I'm awful at this thing.
The second to last Saturday ago was St Patrick's Day. St Pat, as some of you may know, was the Patron Saint of Awesome. He was in charge of getting drunk and playing Tetris, and sometimes he even was the Patron Saint of...other things. Such as when your friend is taking one for the team, and you just don't know what team, or even why, so you just steal the chick's little brother's Drum Game and stay up until the w[ee/ii] hours of the night, drumming away to Material Girl and Chumbawumba like there's just no tomorrow, fighting the dawn with PBR after PBR. After you finally can't see straight enough to stop the gay dancing wolves from mocking you, calling you out and you amble out to the porch, beer in hand, shaking your fist at the sun and saying "Seriously--Ridge Racer? On Oni? Thats heavy shit, right there." He's kind of the Patron Saint of that.
Which is, y'know--awesome.
5:10 am I wake and amble upstairs to find the bathroom occupied. I sit for a moment, glare at the wall, and shuffle back downstairs. 5:20 am I shuffle back up and brandish my fist towards the closed door. 5:30 am it opens and I offer urination rights to those who desire them, as I feel urination should come before shower. It's just a good practice to take up. Little did I know that the bathroom would soon be commandeered. 5:50 am I get my chance and I am in and out and dressed and contacted-all-up by 5:56 am.
We walk to Paddy's Pub, a few blocks away. I order a round of Gunnei for those surrounding me and we make our way inside. Because I paid for the first round of drinks it's only natural that in waiting for my change I am the last to the seats and get the honor of standing. Fuckers. Fucker Fuckers. I consume two beers and wander home, grabbing a stray battery for my cell phone and finishing the process of waking up. It is now 7:15 am, I walk to McDonalds and then to Bar #2, Rascal's. I drink a green miller lite solo-style, then walk over to Bar #3, BBC's. We shoot pool and eat chips and salsa and drink pitchers of Bitter Woman IPA which is neither Irish nor Green but hey--fuck Women who are also bitter, right? and then we walk to Bar #4, Vittuci's. By this point it is a quarter of nine and hey--shots? Why the hell not, right? Shots and T-Shirts all around, courtesy Adam, and Jake mans up and takes his first. I'll be damned if I'm going to let Jake out-alcoholic me and I slam mine back, too. The others follow. We walk outside. Hey, I say. If Jake can handle his liquor, then I c--Jake handles his The Knot shot all over the sidewalk. And, your mom--because she happens to be there. Weird, right?
McDonalds again and we walk to Bar #5, Halliday's. Crazy Paul drops $30 on shots for us, who he does not know. Jameson? It's 11--why not? We shoot darts and drink gree--hey, look... it's Paul again. Thirty more dollars in shots? Okay. Okay, Paul. Okay. We drink green beer and shoot more darts and--okay, what the fuck? No, Paul. $90 worth of shots for people you do not know is not okay. Or it is so okay. I forget. We steal wall decals and we leave.
Bar #6, Up-&-Under. Pool is played, which is new. Beer is had, which is green and also new. Bakery break!
B a k e r y ' s a r e d e l i c i o u s.
Bar #7, Scaffidi's. Pool is--too damn full. Beer. Mmm, beer.
Bar #8, Wolski's. Beer. Mmm, beer.
Bar #9, Judges. Nobody is here. Bar #9 becomes Qdoba. Qdoba becomes home. It is now 3:30 pm. I sleep. It is now 6:05 pm.
People appear, in small groups or alone, and beer is begun anew. It's a party. Party things happen. We invent new, clever games. Such as Flip a Card and Take a Drink, which soon becomes Say a Number and Drink that many and eventually I'm Going to Spin This Quarter and You Drink While it Spins, okay? which is a good game. Shots! Pictures! Woo! There is a guy passed out on the floor, sleeping in a bed of stick-it notes and gummi worms. People have pictures taken of his head + their balls. Eventually a cab is called. The driver is told to take The Body to 35th and Viliet. The Body climbs in the back, grateful for such nice strangers as to get a cab to take him somewhere.
He is never heard from again.
The end.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
I'm just mad about Saffron
I work retail for a cell phone company. It's not terribly interesting. We tend to have average traffic of 2-3 people per hour and I do not work a kiosk or in a shopping mall, so there tends to be a lot of downtime. I'm actually one of the only people aware of what to do with said downtime, and even then I tend to have 35-40 minutes of upkeep to run before I'm left with busybody work--further busybody work, I guess.
It's not a bad gig--don't get me wrong. I worked retail for Best Buy for 4+ years and it was like getting paid to take a hammer to my nuts once a day, comparitively. I've increased my annual intake nearly doublefold, and I spend the majority of my day waiting for people to turn up. And, no, they would not like Rhapsody or a Magazine Subrscription. Thank Christ.
