As you will recall, I recently departed the Land of Java, Heroin-sheik, Emerald Green Mountains and the Evil Empire (Microsoft, for you outlanders) and transplanted myself here in the sylvan lands of Penn, replete with humidity from hell, dipshit drivers and sub-par eateries in order that I may drink from the fountain of wisdom at the modest commuter school for young (and in my case, not so young) lawyer wannabes. In order to get from there to here, I packed up all my worldly possessions and trucked them and myself all the way across this great land of ours. Thankfully, I was not alone. One of my dear friends provided much needed driving assistance and company on the 3100 mile trek. And while we made our way over the golden mountains majesty and through the amber waves of grain, my comrade documented our travels. Upon his return to the City at the Ends of the Earth (as my padre calls it), he compiled this little ditty
I am forever thankful for his company and assistance along the way. And I promise, when I return, I won't be bringing that friggin' desk back with me...
Enjoy!
Friday, September 15, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
WWJD?
So, first off, let me apologize to both of my readers for the lack of posts recently. I realize you're both used to this, as I don't typically post on here that much, but it's been an exceptionally long time since I last submitted. I know you've been writhing in absolute agony at my absence.
Now for the one who may not know it, I've been quite busy with a few things these past two months. Namely, getting accepted to law school (or 'Seminary', as I like to call it, because Law is truly the highest calling, and most noble of professions...), and then packing my shit up and moving away from my beloved Emerald City to begin the mental boot camp experience that is Seminary.
You see, Friends and Neighbors, I have spent the past two years attempting to gain access to the esteemed Monastery (the private one, not the public one- when it comes to this endeavor, I can't be bothered to rub elbows with the common folk) in the Java City. Unfortunately, the Abbots of Acceptance and Approval at that particular institution were not completely convinced that I could pass muster at their little abbey, so I was placed on the so called "Wait List," a literal Purgatory for plebes like myself who are eager and willing to do just about anything to drink from the Well of Knowledge present within the innermost sanctums of those hallowed halls. I was placed on the List two years running, and realizing that my time, patience and chances were quickly running out on me, I took the only opportunity open to me, and moved (according to MSN's 'Streets and Trips') 3058 miles away to the burg of Harris, nestled in the wooded hills and dales of one of the original Thirteen Colonies, in order to join the ranks of like minded Acolytes to pursue the studies of the esteemed Preisthood.
The irony is my hidden agenda in making such a choice. You see, I fully intend to kick some fucking academic ass out here on the Eastern seaboard so that I might re-apply to the Castle on the Hill on the Western shores next year. And if everything goes as planned, I'll be packing my shit up, and driving back across this wide and variegated land, to resume my studies nearer to the Ranch, and those dearest to my heart.
Of course, this whole educational process is designed to rip out whatever heart I might actually posses, cast it upon the charred earth and grind it into ash under the jack boots of my scholars. But that's a another tale for another day.
So after driving hell bent for leather to arrive in this fair hamlet (and receiving only one speeding ticket along the way), I have completed my first week of classes. And while I realize it's VERY early in the whole process, I have to say: I fucking LOVE it!! Finally, I get to engage in scholarly argumentation and debate with people in a purely ACADEMIC context; rather than listen to my clients, Adversaries, and even my peers and superiors at the Ranch, piss and moan about their "Real Life" problems.... Belch. I realize that this will most likely begin to pale pretty quickly as the work load grows exponentially, and the competition amongst the plebes becomes ever more cut throat, but for the time being, I am finally realizing the goals and dreams I have worked so hard for over the past few years. I have finally set foot upon that path that Mr. Frost spoke so lovingly of, and I am almost ecstatic at the thought. That is, until I look over the pile of reading and writing I have before me which must be completed in the next 36 hours.
And unbelievable as it may sound, I have not set foot inside a bar in over three weeks... Un-BUCKING-believable!!
But all this is merely a preamble to my first Seminary anecdote, which follows. And while I will strive to contribute to this folio on a more frequent basis, I must adopt the mantra of my chosen profession, and state clearly: I make no promises.
--------------------
"What Would Jacques Do?"
I ended up being made an example of on the first night of class, and I'm pretty sure that my entire section now knows my name. The Civil Procedure (Civ Pro)prof decided to run us through a "hypo" (hypothetical question/problem) regarding the "Horrible Neighbor", of which I was the subject. She took a poll to see who was from out of town, called on me and upon hearing I was from so far away, directed the group to "adopt and take pity on me, because I was going to need a social network." In the hypo, I had come home from class to discover that my neighbor had broken into my apartment, stolen all my beer, my "expensive stereo," taken my Civ Pro class notes and left my refrigerator open, thereby spoiling all my food. The first question to the class was: What was Jacques going to do in response to the violation and damage? I promptly raised my hand and answered that I would first go to the store to replenish my supply of beer, then go next door and break my neighbor's kneecaps...
The discussion continued for about an hour, where we broke up into small groups to decide "what should Jacques do..."
Yes, I think I'm making friends quickly...
Now for the one who may not know it, I've been quite busy with a few things these past two months. Namely, getting accepted to law school (or 'Seminary', as I like to call it, because Law is truly the highest calling, and most noble of professions...), and then packing my shit up and moving away from my beloved Emerald City to begin the mental boot camp experience that is Seminary.
You see, Friends and Neighbors, I have spent the past two years attempting to gain access to the esteemed Monastery (the private one, not the public one- when it comes to this endeavor, I can't be bothered to rub elbows with the common folk) in the Java City. Unfortunately, the Abbots of Acceptance and Approval at that particular institution were not completely convinced that I could pass muster at their little abbey, so I was placed on the so called "Wait List," a literal Purgatory for plebes like myself who are eager and willing to do just about anything to drink from the Well of Knowledge present within the innermost sanctums of those hallowed halls. I was placed on the List two years running, and realizing that my time, patience and chances were quickly running out on me, I took the only opportunity open to me, and moved (according to MSN's 'Streets and Trips') 3058 miles away to the burg of Harris, nestled in the wooded hills and dales of one of the original Thirteen Colonies, in order to join the ranks of like minded Acolytes to pursue the studies of the esteemed Preisthood.
The irony is my hidden agenda in making such a choice. You see, I fully intend to kick some fucking academic ass out here on the Eastern seaboard so that I might re-apply to the Castle on the Hill on the Western shores next year. And if everything goes as planned, I'll be packing my shit up, and driving back across this wide and variegated land, to resume my studies nearer to the Ranch, and those dearest to my heart.
Of course, this whole educational process is designed to rip out whatever heart I might actually posses, cast it upon the charred earth and grind it into ash under the jack boots of my scholars. But that's a another tale for another day.
So after driving hell bent for leather to arrive in this fair hamlet (and receiving only one speeding ticket along the way), I have completed my first week of classes. And while I realize it's VERY early in the whole process, I have to say: I fucking LOVE it!! Finally, I get to engage in scholarly argumentation and debate with people in a purely ACADEMIC context; rather than listen to my clients, Adversaries, and even my peers and superiors at the Ranch, piss and moan about their "Real Life" problems.... Belch. I realize that this will most likely begin to pale pretty quickly as the work load grows exponentially, and the competition amongst the plebes becomes ever more cut throat, but for the time being, I am finally realizing the goals and dreams I have worked so hard for over the past few years. I have finally set foot upon that path that Mr. Frost spoke so lovingly of, and I am almost ecstatic at the thought. That is, until I look over the pile of reading and writing I have before me which must be completed in the next 36 hours.
And unbelievable as it may sound, I have not set foot inside a bar in over three weeks... Un-BUCKING-believable!!
But all this is merely a preamble to my first Seminary anecdote, which follows. And while I will strive to contribute to this folio on a more frequent basis, I must adopt the mantra of my chosen profession, and state clearly: I make no promises.
--------------------
"What Would Jacques Do?"
I ended up being made an example of on the first night of class, and I'm pretty sure that my entire section now knows my name. The Civil Procedure (Civ Pro)prof decided to run us through a "hypo" (hypothetical question/problem) regarding the "Horrible Neighbor", of which I was the subject. She took a poll to see who was from out of town, called on me and upon hearing I was from so far away, directed the group to "adopt and take pity on me, because I was going to need a social network." In the hypo, I had come home from class to discover that my neighbor had broken into my apartment, stolen all my beer, my "expensive stereo," taken my Civ Pro class notes and left my refrigerator open, thereby spoiling all my food. The first question to the class was: What was Jacques going to do in response to the violation and damage? I promptly raised my hand and answered that I would first go to the store to replenish my supply of beer, then go next door and break my neighbor's kneecaps...
The discussion continued for about an hour, where we broke up into small groups to decide "what should Jacques do..."
Yes, I think I'm making friends quickly...
Friday, July 14, 2006
Serf's UP!!
Happy Bastille Day, mother fuckers!! Here's a little hisory lesson for all you folks unfortunate enough to have recieved a U.S. education. We've also got some more info here. I particularly like the Bastille Day Fruit Salad recipe on that site. And before any of you go off on me for being an ungrateful, unpatriotic American, I am simply exercising my First Amendment rights and my innate, God-given sense of Hate and ridicule for all things pedestrian. Such as you.
