To cap off a banner week, I get up at 7:30 and check my business only to find a text from Moda saying that her car was towed. Frack. My tummy is not too incredibly frassy which means that I'm calming down, some. I wait for the Bean to leave, check to see that my car is outside, start it, and get the remnants of the walkway cleared and salted.
Today is a tidying day. The mailbox full of bills/mortgages/utilities only serves as a reminder of how dire this s#it is. I shoot off a couple more emails asking for referrals, top the bills off in order of soonest due to next soonest due. I finish clearing out the kitchen table of the organized crap from emptying the boxes, throwing away dead pens and pens with the deer on it. I set up the command center to have a stack of bills to be paid immediately, unemployment paperwork that came today, pens, and a to-do list. Georgie teh kitteh is now sleeping on half.
Moda and some CB buddies are meeting for sushi and she offered to buy so I relish the opportunity to get out of the house on this gorgeous (albeit cold) and sunny day. Looking in the mirror, however...another story emerges.
Holy crap. I look like Nick Nolte's booking photo. I realize my costume for the last few days has been my bathrobe, the same jammie bottoms and same green shoddy tank top and even shoddier sweat shirt. And my five o'clock shadow threatens to overrun my face all the way up to my knappy hairdo.
Feeling a new man upon exiting the shower (checking business. No sign of referral request responses. New man is not happy to have been felt.) I head out.
After a grumpy sushi lunch- Moda b/c of her car and the fact that folks showed up late and DG b/c of work...wait, let's pump the brakes for some internal monologuing. Daddy isn't mad, but sitting next the the newly unemployed guy and complaining about how assignments are coming in too fast and how you'll need an assistant to finish it or they quit...I mean, I'm right here.
We all part, and I head home for more tidying/business checking/and oddly enough, a nap. The local MPR radio station dj is asking for money in spite of the economy and tells listeners to "Hang in there. Things will get better". Okay. I arrive home to here of a very temp acting type gig helping law students during mock trial sessions next week. Score. Every little cent helps. Also, the unemployment paperwork is f#ck all hard to understand, so I make a note to go over it with Mo this weekend.
Moda arrives and I start creating fajita's. We both think about getting tanked on this awful upon awful of weeks, but end up slowing down and eating dark dark chocolate on the couch while watching netflixed films.
Let's see what a "normal" weekend means.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Day Four- Anxiety, Purging, and beacon # 1
There is a weather advisory today. It's overcast, getting chilly, and I don't want to get out of bed. I wait a while until I hear the Bean leave for work, try to settle back in, and can't. I let Moda have more of a lie-in since she has the day off for a PWC gig, grab some coffee, and start to read. When she wakes and finds me in the command center she says I look sexy. True, I've let the facial hair go since Sunday...but my reasons are "if I'm gonna be jobless, I might as well look like a hobo".
She makes breakfast and as we act like good girlfriends and drink coffee while watching "The View". (Background noise, people. I've already checked my Yahoo account 4 times before 10am) I ask casually why there are so many school closings listed to which she responds that there is a snow emergency. Glancing outside at the melty backyard I snerk about how that's a good excuse.
I start to feel nauseous again, and also a little panicky. It's kind of ridiculous, but I'm gonna be alone in the house all day. She tells me that she'll grab me lunch and I can come watch if it's an open audience performance. I feel like my gratitude is glowing. I call dad thinking I'm gonna get a couple of options and instead get an earful on Unemployment and pursuing it through my old HR department. Some choice words are tossed, and 45 minutes later I feel greater waves of nausea and hopelessness. I go down stairs and start to clean out the two Fed Ex boxes (Again, I'm determined not to leave shit about the place and sulk. Move, buddy) When that's done, I try back AcctTemps. Success. They refer me to another number and we go through a get-to-know you interview. He tells me that it's tight, but he'll send me some info and online app stuff and let's have a live interview on Monday.
Sweet.
The sweetness is cut short when I go to throw anything from the old place that has a deer on it in the trash when I take a spill on an icy patch and nearly get bowled over by gale blowing snowy winds. I stand there for a moment, and once again create a maudlin scenario like "This weather reflects my sooooul..." Except I'm not that emo.
I think it's amazing that 3 minutes outside has coated my hair in snow and my sweatshirt is damp. Upon stripping down and toweling off was when finally the dry heaves pay off with the loss of my breakfast burrito. I spend the part of the afternoon curled fetal on my bed until I go down to get some water. I call Moda and cancel plans and stay curled up in the command center. Feeling really isolated. I make it outside to shovel and the Bean drives up asking for grocery requests. He doesn't budge until I give him one item, so I relent and ask for bananas.