But, here's the thing: I don't think much of my co-workers. There's only three of them, so that's not saying much. One of them seemed surprised when she stumbled upon my MySpace site and realized that I have social outlets; friends, gatherings, alcohol-laden shenanigans. And, I get it. I tend to not say a damn word while I'm here. I've worked with folk like me before, and let me tell you--I did not like them. People who don't talk to you are either very difficult or very not difficult to like. And I don't mean to come off as quiet or uneventful. I don't mean to come off as isolated or insecure. The reason for my silence is simple--I don't like them. Not to be an asshole, but I've got nothing to say to them other than the possible deliverence of Words of Disdain. Also, I've heard their topics of conversation and have been chilled to the bone. They almost sound like the words of adults... But not quite, and sometimes it is painfully obvious that they are just emulating noise, but occasionally--much like the banging of fists upon typewriters by our simian cousins--they manage to convey their being through overwhelmingly underwhelming verbosity. And more often than not it is like a Jerry Springer transcript beind delivered via an audiobook that I cannot turn off. No, I do not care about your baby's daddies, or even your baby's daddies babies.
Just, stop.
That said, I try to keep busy or at least give the guise of keeping busy. The ease of this varies--We had computers but no internet access; we had internet access; we have internet access that is restricted. The end result of this is that there is no more mighty MySpace in WorkLand...but there is Facebook. The result of this is that I don't MySpace anymore. It's true, I feel a slight revival of pride, but I also have this gaping...hole, where my blogs used to go. Now my blogs just go all over the place, and people don't like when you do that.
So I've caved and started up this nonsense. Ugh. At some point I will probably move some ramblings over here. Without any from of cohesiveness I have begun bits and pieces of promises that will not be met, in these locations:
http://thingsweshout.blogspot.com You Are Here
http://clerksfan.googlepages.com Just a test of Googlepages
http://www.howwearecurious.com More failed promises
http://www.myspace.com/hwac How we are Curious! (MySpace)
http://www.mypsace.com/l2k L2k2005
I have dreams and aspirations that I have not yet surrendered to nonsense like realism. With this in mind I would like to expand that list by one at some point in the future, although this is reliant on my making use of what I currently have. How we are Curious! is a music project, defunct for nearly a year now, that is better illustrated at the MySpace site. ThingsWe[SHOUT]atTheGround is not much of anything (other than this blogspace), but has tentatively been an independent quarterly idea, and a possible "showoff space" for Sprout Concept (http://www.sproutconcept.com).
This place, where you now are, is the simplest and the only one I can fully update from work. Thus, it is also the only one I expect much to be done with.
It's not a bad gig--don't get me wrong. I worked retail for Best Buy for 4+ years and it was like getting paid to take a hammer to my nuts once a day, comparitively. I've increased my annual intake nearly doublefold, and I spend the majority of my day waiting for people to turn up. And, no, they would not like Rhapsody or a Magazine Subrscription. Thank Christ.
But, here's the thing: I don't think much of my co-workers. There's only three of them, so that's not saying much. One of them seemed surprised when she stumbled upon my MySpace site and realized that I have social outlets; friends, gatherings, alcohol-laden shenanigans. And, I get it. I tend to not say a damn word while I'm here. I've worked with folk like me before, and let me tell you--I did not like them. People who don't talk to you are either very difficult or very not difficult to like. And I don't mean to come off as quiet or uneventful. I don't mean to come off as isolated or insecure. The reason for my silence is simple--I don't like them. Not to be an asshole, but I've got nothing to say to them other than the possible deliverence of Words of Disdain. Also, I've heard their topics of conversation and have been chilled to the bone. They almost sound like the words of adults... But not quite, and sometimes it is painfully obvious that they are just emulating noise, but occasionally--much like the banging of fists upon typewriters by our simian cousins--they manage to convey their being through overwhelmingly underwhelming verbosity. And more often than not it is like a Jerry Springer transcript beind delivered via an audiobook that I cannot turn off. No, I do not care about your baby's daddies, or even your baby's daddies babies.
Just, stop.
That said, I try to keep busy or at least give the guise of keeping busy. The ease of this varies--We had computers but no internet access; we had internet access; we have internet access that is restricted. The end result of this is that there is no more mighty MySpace in WorkLand...but there is Facebook. The result of this is that I don't MySpace anymore. It's true, I feel a slight revival of pride, but I also have this gaping...hole, where my blogs used to go. Now my blogs just go all over the place, and people don't like when you do that.
So I've caved and started up this nonsense. Ugh. At some point I will probably move some ramblings over here. Without any from of cohesiveness I have begun bits and pieces of promises that will not be met, in these locations:
http://thingsweshout.blogspot.com You Are Here
http://clerksfan.googlepages.com Just a test of Googlepages
http://www.howwearecurious.com More failed promises
http://www.myspace.com/hwac How we are Curious! (MySpace)
http://www.mypsace.com/l2k L2k2005
I have dreams and aspirations that I have not yet surrendered to nonsense like realism. With this in mind I would like to expand that list by one at some point in the future, although this is reliant on my making use of what I currently have. How we are Curious! is a music project, defunct for nearly a year now, that is better illustrated at the MySpace site. ThingsWe[SHOUT]atTheGround is not much of anything (other than this blogspace), but has tentatively been an independent quarterly idea, and a possible "showoff space" for Sprout Concept (http://www.sproutconcept.com).
This place, where you now are, is the simplest and the only one I can fully update from work. Thus, it is also the only one I expect much to be done with.
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