Tell-a-Clare, I spent the night in Delaware
Somethin’ ‘bout a college town,
the other side of M, D.
Spent the evenin’ waitin’ and scrabblin’
with my extended family.
I do like those college towns.
Eye candy for all to see.
That First State t’ain’t far from here,
and them goods are tax free.
Something ‘bout a college town
they do love a hippy.
The rest of Delaware, well I can’t say,
‘cause I’m part of the conspiracy.
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Coming clean
For a second there I was starting to think I was becoming pretty hip. My CD player is spinning The Postal Service, Josh Ritter and the newly beloved Hem. So, I'm thinking, "I'm grown up. I've got these sophisticated indie music tastes now. I'm enjoying the subtleties of lyrics and the powerful harmonies of instrument and voice." And then it hits me, I'm not hip. Because, I'm wailing, I'd warble if I knew how, but I don't, so I'm wailing, in my finest falsetto, "LET THE RAIN FALL DOWN" and I'm loving it. The hipsters can't handle Hilary D. They don't even try.
And that's why they'll never be as cool* as me.
*They will also never be as cool as me, or I as hip as them, because they no longer use the words "cool" and/or "hip". I would tell you what they do use, but they won't even look at me.
For a second there I was starting to think I was becoming pretty hip. My CD player is spinning The Postal Service, Josh Ritter and the newly beloved Hem. So, I'm thinking, "I'm grown up. I've got these sophisticated indie music tastes now. I'm enjoying the subtleties of lyrics and the powerful harmonies of instrument and voice." And then it hits me, I'm not hip. Because, I'm wailing, I'd warble if I knew how, but I don't, so I'm wailing, in my finest falsetto, "LET THE RAIN FALL DOWN" and I'm loving it. The hipsters can't handle Hilary D. They don't even try.
And that's why they'll never be as cool* as me.
*They will also never be as cool as me, or I as hip as them, because they no longer use the words "cool" and/or "hip". I would tell you what they do use, but they won't even look at me.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
My friends
are rock stars. They're out there doing it and if they aren't huge by the definition that most of the world will give you for "huge", they're huge to me.
They're making things happen. They're becoming Masters of Creative NonFiction and Masters of the Universe. They're changing the way you read the paper and the Internet. They're making families and saving kittens. They're buying houses and growing roots. They're searching for happiness and figuring it all out.
It's amazing to me. And it's so cool that I get to watch, to participate, to help take over the world.
Rock stars. Solid and Far out.
are rock stars. They're out there doing it and if they aren't huge by the definition that most of the world will give you for "huge", they're huge to me.
They're making things happen. They're becoming Masters of Creative NonFiction and Masters of the Universe. They're changing the way you read the paper and the Internet. They're making families and saving kittens. They're buying houses and growing roots. They're searching for happiness and figuring it all out.
It's amazing to me. And it's so cool that I get to watch, to participate, to help take over the world.
Rock stars. Solid and Far out.
Monday, February 23, 2004
A chance of a hint of something I might like to do
I went to a little presentation on Personas today. "They" swear they're different than just thinking about demographics, but I'm not convinced it isn't just a different way of thinking about the same things. However, demographics are kind of interesting. Web site behaviors- kind of interesting. Some sort of demographic, marketing, website reasearch gig? maybe? Might satisfy my "group dynamics" urges and my "paycheck" urge.
No one get carried away yet. I'm not making any changes until I'm good and ready.
I went to a little presentation on Personas today. "They" swear they're different than just thinking about demographics, but I'm not convinced it isn't just a different way of thinking about the same things. However, demographics are kind of interesting. Web site behaviors- kind of interesting. Some sort of demographic, marketing, website reasearch gig? maybe? Might satisfy my "group dynamics" urges and my "paycheck" urge.
No one get carried away yet. I'm not making any changes until I'm good and ready.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Do you realize?
-That Sex and The City (everybody else is going to blog about it) is over and I've only been a fan for two months and I still almost cried.
-it was the Miranda stuff if you wanted to know what got me.
-That this was one of the most satisfying weekends in a long time and I have a funny feeling most of that satisfaction came from a punishing 18 minutes.
-That Do Topia only represents a fraction of the nonsense that comes out of my brain, but my kind housemate is generous enough to listen to a big chunk of the rest of the nonsense.
-That I fully expect tomorrow to be just another manic Monday.
-That Sex and The City (everybody else is going to blog about it) is over and I've only been a fan for two months and I still almost cried.
-it was the Miranda stuff if you wanted to know what got me.
-That this was one of the most satisfying weekends in a long time and I have a funny feeling most of that satisfaction came from a punishing 18 minutes.
-That Do Topia only represents a fraction of the nonsense that comes out of my brain, but my kind housemate is generous enough to listen to a big chunk of the rest of the nonsense.
-That I fully expect tomorrow to be just another manic Monday.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Slow twitch muscle fibers
Ah. Race day. It's been more than 2 years since I've had one. Bits of running have been mixed in with a steady diet of Ultimate; game day had replaced race day. Not today.
Today the old routines came back like the last race was last weekend. The old routines still work. I left the warm-up "I'll- never -run- faster- than- molasses" jitters after a nice stretch. I would at least beat molasses today.
I eyed my competition wavering between confident "Whose ass will I kick today?" and supremely unconfident, "Do I remember how to do this? Everyone looks like they are going to kick my ass."
