Mun showed me this writing contest where the grand prize is $10k, and all they want is up to 250 words of prose. The only requirement is that you begin the composition with the following:
"I dont know what that was. My God, it looked like...."
That statement is simply too deliciously open ended to pass up. So here are my suggestions.
1. .... Timmy trying to sex the lawn mower again. Sue Ellen! Get the neosporin and some duct tape!
2. .... shit. Did I really eat that?
3. .... a tiny monkey riding a beagle, his sequined purple chaps glimmering in the harsh florescent light from the bathroom. A cigarette hung from his primate jaw like a lightning bug trying to dig its way into his mouth. (kudos to BD for that wonderful image)
4. .... Maya Angelou and Lindsey Buckingham re-enacting the Throne Room lightsaber battle from Return of the Jedi. But which one is Darth?
5. .... Nick doing real work on a Friday. Nah... cant be.
Brian is right. The weblog should be entertaining. Nobody wants to read about my introspection.
But he's also wrong. I dont wear masks. Everything that crosses this weblog is who I am. Even the fiction I write is stereotypical Nick Calkins. Do I use specific language to convey a certain feeling essential to the message? Of course. But this in no way alters the true events. It only serves to paint a more complete picture of how I viewed the event in question. I have neither the energy nor the inclination to be anything but myself. I've been talking with most of you every day for almost a year now, and consider you all friends. The things that I post here are not simply to entertain you. It's my hope that, in the absence of actual physical interaction, these posts help you all to understand what I do and who I am. I suppose its possible that I'm the only one who does this, but I dont think thats the case. It would truly be unfortunate if it was.
That being said, we can return to our regularly scheduled broadcast.
This weekend I'm going home with my buddy Caz to celebrate Easter with his family in northwestern Maryland. He lives way out in farm country on the Pennsylvania border, and adventures there always prove to be entertaining. This also means that I may not be back on Sunday in time for the game. I'll do my best.
Everybody in my family is still waiting with baited breath to find out about the HP/Compaq merger. My dad works for Compaq, and should the merger go through (which it seems is imminent), there is a 50/50 chance that my dad's group will be replaced with their equivalent in the HP camp. If this happens, its a strong possibility that my folks would have to relocate. As you can well imagine, this is not a very cheery prospect.
The apartment search is progressing very slowly. Its very much like trying to find a shrubbery for the Knights who say "Ni". Every day there is another refinement that is added to the search, and each one makes the entire process less likely to be successful. But there are few options: we have to tell out current residence that we plan to leave on the 1st of June by monday at the latest. In essence, it will be sink or swim after that. Wish me luck.
I spent the morning talking with my workstudies about their plans for the summer, and realized how much I miss summer vacation. I know that such a thought is common and generally not worthy of comment, but you dont comprehend just how good it was until you allow your mind to mull it over.
Go ahead... I'll wait...
In my mind I see gently swaying trees beneath clear blue skies. Miles of dusty dirt roads on high mountain ridges, with vistas as far as the eye can see. Thunderstorms of such intensity as to warrant reverence. Cool evenings spent lying on the grass, the smell of her hair and the lilac bushes invigorating and relaxing your soul. Even in writting about it, I find myself at a loss for words. Its this loss that I wonder about most.
I had intended this post to be something amusing. A random story about one of many summer jobs. But somehow I cant seem to shake this horrible theme I have had in my writing as of late. Longing, restlessness, self doubt.... these aren't the elements of humor. These are the themes of transcribed sessions with the head shrinker. I suppose this should be expected, however. You can only have a weblog for so long before it becomes a mirror to your innermost thoughts.
And the thought that this weblog, and the contents there in, are a true depiction of my inner workings is indeed frightening. Much like not really appreciating something until its no longer there, you certainly dont appreciate your emotional stability until its voluntarily disproven in a public forum. I suppose its akin to the master criminal turning himself in simply to gain recognition of his efforts. This mental stigma is great for us law abiding types, but is still absolutely counter-intuitive.