I spend the early evening on the couch, vascillating between Return of the King (Still tear up at the end. Shup) Smallville, and some lame ass JLo movie on TBS. It's weird, but I'm waiting up for Moda and I'm not even sure if she's gonna arrive. So I call her to make sure she got home safely, and I call it a night.
And realize I hadn't eaten anything all day since breakfast. And I'm still not hungry.
She makes breakfast and as we act like good girlfriends and drink coffee while watching "The View". (Background noise, people. I've already checked my Yahoo account 4 times before 10am) I ask casually why there are so many school closings listed to which she responds that there is a snow emergency. Glancing outside at the melty backyard I snerk about how that's a good excuse.
I start to feel nauseous again, and also a little panicky. It's kind of ridiculous, but I'm gonna be alone in the house all day. She tells me that she'll grab me lunch and I can come watch if it's an open audience performance. I feel like my gratitude is glowing. I call dad thinking I'm gonna get a couple of options and instead get an earful on Unemployment and pursuing it through my old HR department. Some choice words are tossed, and 45 minutes later I feel greater waves of nausea and hopelessness. I go down stairs and start to clean out the two Fed Ex boxes (Again, I'm determined not to leave shit about the place and sulk. Move, buddy) When that's done, I try back AcctTemps. Success. They refer me to another number and we go through a get-to-know you interview. He tells me that it's tight, but he'll send me some info and online app stuff and let's have a live interview on Monday.
Sweet.
The sweetness is cut short when I go to throw anything from the old place that has a deer on it in the trash when I take a spill on an icy patch and nearly get bowled over by gale blowing snowy winds. I stand there for a moment, and once again create a maudlin scenario like "This weather reflects my sooooul..." Except I'm not that emo.
I think it's amazing that 3 minutes outside has coated my hair in snow and my sweatshirt is damp. Upon stripping down and toweling off was when finally the dry heaves pay off with the loss of my breakfast burrito. I spend the part of the afternoon curled fetal on my bed until I go down to get some water. I call Moda and cancel plans and stay curled up in the command center. Feeling really isolated. I make it outside to shovel and the Bean drives up asking for grocery requests. He doesn't budge until I give him one item, so I relent and ask for bananas.
I spend the early evening on the couch, vascillating between Return of the King (Still tear up at the end. Shup) Smallville, and some lame ass JLo movie on TBS. It's weird, but I'm waiting up for Moda and I'm not even sure if she's gonna arrive. So I call her to make sure she got home safely, and I call it a night.
And realize I hadn't eaten anything all day since breakfast. And I'm still not hungry.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Day three- Telling the Bean
Normally hump day is a cause for mild celebration to the cube jockey. The week is half over and the weekend is smiling in your face. After seeing Moda off to work like a good SO, I see the Bean is up and frassin. He asks if I'm still sick and I make maudlin gesture number 10. In my robe, I lean over the sink and plant my hands while taking a deep breath than looking up. He responds accordingly and very Bean-like: "Uh-Oh...I don't like the sound of that"
"I was let go on Monday"
Rather than turn into a worried Wonka, he mobilizes as well. He throws various ideas out there and we bounce them off one and other. He leaves, with the promise that he'll keep his eyes and ears open. I send off another resume, call back the temp firm, and head out for a jog on this glorious day. By mile 3, I'm throwing up. I have to walk the last 6 blocks and chalk it up to nerves. At home, I agree to meet and help run lines with a buddy who took the day off to work on their script. While brushing my teeth, I start dry-heaving. I start getting worried that I'm gonna get sick right after I lose my insurance.
I come downstairs to a couple of Fed Exed boxes on my porch. All my work gear. And a flush of anger rises in me again. And I start to get another lump in my throat. A cursory poke through them reveals they sent me back all my office supplies on my desk top. (Which negates my whole fantasy of winning the lottery and keeping them all anyway) My five year glass commemorative candy dish is in pieces at the bottom as well as a Spider-Man card/picture holder. I make a note to inventorize tomorrow, then notice that my hardboiled eggs that I usually bring for a snack are in there. Again, effectively rendering my hope they'd forget them and they'd go bad useless.
I check my business again and head over to be a line runner. I cathart to 'Lis, run lines, then we drink some beers. We're joined later by Moda and Tuggernuts before breaking for the night. I hunker down for "Two Towers" and fall asleep. I wake up when Moda breaks from rehearsal. We frass a bit, then call it a night.