I had moments of zen, peaceful calm as I touched the grass and eyed the Potomac river on three sides of this penisula 5k. Those moments alternated with something more like wild drunken butterflies in my stomach. The zen was pleasant, but the butterflies were more familiar and thus a greater comfort before the race.
The flag dropped and we took off, or rather plodded slowly off. I'd forgotten the starting pace of the average road race. I have never been much for plodding and so I began to eye the leaders and move with them. Since lately I haven't been much for training, this strategy worked for something like 600 meters. By 800 meters I had what is commonly called the "Gut Check." I know it's been a while since I raced, but I distinctly remember the gut check coming at 2.5k or 4k, not this early, not this early at all.
I've got guts and I checked them, and I checked them, and I checked them some more, at one point I even checked them in my throat. The guts checked out at acceptable levels, but would appreciate not being checked so often in the future.
I struggled all the way to the end, battling it out with several runners and my arch nemesis-- me.
It wasn't the fastest race I've ever run, nor the smartest, nor any other -est that I can think of, but MAN was it satisfying.
Ah. Race day. It's been more than 2 years since I've had one. Bits of running have been mixed in with a steady diet of Ultimate; game day had replaced race day. Not today.
Today the old routines came back like the last race was last weekend. The old routines still work. I left the warm-up "I'll- never -run- faster- than- molasses" jitters after a nice stretch. I would at least beat molasses today.
I eyed my competition wavering between confident "Whose ass will I kick today?" and supremely unconfident, "Do I remember how to do this? Everyone looks like they are going to kick my ass."
I had moments of zen, peaceful calm as I touched the grass and eyed the Potomac river on three sides of this penisula 5k. Those moments alternated with something more like wild drunken butterflies in my stomach. The zen was pleasant, but the butterflies were more familiar and thus a greater comfort before the race.
The flag dropped and we took off, or rather plodded slowly off. I'd forgotten the starting pace of the average road race. I have never been much for plodding and so I began to eye the leaders and move with them. Since lately I haven't been much for training, this strategy worked for something like 600 meters. By 800 meters I had what is commonly called the "Gut Check." I know it's been a while since I raced, but I distinctly remember the gut check coming at 2.5k or 4k, not this early, not this early at all.
I've got guts and I checked them, and I checked them, and I checked them some more, at one point I even checked them in my throat. The guts checked out at acceptable levels, but would appreciate not being checked so often in the future.
I struggled all the way to the end, battling it out with several runners and my arch nemesis-- me.
It wasn't the fastest race I've ever run, nor the smartest, nor any other -est that I can think of, but MAN was it satisfying.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
That's not the deal
Just make it past Valentine's Day I told myself. I just miss her because everyone is falling all over each other with candy and flowers. It's a symptom of the season. The season, yea, I just miss her because it's cold and dark. There were always nice moments in the cold and dark. Love hangs better in the crisp night air.
Wait until it gets warmer, then it'll be fine. Warmer? Like spring time? The season for falling in love? The season when short shorts make their triumphant return? No. No. after that.
Oh, summer then? It'll be fine when summer hits? When I'm on the beach sipping lemonade and rocking silently on the front porch of a cute little inn farther north sharing the sunset with yours truly? Or when I walk the scorching streets, disc in hand, knowing she'd throw with me?
Fall? How about Fall? When I'm out looking at the leaves change color? Out on a Sunday drive stopping at the overlook and exchanging smiles with myself in the rearview mirror? That Fall?
No. No. The next one? That's winter again. It's cold and dark again.
Yeah. I know.
Just make it past Valentine's Day I told myself. I just miss her because everyone is falling all over each other with candy and flowers. It's a symptom of the season. The season, yea, I just miss her because it's cold and dark. There were always nice moments in the cold and dark. Love hangs better in the crisp night air.
Wait until it gets warmer, then it'll be fine. Warmer? Like spring time? The season for falling in love? The season when short shorts make their triumphant return? No. No. after that.
Oh, summer then? It'll be fine when summer hits? When I'm on the beach sipping lemonade and rocking silently on the front porch of a cute little inn farther north sharing the sunset with yours truly? Or when I walk the scorching streets, disc in hand, knowing she'd throw with me?
Fall? How about Fall? When I'm out looking at the leaves change color? Out on a Sunday drive stopping at the overlook and exchanging smiles with myself in the rearview mirror? That Fall?
No. No. The next one? That's winter again. It's cold and dark again.
Yeah. I know.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Blogging adds 5 kilos (11 pounds, if I must) to your weight
In a recent scientific study involving the exhaustive survey of someone, as well as extensive field research, or at least searching in a field, Scientists, or men and women with white lab coats, determined individuals appearing on blogs, like those before them who had appeared on television, are saddled with a perceived addition of at least 5 kilos (11 American pounds) to their weight.
Men and women in white lab coats are unclear as to what causes this paradigm shift, or even what a paradigm shift is. They have, however, confirmed that a paradigm shift sounds "pretty nifty".
Survey results did reveal that the additional imagined 5 kilos were also accompanied by a perceived extra level of cuteness. More searching in fields is in progress, but for now the men and women in white lab coats are content with the assertion that "blog writers are perceived as cuter and chubbier than real people".
I, for one, look forward to the outcome of further study and urge you to support this research in whatever means possible.
