Entries from September 1, 2006 - October 1, 2006
QOTD 040: Hollow Words
kmsqrd
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Without trust, words become the hollow sound of a wooden gong. With trust, words become life itself.
- John Harold
It's the Service Industry, Stupid
I know I’m not a friend of yours. I know that I’m not five-eight and leggy. I know I don’t inspire your interest. I don’t care. For the next hour or so, I’m your client. Period, end of story. I’m here to enjoy the food the establishment serves and to do so in a manner that doesn’t require me to work. Tips are where you make your money - half of minimum wage doesn’t cut anything - please do us both a favor and don’t start off our interaction with blatant disinterest. It leaves me in an awful position of having to leave you a small tip because your service sucked, setting a bad precedent for other women eating alone, feeling bad because you were having a tough night and arguing with myself over the magnitude of the tip I do leave.
Also, I didn’t get my bendy straw.
Also, I didn’t get my bendy straw.
Ah, An Outdoors Man
Maybe I should move to Idaho and live off the land. Wait, I don’t know how to live off the land - I’d likely die. I could marry someone who knows how to live off the land. That would make him an outdoors man. But, wait, I don’t like bugs and being cold induces whining. Maybe this whole living off the land thing is better left to someone who can live without a network connection.
A Wee Bit of the Pan Handle
This morning began inauspiciously, after quickly packing the backpack, I drove into the south terminal parking deck and remembered that I’d left gabriel (the iPod) at home. So, not only did the long escalator down do the people mover lack it’s typical Snuffy Walden moment, I’ve been going nuts trying to avoid listening the conversations around me. I have to work too hard without the distraction to avoid being that annoying stranger.
After landing this morning, I heard an unusual reason for delaying ground movement. We were waiting for an ailing F15 to clear the left runway. It’s one of those odd things that happens when you land on/near an air force base. As goofy as it is, This day trip hasn’t been too bad. I’ve perfected the ability to fall asleep as the plane gets pushed back and sleeping until the flight attendant finds it necessary to make an overly loud announcement.
What cracks me up the most about traveling is how much people still don’t know what they’re allowed to carry and not carry on the the plane in their carry on luggage. Every time I become overly snarky about what people don’t know, I then snark back that at least the folks in question don’t work a job that’s more than quadrupled their there-and-back trips in the last year. By my best guess, I’ve taken twenty-five day long site visits in the last year. That doesn’t even count the local trips I’ve made. Given that before last August (give or take) I typically only traveled four times a year, and I think that my wonderful airport experiences are causing some of the fatigue that keeps overwhelming me.
I have to confess to mooching some power from the gate area to recharge hawkins before the flight. Last week on my way to the building department, poor hawkins met the ground with more force than he’d appreciate and the latch no longer catches the way it should. Sad really, that the silver guy is having to work wounded.
Oh, this morning the TSA folks almost gave me a pat-down because I passed through the metal detector too quickly. This afternoon the big bag was checked because my pencil case looked like a bottle. Some days you really cannot win for loosing.
After listening to the overhead notifications for the last three and a half hours, I wonder a couple of things. Does the guy who recorded the generic announcements about where you cannot park or what you cannot take on a plane gets weird looks in restaurants when people spend minutes trying to determine where they’ve heard that voice before.
After landing this morning, I heard an unusual reason for delaying ground movement. We were waiting for an ailing F15 to clear the left runway. It’s one of those odd things that happens when you land on/near an air force base. As goofy as it is, This day trip hasn’t been too bad. I’ve perfected the ability to fall asleep as the plane gets pushed back and sleeping until the flight attendant finds it necessary to make an overly loud announcement.
What cracks me up the most about traveling is how much people still don’t know what they’re allowed to carry and not carry on the the plane in their carry on luggage. Every time I become overly snarky about what people don’t know, I then snark back that at least the folks in question don’t work a job that’s more than quadrupled their there-and-back trips in the last year. By my best guess, I’ve taken twenty-five day long site visits in the last year. That doesn’t even count the local trips I’ve made. Given that before last August (give or take) I typically only traveled four times a year, and I think that my wonderful airport experiences are causing some of the fatigue that keeps overwhelming me.
I have to confess to mooching some power from the gate area to recharge hawkins before the flight. Last week on my way to the building department, poor hawkins met the ground with more force than he’d appreciate and the latch no longer catches the way it should. Sad really, that the silver guy is having to work wounded.
Oh, this morning the TSA folks almost gave me a pat-down because I passed through the metal detector too quickly. This afternoon the big bag was checked because my pencil case looked like a bottle. Some days you really cannot win for loosing.
After listening to the overhead notifications for the last three and a half hours, I wonder a couple of things. Does the guy who recorded the generic announcements about where you cannot park or what you cannot take on a plane gets weird looks in restaurants when people spend minutes trying to determine where they’ve heard that voice before.
Real Dead Thoughts
A small collection of yesterday’s random, small grin inducing, thoughts. I had more amusing ones, but I lost them.
