25 August 2014

She was at work. She was trying to read an article about Mario Draghi, the European Central Bank and quantitative easing. She had already eaten a sandwich at a local and (as usual) overpriced sandwich shop. She was in the employee lounge for perhaps 20 minutes. Another employee came down and turned on the television. TV judges, criminals, cops, chefs, commercials all at an inhumanely loud volume. A din of thieves stealing her peace and quiet.


In The Pursuit of Leisure

24 August 2014

She drinks coffee. She pours liquid from the French press into a small coffee cup. She has an entire cupboard full of coffee mugs of all sizes. She has four coffee mugs on which various portions of the images disappear or transform when hot liquid flows into them.

Earlier in the day she took a drive. She rolled down the windows. She could feel fall sliding in to replace summer. Her hair was dry and would surely be in disarray when she arrived at her destination. Sunday was the day she used no additional products on her body. No deodorant. No conditioner. No hair gel. Toothpaste, soap and shampoo were the maximum allowable, although she would opt for sunscreen if she ventured into the sun for too long. (This was a rare occasion.)

She listened to Dead Kennedys at a loud volume as she zoomed down one of the city’s major arteries. (Would it be a vein now as it was pumping her toward the heart of the town?) Her heart was beating fast. She had no coffee so the pure adrenaline of pointed punk sonics left her shaking in a way in which she wasn’t often familiar. How much of her life was spent in the thick of caffeine rushes? She wasn’t convinced she ever had true feelings, feelings she could actually cleave from other substances (caffeine, tea, music, people). Did she need a holiday in Cambodia?

She bought the Sunday edition of a major newspaper from a corporate bookstore. She considered buying a coffee to go, but wanted the experience of making coffee at home, drinking several cups while listening to music and trying to get through the nearly insurmountable stack of news she now had in a bag. The woman ahead of her in line had a hand basket full of items. The clerk finished ringing in the woman’s items, completed the transaction and handed her the loot in a single bag. “All of it fit in one bag,” the woman asked with noticeable disbelief and reproof. “It all fit in one basket,” she thought as she stood in line empty-handed going over and over the precise words she would use to ask for the Sunday paper. (She wondered if Joe Jackson was reading the news at that very moment. She actually wondered if Joe Jackson was alive. An Internet search later would reveal he is alive and has moved on to “eclectic, though less commercially successful, pop/jazz/classical hybrids.” When she first heard Sugar Ray’s version of “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” on the radio, she wanted to shout to everyone within earshot that Joe Jackson did it first and best and everyone should probably get on with the business of letting Sugar Ray fade into oblivion. She knew, however, that a lack of quality current taste for pop music and an atavistic longing for even the worst music of the 1990s would keep Sugar Ray in indefatigable and inevitable infinite rotation.)

She never finished the Sunday edition of the newspaper. She only cared to supplement her constant magazine reading with more in-depth analysis of recent events. She made her way through the voluminous text, ink staining her fingers and Deadmau5 ringing in her ears. At work she once made a joke upon hearing an upbeat electronica song that it reminded her of her clubbing days. She never had such days and probably never would, although in the interstices of her being lay secret notions that she could one day spend a week in Ibiza following the sweaty throng from club to club, dancing jumping gyrating to Oakenfold and taking club drugs and wearing very little.

The adrenaline had worn off. The coffee had kicked in. Her friends were at the pool. She was learning about the separate declared caliphates of the Islamic State and Boko Haram. The world is always and existence is constant until it isn’t. Inertia is an enemy; not so great as evil or even evil-disguised-as-good (religion), but certainly her biggest enemy. Television. Smart phone. Gaming apps. She partook in more opiates than Coleridge, but had none of the Khan-do attitude he had.

Sick day

24 October 2012

I get up early to take The Hippo to the airport. She has a work trip to Las Vegas. I make coffee to counter the fuzziness I feel from the nighttime cold medicine. We walk to the car and the curse of her father finds us: the car will not start. We partake in the electro-magical ritual to revive the vehicle (and bypass the malfunctioning security feature). We finish the ritual and try again. Nothing, like a stubborn Lazarus with the burial shroud stuffed too deep in his ears, unable to hear the command to live again.