In a recent scientific study involving the exhaustive survey of someone, as well as extensive field research, or at least searching in a field, Scientists, or men and women with white lab coats, determined individuals appearing on blogs, like those before them who had appeared on television, are saddled with a perceived addition of at least 5 kilos (11 American pounds) to their weight.
Men and women in white lab coats are unclear as to what causes this paradigm shift, or even what a paradigm shift is. They have, however, confirmed that a paradigm shift sounds "pretty nifty".
Survey results did reveal that the additional imagined 5 kilos were also accompanied by a perceived extra level of cuteness. More searching in fields is in progress, but for now the men and women in white lab coats are content with the assertion that "blog writers are perceived as cuter and chubbier than real people".
I, for one, look forward to the outcome of further study and urge you to support this research in whatever means possible.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
It's hard to be a jerk...er...coach
The point I was trying to make was "Be patient. Don't just throw the disc up and expect your teammates to bail you out." It's not an easy thing to tell someone, so when I caught the swill, I immediately threw it away. It was a statement, "That's not what we wanted." I'm afraid my young friend heard a different statement, a "You must be perfect" sort of statement. That's not what I meant. And when we exchanged the loud words that's what I tried to explain.
By the end of the game, he had stopped throwing it wildly.
Did I win or lose? I got the results I wanted. Was there a better way?
The point I was trying to make was "Be patient. Don't just throw the disc up and expect your teammates to bail you out." It's not an easy thing to tell someone, so when I caught the swill, I immediately threw it away. It was a statement, "That's not what we wanted." I'm afraid my young friend heard a different statement, a "You must be perfect" sort of statement. That's not what I meant. And when we exchanged the loud words that's what I tried to explain.
By the end of the game, he had stopped throwing it wildly.
Did I win or lose? I got the results I wanted. Was there a better way?
Monday, February 16, 2004
These are troubled times
It only dawned on me at dinner tonight. I have reached a troubling point in my life. My memory of leaner times is starting to get fuzzy. It's getting harder to recall a time when I did not have the luxuries that I do now. I can only vaguely recall a time when my only condiment was BBQ sauce. Now I'm free to choose amongst Heinz 57 sauce, BBQ sauce, ketchup, mustard, and of course salsa. I have 4 varieties of salad dressing that go almost untouched. I seem to recall a time when meat was a biweekly extravagance, and now, NOW I buy myself ribs to eat on a whim. I haven't touched Ramen in nearly 10 months. So the Ramen baby can't be mine!
I've reached a comfort level. If not in the lap of luxury, I must be at least near the kneecap. I have the money to buy two mustards, but it's much easier to go to work fighting for just one. So the trouble, you see, is what am I fighting for? Is it to maintain this "rock 'n' roll" lifestyle? The one which sees me aimlessly careening from movie theater to movie theater? The lifestyle which affords me the occasional book or CD not borrowed from the library, but actually purchased? Is that enough to sustain a man? How can two mustards and ownership of books and music drive a man the way survival does?
They can't. That's why I'm going to become a Friend of the AFI Silver Theater. Because if I can't figure out what I'm fighting for, the least I can do is support the cinema and escape to a darkened theater.
It only dawned on me at dinner tonight. I have reached a troubling point in my life. My memory of leaner times is starting to get fuzzy. It's getting harder to recall a time when I did not have the luxuries that I do now. I can only vaguely recall a time when my only condiment was BBQ sauce. Now I'm free to choose amongst Heinz 57 sauce, BBQ sauce, ketchup, mustard, and of course salsa. I have 4 varieties of salad dressing that go almost untouched. I seem to recall a time when meat was a biweekly extravagance, and now, NOW I buy myself ribs to eat on a whim. I haven't touched Ramen in nearly 10 months. So the Ramen baby can't be mine!
I've reached a comfort level. If not in the lap of luxury, I must be at least near the kneecap. I have the money to buy two mustards, but it's much easier to go to work fighting for just one. So the trouble, you see, is what am I fighting for? Is it to maintain this "rock 'n' roll" lifestyle? The one which sees me aimlessly careening from movie theater to movie theater? The lifestyle which affords me the occasional book or CD not borrowed from the library, but actually purchased? Is that enough to sustain a man? How can two mustards and ownership of books and music drive a man the way survival does?
They can't. That's why I'm going to become a Friend of the AFI Silver Theater. Because if I can't figure out what I'm fighting for, the least I can do is support the cinema and escape to a darkened theater.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Saturday, February 14, 2004
No Humpty Dance for Dave
I was trying to figure out what to wear out to see Digital Underground, they of Humpty Dance fame (and little else no matter what the radio and print ads have been trying to say all week.)
That's when the personality of my evening started to sink in. I'd be 1. at a bar and 2. listening to Digital Underground. I know I complain that I want to "DO SOMETHING", and it would be nice if this involved trying new things, but bars aren't new and DU certainly isn't new, are they retro yet?
I've been to bars and I can't remember too many that I've enjoyed. Perhaps a few in New Orleans, but that was more due to the quality of the company and the otherworldy scene that is Bourbon. If I wanted to be at a bar on Valentine's Day, I should at least go to the new Coyote Ugly where the single ladies are getting in free (not to mention dancing on the bar). No. So why go tonight? Valentine's Day pressure could crush a lesser man and it could seriously injure me.