I've found myself in a general money-less state, and have been cutting back my expenditures to compensate. I spent both Saturday and Sunday night at home, and managed to escape Friday night with money still in my wallet. Of course, my drivers liscense wasnt in there for some reason.
Oh, thats right- I never gave back the darts. I left them stuck in the board. Real smooth, Nick. The funny thing is that I had two beers, food, and two or three glasses of water that evening, so I cant blame my absentminded behavior on anything but my absent mind. I'm going to need to walk around with post it notes stuck to me.
I've decided that no matter how much I enjoy hanging out with my roomate Mark, its not a good idea to bring him along when you're trying to meet women. One would think he would be an asset: he's the "good looking friend" that women tend to flock to. The problem when he's around is that the rest of us get moved to that "nice friend of the good looking guy" spot. It's aggravating. I suppose if I was as magnanimous as I used to be, this wouldnt be an issue. Anyway, enough with the self doubt.
The other super-fun thing I did this weekend was look for a new place to live. With the housing shortage in the DC metro area, this is no easy task on its own. And when you start to have specific needs tacked on to that, it becomes all the more difficult. To begin with, let me clarify one point. If it were only me, I could live in a closet in Hell as long as the rent was right. But to be able to afford anything more than a studio apartment in SE, you need to have roomates. This comes as both a blessing and a curse. My two roomates that are planning on living with me again have shared a room for the last three years. Its understandable that they want their own rooms. So thats at least three bedrooms we need. Then another friend wants to join the caravan. Fine with me, less rent is always a good thing. We could still work three bedrooms. "Hey Nick, I'm gonna be working an intership at JAG this summer, can I stay with you?" Sure buddy. Looks like we might need another room. "Hey Nick, I graduate in May and want to stay here for the summer, can I stay with you guys again?" Of course. Now we definitely need a fourth room. "Oh, but I dont have a car, and need to get back and forth between Bethesda..." Ok, looks like we need Metro access. "Is this neighborhood safe?"
I just dont have the energy.
Morning Playlist:
Beyond the Sea - Royal Crown Revue
Knock Me a Kiss - Louis Jordan
Come on Eileen - Save Ferris
Yours - Blues Traveller
Stay - Dave Matthews
Dont Fear the Reaper - BOC
Janies Got a Gun - Aerosmith
I was all ready to buy the Hiram Key, when all of sudden I was railroaded into contributing my $20 to the "Send the Chief to Elizebeth Arden for the day" fund. This is getting out of hand. I already bought 4 boxes of thin mints from her daughters. I already contributed money to the university library and gave blood. Give it a rest, Captain... you have to kiss the chiefs ass, not me....
Its been raining her since sunday morning, and I couldnt be more content. But I've found that for such a rainy climate, Maryland/DC/Virginia drivers cant drive in the rain. If it meant the difference between life and death, they would still slow down to 25 and weave back and forth. I imagine that the entire scene from the air looked like a huge metallic snake lumbering down I-270. Oh well, at least they arent driving 80 and skidding as a group around corners.
I, too, am looking for a new place to live. June 1st my lease runs out, and I need to move it on down to the lower rent condo complexes. Finding a place to live in the DC metro area is always interesting. Plenty of jobs for everybody, and nowhere to live. Go figure. I think I have the choices narrowed down, and now its just a matter of hoping that the unit we are looking for opens up at the exact right time. If not, Brian and I might be shantytown neighbors.
I still have to do my taxes, and I cant believe its already the 20th of march. I should get something back, at least enough to help cover some of my Canada expenses and help to buy a couch for the new place. A used couch, mind you. Looking at my paystubs, I would venture even to say a really used couch.
HuggyBear and I are still having a war at work. He's had to work the dispatch booth for the past couple days, so it's placed us in close proximity for much longer than either of us desires. The most recent skirmish has involved the front door to the department. The dispatchers sit in this little room with no windows and lots of computers and radios, and dont have lots of circulated fresh air. I, however, am right in front of the door with windows behind me, and I get all the air I please. That also means that when its cold outside, sitting at this damn desk can get a little nippy, so I keep the door closed. But they like to keep the door propped open, so that they can get some air, and hear birds or some other useless shit. I close the door, he opens the door. This cycles continues all day until he goes home at three, and as he walks out, I close the fucking door behind him. He'll get the picture.
