Best Post Ever

I was vainly looking at the visitor map for my blog to see where the last 100 visitors came from and what they looked at. I usually get a lot of viewers from all over the world because of my post about Donald Barthelme (which actually contains very little about the man and his writing, but there were obviously more pressing things on my mind at the time). However, somebody looking through my archived blogs returned me to possibly the most succinct blog that I've ever written. It exactly conveyed what I was feeling at the very moment. 8/30/07. Warning: Blog contains adult language.

Forced It (Give me a break, I needed to write even though I'm not feeling it)

I jerked her by the collar and smacked
my lips. There was lilac in her hair that reminded me
of mom and dad and their divorce
that wasn't my fault. They had never gotten
the sailboat that they had wanted
to take over tumultuous seas to Cuba in hurricane season.
Driftwood lined the beach of the long
silence between them at the dinner table,
powdered mashed potatoes substituting
for a child with an MD, JD,
architecture training, computer science background,
teachers license, TIG welding certificate, or a degree
in video game design from a community college.
I sat there with my sallow complexion gazing at
the potatoes wondering why my promotion
had been a pink slip.

They rose from the table and said "Good
luck, I hope you find happiness," as I remained
stationary at the mahogany table, eyes transfixed on
the potatoes with strings
that tugged at my skin from the inside
with the aid of pulleys.

And the phone rang and it was her.

I met her in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.
She held out her hand
for my key because she will only be
with somebody with an MD, JD.
I reached out for her collar.

Dog Park

The water tower looked like something Don Quixote would challenge. It stood on top of the horizon, sandwiched in the middle of the neapolitan view that was the sky and earth. The day was quite obviously a gift; still in the upper sixties despite being six o'clock on the first day of November in Nebraska. It was a day that I needed. I've been fighting the world for a couple of months now and the outcome is still undetermined so the opportunity to switch my brain off was welcome. For around an hour I watched my dog blur around the park trying to both get dogs to chase her and make sense of a world with more things in it than Virginia and I. I had parked on the wrong side of the converted baseball field but the walk back to the car was serene. It was one of those rare moments where I was connected to everything around me both past and future. As I watched Dot zig-zag around the amber grass I easily could have been Meriwether Lewis treading that patch of ground for the first time. The rows of rooftops melted away to rolling hills being showered by the setting autumn sun and I was alone with my dog. Dot stopped at a puddle in the grass and mud and looked at me to ask if it was okay and I told her that everything was going to be fine.

Phone Assistance

She aged twenty years in the span of three or four seconds. The anger drained her face like Gaia calling in a loan of mana. The culprit was a Western Union representative being less than helpful and contradictory. As I sat idly waiting to provide any assistance that I could, I felt bad for the woman. I tried to imagine what events had compounded in her life to cause such a catalytic reaction every time something minor went wrong. I'm not Job, but as I've aged I've learned to write off the annoyances in life and be happy for the lack of tragedy that I've enjoyed. Except when I'm driving. As she withdrew into her own eyes and peered at the gray desktop I felt uncomfortable. The way that a wealthy person must feel in the presence of honest poverty; privilege tugging at conscious like heavy earrings.

I tried to create a scenario where the pallid-faced anger belonged; a raucous New Year's Day celebration on the other end of the phone, the customer service girl splitting time between trying to help the lady in my office and keep the amorous interest of an overly-boozed fall intern. I tried to imagine that the reason that she needed the money wired was because her children had been kidnapped and were to be killed. Children in the hands of ruthless killers allows for disproportionate anger. None of these were the case, however, so I continued to avoid eye contact.

Cornered in my own office, I tried to be productive. I printed an e-mail that I had read a dozen times before, forgetting that my printer is louder than a nuclear test. Life returned to her eyes long enough to flash fire in my direction and then solidified into stone as they returned to the desk. I neatly stacked the pages on my desk and slowly clicked back and forth between open applications, occasionally scrolling up or down a little ways. After another minute or two she wrapped up her call and then sat staring at my desk. She might have sat for several minutes had I not interrupted the silence and asked if everything was corrected. She regained herself and genuinely thanked me, only sharing a small bit of her phone exchange with me anecdotally. I walked her halfway to the door, returned to my desk, and stared at the gray top.

Fall

I'm in love with the summer
but it's fall now and everything is
dead. I woke up and the sheets next to me
were empty and only shards
of leaves remained. Diamonds of brown
perpetually poking through
pillow slips, puncturing my memories
of trysts filled with
warmth and shine.
Gentle breezes taunt from the cracked window.
I never could sleep when I was too warm
but now the ceiling fan brutalizes like
the pounding of the drum and the crack
of the whip, bidding me to row again
as we cross north towards Iceland; Reykjavik
beckoning from the future
and the winter
dispatching
summer with a stern finger and a look
of disappointment; a spurned lover
giving the last look over the shoulder
before becoming the person
that was wanted.