Go for DU and the Humpty Dance? I've seen them. I saw them in a tavern in Frasier, CO. And at that time, I was mildly excited to take my chance to do the hump. I know it's only been a couple of years, but it felt safe then and still feels safe now to say, "once with the big-nosed man is enough."
I was trying to figure out what to wear out to see Digital Underground, they of Humpty Dance fame (and little else no matter what the radio and print ads have been trying to say all week.)
That's when the personality of my evening started to sink in. I'd be 1. at a bar and 2. listening to Digital Underground. I know I complain that I want to "DO SOMETHING", and it would be nice if this involved trying new things, but bars aren't new and DU certainly isn't new, are they retro yet?
I've been to bars and I can't remember too many that I've enjoyed. Perhaps a few in New Orleans, but that was more due to the quality of the company and the otherworldy scene that is Bourbon. If I wanted to be at a bar on Valentine's Day, I should at least go to the new Coyote Ugly where the single ladies are getting in free (not to mention dancing on the bar). No. So why go tonight? Valentine's Day pressure could crush a lesser man and it could seriously injure me.
Go for DU and the Humpty Dance? I've seen them. I saw them in a tavern in Frasier, CO. And at that time, I was mildly excited to take my chance to do the hump. I know it's only been a couple of years, but it felt safe then and still feels safe now to say, "once with the big-nosed man is enough."
Friday, February 13, 2004
I think I got a real Valentine
It was a bit of a hurried morning, but I felt compelled to wear my Smooches tie, you know, the one with all the smooches on it. It seemed appropriate, because I'm not anti-Valentine in any way. I hope that's not the impression I gave. I like love, love love even. I'd tied the smooches tie on and suddenly that didn't seem enough either. Forget casual Friday, this tie would look great with my used car salesman sportcoat. Sportcoat on and I'm out the door.
I hit the end of my driveway when I remember that today isn't just a casual Friday, today is "Clean-up Friday". We'll spend the day undoing the dirt that we've spent so long creating. Should I turn back and ratchet down the outfit a few notches? I don't think so. If anybody asks, I'll just say, "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get to work and in about the time it takes a bull rider to become a champion, I get "It's clean up day. Why are you so dressed up?"
As promised (I don't tire of my own jokes easily) "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get some laughs, but what does this have to do with the Valentine?
The Valentine. There's cleaning, there's working, and then there's sticking my hand in my sportcoat pocket. I feel a piece of paper. I don't remember the last time I had my sportcoat on. What could this be?
I pull it out and unfold it. In Memory of Marian Inez Schmidt it says. Grandma. She always remembered to write- birthdays, postcards, Valentine's.
Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Grandma.
It was a bit of a hurried morning, but I felt compelled to wear my Smooches tie, you know, the one with all the smooches on it. It seemed appropriate, because I'm not anti-Valentine in any way. I hope that's not the impression I gave. I like love, love love even. I'd tied the smooches tie on and suddenly that didn't seem enough either. Forget casual Friday, this tie would look great with my used car salesman sportcoat. Sportcoat on and I'm out the door.
I hit the end of my driveway when I remember that today isn't just a casual Friday, today is "Clean-up Friday". We'll spend the day undoing the dirt that we've spent so long creating. Should I turn back and ratchet down the outfit a few notches? I don't think so. If anybody asks, I'll just say, "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get to work and in about the time it takes a bull rider to become a champion, I get "It's clean up day. Why are you so dressed up?"
As promised (I don't tire of my own jokes easily) "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get some laughs, but what does this have to do with the Valentine?
The Valentine. There's cleaning, there's working, and then there's sticking my hand in my sportcoat pocket. I feel a piece of paper. I don't remember the last time I had my sportcoat on. What could this be?
I pull it out and unfold it. In Memory of Marian Inez Schmidt it says. Grandma. She always remembered to write- birthdays, postcards, Valentine's.
Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Grandma.
Ways that my house is not like my Res. Hall
*I have to walk outside to do laundry.
*I have condiments, lots of condiments, and they don't all come from Taco Bell.
*There is very little chance that a girl is going to knock on the door before I go to bed.
*There is very little chance that I will run into Johnny in my bathroom.
*The urinal in my bathroom is not out of order.
*No one writes messages on my front door, and if they did, I'd probably call the cops.
*My front door reflects my personality in exactly zero ways.
*The people at the front desk are way too quiet.
*We don't have enough fire drills.
*I cannot knock on doors and create a game of frisbee, or soccer, or anything, except maybe cribbage. Reuben, are you up for cribbage?
Ways that it is
*I just had a long spontaneous conversation with my roommate.
*There is nothing good to eat here.
*I'm up and it's quiet.
*I could go to Dunkin' Donuts right now if I wanted to.
*Ron's Country Boy is still not open, no matter how hard I wish.
*Green Naugahyde-still a chick magnet after all these years.
*I have to walk outside to do laundry.
*I have condiments, lots of condiments, and they don't all come from Taco Bell.
*There is very little chance that a girl is going to knock on the door before I go to bed.
*There is very little chance that I will run into Johnny in my bathroom.
*The urinal in my bathroom is not out of order.
*No one writes messages on my front door, and if they did, I'd probably call the cops.
*My front door reflects my personality in exactly zero ways.
*The people at the front desk are way too quiet.
*We don't have enough fire drills.
