Between the grandeur of the sunlight fanfare and the deep, rolling movement of the stormy night is where I find contentment:

A soloist on an overcast stage.

My time signature varies with the mood and I play in whatever key I choose.

In this unique moment the human soul,
Like a single candle in a great valley,
Shines brightest of all.

Time to figure out how to eliminate the word "majestic" from my site.

Speaking of spider monkeys and beagles- dont you think it would be funny to have the combination?

Picture this:

Its a warm summer evening, and a man returns home with his date after dinner and a movie. Turning on the Al Green, they settle onto the couch for some sweet loving ala that "Romantic Moods CD" commercial. Working that mad vibe, he offers her a drink, and leaves for the kitchen to get some finger sandwiches. As she removes her jacket to make herself more comfortable on the leopard print couch, she sees something moving across the hallway from the master bedroom to the Bat Cave entrance. Could it be a mirage? Perhaps she shouldnt have any more champagne, but that sure did look like a monkey riding a beagle.

"Do you have a dog?" she asks.
"No, why do you ask?" he replies, snickering devilishly.

Resigned to the fact that she must be drunk, she begins to prepare herself again. Arranging the pillows for maximum Cleopatra effect, she lounges back and practices her best come-hither eyes. And then she hears the paws on the hardwood floor again. Her gaze snaps toward the hallway, just in time to see the little guy, clad in purple sequined chaps and matching hat, tip his brim to her as if to say "howdy ma'am."

"Ok, what the fuck is that!?" she shouts out, rising to her feet and pulling her coat around her shoulders, her index finger craned wickedly toward the hallway. He peeks his head out of the kitchen, champagne bottle in hand, and looks around.
"What? The bedroom?"
"No, not the bedroom. The monkey riding that dog around your house." Raising one eyebrow, he turns the bottle over in his hands to read the alcoholic content. "I'm not drunk, you jerk."
"Honey- of course not. Just sit back down, I'll bring the drinks, and we can enjoy our evening."

Aggravated, she sits back down and tries to collect herself. She wasnt going to let some silly monkey on a dog ruin her evening. And she did see a monkey on a dog. She knows a monkey wearing chaps when she sees one, she went to Sweetbriar for God's sake. Picking up the Rolling Stone from the coffee table, she begins to flip through the pages. Anything to keep her mind off that hallway.

"Almost ready" he calls from the kitchen.

Finally, she can just make out with him and get the hell out of this alternate universe. But her concentration is broken by a quick bark. Fighting the urge to turn and look, she takes out her lipstick and begins to apply a fresh coat. Another bark causes her to drag a rouge line across her left cheek. Like the heart of the old man thumping under the floor boards, she can hear every tiny movement of the evil little primate and his canine steed. Another bark brings the tears from her eyes. She cant take it anymore, and begins to openly weep. Emerging from the kitchen with a tray full of crustless PBJ, he runs to her.

"Honey, whats the matter?"
"It's the monkey! That nasty little monkey in the purple chaps!"
"Damn it, woman! What monkey?!" he demands theatrically, shaking her. Trembling, she extends her hand toward the door and buries her face in his shoulder.

"Oh, you mean Randy."

Dusty has motivated me to write more items of substance to be posted here, so you can expect that in the next few days. But- as a challenge to me- I'm taking suggestions for a subject. Leave a comment with your suggestions, and I will combine them all.

Oh, and another thing- you west coast people need to get with the program. I know that its, like, laid back and stuff, dude, but we need to keep updated. If Dusty can run in her hamster wheel until she generates enough power to log on, or Brian can crawl the 85 miles through wolf infested forest to get to work- I think you guys can wake up just a little early. ;)

Time for the mid-morning gripe session. Today's topic: why do you need to know my name?