And while the peasants were successful in overthrowing the tyrannical government of the day, those pussy-assed Frogs didn't do so well against the quasi-fascist Italian in the World Cup this year. Oh well, blame it on the illegal immigrant problem they've been dealing with recently.
Vive la France!
And while the peasants were successful in overthrowing the tyrannical government of the day, those pussy-assed Frogs didn't do so well against the quasi-fascist Italian in the World Cup this year. Oh well, blame it on the illegal immigrant problem they've been dealing with recently.
Vive la France!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Victory is MINE!!! (at long last...)
As the ever so astute MissuzJ has observed, it's been a while since I posted last. Admittedly, I am not the most prolific underpantser. But this time, (as opposed to previous entries) I actually have real, honest to god, groundshattering (to me) news to relate. Sorry, no witty story or lame ass attempt to attain some sort of psuedo-intellectual insight here. Simply the news:
I have finally succeeded in my years-long siege to gain entry to the hallowed halls of Seminary!! As of last Friday, I was informed that someone, somewhere in the ivory towers of higher learning has deigned me worthy to enter unto their most holy sanctuary, so that I might drink deep from the well of knowledge. And long have I thirsted, friends and neighbors, and long have I labored in this endeavor Truly a triumph of tenacity this has been.
And yet, this glorious victory, like all conquests, is bittersweet and comes at a steep cost. In order to join the ranks of the newly annointed acolytes, I must depart this fair land of coffee and clouds, and journey far to the East, where swollen rivers rage with torrents of trash and kind, simple folk travel the concrete thoroughfares in horse driven carriages. I must yield my claims in the beautiful mountains of green for lands unseen. But the deepest cut most surely comes from the fact that I must say "Hail" and "Farewell" to my dear friends (who over these many years have truly become more Kin than Kith) and my sweet FC. But I remain confident, as I have in the past, that the bonds formed here in this glorious city of grungers, slackers, technocrats and hot Asian chicks will survive the strains that time and distance will impose.
And so, in less time than it takes for the Moon to pass through her phases, I shall sojourn to the next stage of my humble life's journey. I wonder what all awaits me around this next turn....
Suffice to say, I am giddy with anxious anticipation. And to all those fuckwads who didn't think I my application was "strong" enough: Go fuck yourselves!
I have finally succeeded in my years-long siege to gain entry to the hallowed halls of Seminary!! As of last Friday, I was informed that someone, somewhere in the ivory towers of higher learning has deigned me worthy to enter unto their most holy sanctuary, so that I might drink deep from the well of knowledge. And long have I thirsted, friends and neighbors, and long have I labored in this endeavor Truly a triumph of tenacity this has been.
And yet, this glorious victory, like all conquests, is bittersweet and comes at a steep cost. In order to join the ranks of the newly annointed acolytes, I must depart this fair land of coffee and clouds, and journey far to the East, where swollen rivers rage with torrents of trash and kind, simple folk travel the concrete thoroughfares in horse driven carriages. I must yield my claims in the beautiful mountains of green for lands unseen. But the deepest cut most surely comes from the fact that I must say "Hail" and "Farewell" to my dear friends (who over these many years have truly become more Kin than Kith) and my sweet FC. But I remain confident, as I have in the past, that the bonds formed here in this glorious city of grungers, slackers, technocrats and hot Asian chicks will survive the strains that time and distance will impose.
And so, in less time than it takes for the Moon to pass through her phases, I shall sojourn to the next stage of my humble life's journey. I wonder what all awaits me around this next turn....
Suffice to say, I am giddy with anxious anticipation. And to all those fuckwads who didn't think I my application was "strong" enough: Go fuck yourselves!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The Aye's have it.
| Freudian Inventory Results |
| Oral (36%) you appear to be stubbornly and irrationally against receiving help even when it might be the more intelligent option. Anal (36%) you appear to be overly lacking in self control and organization, and possibly have a compulsive need to defy authority. If you are too scatterbrained, you will not develop much as a person as you will habitually switch paths before you ever learn anything. Phallic (10%) you appear to have negative issues regarding sexuality and/or have an uncertain sexual identity. Latency (16%) you appear to be overly practical; don't undervalue abstract learning, abstract learning increases your ability to make good decisions (and predictions) in the real world so it would be 'impractical' to shun it. Genital (53%) you appear to be somewhere between a progressive/openminded and regressive/closeminded outlook on life. |
personality tests by similarminds.com
You see what a little mouldy bread and a violent revolution will do to you?
Monday, May 29, 2006
A lesson on Hubris
From websters-online-dictionary:
Hubris
Noun
1. Overbearing pride or presumption.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:
Hubris or hybris (Greek ‛′Υβρις), according to its modern usage, is exaggerated pride or self-confidence, often resulting in fatal retribution. In Ancient Greek, however, hubris referred to a reckless disregard for the rights of another person resulting in social degradation for the victim.[1]
Aristotle defined hubris as follows:
In its modern usage, hubris denotes overconfident pride and arrogance; it is often associated with a lack of knowledge, interest in, and exploration of history, combined with a lack of humility. An accusation of hubris often implies that suffering or punishment will follow, and the proverb "pride goes before a fall" is thought to sum up the modern definition of hubris.
[more here]
==========================
Okay, we've taken care of the academic part...
I've recently taken up martial arts training again after a long hiatus, specifically kung-fu. Several years ago..., well okay, two decades ago, I studied tae kwon do, a Korean form of karate. I eventually earned my black belt while in high school, then slowly dropped out of practice, spending more time in theatre. The parties were much better.
My freshman year of college I was required to take a number of general education courses to ensure I had a "broad-based" education. One such requirement entailed a phys. ed-type course. Since I wasn't about to take ballroom dancing or play any 'real' sports, I signed up for the only obvious choice: shotokan karate. When I advised the class instructor that I had studied karate for several years, he made me his teaching assistant. Probably the easiest 'A' I ever earned, and likely the only 'A' I earned that year...
The thing is, with the exception of breaking up a few bar fights and tossing a number of drunk, stoned or coked-up individuals from whatever drinkery I was working at, I've lost pretty much every "fight" I've ever been in. It's not that I didn't know my shit. Hell I had to spar two black belts and a red belt for over three minutes as just one part of my black belt test. And let me tell you, folks, that's a real muthafucka!
So I knew my shit, I could easily land a side kick on a 6 ft tall guy's chin and follow it up with a jump back turn inside crescent kick. I had skilz. It's just that none of those few actual fights were serious enough to break out the ol' whoop-ass on my opponent. I just was never in a life-or-death situation. It just wasn't ever that important. And I'm not trying to brag here. In fact, just the opposite.
See, the real benefit, the knowledge I gained, the 'thing' I took away from all that training and hard work wasn't so much about the physical aspects of martial arts, but rather the mental. It was more about the self-disclipline, self confidence and self awareness that came with the training. The mental focus, clarity and inner drive that I developed during those years in the do-chang continue to serve me to this day. And when asked whether I still remember any of my training (i.e., "Can you still kick ass?" -that sort of thing), I usually respond,
"It wasn't about learning to kick ass, it's about learning how to avoid and stay out of the fight in the first place."
More often than not, they just get this odd, blank look on their face, and move on.
So, a couple of weeks ago, I was in class at my new school, and on this particular evening, Guro (pronounced 'guru') was leading the class through some ground fighting exercises. This evening was notable because up until then, I had never attended a class led by Guro. Rather, the classes I had attended so far were led by sihing, one of the secondary instructors. That's promounced see-hing. Now sihing is a pretty cool cat, he's several years younger than I, but he's down with old school arcade games (Double Dragon, Defender, that sort of thing) and likes to rock out with some heavy metal during the workout (Black Sabbath, Metallica, etc.). Anyway, he's the one who ran me through the introductory sessions before I was accepted into the school, and since that time, I'd say we've bonded on a basic, guy-type level. Nothing big, but good times.
Anyway, Guro's been working us pretty hard and stops the exercise to give us a few pointers. While listening and watching, I take the moment to catch my breath. Suddenly and subtly, like a small blip on the radar, Guro slides something odd in to her instructions:
"...and then after the roundkick, you can swing your leg over to the outside of his leg, then bring yourself up off the ground- sihing, fix that please. Now once you're back up, you step back up agaisnt your opponent, since he's off balance, and plant an elbow into the throat.
Jacques, when I'm speaking, I want you to hold your hands together in front of you. Sihing, I asked you to fix that, now drop and give my 100 push ups."
Suddenly, looking around the room, I realize that I'm standing with my hands on my hips, rather than clasped in front of my in a traditional, Eastern "at-ease" stance. Oh shit...
Guro continues the brief lecture, finishing out the next three moves of the routine while the students regain their breath. This literally took maybe three minutes. And as she's winding down, sihing jumps up from the floor, obviously winded, but still able to thank guro with a smile on his face.
Meanwhile, I stood next to him, feeling a bit like Gomer Pyly from "Full Metal Jacket."