*I cannot knock on doors and create a game of frisbee, or soccer, or anything, except maybe cribbage. Reuben, are you up for cribbage?
Ways that it is
*I just had a long spontaneous conversation with my roommate.
*There is nothing good to eat here.
*I'm up and it's quiet.
*I could go to Dunkin' Donuts right now if I wanted to.
*Ron's Country Boy is still not open, no matter how hard I wish.
*Green Naugahyde-still a chick magnet after all these years.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
The pressure is mounting
Mom sent me a cute little article about this couple getting married. They met on their morning commute on the subway. It's not enough to let me infer that I could meet someone on my morning commute. She writes, "It could happen to you" in the margin. Thanks Mom. I'm Nic Cage and I was married to Rosie Perez, but now I'm in love with the waitress who I promised 2 million dollars.
My aunt sent me a Valentine in the mail--very sweet. The message to me was surely innocent, but it says "I hope you get a real Valentine." I thought this was a real Valentine? Now I have to hope for a real one? Will I know a real one if I see it?
My coworkers were talking this morning. I'm overhearing. I'm always overhearing. I know so much about everyones' personal business that it's probably dangerous. Married, motherly coworker says to younger (there are a few of us) one, when are you going to marry that girl and have babies? He answers glibbly and walks away.
It's coming. I know it. This woman has never acknowledged that I have a life outside of work, but I can tell that is about to end. Seconds pass. Maybe I'll get out of this after all.
The turn. The look at me. "And you? When are you going to get married?" ME? I've barely managed a date in this millenium. I have a new found fear of women. MARRIED? Why ask me that now? Right before Valentine's Day? You've never cared before, but two days before V-day and suddenly you're interested? Why do you hate me? Is it because I'm not going to be buying any high-priced jewelry or flowers for the weekend? Is that it?
"Dunno. I've got to get a date first."
Indeed.
Mom sent me a cute little article about this couple getting married. They met on their morning commute on the subway. It's not enough to let me infer that I could meet someone on my morning commute. She writes, "It could happen to you" in the margin. Thanks Mom. I'm Nic Cage and I was married to Rosie Perez, but now I'm in love with the waitress who I promised 2 million dollars.
My aunt sent me a Valentine in the mail--very sweet. The message to me was surely innocent, but it says "I hope you get a real Valentine." I thought this was a real Valentine? Now I have to hope for a real one? Will I know a real one if I see it?
My coworkers were talking this morning. I'm overhearing. I'm always overhearing. I know so much about everyones' personal business that it's probably dangerous. Married, motherly coworker says to younger (there are a few of us) one, when are you going to marry that girl and have babies? He answers glibbly and walks away.
It's coming. I know it. This woman has never acknowledged that I have a life outside of work, but I can tell that is about to end. Seconds pass. Maybe I'll get out of this after all.
The turn. The look at me. "And you? When are you going to get married?" ME? I've barely managed a date in this millenium. I have a new found fear of women. MARRIED? Why ask me that now? Right before Valentine's Day? You've never cared before, but two days before V-day and suddenly you're interested? Why do you hate me? Is it because I'm not going to be buying any high-priced jewelry or flowers for the weekend? Is that it?
"Dunno. I've got to get a date first."
Indeed.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Self-esteem is on the rise
It started some time yesterday. I returned to college, not my college, but A college for a little Ultimate. It often starts with Ultimate. There they introduce me to new kids as "Super Dave" or decide I should be called the blasphemous "Davior". It's kind of nice, but kind of silly too. The thing that got me going yesterday was the collective "OOOH" as I made a grab around a guy. He wasn't really looking, but to everyone else it kind of looked like I went through him. A good start.
Then, today was evaluation day at work. Evaluation day can be a scary day. I was a little nervous, for the unknown, if for nothing else. My supervisor was nothing but complimentary. I even had to press to find anything to improve on. She was barely able to throw me a bone on that one. My coworker did point out that my supervisor doesn't really have time to notice when I screw up anyway, but those comments can be ignored when self-esteem is headed up, up, up.
Then more Ultimate. And a run. They don't call it Do Topia for nothing. (They don't really call it anything, unless "they" are Dave and Dave's Grandma "DG", then they don't. Which is what I said. I'd be worried you weren't listening anymore, but I am not in a self-doubting mood.)
Oh yea, and let us not forget my marriageability.
It started some time yesterday. I returned to college, not my college, but A college for a little Ultimate. It often starts with Ultimate. There they introduce me to new kids as "Super Dave" or decide I should be called the blasphemous "Davior". It's kind of nice, but kind of silly too. The thing that got me going yesterday was the collective "OOOH" as I made a grab around a guy. He wasn't really looking, but to everyone else it kind of looked like I went through him. A good start.
Then, today was evaluation day at work. Evaluation day can be a scary day. I was a little nervous, for the unknown, if for nothing else. My supervisor was nothing but complimentary. I even had to press to find anything to improve on. She was barely able to throw me a bone on that one. My coworker did point out that my supervisor doesn't really have time to notice when I screw up anyway, but those comments can be ignored when self-esteem is headed up, up, up.
Then more Ultimate. And a run. They don't call it Do Topia for nothing. (They don't really call it anything, unless "they" are Dave and Dave's Grandma "DG", then they don't. Which is what I said. I'd be worried you weren't listening anymore, but I am not in a self-doubting mood.)