Thoughts on Wine

On Friday night Virginia and I went to a unique sort of wine tasting. Some friends of ours bought a $100 bottle of wine, and each couple was to bring a $10 bottle of wine. We then had a blind taste test, were instructed to write down our thoughts, and attempt to pick out the $100 bottle. These are my thoughts (point of information; the wine master was named Paul):

1. Trying to figure out the psychology of Paul. Would he be so brash as to put the expensive wine first? That's a definitive power move, but I think he's holding back. No.

2. Now feeling that a wine class of sorts would be useful. A usable, functional course unlike International Business or Early Russian Literature. Something that would help me now, unlike my palate. Not this one.

3. Something's different here. I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe the legs? The bouquet? Regardless, it's not here.

4. It's starting to creep in on the side of the eyeballs like a marching army of $10 price tags. They've radioed for reinforcements and I'm afraid for myself. The crowd has crescendoed and fallen and danger lurks ahead. Like the bar in Chapel Hill; He's Not Here.

5. I need a monocle and top hat. I need to rub elbows on the red carpet. Colbert Platinum is on in the background as I make high powered deals in the back of the Maybach. I'm doing these things because I just finished a $100 glass of wine.

6. Feeling more confident with my decision now, I anxiously await four to six more evidence of my correctness. Grammar failing a bit but confidence is still high. Possibly artificially high.

7. Short phrases to match my time with the wine. Juan Valdez. Dry roasted. Paul's a drinking slave driver.

8. A wine timeout. A break from the cracking whip. Bubbles when I swirled. It took me back to child-times. I want to make snow angels and paper airplanes. I want to be a fireman or an astronaut. Bring number nine.

9. Pungent. It smells like gasoline but in a good way. I'm looking forward to the end because I can faintly see the light down there. The cave feels less obtrusive and frightful now. The creatures are thinning and the torch will surely hold the spark.

10. I've lost interest because I think I've won. It's the scary time where the relationship can turn south because you're both too comfortable. The wine slips on like a microfiber blanket. I may be too warm.

Siege, Business

God has laid siege to Nebraska. It's currently 11:33pm and the heat index outside is still 98 degrees. The actual air temperature is still an ungodly 86. For comparison, it only feels like 92 degrees in Death Valley, CA and it's two hours earlier there. Las Vegas is a chilly 90. Waco, Texas, or, as I referred to it the summer I stayed there (when heat killed 8 people), hell, is only 86. Our air conditioner has been running balls out since before I got home and it's only managing to keep the house at 78. What makes it worse is that it's supposed to rain the next two nights, which means that not only will the air temperature be near 100, the humidity will as well. Yippee.

My business is going well. I think I've found a programmer to join up for an ownership stake. We're meeting tomorrow to hammer out the final details. I caught a little bad break today when my co-worker that's in an MBA program told me he couldn't develop my business plan for me like he thought he could. He was going to use it in a class and hand it back to me all shiny like in mid-August. It will probably be better in the long run if I do it myself anyway, as I'll know everything about my business inside and out.

Hope all is well with the few of you who still check in periodically.

A Difference of Opinion

The license plate said "NEVER L8" so I picked up a pebble from the parking lot and wedged it into the valve stem. They may plan for traffic but I bet they weren't planning on my vagary. I did it because the idea itself offended me. I did it because I shouldn't have. The punctual constantly pontificate about their superior consideration for the time and feelings of others so I find ways to make them late. It's the same reason I keyed a crude drawing of Africa into the passenger door of the navy blue Lexus in the Hy-Vee parking lot with the Pro-Life license plate. Had the owner been outside I simply would've shared my own opinion on the matter, but they weren't so I left them something for their consideration.

I hate the bumper sticker for its lack of commitment.

Conquest Again

I imagine that successful people come home from work feeling that they've slayed the world's dragons. They glance at the people they pass on the freeway knowing that they did more, that the world wouldn't be as good if they had chosen to shut off the alarm and gone back to jousting a legion of Tickle-Me-Elmos armed with wrapping paper tube lances riding on shopping cart chariots. I imagine the successful people throwing open the door to their house victoriously. The door between their garage and kitchen, because successful people have attached garages. They take a few steps inside and then pose for a minute to intimidate the waning minutes of the day. The sun doesn't set, it hides behind the horizon in fear of being conquered by them. They stand there, fists upon waist like Superman. You can almost see the hurricane fan hiding in the mudroom, blowing on low. They stand there for a minute, right foot slightly forward like it's standing on the kitchen's chest, basking in accomplishment. They proceed to the dining room where dinner is waiting for them because they wait for nothing. And then to bed after some brief calisthenics. The sun doesn't rise in the morning, it peaks over the horizon to see if it's safe but they're waiting for it. They sleep on their backs and never roll over. It's less sleeping than waiting, waiting for the sun to peek from behind obscurity like it does every day, and like every day it meets the waiting gaze of the successful and leaps into the sky to get as far away as it can. And then out their front door they saunter with their wits as weapons, ready for conquest again.