Unfortunately, I have been saddled with a seemingly endless string of customer service jobs that require me to be the bad guy. In all of these positions, a situation arises where the customer in question wishes to know my name. They do this so that they can have a shred of evidence that they have made the most basic attempt to deal with the situation before being passed up through the chain of command. They also think that if someone is asked to provide their name, that person will fear that potential failure to satisfy the whims of the customer will be linked to them, thus forcing that person take a more personal interest in reaching a conclusion. This grade school debate team bullshit aggravates me to no end. This is no way to stimulate a reaction. All this does is assume that the person you are dealing with on the other end of the line knows nothing about their job. Further, it assumes that they are intentionally trying to sabotage your well laid plans. Then, in a final insult, you further assume that this person is mentally inferior and therefore trickery must be employed to defeat them. Hell- I don't even use this kind of freshman year psychology on the dog. A word of advice: never walk into any negotiation assuming anything. This is how war starts. Oh- and if you're planning to argue a ticket, don't start the conversation with "I demand you repeal this!" I demand? Look here princess, you may wear the tiara back in Jersey, but when you come into MY office asking for MY help, t'would be best to curtsey...

I was flipping through channels last night trying to fall asleep and ended up staying awake until 1 am watching "The Lion in Winter". They just dont make movies like that anymore.

So I go to McDonalds for lunch today, order my spicy McChicken sandwich, and the woman at the register hands me my change. I move to the side, and go to drop the non-quarter portion of my 95 cents into the Ronald McDonald house collection box when I realize that I was given incorrect change. I dont mean incorrect amounts- I mean incorrect currency. And I dont mean one coin- all 5 coins were incorrect.

What I should have recieved: Quarters, Washington, quantity 3
Dimes, Roosevelt, quantity 2

What I actually received: 3 Drachma and 2 smaller silver coins that, to the best of my knowledge, are from Israel.

Having discovered this clever ruse, I went back to Nahar to exchange my collectibles for their vending machine acceptible US cousins. I tell her of the mix up, and hand the coins back to her. Holding them in her hand, she continues to stare blankly at me. I remind her of my proposed exchange, and she hands the coins back to me.

Perhaps this was a game for her.

So I hand the coins back to her, empty my pockets to prove I didnt pull some quick handed switcheroo and ask again. This time, however, she calls the supervisor over to mediate. Like Holmes, he takes the change in his hand and carefully inspects every piece. After nearly 3 minutes (I shit you not), he returns the coins to me and asks what the problem is.

This is about the point that I can feel the goon in me about to do something rather un-couth. So I explained, again, why I was there. Finally, after calling the home office no doubt, the manager agreed to exchange these coins for other coins. I was rather proud of myself for not acting volatile. I guess my vacation did the trick.

Well, waking up this morning at 6 to go to work was not exactly at the top of my Christmas wish list. But after being off for the last 5 days, I suppose I cant complain too much. Atlanta was extremely relaxing. I spent the majority of my time here. Its a very beautiful place, and I highly recommend that you visit if you have the opportunity. More later.

I have arrived safely in Atlanta. In the face of immense security at Dulles, a seat that had be no more than a foot wide, and a carrier style z-axis touchdown worthy of a tower buzz, I have still arrived unscathed. Now begins feasting and merriment to rival any shindig Bacchus ever could imagine. More after Thanksgiving, and until then, everybody take care. :)

To behold the competetive spirit housed in the soul of a woman is to bear witness to the awesome power of nature. In regards to our most basic social interaction, human beings often more closely mimic lions than our primate cousins. We males lounge around on top of rocks, eating whatever is provided us. We mark our territory and engage in fierce battles against other men. And every so often we willingly donate our half of the genetic code to propagate the species. Women form a community, take the forefront in raising the young, and kill absolutely everything that fucks with them. Dont get me wrong, these are only stereotypes. Many human men should, and do, take a much more modern approach to social interaction. But there is no arena where this carnivorous behavior is better illustrated than the relations between the sexes. And we generally find this out the hard way.

