still at work tonight, getting ready to go over to the hopefully empty gym and pump some iron. Gotta look good for all those A-list social events! Speaking of: See the above link.
This ties in with a few of my previous entries on here. For instance, if you read this link, I believe I was pretty darn close to meeting all of the above criteria at the AIDS Fundraiser last weekend. (Only, I didn't get "snarky" -- guess I'm a social serf.) I wore clingy Kenneth Cole, I brought a donation, I mingled, I mixed, I laughed, I laughed some more. I suppose people will think I was there with Dave, and you know what -- GOOD!
The article also demonstrates what I detest about qualities of being "sociable", "friendly" and of being a "success". Without being a world traveler, I don't think it's making a stretch by theorizing that this insidiousness is particularly American. Peculiarly and hypocritically American. "A"-list indeed!
I'll be adding to this post soon: Either by creating more on a separate post, or continuing to edit this one. (I posted an earlier version of this post when I was tired and I thought BLOG wasn't working. I just finished editing it, one pass through, but I'm tired this time, too.)
Bring on some more guestbook comments!
Today was productive at work: Most folks were devoted to preparing for the big celebration for winning -- and completing the retroactive conversion -- of a certain large Western state's publishing contract. I cleaned my messy little cubicle. And while it's still a mess, I filled up two wastebaskets with old crap.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I went to the celebration, too. I played a round of Euchre, and ho ho ho it was a lot of fun.
So, here I am, still at work tonight, getting ready to go over to the hopefully empty gym and pump some iron. Gotta look good for all those A-list social events! Speaking of: See the above link.
This ties in with a few of my previous entries on here. For instance, if you read this link, I believe I was pretty darn close to meeting all of the above criteria at the AIDS Fundraiser last weekend. (Only, I didn't get "snarky" -- guess I'm a social serf.) I wore clingy Kenneth Cole, I brought a donation, I mingled, I mixed, I laughed, I laughed some more. I suppose people will think I was there with Dave, and you know what -- GOOD!
The article also demonstrates what I detest about qualities of being "sociable", "friendly" and of being a "success". Without being a world traveler, I don't think it's making a stretch by theorizing that this insidiousness is particularly American. Peculiarly and hypocritically American. "A"-list indeed!
I'll be adding to this post soon: Either by creating more on a separate post, or continuing to edit this one. (I posted an earlier version of this post when I was tired and I thought BLOG wasn't working. I just finished editing it, one pass through, but I'm tired this time, too.)
Bring on some more guestbook comments!
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Last night's dream
I am in a 1930s sedan, an enclosed car that is proportioned larger than today's vehicles -- ample head, shoulder and leg room. I am in the front passenger seat, a padded bench, and a friend of mine is driving. I look out the closed windows, over the lip of a rolled front fender and the rear of a chrome headlight pod. We drive on a serpentine, dirt road down a hill in the countryside. It is sunny out, and we pass continually over a gulley. The gulley quickly deepens and as we turn a bend, we approach a small concrete bridge over a deep channel. The bridge is vaguely gothic in design, 1920s gothic, with multiple arched supports and arch designs in the concrete railings.
My friend and I are quietly talking. It's a guy, and if it is someone specific, I can't remember who it is now. As we start across the bridge, the road at the end just starts crumbling. Pot-holes suddenly appear and grow like webs, then whole sections of roadway cave; arch pillars fall away in dusty chunks down the gulley; balustrades collapse. The car stops and I brace myself, reaching one hand up to touch the solid quilted roof. The car trembles, then starts to plummet. I can't touch the roof; I start falling forward; there is no seat belt. It is silent.
My friend and I are quietly talking. It's a guy, and if it is someone specific, I can't remember who it is now. As we start across the bridge, the road at the end just starts crumbling. Pot-holes suddenly appear and grow like webs, then whole sections of roadway cave; arch pillars fall away in dusty chunks down the gulley; balustrades collapse. The car stops and I brace myself, reaching one hand up to touch the solid quilted roof. The car trembles, then starts to plummet. I can't touch the roof; I start falling forward; there is no seat belt. It is silent.
Cheaper Than Therapy: Fight Club and Blog Objectives (revisited)
Oh oh oh! I got a guest who signed my guestbook the other day! My guest told me I'm a self-important, self-centered little bitch! And: if I had something to say, great; if not, then who cares? I heartily agree!
One of my favorite movies in the past couple of years has been "Fight Club". I recently downloaded the screenplay from that script-o-rama site the screenwriter guy told me. A line in that film really stands out for me, something like "Men are told from birth we will rule the world, but instead we become slaves -- to alimony payments and credit cards, chasing dead end jobs to pay for stuff that doesn't matter."
Love it.