Later that same session, I was working through the routine with sihing, and threw a forward kick from the ground. I felt it connect with sihing, but didn't actually see the hit- we were both on the ground wraped up pretty tight, and I couldn't see. It wasn't hard, or terribly fast, and I didn't sense much of a reaction from my partner, so I continued on. A moment later, guro calls another break in the action and starts giving another pointer to a pair in the center of the room. She glances down toward my end of the gym and stops.
"You all right sihing?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
"You're bleeding," Guro points out. I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, looks like I bloodied sihing's nose with that kick. After a couple of seconds, sihing realizes the flow's a bit heavier than he first thought. So he jogs off to the back room to get a towel.
Guro finishes the example, and starts the class back up again. Sihing isn't back yet, so I stand, at ease with my hands properly clasped, and watch my peers as they exercise.
I swear to God, I was oozing the ineptness of Vincent D'Onofrio's bumbling private in Mr. Kurbrick's seminal Vietnam War film.
Once sihing returned with the bleeding stopped and several antiseptic wipes in hand, guro called us all to attention to finish the evening's session. After we bowed out, I stepped over to sihing and helped him clean up his blood from the floor. I apologized, of course, and he said it was no big deal. Which was cool of him, but really the only way he could respond.
Because it wasn't the injury sustained, but rather the lesson learned...
---------
Next time, I'll try to remember my brevity, and leave the fortune cooking wisdom at home.
Hubris
Noun
1. Overbearing pride or presumption.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:
Hubris or hybris (Greek ‛′Υβρις), according to its modern usage, is exaggerated pride or self-confidence, often resulting in fatal retribution. In Ancient Greek, however, hubris referred to a reckless disregard for the rights of another person resulting in social degradation for the victim.[1]
Aristotle defined hubris as follows:
Hubris consists in doing or saying things that cause shame to the victim, not in order that anything may happen to you, nor because anything has happened to you, but merely for your own gratification. Hubris is not the requital of past injuries; this is revenge. As for the pleasure in hubris, its cause is this: men think that by ill-treating others they make their own superiority the greater... a hubristic act is one that inflicts undeserved shame on the victim for the gratification of the perpetrator.
In its modern usage, hubris denotes overconfident pride and arrogance; it is often associated with a lack of knowledge, interest in, and exploration of history, combined with a lack of humility. An accusation of hubris often implies that suffering or punishment will follow, and the proverb "pride goes before a fall" is thought to sum up the modern definition of hubris.
[more here]
==========================
Okay, we've taken care of the academic part...
I've recently taken up martial arts training again after a long hiatus, specifically kung-fu. Several years ago..., well okay, two decades ago, I studied tae kwon do, a Korean form of karate. I eventually earned my black belt while in high school, then slowly dropped out of practice, spending more time in theatre. The parties were much better.
My freshman year of college I was required to take a number of general education courses to ensure I had a "broad-based" education. One such requirement entailed a phys. ed-type course. Since I wasn't about to take ballroom dancing or play any 'real' sports, I signed up for the only obvious choice: shotokan karate. When I advised the class instructor that I had studied karate for several years, he made me his teaching assistant. Probably the easiest 'A' I ever earned, and likely the only 'A' I earned that year...
The thing is, with the exception of breaking up a few bar fights and tossing a number of drunk, stoned or coked-up individuals from whatever drinkery I was working at, I've lost pretty much every "fight" I've ever been in. It's not that I didn't know my shit. Hell I had to spar two black belts and a red belt for over three minutes as just one part of my black belt test. And let me tell you, folks, that's a real muthafucka!
So I knew my shit, I could easily land a side kick on a 6 ft tall guy's chin and follow it up with a jump back turn inside crescent kick. I had skilz. It's just that none of those few actual fights were serious enough to break out the ol' whoop-ass on my opponent. I just was never in a life-or-death situation. It just wasn't ever that important. And I'm not trying to brag here. In fact, just the opposite.
See, the real benefit, the knowledge I gained, the 'thing' I took away from all that training and hard work wasn't so much about the physical aspects of martial arts, but rather the mental. It was more about the self-disclipline, self confidence and self awareness that came with the training. The mental focus, clarity and inner drive that I developed during those years in the do-chang continue to serve me to this day. And when asked whether I still remember any of my training (i.e., "Can you still kick ass?" -that sort of thing), I usually respond,
"It wasn't about learning to kick ass, it's about learning how to avoid and stay out of the fight in the first place."
More often than not, they just get this odd, blank look on their face, and move on.
So, a couple of weeks ago, I was in class at my new school, and on this particular evening, Guro (pronounced 'guru') was leading the class through some ground fighting exercises. This evening was notable because up until then, I had never attended a class led by Guro. Rather, the classes I had attended so far were led by sihing, one of the secondary instructors. That's promounced see-hing. Now sihing is a pretty cool cat, he's several years younger than I, but he's down with old school arcade games (Double Dragon, Defender, that sort of thing) and likes to rock out with some heavy metal during the workout (Black Sabbath, Metallica, etc.). Anyway, he's the one who ran me through the introductory sessions before I was accepted into the school, and since that time, I'd say we've bonded on a basic, guy-type level. Nothing big, but good times.
Anyway, Guro's been working us pretty hard and stops the exercise to give us a few pointers. While listening and watching, I take the moment to catch my breath. Suddenly and subtly, like a small blip on the radar, Guro slides something odd in to her instructions:
"...and then after the roundkick, you can swing your leg over to the outside of his leg, then bring yourself up off the ground- sihing, fix that please. Now once you're back up, you step back up agaisnt your opponent, since he's off balance, and plant an elbow into the throat.
Jacques, when I'm speaking, I want you to hold your hands together in front of you. Sihing, I asked you to fix that, now drop and give my 100 push ups."
Suddenly, looking around the room, I realize that I'm standing with my hands on my hips, rather than clasped in front of my in a traditional, Eastern "at-ease" stance. Oh shit...
Guro continues the brief lecture, finishing out the next three moves of the routine while the students regain their breath. This literally took maybe three minutes. And as she's winding down, sihing jumps up from the floor, obviously winded, but still able to thank guro with a smile on his face.
Meanwhile, I stood next to him, feeling a bit like Gomer Pyly from "Full Metal Jacket."
Later that same session, I was working through the routine with sihing, and threw a forward kick from the ground. I felt it connect with sihing, but didn't actually see the hit- we were both on the ground wraped up pretty tight, and I couldn't see. It wasn't hard, or terribly fast, and I didn't sense much of a reaction from my partner, so I continued on. A moment later, guro calls another break in the action and starts giving another pointer to a pair in the center of the room. She glances down toward my end of the gym and stops.
"You all right sihing?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
"You're bleeding," Guro points out. I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, looks like I bloodied sihing's nose with that kick. After a couple of seconds, sihing realizes the flow's a bit heavier than he first thought. So he jogs off to the back room to get a towel.
Guro finishes the example, and starts the class back up again. Sihing isn't back yet, so I stand, at ease with my hands properly clasped, and watch my peers as they exercise.
I swear to God, I was oozing the ineptness of Vincent D'Onofrio's bumbling private in Mr. Kurbrick's seminal Vietnam War film.
Once sihing returned with the bleeding stopped and several antiseptic wipes in hand, guro called us all to attention to finish the evening's session. After we bowed out, I stepped over to sihing and helped him clean up his blood from the floor. I apologized, of course, and he said it was no big deal. Which was cool of him, but really the only way he could respond.
Because it wasn't the injury sustained, but rather the lesson learned...
---------
Next time, I'll try to remember my brevity, and leave the fortune cooking wisdom at home.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Fuck 'em all.
That's right, bitches. FUCK THEM ALL!!!!!
After over two years, the wait is over. I will not be allowed to participate in the great fuck fest that is Seminary. Not at my fifth place choice. Not at my fourth place choice, or my third place, or even second place choices. And CERTAINLY not my first place choice.
I know this for a fact because I just got done meeting with the Bishop in charge of reviewing applications at said 1st choice institution, and was told, albeit through a contrived dance of semantics and legerdemain, that there was NO WAY IN HELL I would be allowed to join their fancy club. Not without first elevating my particular application to a "whole new realm." And while the Bishop was certainly courteous and respectful, there was a point in the interview where said Bishop's body language clearly conveyed the prevarication being foisted on me in the name of good manners and decorum. May as well have worn a sandwhich board which proclaimed exactly how fucking unworthy I had been deemed.
Bad form, Bishop.
Soooooooooo.... now I get to figure out some other pursuit and life/career goal to throw myself in to. Let's hope the next one proves less frustrating and more fruitfull than this one did.
How about the cocaine trade. I did pretty good at that oh so many moons ago. And now that I don't even use, I won't 'blow' all my profit margin. I could make a killing at it!
AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
(fuckers)
After over two years, the wait is over. I will not be allowed to participate in the great fuck fest that is Seminary. Not at my fifth place choice. Not at my fourth place choice, or my third place, or even second place choices. And CERTAINLY not my first place choice.
I know this for a fact because I just got done meeting with the Bishop in charge of reviewing applications at said 1st choice institution, and was told, albeit through a contrived dance of semantics and legerdemain, that there was NO WAY IN HELL I would be allowed to join their fancy club. Not without first elevating my particular application to a "whole new realm." And while the Bishop was certainly courteous and respectful, there was a point in the interview where said Bishop's body language clearly conveyed the prevarication being foisted on me in the name of good manners and decorum. May as well have worn a sandwhich board which proclaimed exactly how fucking unworthy I had been deemed.