- Thank you for cooling the glass.
- There are Moleskine reporter style squared notebooks. Is there something wrong with the idea that I’m thinking of buying like six of them to get the discount?
- Since when did I approve invoices?
- Oh, I didn’t dress for this afternoon’s meeting. Oh, well, my underwear matches my shirt so that will do.
- There’s a real problem when your dream says something about going to sleep just as the alarm rings for the first time.
- Heard: If you quit, I quit. (Said by someone who only claims to work for me.)
The Trouble With Writing Reviews
Man, I tagged myself with a task that’s turning out to be more difficult than I expected. I wanted to write reviews of Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip that were actually reviews/commentary on the show that extended beyond the retelling of what already aired. Tuesday morning I began the review while waiting in a Building Department Office (again) and quickly found myself recapping the events of the show, but not really commenting on the content. Much like my thinking for the Serenity review, I don’t really want to give away too much of the plot or the dialogue, because I want to minimize the possibility of my inelegance tainting the reader’s experience.
There’s so much about about writing about things tied inexplicably to act of viewing that I don’t understand. I worry sometimes that while the act of writing reviews/commentary helps me to process a visual experience, publishing those thoughts changes your perspective of what you will see or have seen in an unpleasant way. As I watch shows that are word heavy, like anything written by Sorkin, the power of simple words and phrases grows ever larger in my mind.
There’s so much about about writing about things tied inexplicably to act of viewing that I don’t understand. I worry sometimes that while the act of writing reviews/commentary helps me to process a visual experience, publishing those thoughts changes your perspective of what you will see or have seen in an unpleasant way. As I watch shows that are word heavy, like anything written by Sorkin, the power of simple words and phrases grows ever larger in my mind.
QOTD 039: A Christian Perspective
“I’m a very controversial figure in the Christian world. I don’t believe if you’re gay or you have a drink or you dance you’re going to hell. I don’t think that’s the kind of God we have. The Pat Robertsons and Jerry Falwells of the world are scary. I want to be a Christian like Christ - loving and accepting of other people.” - Quote from Kristen Chenowith on IMDB.
Working Toward Being Disowned
My poor mother arrives in a couple of weeks for our annual holiday together. Chances are I’ll retrieve her from the MARTA station the Thursday she arrives and haul her back to work so I can finish a ‘couple of more things’ before I leave for our weekend away. Since she always travels with a book, and we aren’t the entertaining sort, I generally don’t feel bad. What I do feel bad about is the fact that I made her find and book the hotel for our trip to Asheville. Is that bad of me? I have every intention of picking up the check, though she may not let me given her new toy, but I hate being responsible for the possibility of picking a dudd.
One of these days, she will do more than just threaten to send me to Outter Mongolia.
(Among those things I’m loathe to admit, I didn’t know that Outter Mongolia was an actual, modern day location until I was in high school.)
One of these days, she will do more than just threaten to send me to Outter Mongolia.
(Among those things I’m loathe to admit, I didn’t know that Outter Mongolia was an actual, modern day location until I was in high school.)
"Don't Endow the Thing With Special Powers"
Television about the making of television cannot avoid becoming some form of meta commentary about the process putting together a show, not even Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip. After thinking about the experience I had watching the second episode of Aaron Sorkin and Tommy Schlamme’s latest collaboration, I found that this episode speaks directly to the pressures of having to write something seen - in some circles - as a network savior. Given how NBC chose to position Studio 60 over the summer, it felt as if Sorkin wrote this episode with his back against the wall and everyone waiting for something beyond excellent.
From the press conference at the start to the shutting of the elevator doors at the end of the tease, Sorkin establishes just how quickly words from the right person, in this case NBS President Jordan McDeere (Amanda Peet), and well-intentioned foul-ups like Danny (Bradley Whitford) inelegantly disclosing his recent cocaine use can compound the pressure of having to produce an ‘excellent’ product quickly. I get the sense that, more than the Sports Night or West Wing references, this illustration of rapid pressurization of small system embodies Sorkin’s response to the fan’s easily found opinions. It’s almost as if he was asking for room to breathe. (It was nice of him to ask, but he’s writing episode nine now, right?)
(Additional thoughts below the fold.)
Is That Mine?
Pretty soon the office manager’s going to ban me from putting things in the shared refrigerator/freezer. I keep forgetting things. Stuff like my Diet Coke gets moved, but other stuff I just forget. I’m fairly sure the York Peppermint Patty I just pulled is mine. I also have a sneaking suspicion that the frozen pizzas that have graced the freezer is mine, but I bought them six or eight - possibly ten - months ago and now I refuse to touch them. Should I be worried?
QOTD 038: An Opinion on the State of Television
Because I couldn’t resist.
“This show used to be cutting edge satire but it’s gotten lobotomised by a candy-ass broadcast network hell-bent on doing nothing that might challenge their audience.