BLOGging has really hooked me because, unless you're one of the few people I've told, you do not know me and I do not know you. I use this BLOG to vomit about my life, and yeah, it's all about me, me, me -- and my misery knows no limit. If you knew me, you wouldn't guess this BLOG was about me (thank you Carly Simon) because I'm such a sun-shine-y little coworker who wins Core Corporate Value awards and laughs uproariously with my friends on weekends. And if that's a lie, then you readers will not know otherwise.
No, Luscious Desert won't win the Family Values Award. But what about touted alternatives? Is mainstream living raw? Are you Alive if you live in a house that looks exactly like the house next door or three doors down, with rooms of furniture from Ethan Allan or Cumberland House, a garage chocked with an SUV and a sedan, and a membership at a golf club and a church where you donate $50 (more if you haven't visited in awhile)? Daily visits to Wal-Mart and annual visits to Disney World? Is that Real? As miserable as my life may be, that kind of living is Death. Let us pretend I live that life: I could pretend that my life was ruined decades ago by the Catholic Church and they deserve to pay me millions. Or, perhaps instead, McDonalds should pay for the fact I'm too lazy to get up from my recliner to cook a meal. Maybe I should be in Therapy: A drug to give me a Stepford spirituality to match my smile and expressions of compassion.
Do I have something to say? I don't know. Maybe not: This is, after all, a place where I can spew acid -- better here than at my friends and coworkers. Maybe so: Since I've started a month ago, I've been writing on average about 2 - 3 hours a day. If I were to try and write something for publication, I would want it to have a positive edge -- two people falling in love, a character undergoing positive growth -- and yeah, that's a little lacking so far in these posts. But in order to achieve the desired end, like they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, you need to Hit Bottom first.
Well, enough about me; Let's talk about *you*. What do *you* think about me?
One of my favorite movies in the past couple of years has been "Fight Club". I recently downloaded the screenplay from that script-o-rama site the screenwriter guy told me. A line in that film really stands out for me, something like "Men are told from birth we will rule the world, but instead we become slaves -- to alimony payments and credit cards, chasing dead end jobs to pay for stuff that doesn't matter."
Love it.
BLOGging has really hooked me because, unless you're one of the few people I've told, you do not know me and I do not know you. I use this BLOG to vomit about my life, and yeah, it's all about me, me, me -- and my misery knows no limit. If you knew me, you wouldn't guess this BLOG was about me (thank you Carly Simon) because I'm such a sun-shine-y little coworker who wins Core Corporate Value awards and laughs uproariously with my friends on weekends. And if that's a lie, then you readers will not know otherwise.
No, Luscious Desert won't win the Family Values Award. But what about touted alternatives? Is mainstream living raw? Are you Alive if you live in a house that looks exactly like the house next door or three doors down, with rooms of furniture from Ethan Allan or Cumberland House, a garage chocked with an SUV and a sedan, and a membership at a golf club and a church where you donate $50 (more if you haven't visited in awhile)? Daily visits to Wal-Mart and annual visits to Disney World? Is that Real? As miserable as my life may be, that kind of living is Death. Let us pretend I live that life: I could pretend that my life was ruined decades ago by the Catholic Church and they deserve to pay me millions. Or, perhaps instead, McDonalds should pay for the fact I'm too lazy to get up from my recliner to cook a meal. Maybe I should be in Therapy: A drug to give me a Stepford spirituality to match my smile and expressions of compassion.
Do I have something to say? I don't know. Maybe not: This is, after all, a place where I can spew acid -- better here than at my friends and coworkers. Maybe so: Since I've started a month ago, I've been writing on average about 2 - 3 hours a day. If I were to try and write something for publication, I would want it to have a positive edge -- two people falling in love, a character undergoing positive growth -- and yeah, that's a little lacking so far in these posts. But in order to achieve the desired end, like they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, you need to Hit Bottom first.
Well, enough about me; Let's talk about *you*. What do *you* think about me?
Monday, September 15, 2003
And on a completely unrelated note...
Another interesting observation, mostly about my sexual drive (or something). After the art opening, I went out briefly, to try and pick someone up. I went to Spurs, where it was crowded. I was short there. Everyone knew everyone else, but that's OK, I know the deal. I stood off by myself to see what would happen.
Eventually, someone came over: "My friend wants to know if you'll show him your dick." How charming. But his friend was cute, and I wasn't there to discuss politics. So I said "sure", and went over to chat. Well, that set them off giggling and I don't know why, since they were bartenders and over thirty -- they'd been around the block in other words. Were they expecting me to be insulted?
Trying to chat this guy up was like trying to light a fire in pouring rain. I asked if he was ready to go, and he said, "What, you mean like right now?" And I said yes. He said he had to drop off his friend first, etc etc and so I shook his hand and said, "Well, it looks like it won't be tonight. See you round." and I went home to sleep.