Her name (for the purposes of this story) was Sally. Brunette, 5'5", and complete with all the trappings of a young man's fancy. If I may dwell a little longer in my testosterone delusion- to behold this woman climb down into the orchestra pit fresh from tennis practice was like the warm grace of God shining on your face. Ok, enough of that. Sally and Mary were friends. They both played the flute, hung out in the same circles, and both found extreme pleasure in making me blush. On one such occassion, we had gone to get food one day at lunch, and they decided to see who would push things the furthest right there in the McDonalds dining room. I still dont know what was glowing more: my beat red face, or my shit-eating grin. On the way home that day, I heard the song "Life is a Highway" by Tom Cochrane, and every day since then, whenever some other woman is about to pirouette into my life, I hear that song on the radio. I promise you this is true 9 times out of 10. Why that song? I have no idea.

Well, time went on, and it became apparent to me that Sally was just in it for the kicks, and I refocused my attention on Mary. The year ended, she went off to college, and I started dating a girl named Jane, who many years later and after 5 horribly dramatic attempts to make things work, I affectionately call "the Beast". Thats a different story though. Things never worked out between Mary and I. We would see eachother randomly over the next couple years. She would show up at school and jokingly demand an explanation of my most recent girlfriend. We would have a long talk over some fries at Red Robin and then she would be gone again. Then at my high school graduation, after posing for a picture with my girlfriend at the time (a sophomore), I felt a hand on my back and it was her. She was getting married, and had just graduated from college a few weeks before. She thought that my girlfriend was too young, and said I had grown up a lot in the time that she knew me. Simple pleasantries, really, but the unspoken words could have filled a library.

I havent seen her since then. But when we got the pictures from graduation developed, in that shot of my girlfriend and I, you can see Mary on the side of the picture staring at us. I wonder what she was thinking.

Because I only have to work two days this week, I have declared today Thursday. In light of this, I was planning on telling everyone the story of my love/hate relationship with the 4th day of the week. This plan has been scuttled due to my seeming inability to find a proper place to begin my story. How does one sort through events that happened nine years ago? All of these memories, that were so logical and vivid in my mind then have turned into a cluttered desk drawer full of faded kodak pictures and dog eared notes with hearts to dot the "i"'s. One of those notes came in a blue envelope with a flamingo sticker on the back. It was from a girl that I fell in love with when I was a freshman in high school. At least I thought that I fell in love with her, but I was 14, and love was just passion that didnt involve fumbling with a bra clasp. We'll call her Mary.

Mary was a senior, and her sister was a friend of mine. We were all in the marching band, and Mary often gave us all a ride home after practice. Over the course of that fall, somehow a running joke developed that she and I would have sex on the hood of her car, a maroon dodge aries sedan, every Thursday after school. I honestly dont recall how the rumor was started, but there is no doubting that it spread like wildfire. So much so, that I was questioned on many occassions by astounded senior guys wondering what secret maneuver this pudgy faced bespectacled kid had learned that had brought about such fantastic results. All the while, she played it off like it was nothing, never denying a thing. Personally, I think she liked the bashful reaction these statements created in my face. Evidence supporting this claim is where the second phase of my story starts. The introduction of a second woman.

We'll save that for later.

Music for My Sunday at the Office:

"There's something 'bout the way the hair falls in your face
And I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillow case
You tell me where to go, and though I might leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed without my hand behind it

You want love, we'll make it
Swim in a deep sea of blankets
Take all your big plans, and break 'em
This is bound to be a while." ~ John Mayer "Your Body is a Wonderland"

Damn. I need a woman. :)

I AM 23% GEEK.

OK, lets try out this test thing.

I am 25% Grunge.

With the turkey day festivities quickly approaching, I thought it would be a treat to tell all the readers one of my favorite thanksgiving in Atlanta stories.