Bad form, Bishop.
Soooooooooo.... now I get to figure out some other pursuit and life/career goal to throw myself in to. Let's hope the next one proves less frustrating and more fruitfull than this one did.
How about the cocaine trade. I did pretty good at that oh so many moons ago. And now that I don't even use, I won't 'blow' all my profit margin. I could make a killing at it!
AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
(fuckers)
Saturday, April 22, 2006
A lesson on Hate
Perhaps you've wondered why I've entitled my little corner of cyberspace "Hubris and Hate." Or perhaps you haven't. I don't really give a fuck one way or the other. If you knew me, you wouldn't have wondered about such trivial, mundane things, because they would be readily apparent from my personality (if you can call it that) and general demeanor. If you've been a reader of these pages (and I know there's at least two), then it should be apparent from the content. But if you're just stopping by for the first (and likely your last) time, then I think a quick lesson might be just the thing. So let's start off with our foundation and define the lovely and insouciant little word hate:
Hate: noun 1-a. intense hostility and aversion, usuallyderiving from fear, anger, or sense of injury. b. extreme dislike or antipathy. 2. an Object of hatred.
Hate: verb 1. to feel extreme hostility toward. 2. to have a strong aversion to, find very distasteful, to express or feel extreme enmity or active hostility.
-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary
Hate or hatred is an emotion of intense revulsion, distaste, enmity, or antipathy for a person, thing, or phenomenon; a desire to avoid, restrict, remove, or destroy its object. The emotion is often stigmatized; yet it serves an important purpose, as does love. Just as love signals attachment, hatred signals detachment.
Hatred can be based on fear of its object, justified or unjustified, or past negative consequences of dealing with that object. Hatred is often described as the opposite of love or friendship; others, such as Elie Wiesel, consider the opposite of love to be indifferent. See love-hate relationship.
Often "hate" is used casually to describe things one merely dislikes, such as a particular style of architecture, a certain climate, one's job, or some particular food.
"Hate" or "hatred" is also used to describe feelings of prejudice, bigotry or condemnation (see shunning) against a person, or a group of people, such as racism, and intense religious or political prejudice. The term hate crime is used to designate crimes committed out of hatred in this sense.
Sometimes people, when harmed by a member of an ethnic or religious group, will come to hate that entire group. The opposite situation occurs too, where an entire group hates a single person (see shunning). Some consider this to be socially unacceptable--Western culture, for example, frowns on collective punishment and insists that people be treated as individuals rather than members of groups. Others view such generalizing behavior as rational and indeed, necessary in order to ensure group survival in the face of competing groups or individuals who often have differing points of view.
Hate is often a precursor to violence. Before a war, a populace is sometimes trained via political propaganda to hate some nation or political regime. Hatred remains a major motive behind armed conflicts such as war and terrorism. Hate is not necessarily logical and it can be counterproductive and self-perpetuating.
In The Color of Magic Terry Pratchett said that hate, like love, is an attraction. The word he used was loathe.
-Wikipedia
Synonyms:
(noun) abhorrence, abomination, anathema, animosity, animus, antagonism, antipathy, aversion, bete noire, black beast, bother, bugbear, destination, detestation, disgust, dislike, dog-eye, enmity, execration, frost, grievance, gripe, hatred, horror, hostility, ill will, irritant, loathing, malevolence, malignity, mislike, nasty look, nuisance, objection, odium, pain, rancor, rankling, repugnance, repulsion, resentment, revenge, revulsion, scorn, shudders, spite, trouble, venom
(verb)abhor, abominate, allergic to, anathematize, be loath, be reluctant, be sorry, can't stand, condemn, curse, deprecate, deride, despise, detest, disapprove, disdain, disfavor, dislike, disparage, down on, execrate, loathe, nauseate, object to, recoil from, scorn, shudder at, shun, spit upon, spurn
-Thesaurus.com
---------------------------------------------------
Okay, so we've got some of the scholarly stuff out of the way, now let's get more to the heart of the matter. Why I hate.
I hate because:
-I can.
-it's fun. Especially when the hatee doesn't even know they're being hated.
-it's good for the complexion. You can't keep all that vitriol bottled up inside and not expect to get a zit or two.
-I'm fucking GOOD at it!
-there are so many fuckers on this piddly little planet worthy of being hated.
-I like it. It gives me something to do while reloading.
-You have to work VERY hard to be a good hater. So many people are way to pedestrian in their hating, it gauls me.
-Only a very few people have ever achieved greatness historically with their hate: Atilla, the Jews (circa 30 AD), William the Conqueor, the Christians (specifically Catholics, circa the Dark Ages, i.e The Crusades), Robespierre, Napoleon Bonaparte, Hitler, Chairman Mao, Mr. Stalin, Joseph McCarthy, Pol Pot, David Duke, Ted Bundy, Slobadon Milosevic, Khaddafi, Gary Ridgeway, and the Republican Party, to name but a few...
-it can increase sexually performance and orgasm enjoyability (cf. the "Grudge-Fuck"). Sometimes, I get a hardon just thinking about my hate!
-it helps keep my sinuses clear.
-it's better than coffee to get you started in the morning, and better than exercise to leave you feeling exhausted at the end of the day.
-despite what some monkeys would have you believe, it is NOT the opposite of love, antipathy is. Hate, is simply love, turned on its side.
-it doesn't requite I leave the seat up on the toilet. In fact, it demands I don't!
-it's wonderfully versatile: I can do it by myself, with a friend or even in a large group of strangers. I can do it in a car sitting in traffic, in a bar after 10 shots of vodka, talking to loved ones on the phone, or while helping the retarded kid up off the floor.
-it's my superpower. And I use it when ever, where ever and how ever I fucking want.
-it's a hobby AND a vocation.
-it goes well with Hubris.
-it keeps me warm at night while it digests my internal organs and speeds up the aging process.
-it's a useful device in the evolutionary process. There's no better tool for effecting political, cultural, economic or intellectual change.
-it fits better than a $1,000.00 hand made Italian suit.
-it washes away the pain and ignominiousness of failure or defeat.
-when passed on to others effectively, it makes a great dietary supplement and works wonderfully as motivator of both men and women.
-if nurtered and cared for properly, you never have to worry about it cheating on you, stealing your money or washing down the drain.
-you don't have to worry about it getting confiscated at the airport or while crossing international borders.
-it's really easy to borrow someone else's hate if you leave yours on the nightstand.
Actually, I could go on for another 27.38 hours in this vein, but I need to save up my daily allotment of juicy hatey-ness for some social activities later this evening. Suffice to say, these are just a few of the reasons why I love hate so much.
Not that you asked. And not that I care.
Hate: noun 1-a. intense hostility and aversion, usuallyderiving from fear, anger, or sense of injury. b. extreme dislike or antipathy. 2. an Object of hatred.
Hate: verb 1. to feel extreme hostility toward. 2. to have a strong aversion to, find very distasteful, to express or feel extreme enmity or active hostility.
-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary
Hate or hatred is an emotion of intense revulsion, distaste, enmity, or antipathy for a person, thing, or phenomenon; a desire to avoid, restrict, remove, or destroy its object. The emotion is often stigmatized; yet it serves an important purpose, as does love. Just as love signals attachment, hatred signals detachment.
Hatred can be based on fear of its object, justified or unjustified, or past negative consequences of dealing with that object. Hatred is often described as the opposite of love or friendship; others, such as Elie Wiesel, consider the opposite of love to be indifferent. See love-hate relationship.
Often "hate" is used casually to describe things one merely dislikes, such as a particular style of architecture, a certain climate, one's job, or some particular food.
"Hate" or "hatred" is also used to describe feelings of prejudice, bigotry or condemnation (see shunning) against a person, or a group of people, such as racism, and intense religious or political prejudice. The term hate crime is used to designate crimes committed out of hatred in this sense.
Sometimes people, when harmed by a member of an ethnic or religious group, will come to hate that entire group. The opposite situation occurs too, where an entire group hates a single person (see shunning). Some consider this to be socially unacceptable--Western culture, for example, frowns on collective punishment and insists that people be treated as individuals rather than members of groups. Others view such generalizing behavior as rational and indeed, necessary in order to ensure group survival in the face of competing groups or individuals who often have differing points of view.
Hate is often a precursor to violence. Before a war, a populace is sometimes trained via political propaganda to hate some nation or political regime. Hatred remains a major motive behind armed conflicts such as war and terrorism. Hate is not necessarily logical and it can be counterproductive and self-perpetuating.
In The Color of Magic Terry Pratchett said that hate, like love, is an attraction. The word he used was loathe.