So, what do you make of that?
Eventually, someone came over: "My friend wants to know if you'll show him your dick." How charming. But his friend was cute, and I wasn't there to discuss politics. So I said "sure", and went over to chat. Well, that set them off giggling and I don't know why, since they were bartenders and over thirty -- they'd been around the block in other words. Were they expecting me to be insulted?
Trying to chat this guy up was like trying to light a fire in pouring rain. I asked if he was ready to go, and he said, "What, you mean like right now?" And I said yes. He said he had to drop off his friend first, etc etc and so I shook his hand and said, "Well, it looks like it won't be tonight. See you round." and I went home to sleep.
So, what do you make of that?
Deja Blue
I wasn't feeling too sociable last week, faced last week with my wonderful career and the prospect of moving back to beautiful Dayton. But my friend D forced me out to events on Friday, Saturday AND Sunday; and I guess I'm feeling a little better today. It was a fun weekend.
On Friday, he put together a group, and I met a couple of new friends of his, for Indian, and then on to see "American Splendor" at the Esquire. On Saturday, he invited me along for a dinner group, where I knew some of the other folks already. And, on Sunday, we went to an AIDS Cincinnati fundraiser.
Some observations: I bet some of these a-list slashers, some who had been at that pool party a few weeks ago, lead a sort of bored existence. One guy just sat off by himself, miserable, at the dinner thing. He was cute, but looked so unpleasant, I didn't want to try to get to know him better. There were a few like that at the fundraiser, too. Kind of like putting in your time so you keep getting invited or something. Why bother? Also, it occurred to me that people who supposedly want to date, would only date until they found something horribly wrong with you, like you didn't like their taste in Pottery Barn or you mixed Banana Republic with Kenneth Cole -- something absolutely forbidden. I was outgoing and charming as I could be, laugh laugh laugh, but left with mixed feelings of disappointment and relief.
D and I also went to an art opening at SS NOVA, a downtown warehouse space that looks and smells like a colonial fort's dungeon. It has white-painted high barrel-vaulted ceilings, some stones damp. The art was about gun violence in America. I liked the Harry Potter and Brittney Spears posters for NRA -- no copyright laws broken there no -- absolutely brilliant and like totally awesome! Also, a police-tape crime scene of a troll doll lying in a pool of blood, bullet holes and a troll tennis shoe off to one side. ha ha ha. D liked the colored lollipops in the shape of revolvers called "suckas". ha ha ha.
There were also a portrait of a young couple surrounded by little "Putti" angels, all with dripping bullet holes; and a silkscreen of a well-manicured wealthy woman opening up a gift of a gun from her husband, with the benevolent hand of GOD overlooking all. The American Dream.
Here it is the start of a new work week, and I hoped today to start cleaning my messy little cubicle into a happy home. Guess there's always tomorrow...
On Friday, he put together a group, and I met a couple of new friends of his, for Indian, and then on to see "American Splendor" at the Esquire. On Saturday, he invited me along for a dinner group, where I knew some of the other folks already. And, on Sunday, we went to an AIDS Cincinnati fundraiser.
Some observations: I bet some of these a-list slashers, some who had been at that pool party a few weeks ago, lead a sort of bored existence. One guy just sat off by himself, miserable, at the dinner thing. He was cute, but looked so unpleasant, I didn't want to try to get to know him better. There were a few like that at the fundraiser, too. Kind of like putting in your time so you keep getting invited or something. Why bother? Also, it occurred to me that people who supposedly want to date, would only date until they found something horribly wrong with you, like you didn't like their taste in Pottery Barn or you mixed Banana Republic with Kenneth Cole -- something absolutely forbidden. I was outgoing and charming as I could be, laugh laugh laugh, but left with mixed feelings of disappointment and relief.
D and I also went to an art opening at SS NOVA, a downtown warehouse space that looks and smells like a colonial fort's dungeon. It has white-painted high barrel-vaulted ceilings, some stones damp. The art was about gun violence in America. I liked the Harry Potter and Brittney Spears posters for NRA -- no copyright laws broken there no -- absolutely brilliant and like totally awesome! Also, a police-tape crime scene of a troll doll lying in a pool of blood, bullet holes and a troll tennis shoe off to one side. ha ha ha. D liked the colored lollipops in the shape of revolvers called "suckas". ha ha ha.
There were also a portrait of a young couple surrounded by little "Putti" angels, all with dripping bullet holes; and a silkscreen of a well-manicured wealthy woman opening up a gift of a gun from her husband, with the benevolent hand of GOD overlooking all. The American Dream.
Here it is the start of a new work week, and I hoped today to start cleaning my messy little cubicle into a happy home. Guess there's always tomorrow...