"I was let go on Monday"
Rather than turn into a worried Wonka, he mobilizes as well. He throws various ideas out there and we bounce them off one and other. He leaves, with the promise that he'll keep his eyes and ears open. I send off another resume, call back the temp firm, and head out for a jog on this glorious day. By mile 3, I'm throwing up. I have to walk the last 6 blocks and chalk it up to nerves. At home, I agree to meet and help run lines with a buddy who took the day off to work on their script. While brushing my teeth, I start dry-heaving. I start getting worried that I'm gonna get sick right after I lose my insurance.
I come downstairs to a couple of Fed Exed boxes on my porch. All my work gear. And a flush of anger rises in me again. And I start to get another lump in my throat. A cursory poke through them reveals they sent me back all my office supplies on my desk top. (Which negates my whole fantasy of winning the lottery and keeping them all anyway) My five year glass commemorative candy dish is in pieces at the bottom as well as a Spider-Man card/picture holder. I make a note to inventorize tomorrow, then notice that my hardboiled eggs that I usually bring for a snack are in there. Again, effectively rendering my hope they'd forget them and they'd go bad useless.
I check my business again and head over to be a line runner. I cathart to 'Lis, run lines, then we drink some beers. We're joined later by Moda and Tuggernuts before breaking for the night. I hunker down for "Two Towers" and fall asleep. I wake up when Moda breaks from rehearsal. We frass a bit, then call it a night.
Day two- Calm before the storm.
I have a resolve list I'm bound and determined to stick with. Get up at the same time daily, check my business by the minute, and not spend any $ unless absolutely neccessary. I'm emailing Portana with questions and her response is inspiring. I'm starting to get some personal messages and emails with thoughts and encouragement. Mom is sending Craigslist ads that I respond to with fervor. And, I get my first nibble from a temp agency who I promptly play phone tag with.
I'm a smidge quesey still, but make it to the gym/run and make the most of my new-found freedom with an offer of free pizza by Moda. We run into Ari who is concilitory regarding my situation. I jokingly ask if he needs an assistant and he says he does. He, in turn, jokes that he can remember this (Insert obscure 70's sitcom theme song) but not his next meeting.
I head back home for more business checking, and file for dreaded unemployment. It's an intimidating process for me. The questions seem invasive, and at this time I'm not sure I'm reading them correctly. A Yahoo feature speaks of unemployment, things getting worse, and a puddle of bile swirls in my belly. I continue my movie marathon from the night before. I've finished "40 Year Old Virgin", "300", and decide the "LotR" extended editions should follow. (I make it through all of these in record time due to my habit of fast forwarding past the boring bits. Which means all the walking and talking expository crap in "LotR" goes by at 8 x's FF)
Still scared, still attempting optimism, I get the 2nd email from the other co-worker. I start to cry again. I have a beer and call it a night. I notice that I skipped dinner, and realize that this is starting to resemble my "getting dumped" diet. No good. Hopefully my appetite will return.
I'm a smidge quesey still, but make it to the gym/run and make the most of my new-found freedom with an offer of free pizza by Moda. We run into Ari who is concilitory regarding my situation. I jokingly ask if he needs an assistant and he says he does. He, in turn, jokes that he can remember this (Insert obscure 70's sitcom theme song) but not his next meeting.
I head back home for more business checking, and file for dreaded unemployment. It's an intimidating process for me. The questions seem invasive, and at this time I'm not sure I'm reading them correctly. A Yahoo feature speaks of unemployment, things getting worse, and a puddle of bile swirls in my belly. I continue my movie marathon from the night before. I've finished "40 Year Old Virgin", "300", and decide the "LotR" extended editions should follow. (I make it through all of these in record time due to my habit of fast forwarding past the boring bits. Which means all the walking and talking expository crap in "LotR" goes by at 8 x's FF)
Still scared, still attempting optimism, I get the 2nd email from the other co-worker. I start to cry again. I have a beer and call it a night. I notice that I skipped dinner, and realize that this is starting to resemble my "getting dumped" diet. No good. Hopefully my appetite will return.
Living in the slow lane
Hi. I was fired.
After over 7 years at the same place, I was let go Monday morning. When you work in the fidouchiary community and the econ is the way it is, you figure you are working on limited time. The funny thing is, I kinda saw it coming? About 2 months ago we re-structured and I was assigned manager #3, the third within 12 months. Departments were letting folks go, things were getting cut from the top down, bonuses were redacted company wide, and there seemed to be an ill wind in the air. I had a recent desk move which I figure may have prompted a smidgen security (they can be expensive inter-departmentally) but it caused me to start bringing personal stuff home bit by bit. I started frassin' with buddies as to how to get started on a job hunt, thinking it would be tough but not impossible. I re-created a resume' and got some contact info. And was gearing up of making a go of it.
Turns out, a little too late.