-Wikipedia
Synonyms:
(noun) abhorrence, abomination, anathema, animosity, animus, antagonism, antipathy, aversion, bete noire, black beast, bother, bugbear, destination, detestation, disgust, dislike, dog-eye, enmity, execration, frost, grievance, gripe, hatred, horror, hostility, ill will, irritant, loathing, malevolence, malignity, mislike, nasty look, nuisance, objection, odium, pain, rancor, rankling, repugnance, repulsion, resentment, revenge, revulsion, scorn, shudders, spite, trouble, venom
(verb)abhor, abominate, allergic to, anathematize, be loath, be reluctant, be sorry, can't stand, condemn, curse, deprecate, deride, despise, detest, disapprove, disdain, disfavor, dislike, disparage, down on, execrate, loathe, nauseate, object to, recoil from, scorn, shudder at, shun, spit upon, spurn
-Thesaurus.com
---------------------------------------------------
Okay, so we've got some of the scholarly stuff out of the way, now let's get more to the heart of the matter. Why I hate.
I hate because:
-I can.
-it's fun. Especially when the hatee doesn't even know they're being hated.
-it's good for the complexion. You can't keep all that vitriol bottled up inside and not expect to get a zit or two.
-I'm fucking GOOD at it!
-there are so many fuckers on this piddly little planet worthy of being hated.
-I like it. It gives me something to do while reloading.
-You have to work VERY hard to be a good hater. So many people are way to pedestrian in their hating, it gauls me.
-Only a very few people have ever achieved greatness historically with their hate: Atilla, the Jews (circa 30 AD), William the Conqueor, the Christians (specifically Catholics, circa the Dark Ages, i.e The Crusades), Robespierre, Napoleon Bonaparte, Hitler, Chairman Mao, Mr. Stalin, Joseph McCarthy, Pol Pot, David Duke, Ted Bundy, Slobadon Milosevic, Khaddafi, Gary Ridgeway, and the Republican Party, to name but a few...
-it can increase sexually performance and orgasm enjoyability (cf. the "Grudge-Fuck"). Sometimes, I get a hardon just thinking about my hate!
-it helps keep my sinuses clear.
-it's better than coffee to get you started in the morning, and better than exercise to leave you feeling exhausted at the end of the day.
-despite what some monkeys would have you believe, it is NOT the opposite of love, antipathy is. Hate, is simply love, turned on its side.
-it doesn't requite I leave the seat up on the toilet. In fact, it demands I don't!
-it's wonderfully versatile: I can do it by myself, with a friend or even in a large group of strangers. I can do it in a car sitting in traffic, in a bar after 10 shots of vodka, talking to loved ones on the phone, or while helping the retarded kid up off the floor.
-it's my superpower. And I use it when ever, where ever and how ever I fucking want.
-it's a hobby AND a vocation.
-it goes well with Hubris.
-it keeps me warm at night while it digests my internal organs and speeds up the aging process.
-it's a useful device in the evolutionary process. There's no better tool for effecting political, cultural, economic or intellectual change.
-it fits better than a $1,000.00 hand made Italian suit.
-it washes away the pain and ignominiousness of failure or defeat.
-when passed on to others effectively, it makes a great dietary supplement and works wonderfully as motivator of both men and women.
-if nurtered and cared for properly, you never have to worry about it cheating on you, stealing your money or washing down the drain.
-you don't have to worry about it getting confiscated at the airport or while crossing international borders.
-it's really easy to borrow someone else's hate if you leave yours on the nightstand.
Actually, I could go on for another 27.38 hours in this vein, but I need to save up my daily allotment of juicy hatey-ness for some social activities later this evening. Suffice to say, these are just a few of the reasons why I love hate so much.
Not that you asked. And not that I care.
Friday, April 07, 2006
I should have been a plumber.
So the New Guy comes in to my cell here at the Ranch this morning with this interesting question:
"So what do you think the significance is when a doctor mentions his patient has a 'prominent cervix' twice in his records?"
Well, luckily he caught me pretty early in the day, before I'd had to dance with any of my Adversaries, so I was only mildly irritated at the interruption. As a result, I took advantage of the "training opportunity" to educate this good intentioned underling.
Now the kind of work we do here at the Ranch doesn't often involve the tasty tidbits of the female of the species, so I was wondering what the point was in the first place. I mean, other than sharing this observation in a juvenile form or male bonding, he should have seen the references, read them, and then moved on. These particular notes have no real bearing on the task I had assigned him. But here he was, and I was obligated to provide a thoughtful and considerate response.
So I pulled out the heftiest medical tome I have sitting handy. It's quite a nice resource, what with a great amount of information presented and a copious number of detailed drawings and diagrams of various parts of the human body and its various parts for further clarification. And I looked up "cervix" to see if there was any mention of the significance of a "prominent cervix."
Well, there was the standard definition which described this particular piece of anatomy one would expect in a resource such as this. But in addition, there was a very detailed drawing which showed, in great detail, the cross section of a female's anatomy from about mid-belly down to mid-thigh, and which provided a very clear representation of the location, size and function of said cervix. I pointed this out to the New Guy, and he observed, while pointing to the diagram with his finger:
"So that's where the eggs float down."
Now, a little background for you Friends and Neighbors: This guy is a married man in his mid 30's with a 5 year old son, and another baby on the way. So I'm thinking he should know better. But, I take it easy on him. Remember, I haven't had to go to war yet this morning. So I explain (trying not to sound condescending, which is pretty much impossible for me):
"No, the cervix is the opening to the uterus that the sperm swim through after being deposited into the vaginal canal. The egg "floats" down the Fallopian tube to the uterus where it gets fertilized by the sperm. Once fertilized, it attaches to the uterine lining and grows into happy, healthy baby."
"Oh," he says. "I see." He seems to actually have learned something here...
"Didn't you ever go to your sex ed class, New Guy?" I asked playfully?
"No, not really. Or I wasn't paying enough attention, I guess. Thanks."
And as he's walking out of my cell, I make one last comment:
"Well, when you spend as much time as I have, face first in all that goodness, it pays to know what's going on with the plumbing. You might want to keep that in mind if you want to keep that good looking wife of yours happy for the next 20 years."
I can't wait to meet his wife at the Ranch's next function...
"So what do you think the significance is when a doctor mentions his patient has a 'prominent cervix' twice in his records?"
Well, luckily he caught me pretty early in the day, before I'd had to dance with any of my Adversaries, so I was only mildly irritated at the interruption. As a result, I took advantage of the "training opportunity" to educate this good intentioned underling.
Now the kind of work we do here at the Ranch doesn't often involve the tasty tidbits of the female of the species, so I was wondering what the point was in the first place. I mean, other than sharing this observation in a juvenile form or male bonding, he should have seen the references, read them, and then moved on. These particular notes have no real bearing on the task I had assigned him. But here he was, and I was obligated to provide a thoughtful and considerate response.
So I pulled out the heftiest medical tome I have sitting handy. It's quite a nice resource, what with a great amount of information presented and a copious number of detailed drawings and diagrams of various parts of the human body and its various parts for further clarification. And I looked up "cervix" to see if there was any mention of the significance of a "prominent cervix."
Well, there was the standard definition which described this particular piece of anatomy one would expect in a resource such as this. But in addition, there was a very detailed drawing which showed, in great detail, the cross section of a female's anatomy from about mid-belly down to mid-thigh, and which provided a very clear representation of the location, size and function of said cervix. I pointed this out to the New Guy, and he observed, while pointing to the diagram with his finger:
"So that's where the eggs float down."
Now, a little background for you Friends and Neighbors: This guy is a married man in his mid 30's with a 5 year old son, and another baby on the way. So I'm thinking he should know better. But, I take it easy on him. Remember, I haven't had to go to war yet this morning. So I explain (trying not to sound condescending, which is pretty much impossible for me):
"No, the cervix is the opening to the uterus that the sperm swim through after being deposited into the vaginal canal. The egg "floats" down the Fallopian tube to the uterus where it gets fertilized by the sperm. Once fertilized, it attaches to the uterine lining and grows into happy, healthy baby."
"Oh," he says. "I see." He seems to actually have learned something here...
"Didn't you ever go to your sex ed class, New Guy?" I asked playfully?
"No, not really. Or I wasn't paying enough attention, I guess. Thanks."
And as he's walking out of my cell, I make one last comment:
"Well, when you spend as much time as I have, face first in all that goodness, it pays to know what's going on with the plumbing. You might want to keep that in mind if you want to keep that good looking wife of yours happy for the next 20 years."
I can't wait to meet his wife at the Ranch's next function...
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Nothing to see here, please move along...
As the title suggests, there's nothing to see here. I've been so completely and thoroughly fucked lately, that I haven't had the time or inclination to fuck around wasting my time here. There has been so much shit going on that I can assure you, without the slightest bit of doubt, the cauldron of Hate is close, oh so veeeerrrrrryyyyyy close to reaching the boiling point. And trust me when I say this Friends and Neighbors, when it does finally reach critical mass, there will be some serious purging the likes of which few have ever seen before in history.
Now don't get me wrong: I'm not talking about a "purge" in the sense that my friends Mr. Stalin or Chairman Mao would approve. Nor am I making some sort of quasi-vieled reference to pulling a "Huff," (as in: Kyle Huff, Seattle's most recent favorite son). No, I'm talking about...
Actually, I don't really know what the fuck I'm talking about. I just know that I don't want my previous post to be at the top of my "underpants" in the event I don't get back here again soon.