Thats about all thats new in my world since yesterday, so I suppose I should actually do some work now. More later.
Which Action Star Are You? Find out @ She's Crafty
My weekend was quite nice. Drove down to Virginia Beach on Thursday night in 3 hours flat. Traffic was nonexistant, and I made great time. Friday was 80 degrees with a gentle breeze and the air smelled like lilacs and ocean. In less time than it normally takes me to light the first smoke of the morning and say "not another fucking day at work", the change of venue had improved my demeanor. We spent most of that day on the base, going between simulators and ceremonies. It was weird being back in the military community, even if as just a visitor. You get a certain presence about you after you've spent time in the service, and its something that other people who share that trait often pick up without having to ask. I think I confused them. My hair wasnt regulation length, and the beard, however trimmed, was certainly not in uniform standards. Yet I knew what they were talking about, and my familiarity extended down to the smallest mannerism. Where they found it strange, I felt like the cousin that had left the farm and the family business to live in the big city.
But after a few beers and a few more stories, things settled down. The bar we went to for the party after they received their wings was very cool. Plenty of washed wood and nautical paraphanalia, complete with a two story cylindrical aquarium. The back of the bar opened up to an inlet of the chesapeake bay, providing plenty of opportunity for one to get in trouble. All the drinks and food were free, and we stayed until the owner of the place kicked us all out. Saturday morning found me enjoying a nice breakfast, and easing into a day of simple relaxation. That night, after a great weekend with my high school buddies, I jumped into my car, cranked on the U2, and set the St Patrick's Day Caravan into motion.
Sunday morning I woke up at 7 AM, cleaned myself, put on my 1759 gear and proceeded to wake up the troops. We had eggs and beer for breakfast at 8, and were out of the house and headed to the bar by 10. It was rainy and fairly cold, but we braved the elements, and were flashing our VIP passes and walking through the door by 11. St Patricks Day is one of the only times during the year, perhaps the only time, when you can see a bar full of people at 11 AM, and have to wade through both adults and children on the way to the mahoghany. We spent nearly three hours there, and having had our fill of expensive refreshment, hopped on the Metro and headed back to a fridge full of fun. I made boiled potatoes, cabbage, and stewsteak, and we watched Boondock Saints, Braveheart, and Snatch. And at around midnight, we all finally dropped.
Monday I slept in, shaved the beard off, and watched TV. And now I'm ready for a week at work, in a much better state than before.
"As the son of a son of a sailor,
I went out on the sea for adventure,
Expanding the view of the captain and crew
Like a man just released from indenture.
As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man,
I have chalked up many a mile.
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks,
And I've learned much from both of their styles.
Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun; load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer.
Now away in the near future, southeast of disorder,
You can shake the hand of the mango man
As he greets you at the border.
And the lady she hails from Trinidad,
Island of the spices.
Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet,
And the rum is for all your good vices.
Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind that our
Forefathers harnessed before us.
Hear the bells ring as the tide rigging sings.
It's a son of a gun of a chorus.
Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends.
If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.
So I'll cruise along always searchin' for songs,
Not a lawyer, a thief or a banker.
But a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun, load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer
I'm just a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor
The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains.
I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer." ~ "Son of a Son of a Sailor" Jimmy Buffett
The buzzer sounded loudly in the transport room signaling the arrival of a field team. Crews of techs in blue jump suits swarmed around a long line of loading bays. They operated datachip scanners, DNA indentifiers, and emergency medical equipment. Each person was essential to the operation, though they might not know what the operation was. It was the pinnacle of bureacratic efficiency. Over the loudspeaker, the computerized operations dispatcher began to call out arrival points for various teams. As the rotating lights clicked on over gate 12B, Sally Markus and her team waited to inprocess the ops unit.