Her coworker drives to our apartment and picks up The Hippo to head to the airport.

I wave goodbye. I am wearing a hat, oversize sweater, dress pants and dress shoes. I am drinking coffee from a travel mug. I hold the Japanese import version of Bury The Hatchet by The Cranberries. I take the elevator upstairs and return to the apartment.

I listen to American Football’s self-titled album. I think of my friend, Josh, who always has some unbelievably cool album playing in his car.

I call in sick for work today. (I actually text in, if we’re getting specific.) As a child, I looked forward to sick days, chances to trick the thermometer and watch cartoons all day instead of learning about triangles and Ramona and how to spell onomatopoeia. (Interestingly enough, not spelled like it sounds.) As an adult, calling in sick twists my insides into  a bundle of guilt. So much to be done. Do I have sick day hours accrued? Will I get paid to stay home and take care of myself? What should be a welcome reprieve from responsibility and a chance to conquer my illness becomes a day of worry and regret.

I am convinced Ferris Bueller feels the same way when he tries to take a day off from his cubicle-based office job at this later point in his life.


Quick Review Friday

27 April 2012

A semi-regular item on my Twitter feed is Quick Review Friday. It’s a terse way for me to promote what I like at the moment. In case you missed today’s reviews, here they are.

12:00 PM – Attention! It’s time for that semi-regular hit Friday classic, Quick Review Friday. This week covers rap, TV and college radio. #QuickReviewFriday

12:01 PM – .@KelleeMaize’s album Integration – Powerful. Honest. Strong. Life-affirming. Positive. Patriarchy bashing. #QuickReviewFriday

12:02 PM – You can find @KelleeMaize’s Integration album at http://bit.ly/Iusw0G And be sure to Like her on Facebook http://on.fb.me/JIFOx7

12:03 PM – I’ll have a longer review of @KelleeMaize’s album on my #CringinglyPersonal blog sometime next week. Now, on with #QuickReviewFriday

12:05 PM – Sci-fi show, @Weird_Girls – I don’t know much about it yet, but it looks like putting fun in a box. Then opening that box. #QuickReviewFriday

12:06 PM – You can learn more about the developing series and follow its progression here http://bit.ly/JE4d6e @Weird_Girls

12:07 PM – Time for our final #QuickReviewFriday piece for this week.

12:08 PM – Vastly knowledgeable & dry-humored host @higginsr brings great music & interviews to college radio on #BeautySuffers #QuickReviewFriday

12:09 PM – Sadly, #BeautySuffers only has two more episodes 5/2 & 5/16 from 4-6pm EDT Be sure to Like them on Facebook http://on.fb.me/Id0tpk

12:10 PM – That does it for this week’s #QuickReviewFriday Need more info on the reviews or have suggestions for future reviews? Just let me know.

Be sure to follow @mentalmacguyver on Twitter

Changing the hi-definition of marriage

16 September 2011

Hello after a brief hiatus friends and lovers and loves and patron saints of porridge and knick knacks.

My eyes feel like a tiny person has been punching them with her or his tiny fists.

I went to Richmond, VA for work and used a lot of energy and stayed up too late and got stressed out. So now, I’m sitting in front of the television watching some woman from Florida sing Dusty Springfield’s “Son Of A Preacher Man” on a program I believe is televised karaoke and I am confused.

The woman just walked off the stage. GF said she is “too stiff.”

I just learned the show is called (I am not making this up) Karaoke Battle USA. So far no one is fighting, but I am hoping the battle begins soon.

Here comes a quote from judge Carnie Wilson: “I just love you and adore you with all my heart.” I have a friend in Utah who loves Carnie Wilson but I assume it is because she (my friend) has never heard Carnie Wilson speak in this manner.

Fortunately, GF could take no more of the show. We are now watching the conclusion of the third season of Fringe. In true fashion, GF has gasped at the show’s twists several times in a few moments.

Television. I think I would marry a television.

I thought I was going to have a lot more to say about marrying a television, but I don’t. I really should screen my thoughts.

How about a TV dinner and a movie good looking?