That just would not sit well with closest and dearest companion, Hubris. And let me tell you, Hubris is a cruel master who has been whipping me pretty severely, lately.
Fucking prick.
Now don't get me wrong: I'm not talking about a "purge" in the sense that my friends Mr. Stalin or Chairman Mao would approve. Nor am I making some sort of quasi-vieled reference to pulling a "Huff," (as in: Kyle Huff, Seattle's most recent favorite son). No, I'm talking about...
Actually, I don't really know what the fuck I'm talking about. I just know that I don't want my previous post to be at the top of my "underpants" in the event I don't get back here again soon.
That just would not sit well with closest and dearest companion, Hubris. And let me tell you, Hubris is a cruel master who has been whipping me pretty severely, lately.
Fucking prick.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Thank you sir, may I have another.
I was overdue, I admit. I realized back in late November that if I didn't get on it soon, I wouldn't be able to make it in by the end of January. And now here it was, mid February, and I had without question, failed to comply with my own self-imposed regimen of yearly "check-ups" with my chosen physician. Regimen to the extent that I had, over the past decade, at least tried to get in to the doctor's office once a year for a check under the hood, whether I need it or not. Recognizing this would be a habit that could easily be missed for a few years without due diligence, I made a mental note to drop in during birthday season--late January. A fairly easy mental Post-It note, if you will, that should be easy to keep track of. Now the importance of these annual visits were reinforced doubly by 1) the content of my daily work and my appreciation of their intrinsic preventative value, and 2) my awareness of my own mortality and the limited amount of time I may have on this festering globe to exercise the fullest extent of my Hubris and Hate.
(OK, a bit overboard with the shameless plug...)
My point is, I try to be a conscientious and diligent patient. And I suppose that given the fact that I had successfully quit smoking cigarettes after 20 years at my current physician's urging almost 14 months ago, it's safe to say that I was feeling a bit cocky. But the reality is, I'm a human male. And we never like to admit that we may be weak or infirm. And in order to avoid any unnecessary potential confusion regarding our virility, we tend to avoid doctorrs of any sort, like the plague. (Can I get a rim-shot, here?)
Now I like my doc; he's a capable, intelligent and professional clinician who performs his job with just the right blend of casual affability and dispassionate efficiency that I find comforting. When I'm talking about my health, I want someone who can give the me shit-- straight up without dancing around "delicate" issues, but with some decent customer service skills thrown in for good measure.
So I was particularly pleased this morning when I underwent my yearly (give or take) physical. Upon arrival, I was quickly ushered in from the front waiting room to the first exam room, and within fairly short order, put through all the paces: height and weight recorded; bone density, EKG, lung capacity and blood pressure all measured, then the obligatory blood draw and urine sample, all done in relatively smooth, conveyor-like fashion. While being run through the various stations, I had pleasant tete-a-tetes with the medical assistant who was completing her externship and on her way out to Kansas (for fuck's sake!!) while her fiance' finishes radiology school as well as the phlebotomist responsible for the collection of bodily fluids who was clearly not ready for someone as talkative and bantering as myself on a Monday morning. Perhaps she was out late singing Karaoke at Vito's with Claudio the night before.
So finally, after I've been appropriately poked, prodded and drained, I'm moved into the last exam room where I'll finally get to meet my preferred witch doctor for our annual chat about my slow, irreversible decline into worm food. Now I like this guy, really. I am a professional, and I realize that he is extremely busy, seeing who knows how many patients in various states of deterioration and trauma every day, so I really try to be considerate patient and keep my shit brief and to the point. And I get the impression he appreciates this because of the casual, almost fraternal manner in which we interact during the history and physical exam. It's a job: he's the doctor, and I'm the patient.
And so we go through the standard stuff: any problems with headaches, vision disturbances, dry skin, frequent urination, constipation, diarrhea, swollen glands, numbness or tingling in the extremities, changes in family history, sudden appearance of alien heads sprouting from the back of my skull,.... you get the picture. Then we do the ol' once over, where he visually inspects, and palpates if appropriate, every region, joint and appendage of my body. But since he's a professional, and I'm a patient, it's all kosher. (It helps that he's Jewish, by the way.) And eventually, he makes the never-spoken-of, but clearly-understood transition into the "hernia check." Again, very professional. He's the doctor <"cough">, and I'm the <"Cough"> patient. So it's all cool. But then comes:
And this is where my doc gets serious points on the "bedside manner" scale:
We share a good chuckle while he pulls on the surgical gloves, thankfully applying copious amounts of "surgical lubricant" before instructing me to turn around and grab the exam table. He tosses a box of Kleenex onto the exam table by my face and then began a quick lecture on the anatomy of the prostate, presumably to distract me mentally from the anal incursion which happened with the speed and precision of a bunker buster in the First Gulf War (remember that one, kids!?):
And so, because he's a professional, and I'm a patient, I stand back up, collect myself, and without thinking I grab a handful of Kleenex, hike my left leg up on the exam table and commence to wiping my ass clean of the slimey goo coating my nether region while confirming with Dr. Finger that I should schedule my follow up with the front desk.
In no time at all, he's stripped off the latex gloves sodden with my waste and petroleum jelly, tossed them in the garbage like some much dead skin sluffed off a snake in springtime and exited the room without another word. It was then, standing in the cool, sterile room with my surgical robe wadded up like a prom dress and tossed on the crinkled butcher's paper covering the pleather padding of the exam table, my leg cocked up leg a dog spraying a fire hydrant while I wiped my ass clean of K-Y Jelly, that I realized two things:
1) I think I finally knew what it felt like to be Catholic, and
2) I couldn't wait to call my good friend, the queer one who's had a crush on me since the first time we meet 9 years ago, and inform him that I've decided to start playing for the "other team."
...
...
...
Oh shit, what am I going to tell FC???
(OK, a bit overboard with the shameless plug...)
My point is, I try to be a conscientious and diligent patient. And I suppose that given the fact that I had successfully quit smoking cigarettes after 20 years at my current physician's urging almost 14 months ago, it's safe to say that I was feeling a bit cocky. But the reality is, I'm a human male. And we never like to admit that we may be weak or infirm. And in order to avoid any unnecessary potential confusion regarding our virility, we tend to avoid doctorrs of any sort, like the plague. (Can I get a rim-shot, here?)
Now I like my doc; he's a capable, intelligent and professional clinician who performs his job with just the right blend of casual affability and dispassionate efficiency that I find comforting. When I'm talking about my health, I want someone who can give the me shit-- straight up without dancing around "delicate" issues, but with some decent customer service skills thrown in for good measure.
So I was particularly pleased this morning when I underwent my yearly (give or take) physical. Upon arrival, I was quickly ushered in from the front waiting room to the first exam room, and within fairly short order, put through all the paces: height and weight recorded; bone density, EKG, lung capacity and blood pressure all measured, then the obligatory blood draw and urine sample, all done in relatively smooth, conveyor-like fashion. While being run through the various stations, I had pleasant tete-a-tetes with the medical assistant who was completing her externship and on her way out to Kansas (for fuck's sake!!) while her fiance' finishes radiology school as well as the phlebotomist responsible for the collection of bodily fluids who was clearly not ready for someone as talkative and bantering as myself on a Monday morning. Perhaps she was out late singing Karaoke at Vito's with Claudio the night before.
So finally, after I've been appropriately poked, prodded and drained, I'm moved into the last exam room where I'll finally get to meet my preferred witch doctor for our annual chat about my slow, irreversible decline into worm food. Now I like this guy, really. I am a professional, and I realize that he is extremely busy, seeing who knows how many patients in various states of deterioration and trauma every day, so I really try to be considerate patient and keep my shit brief and to the point. And I get the impression he appreciates this because of the casual, almost fraternal manner in which we interact during the history and physical exam. It's a job: he's the doctor, and I'm the patient.
And so we go through the standard stuff: any problems with headaches, vision disturbances, dry skin, frequent urination, constipation, diarrhea, swollen glands, numbness or tingling in the extremities, changes in family history, sudden appearance of alien heads sprouting from the back of my skull,.... you get the picture. Then we do the ol' once over, where he visually inspects, and palpates if appropriate, every region, joint and appendage of my body. But since he's a professional, and I'm a patient, it's all kosher. (It helps that he's Jewish, by the way.) And eventually, he makes the never-spoken-of, but clearly-understood transition into the "hernia check." Again, very professional. He's the doctor <"cough">, and I'm the <"Cough"> patient. So it's all cool. But then comes:
-Well, you're 35 this year, and that's when I start doing the prostate exam.
-Yeah, I figured as much.
And this is where my doc gets serious points on the "bedside manner" scale:
Well, I'm sorry about this but I'm going to have to do a rectal. The good news is, I have small hands.
We share a good chuckle while he pulls on the surgical gloves, thankfully applying copious amounts of "surgical lubricant" before instructing me to turn around and grab the exam table. He tosses a box of Kleenex onto the exam table by my face and then began a quick lecture on the anatomy of the prostate, presumably to distract me mentally from the anal incursion which happened with the speed and precision of a bunker buster in the First Gulf War (remember that one, kids!?):
Do you know about the prostate (yeah, sorry about that). Well, it's an almond sized organ that is (push) normal,(poke) normal and (cuurrrl)normal.