"Who do we have today, boss?" a younger man said as he switched on his medscanner.
Consulting her roster, Sally responded "IGA Team 3, Brokensoul."
"Wonderful." the younger man replied, closing his eyes and stretching his neck to the side. The huge steel doors in front of them started to open, and a massive armored personnel carrier backed into the launch bay. Before the vehicle could come to a stop, the rear doors flew open and 5 people lept from the hold. They were clad in armor, and ancient weapons hung from authentic garments. They reeked of smoke, and their faces were smeared with ash. The man in the lead was walking quickly, pushing past the techs trying to take his vitals and check for injury. Directly behind him was a halfling woman, equally pissed off and not in the mood to be pawed at by overprotective handlers.
"Did you kids have fun today?" Sally asked the second man as she checked his genetic ID.
"Cant you tell? We're all smiles today Sal." He replied, rubbing his finger from where the blood was drawn.
"What the hell's wrong with them?"
"Their helmets are too tight." he replied, winking at the woman. She smiled, and slapping him on his ass, ushered him through the line. "Thats harassment, you know" he quipped.
"Keep moving, slick- only one grope per smartass."
It's been a long four or five days, and I have many stories to tell you all. Settle in to your seats, please turn off all cell phones, and enjoy the show.
Thursday was by far the longest day I've had in a while. We were prepping for the Patriot League championship game that was held on Friday in our arena. The ever-wise and all-knowing senior administrators believed we would have 4000 people come to see the game, so they directed my office to close our two largest parking lots for the entire day on friday. This, as you can imagine, causes huge problems. Luckily, I didnt have to do much planning for this one, so I could honestly tell the scores of irate people who called me to complain that I had nothing to do with the decision, only the implementation. On an interesting side note- I find it funny that once someone has you on the phone, they will attach all responsibility and blame to you, even if they fully believe you had nothing to do with it. It seems the need to vent outweighs the logical process of making a valid and properly directed complaint. Anyhow- I spent the majority of thursday addressing phone calls and making signs. I was told that I couldnt begin putting these signs up, however, until after the last classes on thursday. That's 11:30 at night. So my boss and I sat around trying to figure out what we were going to do from 5 to 11:30. We decided that we would go bowling, and ended up rounding up the other supervisor in my unit, my goonbuddy Jeff, and his on and off girlfriend Elizabeth that used to work for me.
The bowling alley that we went to was very unusual. No fat guys named Gus in blue bowling shirts. No smell of shoe deodorizor. No rack of slimy hot dogs and nacho dispensers at the snack bar. Hell, there wasnt a snack bar. Instead, I was carded at the door. Everyone inside was well dressed. We were greeted by a bombshell waitress in a 70's style gogo dress who showed us to our lane, asked our shoe sizes, and took our drink orders. The seats were not hard industrial plastic, but luxurious cushioned jobbies with armrests and whatnot. It was surreal to say the least. But we bowled a few games, and had a few more pitchers, and by the time 11 rolled around, we had been drunk and were just starting to sober up. The other supervisor, who as a God-fearing man doesnt have any fun, drove us back to campus, and we set about making the neccessary preparations.
Hurdle 1: All the equipment we needed was locked in an unused bus, which someone had carelessly allowed the battery to drain on, thus leaving the doors shut with no way to open them. The only door that wasnt pressurized closed was the handicapped ramp, which I had to climb over to get inside. Nearly sacrificing future generations of goons, I managed to get all the supplies outside.
Hurdle 2: The vehicle that we usually use for this kind of job was in the shop, so my boss decided to put all the shit I threw out of bus A onto bus B and drive that around while we set things up. Granted, it had been about an hour since we stopped drinking, but where I was having beer, my boss was drinking belvedere and orange juice. I wont lie and say I wasnt just a tad nervous to hop on the bus with him and the helm. But we managed to get all the lots closed, all the signs in place, and it only took us 2 and half hours.