So mama-san thought it'd be best to start blogging about it to give a day by day account of what it's been like, create a cathartic outlet, create fodder for my one-person show, and hopefully kill some time before my (hopefully) speedy rehire. So as we say in the showbiz parlance, let's take it from the top. Per safety/security things may be discussed in generalities so please take my apologies in advance. Clarifications will be happily regurgitated in person. More on that, later:
Day one-
Boss is in the office on a non-boss-in the office day. I take this as a bad sign already. I take to working and keeping my head down, as I had been wont to do lately. I get a meeting invite via email with myself and two others and my spider sense starts tingling. I send a quick note to Moda with the header "I'm kinda scared right now" with the body "I think I'm gonna get fired today". Walking down to the first floor meeting room, by the entrance, I am flooded with a sense of calm. I know what's coming. I've kind of known for a while. If it's not what I think, all right. And if it is...well, I know.
It happens, and they go to collect a list of personal things I can think of off the top of my head. No easy feat since you accumulate a lot more than your jacket and man-bag in 7 years. I text Mo and head home. I notice traffic is light at that time of day. Weird.
At home, Moda asks to come over which I didn't think was a good idea but said okay(with a promise of booze) and I mobilize immediately. I start with anonymous and vague emails to my two closest work associates with personal forwarding info/#'s etc. Mo shows up and over a cocktail I get my first real maudlyn meltdown- I wasn't even able to say goodbye to my friends. They show you the door and that's that.
I finish my drink and emailing bro, posting resume's to 5+ headhunter sites, imploring actor types for any employment opps, and promptly take a nap. I get up to dinner being made and checked my email. Checking my email/voicemail every 10 minutes or so is going to be a habit these next few days. As I smell sauteeing veggies downstairs, I am reminded of the gratitude I have for my parental visit the other day where I walked out with 5 bags of groceries.
Moda rehearses. I talk to my family. Brother seems to understand the situation all too well. The 'rents place the fear of God in me which freaks me out and makes my tummy frassy. I watch a s#itty episode of "Heroes" and call it a night. One last email check I get from the aforementioned co-worker. I read it, and start to cry again. I attended his wedding. He helped me move. He's seen countless shows I've done. I feel optimistic. Free. Thankful that I have a lot of PTO owed me, recently filed my taxes, and have most bills paid.
And, I'm a little drunk. Good night.
After over 7 years at the same place, I was let go Monday morning. When you work in the fidouchiary community and the econ is the way it is, you figure you are working on limited time. The funny thing is, I kinda saw it coming? About 2 months ago we re-structured and I was assigned manager #3, the third within 12 months. Departments were letting folks go, things were getting cut from the top down, bonuses were redacted company wide, and there seemed to be an ill wind in the air. I had a recent desk move which I figure may have prompted a smidgen security (they can be expensive inter-departmentally) but it caused me to start bringing personal stuff home bit by bit. I started frassin' with buddies as to how to get started on a job hunt, thinking it would be tough but not impossible. I re-created a resume' and got some contact info. And was gearing up of making a go of it.
Turns out, a little too late.
So mama-san thought it'd be best to start blogging about it to give a day by day account of what it's been like, create a cathartic outlet, create fodder for my one-person show, and hopefully kill some time before my (hopefully) speedy rehire. So as we say in the showbiz parlance, let's take it from the top. Per safety/security things may be discussed in generalities so please take my apologies in advance. Clarifications will be happily regurgitated in person. More on that, later:
Day one-
Boss is in the office on a non-boss-in the office day. I take this as a bad sign already. I take to working and keeping my head down, as I had been wont to do lately. I get a meeting invite via email with myself and two others and my spider sense starts tingling. I send a quick note to Moda with the header "I'm kinda scared right now" with the body "I think I'm gonna get fired today". Walking down to the first floor meeting room, by the entrance, I am flooded with a sense of calm. I know what's coming. I've kind of known for a while. If it's not what I think, all right. And if it is...well, I know.
It happens, and they go to collect a list of personal things I can think of off the top of my head. No easy feat since you accumulate a lot more than your jacket and man-bag in 7 years. I text Mo and head home. I notice traffic is light at that time of day. Weird.
At home, Moda asks to come over which I didn't think was a good idea but said okay(with a promise of booze) and I mobilize immediately. I start with anonymous and vague emails to my two closest work associates with personal forwarding info/#'s etc. Mo shows up and over a cocktail I get my first real maudlyn meltdown- I wasn't even able to say goodbye to my friends. They show you the door and that's that.