Oh yea, and let us not forget my marriageability.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
An unfinished song of admiration
There are places in this world where the banjo and the guitar combine forces to make rollicking good music. Matt's living room is not currently one of those places. I picked "Bile Dem Cabbage Down" and "Goodnight Ladies" and even "Cripple Creek" to the best of my limited abilities and when Matt wasn't playing "Boyz in the Hood", he strummed and concentrated and considered to the best of his ability, but my banjo and Matt's guitar did not seem to come from the same string family.
There was one moment where I was picking softly and Matt was strumming softly, with the heat pouring loudly out of the vents it almost sounded like something- not a song really, or shared notes so much, but more like a feeling. My little banjo and his guitar shared a feeling. They looked into one another's stringed soul and they thought, "someday we could make music together." And then the heat stopped roaring, and the pickin' and strummin' were again the focus. Poor banjo and guitar had lost that feeling.
I heard it though. Matt's guitar and my banjo may someday meet again, and if nothing else we'll play our songs with shared passion and volume. Together, we'll make beautiful music separately.
There are places in this world where the banjo and the guitar combine forces to make rollicking good music. Matt's living room is not currently one of those places. I picked "Bile Dem Cabbage Down" and "Goodnight Ladies" and even "Cripple Creek" to the best of my limited abilities and when Matt wasn't playing "Boyz in the Hood", he strummed and concentrated and considered to the best of his ability, but my banjo and Matt's guitar did not seem to come from the same string family.
There was one moment where I was picking softly and Matt was strumming softly, with the heat pouring loudly out of the vents it almost sounded like something- not a song really, or shared notes so much, but more like a feeling. My little banjo and his guitar shared a feeling. They looked into one another's stringed soul and they thought, "someday we could make music together." And then the heat stopped roaring, and the pickin' and strummin' were again the focus. Poor banjo and guitar had lost that feeling.
I heard it though. Matt's guitar and my banjo may someday meet again, and if nothing else we'll play our songs with shared passion and volume. Together, we'll make beautiful music separately.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Sunday, February 08, 2004
What am I so afraid of?
On the way home from places tonight, I was switching between the Techno-Trance and the Bluegrass. Back at the ranch, Josh Ritter and The Postal Service spin often when the radio ain't blasting the radio hits. All that to say, eclectic music tastes aside, nothing continues to evolve and move me the way that Hem does. Concert in March. Let's go 'cause I think I love Hem.
On the way home from places tonight, I was switching between the Techno-Trance and the Bluegrass. Back at the ranch, Josh Ritter and The Postal Service spin often when the radio ain't blasting the radio hits. All that to say, eclectic music tastes aside, nothing continues to evolve and move me the way that Hem does. Concert in March. Let's go 'cause I think I love Hem.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Is it me?
A friend of mine told me to read "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" because it could've been my book. I have tortured myself wondering what she meant.
Is it me because the author plays frisbee, loves the way he plays frisbee, will talk endlessly about the way he plays frisbee? Or is it me because he likes streaking or thinks that streaking and public nudity make some sort of statement, not quite sure of the statement, but some statement? It can't be me because of the heartbreak, I've never known that sort of soul-ripping loss. But he could be me because he runs from problems, runs across the country chasing what isn't there.
Did she mean it was me because of the self-absorption? Because I would write a book about me and only me and if I included you in it, you would only be reacting to me or an anecdote for me. Lori says it's ok, and maybe it is, but I don't want you to call me self-absorbed, that's only something I can call myself, and even then only through clenched teeth. Who is she to say something like that about me?
Then again, maybe she just meant that I could write a book, should write a book, with my voice, and even if it was self-serving might sell a few copies, might make somebody laugh or somebody cry. Or maybe she just meant I'd enjoy the book.
I did, so thanks.
A friend of mine told me to read "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" because it could've been my book. I have tortured myself wondering what she meant.
Is it me because the author plays frisbee, loves the way he plays frisbee, will talk endlessly about the way he plays frisbee? Or is it me because he likes streaking or thinks that streaking and public nudity make some sort of statement, not quite sure of the statement, but some statement? It can't be me because of the heartbreak, I've never known that sort of soul-ripping loss. But he could be me because he runs from problems, runs across the country chasing what isn't there.
Did she mean it was me because of the self-absorption? Because I would write a book about me and only me and if I included you in it, you would only be reacting to me or an anecdote for me. Lori says it's ok, and maybe it is, but I don't want you to call me self-absorbed, that's only something I can call myself, and even then only through clenched teeth. Who is she to say something like that about me?
Then again, maybe she just meant that I could write a book, should write a book, with my voice, and even if it was self-serving might sell a few copies, might make somebody laugh or somebody cry. Or maybe she just meant I'd enjoy the book.
I did, so thanks.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Friends
Sister: My friends don't have blogs. They're not computer geeks like your friends.
Me: My friends aren't really computer geeks, well, some of them are, but that's not why they have blogs.
Still me: It's just that my friends are more self-absorbed. *
*I actually said something like "journalists" or "writers" or "like to write", but self-absorbed is my new favorite description, which you would care about if you weren't so self-absorbed.**
**I don't really think you're that self-absorbed. I'm trying to be funny here.***
***Besides self-absorbtion, I am also enjoying the "footnote asterisk." Don't ask me why.****
****You could ask me why, but I don't know the answer, so it wouldn't really be worth it.
Sister: My friends don't have blogs. They're not computer geeks like your friends.