We were about to do a sketch you’ve already seen 500 times. Yeah, no one’s going to confuse George Bush with George Plimpton, no, we get it. We’re all being lobotomized by this country’s most influential industry which has thrown in the towel on any endeavor that doesn’t include the courting of 12-year-old boys. And not even the smart 12-year-olds, the stupid ones, the idiots, of which there are plenty thanks in no small measure to this network. So change the channel, turn of the TV. Do it right now.
..Yes there’s a struggle between art and commerce. Well there’s always been a struggle between art and commerce, but now I’m telling you art is getting its ass kicked, and it’s making us mean, and it’s making us bitchy, and it’s making us cheap punks and that’s not who we are. People are having contest to see how much they can be like Donald Trump…
… We’re eating worms for money, “Who Wants To Screw My Sister”, guys are getting killed in a war that’s got theme music and a logo. That remote in your hand is a crack pipe. Oh yeah every once in a while we pretend to be appalled…
… It’s turning us into pornographers, and it’s not even good pornography. It’s just this side of snuff films, and friends, that’s what’s next ‘cause that’s all that’s left.
And the two things that make them scared gutless are the FCC and every psycho-religious cult that gets positively horny at the very mention of a boycott.
These are the people they’re afraid of, this prissy, feckless, off-the-charts greed-filled whorehouse of a network you’re watching. This thoroughly unpatriotic motherf…”
- As spoken by Wes during the cold open of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip’s Pilot Episode (written by Aaron Sorkin)
Conversing With My Familiar
I have great looking calves. Hard earned during the thirteen years of walking too and from school. Unfortunately, these calves came at an unanticipated price. I lost the slim chance I had to ever pass as ‘normal’ as soon as I opened my mouth. Somewhere in the one thousand, two hundred and twenty six minutes, I began to talk to myself. No doubt it began as a running commentary the current events of my narrow world. Early along the repetitive path, the alternative voices appeared. If you’d been a bird back then you could have passed over the field and/or addition and seen a small, stocky young girl arguing both sides of an argument with herself. In order to entertain my brain, I began to actively search out other perspectives of what I could see in front of me and the voices of dissension became more than just stray thoughts. By the time I entered high school, the voices had integrated themselves into how I defined myself. From the public laise-faire young woman, to the timid little girl, to the ball-buster each portion of my identity found itself informed and defined by the verbal dissertations presented and debated over the concrete sidewalks between brick clad buildings and the old homestead.
The sidewalk became where I’d begin the mental outline of my english papers, work out the powers of two, and ponder life’s big decisions. I used to have fights with my mother and wittily debate my peers without the necessity of their presence - I could provide both sides of the issue. In those steps I concluded, naively, that interference in the middle east was fool-hearty because the problem was as much about socio-econmics as it was about religion and that the people living there needed to take responsibility for relieving the terror. From the safety of the cornfield suburbs the whole middle east thing was about the folks with the problem leading the charge to find the solution.
The walk provided more than just a great pair of calves, it allowed the day to breath. Before coping with the school crowds or the home front pressure I had twenty minutes of time for just me. Today, driving comes close, but the world of putting one foot in front of the other - in hindsight - brought peace. As an adult, I could walk in the park or on a treadmill; but, the effect isn’t the same. Walking without a destination qualifies as more energy than I choose to volunteer. Especially, neither leaves me feeling free to have conversations with myself. Thereby removing the hidden treasure.
The sidewalk became where I’d begin the mental outline of my english papers, work out the powers of two, and ponder life’s big decisions. I used to have fights with my mother and wittily debate my peers without the necessity of their presence - I could provide both sides of the issue. In those steps I concluded, naively, that interference in the middle east was fool-hearty because the problem was as much about socio-econmics as it was about religion and that the people living there needed to take responsibility for relieving the terror. From the safety of the cornfield suburbs the whole middle east thing was about the folks with the problem leading the charge to find the solution.
The walk provided more than just a great pair of calves, it allowed the day to breath. Before coping with the school crowds or the home front pressure I had twenty minutes of time for just me. Today, driving comes close, but the world of putting one foot in front of the other - in hindsight - brought peace. As an adult, I could walk in the park or on a treadmill; but, the effect isn’t the same. Walking without a destination qualifies as more energy than I choose to volunteer. Especially, neither leaves me feeling free to have conversations with myself. Thereby removing the hidden treasure.
Good Things
- Dallas is a two hour flight and a time zone away.
- I don’t have to go hang out at the building department tomorrow.
- The new television season has started.
- Squid kept Mom company during her trip near Bean Town.
- My long unpainted nails have finally healed from being overly polished.
- I have a new black and white dress to try.
- The evil project - the reason Dallas needs to be so far away - ships tomorrow.
- Bravo’s repeating Studio 60. Now I’ve seen it nine or ten times.
- I think I know what I’m having for dinner tomorrow.
- When hawkins slipped out of my fingers yesterday, I only did structural damage to the case.
- The irony of my causing structural damage continues to amuse me.
- MPC is four years old and only has 65.2k miles.
- I’m sleeping a bit better.