I finish my drink and emailing bro, posting resume's to 5+ headhunter sites, imploring actor types for any employment opps, and promptly take a nap. I get up to dinner being made and checked my email. Checking my email/voicemail every 10 minutes or so is going to be a habit these next few days. As I smell sauteeing veggies downstairs, I am reminded of the gratitude I have for my parental visit the other day where I walked out with 5 bags of groceries.
Moda rehearses. I talk to my family. Brother seems to understand the situation all too well. The 'rents place the fear of God in me which freaks me out and makes my tummy frassy. I watch a s#itty episode of "Heroes" and call it a night. One last email check I get from the aforementioned co-worker. I read it, and start to cry again. I attended his wedding. He helped me move. He's seen countless shows I've done. I feel optimistic. Free. Thankful that I have a lot of PTO owed me, recently filed my taxes, and have most bills paid.
And, I'm a little drunk. Good night.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
And the Frasscar goes to!
I am a perennial collector of the VeeF "Hollywood" issue. Admittedly I'm hooked on stupid ass glam photo's by Annie Frassoweitz and Herb Fratts that I can't let that stupid March issue go. Since 1998, bitcas.
I like it, because the issue comes out right before the Frasscar's and for some reason always brings me back to when I bought my first issue (Road trip back from Nashville, 1997) and momentos from things like that usually only last the moment you do them. VeeF? Comes out with the issue every year, baby.
So I've had the pleasure this year of seeing almost every movie considered. This is...to be fair...huge. Since the last 6 years or so I'd maybe...MAYBE seen 2 or 4. But we got through a majority, and I'm proud like a kid after his first paper route. Although, and to tie our two themes together:
"The Frassler". Okay. We get it. He's redeemed. His life, his real life, it's all like...the camera is capturing it you know? This guy has needed a break for soooooo long. Where has he been, man?
Well. For starters, he's been in a couple of VeeF Hollywood issues as the "Bad Boy" or some such nonsense. Shirtless. Molesting a chihuahua, and trying to figure out how he was the bomb diggety from 1985-1990 before becoming a pariah.
Well dude. You've had some pretty cool indie films. See-Ann Peen believed in you. And the critics didn't miss it. It was just before indie-films had a chance to be Frasscar winners. Now it's like "Hey...you won an independent spirit award. Let's give you a Frasscar too!".
Wait. What? I thought one was to celebrate independent filmmaking. The other, to say drivel like "Titanic" (Which made a shhhhiteton of money for the academy) with gabillgion dollar budgets got the gold?
There was a movie called "Frass City" that was out two years ago. 'Member? And who played "Marv"? Oh, some guy. Not some guy needing a comeback. Or a film tailor made to his life story, albeit with tights. Nope. He's been there. And bless'em for trying, I just get tired of seeing the dumbed down version of his "rising from the ashes". Folks. He never left the building. They are leading you.
And don't kill me. RDjr is similar. (At this point, most celebrities probably need to build up there shell or don't believe the hype. But let me telllllll you)
Again. A frakkin' great actor. Really. But he's fallen and redeemed so much that he's practically a phoenix. Folks. Just. Ugh. (And "TThunder" is a great, great movie to see what he can do. Really. )
Rant Rant Rant...
Okay.
"Slumfrass" will win a lot. If you read Mpls/StPaul mag, there's an interesting line "It's what the academy loves". So yeah. Sorry, frassers. It is written.
The Ledge? I'd like to see him win. I think he was really good, outside my nerd sentiments, and I've watched the DVD now more times than I care to admit. (And really, I loved having such a visceral memory of a movie experience like I did with "TDK" and my roommate + SO)
The Frassler? Mmmmmno. It's gonna be a Burt Reynolds for him. ("Boogie Nights"? Anyone?)
He was good...as himself...but it isn't Olympic gold, baby.
I'm truncating the frack out of my predictions, but K'winslet is due. There, I said it. And two movies up in the running mean she's favored. And? Apparently she gets nakey in both. Academy, this is dedication. I'm serious.*
*Right, okay. So the MPAA has fracked up seriously in the past with their noms. Yoooou know. The lame ass argument that So-and-So got ROBBED for whatever, only to get an award a year or two later for "House Party 6- House PARTIER!"
I think she's a fine, believable, and enjoyable performer. And having seen neither the "Frasser" or the one her nepotisti..husband directed, I figure maybe this year is hers?
ps- Just finished "The Visitor". It will win no awards. And it is an incredibly affecting movie. For that, I hope you folks give it a rent.
I like it, because the issue comes out right before the Frasscar's and for some reason always brings me back to when I bought my first issue (Road trip back from Nashville, 1997) and momentos from things like that usually only last the moment you do them. VeeF? Comes out with the issue every year, baby.