The first year I made the journey to Hotlanta, Pete told me he would make it worth my while by throwing a party at his apartment and supplying plenty of "eye-candy". I didn't object. So the evening in question rolls around, and I find myself introduced to a pair of lovely southern ladies (and the woman they belonged to). She was a very lovely girl; blonde shoulder length hair, crisp blue eyes, smelled of cinnamon and cocoa butter. So we mingle a bit while dinner is being prepared, and wind up out on the deck. At this time, Pete lived on one of the uppermost floors (I forget which one now) of a downtown highrise across the street from the Fox theater. As we sat on the wicker couch, we started talking. I found out that she was a nursing major, that she was a baptist ( no..... ), and that she was looking for a nice stable man to settle down with. She found out that I was an IR major, a catholic, and looking to get into her pants. But I'm much more subtle than that, and could tell that many a poor lad such as myself had fallen victim to her wiles. So I chatted her up. I must admit that it wasnt difficult to impress her, and simple conversation of the architecture of the Fox theater was enough to move her well within my dance space. Casually, I lean over to her and say, "I really enjoy the Islamic style of that building." Is it really Islamic architecture... probably not. Did that matter.... not at all. Nodding her head, she replies, "I really have an appreciation for other religions." Leaning back and swirling my vodka tonic ala James Bond, I reply, "Really?" "Oh yes. I've met a lot of people. Catholics, Methodists, Islams."

Islams?!? Nope... she wasnt housing my seed.

But I was having a good time, and we talked for quite a while afterword. After dinner, as she was leaving, she thanked me for a lovely evening. "Most guys dont like to talk. Give me a call when you're in town next." Perhaps I will.

It's come to my attention that I have been in gross violation of the cardinal rule of weblogging: no song lyrics.

Well.... theres gratitude for ya'. ;)

From now on, I will attempt to fill these pages with only meaningful exposes on important issues, and avoid the trite babblings of my most personal inner being.

(If you have to ask if I'm serious, then you have no sense of humor and no business reading my posts)

Music for the Commute:

No lyrics today, just a list of the songs, because its pretty random.

"Never There" ~ Cake
"Suavemente" ~ Gypsy Kings
"Whiskey in the Jar" ~ Metallica
"The Drinking Song" ~ Moxy Fruvous
"Third Engine" ~ Saves the Day
"Your Body is a Wonderland" ~ John Mayer

I thuroughly enjoyed traffic this morning.

Music for the Commute:

"Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher
But I flew too high
Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming
I can hear them say
Carry on, my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Dont you cry no more." ~ Kansas "Carry on My Wayward Son"

First off, that song rocks. Yesterday I found myself embroiled in one too many arguments with people who would not recognize they were incorrect. I myself have been known to be a little stubborn, but I've always believed that I was open to reason. These people were not. One of my professors used to always tell me, "dont waste your energies trying to salvage a failed line of negotiation- its like using your john thomas to carve stone." I think the full quote contained some mention of a sweet spot, but its too early to cut through the overt sexual reference to explain the mechanics contained therein. Suffice it to say, I shoulda oughta listened to my own better judgement.

Music for the Commute:

"Saturday I'm running wild
And all the lights are changing red to green
Moving through the crowd I'm pushing
Chemicals all rushing through my bloodstream
Only wish that you were here
You know I'm seeing it so clear
I've been afraid
To tell you how I really feel
Admit to some of those bad mistakes I've made." ~ David Grey "Babylon"

This song seems to be getting a lot of air time lately coinciding with times that I'm in the car. Though I fight to remain skeptical in the face of this blatant radiomancy, I find myself analyzing the lyrics of the song to find the hidden message. I have no solid relationships to speak of, so the obvious reference isn't applicable. I suppose I can relate to the chemicals running through my blood stream, what with my penchant for caffeine and nicotene, but thats not big revelation worthy of a song. I feel no sense of regret for an action I've made that would constitute a need for recompence, so the apology aspect is void as well. Perhaps I just like the chord progression, and the all powerful radio gods are helping to calm my ragged nerves.