Me: My friends aren't really computer geeks, well, some of them are, but that's not why they have blogs.
Still me: It's just that my friends are more self-absorbed. *
*I actually said something like "journalists" or "writers" or "like to write", but self-absorbed is my new favorite description, which you would care about if you weren't so self-absorbed.**
**I don't really think you're that self-absorbed. I'm trying to be funny here.***
***Besides self-absorbtion, I am also enjoying the "footnote asterisk." Don't ask me why.****
****You could ask me why, but I don't know the answer, so it wouldn't really be worth it.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
It's time for a fake conversation that seems all too real*
Hi J-Crew girl,
I know we've never met, but I've thought about it and it seems like it might be a good idea. I mean it kind of sickens me that you would pay 68 dollars for that shirt, but it is cute. I'll give you that. And those chinos, they're just to die for. What are chinos again? No, but I love them. I mean they look great on you, so maybe they are worth it. But they intimidate me. I'm not used to fancy shirts and fancy pants. The next thing you know you'll be shopping at Baby Gap and the sucking sound you hear will be your checking account emptying.
Yours is empty already?
Credit debt?
Reeeally?
I would have never guessed. Still, cute outfit.
Do I want to go out for drinks?
I don't drink. It's expensive and kind of pointless and yea, I just don't really do it.
What do I do? Like, jobwise? It's hard to explain. Most of the time I don't know myself. It's got variety though, I'll tell you that. I'll tell you that. You?
hmm. Interesting.
For fun? Me? There's Ultimate.
Yea, it's frisbee.
No. No. It's quite active actually. There's a big scene here in town.
Do I always repeat everything that's asked of me? Not always. It gives me a little time to think. That way I can be kinda clever, you know?
I did start.
No, really.
Bye then.
Nice meeting you too.
*except for the part where I am talking to a strange girl and the part where she asks me out for drinks.
Hi J-Crew girl,
I know we've never met, but I've thought about it and it seems like it might be a good idea. I mean it kind of sickens me that you would pay 68 dollars for that shirt, but it is cute. I'll give you that. And those chinos, they're just to die for. What are chinos again? No, but I love them. I mean they look great on you, so maybe they are worth it. But they intimidate me. I'm not used to fancy shirts and fancy pants. The next thing you know you'll be shopping at Baby Gap and the sucking sound you hear will be your checking account emptying.
Yours is empty already?
Credit debt?
Reeeally?
I would have never guessed. Still, cute outfit.
Do I want to go out for drinks?
I don't drink. It's expensive and kind of pointless and yea, I just don't really do it.
What do I do? Like, jobwise? It's hard to explain. Most of the time I don't know myself. It's got variety though, I'll tell you that. I'll tell you that. You?
hmm. Interesting.
For fun? Me? There's Ultimate.
Yea, it's frisbee.
No. No. It's quite active actually. There's a big scene here in town.
Do I always repeat everything that's asked of me? Not always. It gives me a little time to think. That way I can be kinda clever, you know?
I did start.
No, really.
Bye then.
Nice meeting you too.
*except for the part where I am talking to a strange girl and the part where she asks me out for drinks.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
And I swear
Today my brain has not shut up. Where usually it's content with a song and the mole of some soon-to-be-forgotten girl, today it was chattering away profanely. So pardon my beeps as we join my brain in search of the local post office.
"Where the BEEP is the BEEPing post office? It's got to be around here somewhere. Who the hell needs so many BEEPing hair dressers? It's not BEEPing here. BEEEEP. I'll cross the street then. Why the BEEP are the buses trying to run me over. I'm not even in the street. Well BEEP them. What are you looking at, woman?
Quizno's. huh. I didn't know that was here. FINALLY, there's the BEEPing post office. Why does it say closed? It's not even 5 o'clock. Mother BEEEEP. Oh, that's 'closed from 2 to 3:30', my mistake. (Approach door, stop.) I don't feel like dealing with postal workers. BEEP it. (Walking away) That guy probably thinks you're leaving. He thinks it's closed too. Who cares what the BEEP he thinks?
Would you please knock off the profanity? You're like a BEEPing sailor. DAMMMit, don't you ever shut up?"
And then I had to walk the rest of the way home. It's hard escaping your own mind. Apologies to the children and the offensive, er offended, er sorry.
Today my brain has not shut up. Where usually it's content with a song and the mole of some soon-to-be-forgotten girl, today it was chattering away profanely. So pardon my beeps as we join my brain in search of the local post office.
"Where the BEEP is the BEEPing post office? It's got to be around here somewhere. Who the hell needs so many BEEPing hair dressers? It's not BEEPing here. BEEEEP. I'll cross the street then. Why the BEEP are the buses trying to run me over. I'm not even in the street. Well BEEP them. What are you looking at, woman?
Quizno's. huh. I didn't know that was here. FINALLY, there's the BEEPing post office. Why does it say closed? It's not even 5 o'clock. Mother BEEEEP. Oh, that's 'closed from 2 to 3:30', my mistake. (Approach door, stop.) I don't feel like dealing with postal workers. BEEP it. (Walking away) That guy probably thinks you're leaving. He thinks it's closed too. Who cares what the BEEP he thinks?