So I've had the pleasure this year of seeing almost every movie considered. This is...to be fair...huge. Since the last 6 years or so I'd maybe...MAYBE seen 2 or 4. But we got through a majority, and I'm proud like a kid after his first paper route. Although, and to tie our two themes together:
"The Frassler". Okay. We get it. He's redeemed. His life, his real life, it's all like...the camera is capturing it you know? This guy has needed a break for soooooo long. Where has he been, man?
Well. For starters, he's been in a couple of VeeF Hollywood issues as the "Bad Boy" or some such nonsense. Shirtless. Molesting a chihuahua, and trying to figure out how he was the bomb diggety from 1985-1990 before becoming a pariah.
Well dude. You've had some pretty cool indie films. See-Ann Peen believed in you. And the critics didn't miss it. It was just before indie-films had a chance to be Frasscar winners. Now it's like "Hey...you won an independent spirit award. Let's give you a Frasscar too!".
Wait. What? I thought one was to celebrate independent filmmaking. The other, to say drivel like "Titanic" (Which made a shhhhiteton of money for the academy) with gabillgion dollar budgets got the gold?
There was a movie called "Frass City" that was out two years ago. 'Member? And who played "Marv"? Oh, some guy. Not some guy needing a comeback. Or a film tailor made to his life story, albeit with tights. Nope. He's been there. And bless'em for trying, I just get tired of seeing the dumbed down version of his "rising from the ashes". Folks. He never left the building. They are leading you.
And don't kill me. RDjr is similar. (At this point, most celebrities probably need to build up there shell or don't believe the hype. But let me telllllll you)
Again. A frakkin' great actor. Really. But he's fallen and redeemed so much that he's practically a phoenix. Folks. Just. Ugh. (And "TThunder" is a great, great movie to see what he can do. Really. )
Rant Rant Rant...
Okay.
"Slumfrass" will win a lot. If you read Mpls/StPaul mag, there's an interesting line "It's what the academy loves". So yeah. Sorry, frassers. It is written.
The Ledge? I'd like to see him win. I think he was really good, outside my nerd sentiments, and I've watched the DVD now more times than I care to admit. (And really, I loved having such a visceral memory of a movie experience like I did with "TDK" and my roommate + SO)
The Frassler? Mmmmmno. It's gonna be a Burt Reynolds for him. ("Boogie Nights"? Anyone?)
He was good...as himself...but it isn't Olympic gold, baby.
I'm truncating the frack out of my predictions, but K'winslet is due. There, I said it. And two movies up in the running mean she's favored. And? Apparently she gets nakey in both. Academy, this is dedication. I'm serious.*
*Right, okay. So the MPAA has fracked up seriously in the past with their noms. Yoooou know. The lame ass argument that So-and-So got ROBBED for whatever, only to get an award a year or two later for "House Party 6- House PARTIER!"
I think she's a fine, believable, and enjoyable performer. And having seen neither the "Frasser" or the one her nepotisti..husband directed, I figure maybe this year is hers?
ps- Just finished "The Visitor". It will win no awards. And it is an incredibly affecting movie. For that, I hope you folks give it a rent.
First
Hey. Been a while. Quick public service announcement before the frass.
If you...yeah, you. If you are so frakkin lazy that you have to push your cart up to the- wait for it-
BACK OF THE CART CORRAL!!!
Not into it. Not...not even remotely far off like some poor destitute cart ready for the cart graveyard. I'm talking the acme of laziness. You leave it 12 feet from where it needs to go. Or set next to it in a parking space thinking "N'aaahhhh....someone will move it" (I picture this in a Bugs Bunny voice, so shup)
Gah. People. Just. Push. It's less of a courtesy than opening a door for someone. Why not honk at the person with the walk sign and curse. While you're stopped. GAH!!!
For the record, I had to actually get out of my car and move a cart so I could park next to the cart holder. Perverse, Paranoid thoughts of some ne'er do well running behind me to bogart my vehicle while I do this heroic and altruistic task notwithstanding, I cussed up a blue streak.
If you...yeah, you. If you are so frakkin lazy that you have to push your cart up to the- wait for it-
BACK OF THE CART CORRAL!!!
Not into it. Not...not even remotely far off like some poor destitute cart ready for the cart graveyard. I'm talking the acme of laziness. You leave it 12 feet from where it needs to go. Or set next to it in a parking space thinking "N'aaahhhh....someone will move it" (I picture this in a Bugs Bunny voice, so shup)
Gah. People. Just. Push. It's less of a courtesy than opening a door for someone. Why not honk at the person with the walk sign and curse. While you're stopped. GAH!!!