TaDAAAAAAAAA!, Business

I applied to be an extra in the George Clooney movie tonight (they're filming in Omaha over the weekend). Below is my application e-mail. I hope you enjoy. They are the ramblings of a person who really doesn't want to go to work tomorrow (I was supposed to have the day off but nay nay), who doesn't think that he has a shot at getting on as an extra, and who should've stopped two glasses of wine ago. And my application goes...



To Whom It May Concern,

I saw the call for extras on the local news tonight and decided to respond. It said to include pertinent information, however, it didn't say what was desired so I've decided to ramble. I'm a born-and-raised Nebraskan. I have no acting or extra experience, although I met Danny Glover once. I didn't actually meet him; my neighbor drove the limo that picked him up from my tiny hometown airport and took him to the college to speak. I got an autograph on a program. He misspelled my name. The most famous people that I've met in person were the actors who played the Ghostbusters at Disney World circa 1990. Thinking about it, I guess I did have a role in a film once. It was a sociology project in high school. I nearly got beaten and arrested because I "mugged" one of the other kids in my group at the Hilltop Mall. Nobody has seen the video as it could be considered evidence. This concludes the rambling.

The information that you're probably looking for is that I'm male, 5'10", 190 pounds, and 27 years old on Friday (this would make a pretty sweet birthday present). I have brown hair and hazel eyes. I'm somewhat pasty coming out of the freezing winter. I can be immediately available as I'm not supposed to work tomorrow anyway but was told I have to. If needed I could stay all day. I can be reached at (402)679-5860. If I don't answer immediately it is because my phone has a weak vibrate function but I will call back. I check my phone frequently.

Thank you for your consideration,
Bret Londer



Also, I'm trying to start a new business. It is a very difficult process, and it is a constant cycle of gaining confidence and then getting humbled. The very kind gentleman that I had lunch with today to learn more about starting a business gave me some sage advice; starting a business is a race between your dedication and energy for the idea and the day it actually becomes a business. Money and success are far off and will come if your idea is good but won't be as important as making it all work. I don't know that I've ever gotten more out of $40 in my entire life. I look forward to more lunches.

Yikes

It has been over a month since my last post. I need to start writing again if for no other reason than to vent. Work sucks. It sucks for several reasons. It is poorly structured, I'm underpaid (literally underpaid as I don't make the minimum for my pay grade), the expectations are unrealistic for the workload, and my coworkers have become dependent on me in a bad way. There is no good spot for me. No matter how I move forward, there is somebody that isn't impressed by me which is terrible because everybody that works in my building is someone that I should impress. Oh well.

Wedding planning is also stressful. I can only imagine what Virginia is going through because I'm not even really handling anything. Rest assured, though the economy may be struggling the wedding planning industry is still elbow deep in the pockets of Americans. I'm looking forward to the wedding and actually started getting really excited for it just this week. I have to just have faith that everything is going to work out.

And to confound all of this negativity winter absolutely refuses to let up. We get a couple of days of beauty and then a blast of what it's like to be Canadian. Winter always wears on me. By the end of it I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. The persistent gray skies and the shortened hours of daylight grind on my psyche like coarse grit sandpaper. I yearn for that first day that I can come home, change into normal clothes, and still have enough daylight to do something, anything outside.

Pants

"Don't worry, I'm not a pervert, I'm wearing another pair of pants," the man said as he undid his brown leather belt to expose another brown leather belt of a slightly different shade. The contents of his pockets, well, half of his pockets, were strewn on the counter. He looked homeless and he acted high, but his savings account had sufficient money to qualify him as any random person. But most random people don't have two pairs of jeans on.

Just wanted to get this down. I'll finish it soon.

Jogging, Birthday, Murderer

I went jogging with Virginia tonight and I nearly died. I don't know how far we went but it was too far. Then, since I'm a genius, when we came home I decided to eat edamame with a ton of salt, which dehydrated me so badly that I had the worst headache that I've had in my entire life. Exercising is awesome, right?

It was my dad's birthday yesterday so we went out for dinner last night and Virginia and I went to lunch and a movie with them today. We saw the new Clint Eastwood movie Gran Torino. It is fantastic. It is crushingly hilarious and very poignant. I'm not going to talk about the plot because I don't want to ruin it for anybody, but you should definitely go see it.

Work is going to kill me this week. Work tries to kill my every week. My job is trying to kill me. I've been seriously contemplating pursuing a career as a college professor. The varying work schedule, closer relation to my interests, and summers off seem like they would be right up my alley. Research will be done.

This post wasn't as meaningful as I'd hoped, but it's a start.

Quick Update

The last three weeks have been hell at work. I've been putting in 12-13 hour days, so I haven't exactly been motivated to do anything except sit on my arse when I get home. Not too much has changed, but I'll put out a worthwhile blog over the weekend. Check back Monday. Thanks for still checking.