Would you please knock off the profanity? You're like a BEEPing sailor. DAMMMit, don't you ever shut up?"
And then I had to walk the rest of the way home. It's hard escaping your own mind. Apologies to the children and the offensive, er offended, er sorry.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Super Trends
or
I learned it from Henry Hager
My advertising professor, the best one I had, the only one who actually made me want to be in advertising, once said, (He never said anything only once but it makes the story flow better) "Three things sell- Animals, Babies, and Sex."
Let's look at that Super-est of Bowls, shall we?
1.There were animals- donkeys, bears, etc. etc.
2.Were there babies? There were kids at least (Soap in the mouth for Chevy was my favorite commercial.)
3. There was sex, or at least nudity, and the web and the office are blazin' with talk of it. (Who says advertising has to be in the paid spots?)
The sad part
or
You can't blame this on Henry
For all the controversy that the nipple is creating, the streaker got lost in the shuffle. How can streaking return to favor if dumb halftime acts are going to upstage it? HOW?!
or
I learned it from Henry Hager
My advertising professor, the best one I had, the only one who actually made me want to be in advertising, once said, (He never said anything only once but it makes the story flow better) "Three things sell- Animals, Babies, and Sex."
Let's look at that Super-est of Bowls, shall we?
1.There were animals- donkeys, bears, etc. etc.
2.Were there babies? There were kids at least (Soap in the mouth for Chevy was my favorite commercial.)
3. There was sex, or at least nudity, and the web and the office are blazin' with talk of it. (Who says advertising has to be in the paid spots?)
The sad part
or
You can't blame this on Henry
For all the controversy that the nipple is creating, the streaker got lost in the shuffle. How can streaking return to favor if dumb halftime acts are going to upstage it? HOW?!
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Gene Hackman's been there
All I really knew about the restaurant that I was going to last night was that I was getting 7 courses and there were belly dancers. Imagine my dismay when we arrived and people were waiting outside looking ready to enter a club. I don't go to places that are ICE COLD, especially when it's ice cold outside. Fortunately, being in a throng of people was warming. Eventually we made it through the little door within the door-- it was very Wizard of Oz that way--where we got to wait a little more.
Once we got through the initial shock of all the people waiting, and the door within the door, and the internal waiting, we sat down to what I can only call a typical Moroccan meal. Now that I think about it, the meal was EXACTLY like every other Moroccan meal I've ever had. I've never had another Moroccan meal.
The seven courses were all quite tasty. There was some good bread and an excellent coffee cake made slightly odd by the inclusion of chicken, and then a whole chicken, and then things started to get really tasty. There was candied lamb, and couscous with squash, and fruit and nuts, and little pastries with sweet hot tea. I may have been able to continue eating at the pace we were on for about 3 years shy of eternity. My rear end would not have enjoyed the continued sitting, however.
Nearly all of this was finger food, but the belly dancer wasn't. I'm not sure what I had expected here, but I was very willing to sit back and watch the undulating woman. You don't, or at least I don't get those opportunities very often, or certainly not often enough. It was fairly mesmerizing. I was slightly disappointed by the belly, though I admit those expectations were probably a little too high. I guess I just figured someone featured as a belly dancer would have an incredibly belly-licious, um, you know, belly. Hers was nice, but easily overlooked if it hadn't had a spotlight on it. There was a sexy little scarf number and a sword-balancing number, but to be perfectly honest it all kind of blurs in my mind into one giant Moroccan shimmy. Then again, isn't that what Ameritesh or Jamertesh or whatever the place was called, really all about?
All I really knew about the restaurant that I was going to last night was that I was getting 7 courses and there were belly dancers. Imagine my dismay when we arrived and people were waiting outside looking ready to enter a club. I don't go to places that are ICE COLD, especially when it's ice cold outside. Fortunately, being in a throng of people was warming. Eventually we made it through the little door within the door-- it was very Wizard of Oz that way--where we got to wait a little more.
Once we got through the initial shock of all the people waiting, and the door within the door, and the internal waiting, we sat down to what I can only call a typical Moroccan meal. Now that I think about it, the meal was EXACTLY like every other Moroccan meal I've ever had. I've never had another Moroccan meal.
The seven courses were all quite tasty. There was some good bread and an excellent coffee cake made slightly odd by the inclusion of chicken, and then a whole chicken, and then things started to get really tasty. There was candied lamb, and couscous with squash, and fruit and nuts, and little pastries with sweet hot tea. I may have been able to continue eating at the pace we were on for about 3 years shy of eternity. My rear end would not have enjoyed the continued sitting, however.
Nearly all of this was finger food, but the belly dancer wasn't. I'm not sure what I had expected here, but I was very willing to sit back and watch the undulating woman. You don't, or at least I don't get those opportunities very often, or certainly not often enough. It was fairly mesmerizing. I was slightly disappointed by the belly, though I admit those expectations were probably a little too high. I guess I just figured someone featured as a belly dancer would have an incredibly belly-licious, um, you know, belly. Hers was nice, but easily overlooked if it hadn't had a spotlight on it. There was a sexy little scarf number and a sword-balancing number, but to be perfectly honest it all kind of blurs in my mind into one giant Moroccan shimmy. Then again, isn't that what Ameritesh or Jamertesh or whatever the place was called, really all about?
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