I got home at 2:45, and to sleep at 3. Only to have my alarm go off at 6, out the door at 6:30, and to work at 7. Then, as if I could be any more tired, I was assigned the command post, so I sat inside all day long, while everyone else got to frolic in the 70 degree weather. I remember a movie I saw when I was little. All these little kids lived in this place where it always rained or was cloudy, but one day, the weather man said that there would be sunshine. So all the teachers started giving the kids these little kits that had sunblock, and sunglasses and whatnot, and told them to be sure they were ready. All the little kids were so happy that it would be sunny, and that they could go outside. Then, just as the sun was breaking through the clouds, some bullies locked the main character in the bathroom, and all he could do was watch them play through the window. If that kid had a hang over and was punchy from only sleeping three of 24 hours, that would have been me. But I sucked it up and did my job. And I laughed when only 600 people showed up. And I laughed when our team lost. And at 7:30 that night, they finally let me go home.
And I slept. Until noon on saturday I slept like a wee baby. Saturday night, my roomates and I went to the bar to listen to the Sean Flemming band (I had their name wrong in the last post). I was also supposed to meet this girl from work that I had taken a fancy to. If you recall, she had asked me on several occassions if I was going to see them, and I was wondering if this might be a sign of interest on her part.
Well, it wasnt. And the absence of a diamond on her finger meant very little as she introduced me to her husband. Oh well, nothing gained, nothing lost. But the evening wasnt a total ruin, a brief chat with the owner by my roomate and myself did secure us free t-shirts and VIP passes to the St. Patrick's Day party at the bar. Thats the consolation they give to regulars that dont score. So, with the huge momo stamp on my forehead, we went back home, and I slept until 2 pm on sunday. This is unheard of for me, and I must say that I didnt much care for it. I like to have a day to do stuff, so when I sleep too long, I get grumpy. This was evidenced last night at the DnD game. Again, I apologize to everybody.
So now I'm back at the fucking desk. And the circle is complete.
You know that feeling that you get when something just isnt right? That nagging lump in your chest that serves as a warning? I cant seem to get rid of mine.
There are certain rules that must be followed to avoid my wrath, or the wrath of any goon for that matter. In my case, they can all be summarized in one simple statement:
Dont give me a reason to dislike you.
If you dont give me a reason to dislike you, I can be the best buddy you ever had. I have a tendancy to be very selfless with all of my friends. But when you give me a reason to dislike you, there will be problems. Its not a question of "if", its a question of "when" and "with what blunt object will I be bludgeoned". In my crosshairs this week is Officer Barry.
Officer Barry is a self-indulged, useless, slimy piece of shit 70's throwback pimp with a badge. The man drives around in either a caramel colored '72 Impala, or a purple Corvette with personalized plates that say "WARRIOR". Whenever he's not on duty, he slinks about campus dressed like Huggy Bear, complete with rings, cane, and coke nail. He's the kind of person, without even knowing him, that I would like to kidnap and leave alone in Kashmir. But its his manner while on the job that really pisses me off. He's been assigned to a de facto permanent post down at our Tenleytown campus. The party line is that he's a senior officer and responsible to be there alone. I'm thuroughly convinced that he fucked up somewhere along the line, and is being put there because hes fallen from the good graces of the chief. Regardless of that, as the only officer posted in Tenleytown, he has started to think of himself as the duly designated representative and personal savior of all the students and staff residing there. I call him the fresh prince of Tenley campus.
So about a week ago, he comes to me to ask about getting some more signs placed down at that location instructing people where they can and cant park. I asked what had happened to the signs that I put there over the summer. He said they were still there, but more were needed. Apparently the one small parking lot down at Tenley is the epicenter for illiterate drivers. I told him that while I didnt think we needed more signs, I would certainly bring it up at the next meeting, to be held in 4 days. The very next day, he asks me again about the signs, and again, I tell him that I'll bring it up at the meeting, and see what the chief and my boss think. This was not the answer that he wanted, apparently, because he began an unsolicited moral tirade about the parking situation at Tenley campus. I listened, told him that would really help with making a decision on that lot, and excused myself. Later that day, I heard him talking with one of the other officers about how they needed signs, and that I wasnt listening "as usual."