For the record, I had to actually get out of my car and move a cart so I could park next to the cart holder. Perverse, Paranoid thoughts of some ne'er do well running behind me to bogart my vehicle while I do this heroic and altruistic task notwithstanding, I cussed up a blue streak.
Friday, February 06, 2009
A little self control, pally
Once again, left to fend for myself for an evening I let my questionable bachelory dietary needs overcome my better sense of judgement. I had just returned for a run around the nabe in to take advantage of the gorgeous weather, and upon finishing my stretching I realized two things- I was absolutely ravenous and had absolutely zilch in terms of my normal throw things together staples.
I figured I'd make some simple pasta and when I checked out the stores I saw two packages of rotini that had both been used and both with only slightly less than a third of the contents remaining. Eyeballing them, I immediately figured it'd be enough for slightly more than one serving. Into the pot they went.
Upon completion, I dumped the contents into the strainer when lo and behold the expanded upon contact with oxygen. It more food than one person had any business, but less food than two people could enjoy as a meal. (And the 'Bean had already been to dinner with his daughter at the Sample Room) So I carried it upstairs like an infant and watched the early news with a beer. It was, in fact, more food than I could eat. And when I heard my roommate and his daughter crash through the front door I snuck into my bedroom, set the half-eaten bowl on my Chinese trunk, shut off the light, and pretended to-and eventually did fall- asleep. (Later he would tell me the had a few glasses of gewurtztraminer a piece and were tipsy mipsy.)
Upon waking 45 minutes later, I started picking at it again until it was gone. (This was after my groggy crashed and now ROYALLY sore self asked "Why is there a bowl of pasta by my feet?") Annnnnd started eating it again. All told, I must have consumed 6 cups of pasta over the course of the evening.
If you need me, I'll be the guy training for marathons to burn off the waaaay superfluous calories I consumed. It's called tupperware, buddy. And restraint. Durrrrr...Urp.
I figured I'd make some simple pasta and when I checked out the stores I saw two packages of rotini that had both been used and both with only slightly less than a third of the contents remaining. Eyeballing them, I immediately figured it'd be enough for slightly more than one serving. Into the pot they went.
Upon completion, I dumped the contents into the strainer when lo and behold the expanded upon contact with oxygen. It more food than one person had any business, but less food than two people could enjoy as a meal. (And the 'Bean had already been to dinner with his daughter at the Sample Room) So I carried it upstairs like an infant and watched the early news with a beer. It was, in fact, more food than I could eat. And when I heard my roommate and his daughter crash through the front door I snuck into my bedroom, set the half-eaten bowl on my Chinese trunk, shut off the light, and pretended to-and eventually did fall- asleep. (Later he would tell me the had a few glasses of gewurtztraminer a piece and were tipsy mipsy.)
Upon waking 45 minutes later, I started picking at it again until it was gone. (This was after my groggy crashed and now ROYALLY sore self asked "Why is there a bowl of pasta by my feet?") Annnnnd started eating it again. All told, I must have consumed 6 cups of pasta over the course of the evening.
If you need me, I'll be the guy training for marathons to burn off the waaaay superfluous calories I consumed. It's called tupperware, buddy. And restraint. Durrrrr...Urp.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Never been. You?
I realized that I've been to almost all the contiguous continental United States and Canadian Provinces except that I've never been to New Hampshire or Rhode Island.
Am I missing anything?
Am I missing anything?
It's MINE!!!
Any of you folks feel a weird sense of propriety regarding things that aren't yours? In case you think I'm referring to coveting, as one would maybe covet someones house/car/Carla Gugino. I'm referring to a specific habitual behavior which in turn causes your own perception to be one where you have ownership over said "thing". Perhaps examples are in order (And yes, some are gym specific. Deal. And respond with your own examples if you have any):
1) It's MY parking space.
So let's talk work. My early 6 a.m. commute affords me the luxury of getting to the office before most folks and secures my spot a little closer to the entrance of the building. (Which, as I've said before, is still a gazillion feet from the door. Which is no big deal except for below zero days like we've had) It's a four spot radius that is made up of the spots surrounding the tall frassin' parking lot lamp post and I always manage to secure these spots, save holidays when folks who have time off don't come to work and I can park closer to the handicap spot, read: Closer to the front of the building.
Now, it's important to note that I park here for another important reason- Parking in the same spot ensures that I'll remember where I parked every day. Lest I forget. See, when we were getting audited the bigwigs from out East stormed the building. They were there from the early morning to late at night, and they were many. The influx of folks, coupled with construction crews working on the lot I park in forced me to park in one of the other 4 lots.