And we're done. (And suddenly I don't have to piss quite so badly)
And so, because he's a professional, and I'm a patient, I stand back up, collect myself, and without thinking I grab a handful of Kleenex, hike my left leg up on the exam table and commence to wiping my ass clean of the slimey goo coating my nether region while confirming with Dr. Finger that I should schedule my follow up with the front desk.
In no time at all, he's stripped off the latex gloves sodden with my waste and petroleum jelly, tossed them in the garbage like some much dead skin sluffed off a snake in springtime and exited the room without another word. It was then, standing in the cool, sterile room with my surgical robe wadded up like a prom dress and tossed on the crinkled butcher's paper covering the pleather padding of the exam table, my leg cocked up leg a dog spraying a fire hydrant while I wiped my ass clean of K-Y Jelly, that I realized two things:
1) I think I finally knew what it felt like to be Catholic, and
2) I couldn't wait to call my good friend, the queer one who's had a crush on me since the first time we meet 9 years ago, and inform him that I've decided to start playing for the "other team."
...
...
...
Oh shit, what am I going to tell FC???
Friday, March 17, 2006
Rant #2
If you're a resturant and you serve food and beverages to citizens who pay some of their hard earned money to consume said food and beverages, please do me a favor: Be sure to insist on serving food the proper temperature and beverages in a timely fashion, especially if the citizens are dining gratis due to the fact that on their previous visit, their food was not served at the requisite temperature, and their drinks did not arrive in a timely fashion. Because if you fail to serve hot food, hot, and cold food, cold, all while failing to procure drinks in a timely manner twice, in sucession, I can guaran-fucking-tee you that these citizens will NOT return to your establishment, or any other of the vast chain of locations EVER AGAIN!!!!!
How can anybody drop the fucking ball in such an egregious manner?
How can anybody drop the fucking ball in such an egregious manner?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Three Rants (abridged)
OK, as I am sure you are all aware, I love the sound of my own voice. Therefore, I talk. A lot. Usually about nothing that interests you whatsoever. But being a good little monkey, you listen attentively, nod and make verbal affirmations in the appropriate places and generally put up with my endless diatribe of bullshit and blather.
And I thank you for that. Really, I do. I know enough that constantly talking about myself would bore the absolute fuck out of you, so I do try to keep that down to a barely tolerable level, but as far as the rest of my mind-numbing ramblings go... well let's just say I believe you have the patience of a saint. You smell like 3 day old fecal matter, but your saintliness is guaranteed based solely on your willingness to subject yourself to my excessive verbosity, or in this case, test-osity.
Which brings me to my point. My love of my own aural tones and ceaseless amusement with my personal mental meanderings tend to get in the way of any real productive work. Or in this case, timely entries to this little writing "exercise" of mine.
Exercise in mental masturbation, is more the case. But whatever... it makes me feel good, and that's good enough for me.
So, for the (however brief) time being, I pledge to get right to the heart of the matter and quit fucking around with the extraneous linguistic foreplay. So with that, I give you:
THREE RANTS
Dear New Guy:
When we hired you late last year to replace me here at the Ranch, we were looking for a top-notch employee who we (the Ranch, that is) could invest in heavily for the long term. We went through an exhaustive search, interviewed many applicants, asked and answered hundreds of questions, provided a thorough job description, clearly outlined our expectations of our ideal candidate, explained the benefits package and finally settled on you. When our decision had been made by committee (never an easy proposition in an operation like the Ranch), we extended our offer of employment with a very generous compensation package.* You did the obligatory dickering and took the appropriate time in responding to demonstrate you weren't too eager to come across the street.** But you finally accepted and began working for us just over 6 weeks ago.
So I hope you'll understand when I tell you that I more than just a little disappointed in your "performance" to date. See, we thought we had a knowledgable, skilled and motivated worker on our hands when we took you on. You indicated quite clearly that you were a high performer, with over ten years in the business, essentially doing exactly what you were hired for.
After you came aboard, I was tasked with your training and assimilation into the fold here at the Ranch. And I was very up front with you that I took this duty very seriously, as you represented my legacy here when I left later this year for Seminary. I conveyed to you clearly how important this was to me, and I was going to make it my highest priority to get you up to speed with the work practices and overall guiding philosophy here at the Ranch as soon as possible so you could start executing like the high-performer you presented yourself to be.
So why is it that within your first three days, I have to literally hunt you down for meeting with the Patriarch?!?! You're a friggin' adult, why do I suddenly have to babysit your ass? Oh right, because you had to take your ass out to the Golden Arches for mid-morning/afternoon snack. Or you were taking care of personal business on the Ranch's time!!
Now you may get away with that kind of shit in a year or two, but you have to earn those priviledges, motherfucker! Trust me, as long as I am around, your shit does NOT stink, and you will always be the low man on the totem pole.
Oh, and for someone who's got so much experience under your belt, why does it take you so fucking long to rope a calf, or even brand a cow? This is basic stuff, partner!! Oh, you had plebes to delegate the real work to at your last ranch?? Well I got news for you, we run a lean and efficient machine here. And when it comes down to bonus time, you'll understand why. But in the meantime, you'd best buckle the fuck down and learn how to work smart AND hard, until you've got the basics under control. Because right now, you clearly don't have a fucking clue on how to even ride a goddamn horse!
So please, do us all a favor: Quit disappearing without notifying the proper authorities, learn how to pull your own (rather abundant) wieght and quit making me look bad in my few remaining months here at the BEST JOB I'VE EVER HAD.
*For the record, our offer was more generous than the offer I ultimately negotiated for myself four years ago. You are welcome for profiting on my hard work.
** Yep, we recruited this clown from a high-volume ranch no more than two blocks away, a mere two weeks after recruiting another employee from the same competitor. How do you them apples, Asshat!
(stay tuned for Rants #2 and #3.)
And I thank you for that. Really, I do. I know enough that constantly talking about myself would bore the absolute fuck out of you, so I do try to keep that down to a barely tolerable level, but as far as the rest of my mind-numbing ramblings go... well let's just say I believe you have the patience of a saint. You smell like 3 day old fecal matter, but your saintliness is guaranteed based solely on your willingness to subject yourself to my excessive verbosity, or in this case, test-osity.
Which brings me to my point. My love of my own aural tones and ceaseless amusement with my personal mental meanderings tend to get in the way of any real productive work. Or in this case, timely entries to this little writing "exercise" of mine.
Exercise in mental masturbation, is more the case. But whatever... it makes me feel good, and that's good enough for me.
So, for the (however brief) time being, I pledge to get right to the heart of the matter and quit fucking around with the extraneous linguistic foreplay. So with that, I give you:
THREE RANTS
Dear New Guy:
When we hired you late last year to replace me here at the Ranch, we were looking for a top-notch employee who we (the Ranch, that is) could invest in heavily for the long term. We went through an exhaustive search, interviewed many applicants, asked and answered hundreds of questions, provided a thorough job description, clearly outlined our expectations of our ideal candidate, explained the benefits package and finally settled on you. When our decision had been made by committee (never an easy proposition in an operation like the Ranch), we extended our offer of employment with a very generous compensation package.* You did the obligatory dickering and took the appropriate time in responding to demonstrate you weren't too eager to come across the street.** But you finally accepted and began working for us just over 6 weeks ago.
So I hope you'll understand when I tell you that I more than just a little disappointed in your "performance" to date. See, we thought we had a knowledgable, skilled and motivated worker on our hands when we took you on. You indicated quite clearly that you were a high performer, with over ten years in the business, essentially doing exactly what you were hired for.
After you came aboard, I was tasked with your training and assimilation into the fold here at the Ranch. And I was very up front with you that I took this duty very seriously, as you represented my legacy here when I left later this year for Seminary. I conveyed to you clearly how important this was to me, and I was going to make it my highest priority to get you up to speed with the work practices and overall guiding philosophy here at the Ranch as soon as possible so you could start executing like the high-performer you presented yourself to be.
So why is it that within your first three days, I have to literally hunt you down for meeting with the Patriarch?!?! You're a friggin' adult, why do I suddenly have to babysit your ass? Oh right, because you had to take your ass out to the Golden Arches for mid-morning/afternoon snack. Or you were taking care of personal business on the Ranch's time!!
Now you may get away with that kind of shit in a year or two, but you have to earn those priviledges, motherfucker! Trust me, as long as I am around, your shit does NOT stink, and you will always be the low man on the totem pole.
Oh, and for someone who's got so much experience under your belt, why does it take you so fucking long to rope a calf, or even brand a cow? This is basic stuff, partner!! Oh, you had plebes to delegate the real work to at your last ranch?? Well I got news for you, we run a lean and efficient machine here. And when it comes down to bonus time, you'll understand why. But in the meantime, you'd best buckle the fuck down and learn how to work smart AND hard, until you've got the basics under control. Because right now, you clearly don't have a fucking clue on how to even ride a goddamn horse!