"As usual?" My ass "as usual."
So the next day, he comes into my office to talk to my boss about the signs. I was sitting at my desk while he stood there saying that I was unwilling to listen to his advice, and he through he needed to go over my head. My boss looked over at me, then back to Barry, and told him that it would be discussed at the meeting. I was very close to really getting angry with this guy. It's pissing me off just writing about it. It's unfortunate that he felt the need to doubt what I was saying to him. Now I have to devote time and energy to making his life difficult. When will these people learn....
I think that I take stress too seriously. I seem to recall never having anything stress me out. Nothing. Like I was living in a state of wholly lucid intoxication. Maybe it was because I didnt have bills to pay, or didnt have to deal with momo's all day long that I didnt let anything get me down. It could be a number of things, I'm sure, but the fact that remains is that I desperately need to calm down. High blood pressure runs in my family, so I guess that I need to be doing everything in my power to counteract the genetic and situational factors that contribute to my goonish surliness. Take last friday for example.
All week long, my reserves of patience had been drained. When I arrived at work friday morning early, I had hoped to ease into my day. Sometimes, if I'm in the right mood from the start, I feel much better at the end. From the moment I walked through the door at 7:15, until well after 5 pm, it was a nonstop barrage of stupidity. So closing time rolled around, and I settled into my chair after turning off the lights at the desk. I was just starting to take my first relaxing breaths, when my assistant told me there was someone at the desk for me. I have friends at the school, so I figured someone had come to collect me for happy hour. As I rounded the corner, however, I saw that my trusted protege had sandbagged me with an irate customer he didnt want to deal with. Shooting him the "we will discuss this on monday" look, I refocused all my remaining energy on this idiot in my lobby.
Igor the pizza delivery guy just couldnt seem to understand why he got a ticket for impeding traffic while parked in the middle of the road during rush hour. I told him that if he had been a good little boy up till now and had no other tickets in the system, I would void this one out. It turned out that this wasnt the first time Iggie had been warned about his choice of parking spots. Apparently, he had received a number of tickets for the same thing, all of which had been voided. In most cases like this, you can make the argument that the person had received more than their fair share of warnings, and now they had to pay the piper. But when the person in question doesnt understand, well, anything, it makes the argument much more involved. For 40 minutes I went round and round with this idiot about what his options were. Because he'd been given warnings, he could either pay the ticket, or file a written appeal.
Those were his only choices. It wasnt potluck night at Parking and Traffic. Mom made greenbean casserole. You could eat it, or sleep hungry.
He didnt want to fill out an appeal, because he believed that doing anything but voiding the ticket was an admission that he did something wrong. I agreed. He said, "well, I do nothing wrong." I disagreed. I tried to ask him why, if he had done nothing wrong, did he get tickets? He said "I do nothing wrong." I asked him if he knew he wasnt allowed to park in the middle of the street, and if he understood the ticket. He said "Understand, I do nothing wrong."
This is where I started to get angry.
So I restated, "Look sir, we can argue about this all night if you want, but its not going to end in this ticket being voided by me or anyone else in this office. You have two options- pay, or write an appeal." It was also at this time that my friend Kate walked through the door to pick up her metro passes. I like Kate. Kate likes the same kind of things that I do. Kate is also stuck at this educational nightmare. She waited to talk with me. She wanted to know if I was going to see the Flannery Band at the P's on the 8th. It would have made my entire evening to chat with her about that.
But gulag randy wouldnt shut the fuck up. So she waved bye, and walked out. She even came back in a few minutes to see if I was free, but when she saw this momo still in my office, she waved again and walked off. By now, I was ready to tear out this guys heart with my bear hands and feed it to him. It was past 6, and this ferret faced ass bag had already blown a possible date for me. If he got out of my office with a limp, he would be ahead of the curve. So the argument continues, and eventually I just told him that the conversation was over. He had two options to choose from. He told me "fine, I write report. But I come every night and park in same spot!"
To which I replied, "then I'll come every night for the rest of your life and ticket your car."