Yeah. I "lost" my car at least 5 times. Even when I made a conscious effort to remember. You know why? When I park, I'm one of three or four other cars. Fill the lot with other salt-covered muddy cars and it's nigh on impossible.
2) It's MY handicap stall!
SHUT IT! I LIKE THE ROOM! You never know when you'll need to breakdance after your a.m. constitutional!!!
3) It's MY locker!
'Nuff said. At the FrassRoads, #35 is mine. When I see that the locker key is missing, I give an internal "harumph". Same goes for shower stall #1. I mean there are only three stalls, you know? 2 "normies" and the one for folks to sit down and use the hand held shower head. The first one, closest to the towel hooks and least visible to prying eyes, obviously- Mine.
4) It's MY treadmill!
That's right. The acme of frustration is just after the first of the year when the resolution-ists show up and pack my little neighborhood gym. Granted, they taper off toward month-end but it's like trying to navigate through a cluttered play room. MY treadmill, is expertly located in front of the TV that runs NBC. I've got my commute timed out so that if I haul a## from work I can get changed, stretch out, and be off and running by the time "Jeopardy!" starts. (A good distraction, to be sure. And have any of you ever realized how much of an a##hole Trebek can be? Wow.) So imagine my chagrin when there is someone pushing the buttons with a confused look on their face like their hoping one of them dispenses a granola bar and I'm forced to commandeer a treadmill in front of...CNN. Or ESPN 1-2-3-4-5...(Come on. Really? 5 TV's on ESPN?) Yeah. One day, this dude kept pausing his 'mill to step off, get a drink/re-tie his shoe/change songs on his Ipod/say hi to a buddy. I silently wished for schadenfreude in the form of a slip-off ala' America's Funniest Home Videos.
5) It's MY freeway
It just is. Don't mind me. I own the road.
6) It's MY parking space (Home edition)
Just South of my walk way. Parking in front of my house in general, if you aren't a guest, will result in my mental frass at your vehicle coupled with fist-shaking/damn kids-ing.
So what's yours?
Ow...my cold, cold soul
It's finally getting to me. Finally. I have momentary lapses of optimism...Sunshine will do that to you. This. Cold. I think I snapped this morning as I put on my super hero suit under my business casual work duds. I thought to myself, ever so wisely and ever so eloquently: "This s#it f#cking blows"
Negative double digits. Negative wind chill. Negative attitude. When it's so cold it hurts I reserve my MN-given right to b#tch. Yeah, Yeah... we had some milder, practically balmy weather last weekend. And we're promised some more this coming weekend. I don't care. Jack Frost can suck it. Once we get over the bitter hump that is February, we get to contend with our (historically) snowiest month= March. Which, thank GOODNESS, coincides with 4 solid weekends of High School winter sports tourney's. So we get crappy wet snow, crappy road conditions, and out-of-towners-new-to-the-big-city folks clogging the streets.
Then we get April. Which is like the cruel junior high friend who plays to your insecurities to validate themselves in the sense that you don't know if you'll be blessed with a sunny 80 degree hug or 8-10 inches of b#tch slap snowfall.
I guess the grumpdidlikins I'm feelings today are born from the fact that as I took the trash out the other day I was able to make out the faint outline of the garden borders, poking up like a serpent mound in Ohio. (Or a serpent ourobouros since it's techinically an unbroken line.) I got all wistful since I probably can't start thinking about seed catalogs, Farmer's Market visits, or those gorgeous German garlic cloves that are hiding a few inches beneath the soil on the East end.
Negative double digits. Negative wind chill. Negative attitude. When it's so cold it hurts I reserve my MN-given right to b#tch. Yeah, Yeah... we had some milder, practically balmy weather last weekend. And we're promised some more this coming weekend. I don't care. Jack Frost can suck it. Once we get over the bitter hump that is February, we get to contend with our (historically) snowiest month= March. Which, thank GOODNESS, coincides with 4 solid weekends of High School winter sports tourney's. So we get crappy wet snow, crappy road conditions, and out-of-towners-new-to-the-big-city folks clogging the streets.
Then we get April. Which is like the cruel junior high friend who plays to your insecurities to validate themselves in the sense that you don't know if you'll be blessed with a sunny 80 degree hug or 8-10 inches of b#tch slap snowfall.
I guess the grumpdidlikins I'm feelings today are born from the fact that as I took the trash out the other day I was able to make out the faint outline of the garden borders, poking up like a serpent mound in Ohio. (Or a serpent ourobouros since it's techinically an unbroken line.) I got all wistful since I probably can't start thinking about seed catalogs, Farmer's Market visits, or those gorgeous German garlic cloves that are hiding a few inches beneath the soil on the East end.
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