Music for the Commute:

"They say that these are not the best of times,
But they're the only times I've ever known,
And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own.
Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lover's eyes,
And I can only stand apart and sympathize.
For we are always what our situations hand us...
It's either sadness or euphoria.

And so we argue and we compromise,
and realize that nothing's ever changed,
For all our mutual experience, our seperate conclusions are the same.
Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity,
Our reason co-exists with our insanity.
And though we choose between reality and madness...
It's either sadness or euphoria.

How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies
Perhaps we don't fulfill each other's fantasies.
And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives,
With our respective similarities...
It's either sadness or euphoria." ~ Billy Joel "Summer, Highland Falls"

It's a long one, I apologize, but I just love that damn song.... Besides, with all the funky anti-Majestic, "where have all the good times gone" sentiment thats been floating around our community, I thought perhaps this might be as uplifting to you all as it has been to me.

If not, I'll be at The Malt Shop (4611 Wisconsin Ave NW, Washington, DC, 20016) after 5... you're all more than welcome to stop by for a half and a handfull of popcorn... on me. :)

Last 5 Songs on LaunchCast:
"Down By the Sally Gardens" ~ Alec Finn
"The Boxer" ~ Paul Simon
"Out of My Head" ~ Fastball
"Runaway" ~ The Corrs
"Russians" ~ Sting

What does this mean?

I have been a highly productive little cog today. I fixed the blogback issue, so now comments can start flowing again. I cleaned all the old memo's out of my office (filled three trash bags with stuff... no wonder I couldnt find anything). Now I have my student workstudies busily entering tickets and permits, and even answering the phones. I feel like that guy in "Office Space", just walking around with my coffee asking people how things are coming. Fuck it- maybe I'll take a lunch break today. :)

Music for the Commute:

"The sky turns blue and the sun appears
But the question's still "what are we doing here?"
I don't think the answer's close at hand" ~ Jimmy Buffett "Barefoot Children in the Rain"

Its official- 48 hours with no contact. Dayna is now a missing person. Now is the time for action. Brian and Jin will dig a huge pit, and line it with scented blankets and various Koho and Bauer equipment. Smitty, Matt and I will re-create the sounds of battle by banging loudly on pots and pans and screaming in our best garbled brogue. Dusty will hide in a tree holding the net, and make odd animal noises.

If this doesnt work, then I may have another plan.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life
Looking at the barrel of an Armalite
I don't want to spend the rest of my days
Keeping out of trouble like the soldiers say
I don't want to spend my time in hell
Looking at the walls of a prison cell
I don't ever want to play the part
Of a statistic on a government chart" ~ The Police "Invisible Sun"

I apologize to those dedicated majestic diaspora who read this and listen to me bitch over IM- I'm not always like this. In fact, I used to be easy going to the point of seeming nonchalant. Just a little spot of work related stress, that's all. In no time, I'll be as good as new. I appreciate your patience and comaraderie more than you know.

Oh right, the point- I can neither confirm or deny that they may or may not have discovered a substance that may or may not be anthrax in a mail room that may or may not be across the street from my office. Maybe.

"Days like this, I dont know what to do with myself
All day- and all night
I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath
I say to myself
I need fuel- to take flight-" ~ Fiona Apple "Sullen Girl"

That song so epitomizes the general mood of this friday. As I sit here staring out the window watching the leaves blow across the cement walkway, my thoughts drift to about a million other things that I would rather be doing at this very moment. The cool autumn breeze through my window beckons me, tempting my claustrophobic senses with the promise of vast untravelled expanses. The smell of wood smoke and cinnamon hover in the back of my mind, and add flavor to my own personal shangrila somewhere in the countryside. Away from the billowing paranoia of a city under seige.

I just start to get the hang of this blogger business, and now the forward element is moving on to something called greymatter. Not me, no sir.... blogger, with all its faults, is the extent of my technical know-how.