So please, do us all a favor: Quit disappearing without notifying the proper authorities, learn how to pull your own (rather abundant) wieght and quit making me look bad in my few remaining months here at the BEST JOB I'VE EVER HAD.
*For the record, our offer was more generous than the offer I ultimately negotiated for myself four years ago. You are welcome for profiting on my hard work.
** Yep, we recruited this clown from a high-volume ranch no more than two blocks away, a mere two weeks after recruiting another employee from the same competitor. How do you them apples, Asshat!
(stay tuned for Rants #2 and #3.)
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Okay (Deep breath...
So, clearly it's been a while. And I'd like to hopefully get a couple of things taken care of here, but we'll see.
First off, just to get started again, I'll pick up where Rob left off, tagging me:
4 jobs I've had:
-Field Hand, commercial hog farm: I learned very quickly that I would rather make my living with my head, rather than my back.
-Foodservice: dishwasher, salads and bread, line cook, sous chef, Asst. Chef, waiter/server, bar-back, bartender, doorman, even BOUNCER for crying out loud!!!! Anyway, I've had them all. Not a bad way to get through high school and college.
-Car Rental Agency, Branch Manager: No, really. Only not for Enterpirse, though. So just get that "We'll pick you up!!" bullshit out of your head.
-Pyramid Huckster: Umm, yeah. That lasted about a day. But I've got to come clean and get it out there.
4 Movies I would watch over and over again:
-Apocalpse Now. Since I've had to answer this question so many freakin' times, I have to have a #1.
-The Shining. Can anyone say "Lonliness is a bitch?!?!?"
-The Hunt for Red October If only for the fact that I've already watched it over and over, while laying on the couch over lazy weekends.
-Heat. Because I want to be Neal (Robt. DeNiro), ...only not die.
4 Places I've lived:
-220 E. M. A large 5 bedroom, two story prairie house. Hardwood floors and 10' high ceilings.
-913 N. P. My folks bought the pool. The house just happened to come with it.
-1041 7 A. A four-plex. My next door neighbor (& fellow bartender) and I would see who could make their girlfriend come loudest on any given night, then compare notes the next day.
-523 E 44 B. My current abode. Too bad I don't own it, because it's got some real potential.
4 TV Shows I Like:
-West Wing, although I've only watched up throught the 3rd or 4th season.
-South Park, becasue it's insolent
-The Colbert Report. The man has figured out how to work both sides of the aisle.
-Law and Order (the original) It's the US legal system in bite-sized, easily digestable portions. Nothing whatsoever what the REAL system is like. Or is it?
4 Favorite Books:
-The Stand-Unabridged, Stephen King. Same with Movies above, I've got my stock answer.
-A Sense of Direction, William Ball. An afirmation that I truly did know what I was doing, arriving at just the right time to be effective.
-It's A Magical World-A Calvin and Hobbes Collection, Bill Watterson. Yep!
-Never the Sinner, John Logan. Never has a piece of literature moved and compelled me as this play did.
4 Places I've Vacationed:
-Washington, DC
-Playa del Carmen, Mexico
-Nassau, Bahamas
-New York City, NY
4 Websites I visit daily:
-The Facts
-The Local Canon
-A True Believer
-Mary Tyler Moore
4 Favorite Foods:
-A great steak, cooked to order.
-A properly prepared pasta.
-A frresh, energetic and receptive yanni.
-A well-crafted cocktail or well-aged wine.
First off, just to get started again, I'll pick up where Rob left off, tagging me:
4 jobs I've had:
-Field Hand, commercial hog farm: I learned very quickly that I would rather make my living with my head, rather than my back.
-Foodservice: dishwasher, salads and bread, line cook, sous chef, Asst. Chef, waiter/server, bar-back, bartender, doorman, even BOUNCER for crying out loud!!!! Anyway, I've had them all. Not a bad way to get through high school and college.
-Car Rental Agency, Branch Manager: No, really. Only not for Enterpirse, though. So just get that "We'll pick you up!!" bullshit out of your head.
-Pyramid Huckster: Umm, yeah. That lasted about a day. But I've got to come clean and get it out there.
4 Movies I would watch over and over again:
-Apocalpse Now. Since I've had to answer this question so many freakin' times, I have to have a #1.
-The Shining. Can anyone say "Lonliness is a bitch?!?!?"
-The Hunt for Red October If only for the fact that I've already watched it over and over, while laying on the couch over lazy weekends.
-Heat. Because I want to be Neal (Robt. DeNiro), ...only not die.
4 Places I've lived:
-220 E. M. A large 5 bedroom, two story prairie house. Hardwood floors and 10' high ceilings.
-913 N. P. My folks bought the pool. The house just happened to come with it.
-1041 7 A. A four-plex. My next door neighbor (& fellow bartender) and I would see who could make their girlfriend come loudest on any given night, then compare notes the next day.
-523 E 44 B. My current abode. Too bad I don't own it, because it's got some real potential.
4 TV Shows I Like:
-West Wing, although I've only watched up throught the 3rd or 4th season.
-South Park, becasue it's insolent
-The Colbert Report. The man has figured out how to work both sides of the aisle.
-Law and Order (the original) It's the US legal system in bite-sized, easily digestable portions. Nothing whatsoever what the REAL system is like. Or is it?
4 Favorite Books:
-The Stand-Unabridged, Stephen King. Same with Movies above, I've got my stock answer.
-A Sense of Direction, William Ball. An afirmation that I truly did know what I was doing, arriving at just the right time to be effective.
-It's A Magical World-A Calvin and Hobbes Collection, Bill Watterson. Yep!
-Never the Sinner, John Logan. Never has a piece of literature moved and compelled me as this play did.
4 Places I've Vacationed:
-Washington, DC
-Playa del Carmen, Mexico
-Nassau, Bahamas
-New York City, NY
4 Websites I visit daily:
-The Facts
-The Local Canon
-A True Believer
-Mary Tyler Moore
4 Favorite Foods:
-A great steak, cooked to order.
-A properly prepared pasta.
-A frresh, energetic and receptive yanni.
-A well-crafted cocktail or well-aged wine.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Tick, tock...
"It's my birthday, and I'll work 'cuz I have to, work 'cuz I have to."
Even with planning weeks ahead and doing my best to keep my calendar free of non-personal obligations and other bogus bullshit (i.e. activities that do NOT include drinking, whoring or otherwise over-indulging)for today and tomorrow, I stll find myself staring into this monitor with a To Do list longer than Dirk Digler's claim to fame, and bunch of bitchy-assed clients that would make an all pre-menstrual Oprah studio audience look like a barrel full of fluffy stuffed animals.
I think it's absolutely un-American to have to forestall your yearly dive headlong into a vat of your favorite vodka until the weekend because of some stupid occupational obligations.
Aw, well...fuck it. (There, got my dose of Hate out of the way for today.)
Even with planning weeks ahead and doing my best to keep my calendar free of non-personal obligations and other bogus bullshit (i.e. activities that do NOT include drinking, whoring or otherwise over-indulging)for today and tomorrow, I stll find myself staring into this monitor with a To Do list longer than Dirk Digler's claim to fame, and bunch of bitchy-assed clients that would make an all pre-menstrual Oprah studio audience look like a barrel full of fluffy stuffed animals.
I think it's absolutely un-American to have to forestall your yearly dive headlong into a vat of your favorite vodka until the weekend because of some stupid occupational obligations.
Aw, well...fuck it. (There, got my dose of Hate out of the way for today.)
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Ho-hum
I really try to avoid the mundane when posting here. Which is kinda tough, because so much of what goes on in one's life (anyone's really, just ask them) is pretty mundane. And nobody really likes to hear or read about the boring stupid shit. Nope, we want the REAL stuff. I read an editorial today that kind of summed it up well:
I understand this notion completely. Hell, I once considerd myself a reasonably capable stage director. You know- live theatre. That wonderful, once vibrant art form that entertained the nobilty and the masses equally for thousands (yes THOUSANDS) of years. That art form which has unfortunately succumbed to the banality and idiocy of Hollywood, fallen victim to the "reality" cult and been crushed under the jackboot of coroporate capitalism and mass market media...
Excuse me, but that's a story/rant for another day.
What I'm trying to say is, if I learned one thing after all those years of "formal" education and training, followed by years of coaxing life out of the written word, it's the simple fact that REAL LIFE is fucking boring. And the only way to make it interesting to anyone other than yourself, is to add a little spice, a little flavor in order to get the juices flowing. Like one of those teeny-tiny, innocent looking red peppers that comes in your Mongolian beef. You know, the one that you bite into thinking, this little bitty pepper is kinda cute, I wonder what he tastes like......
HOLYFUCKINGCHRIST,
WHATISTHISRAGINGFIREINMYMOUTH!!!!!
PUTITOUTITOUT,PUTITIOUT,PITIOUT!!!!!
You know the ones I'm talking about.
Anyway, I try to keep the dull down to a minimum. But sometimes the dull just gets a little overpowering.
So at the end of a fairly light week (45 hours) at the Ranch, I get home from an all-day training convocation last night and am pretty much wiped out, I guess. I mean, I must have been, because after sorting throught the mail and chowing down on some reasonable Italian take-out, I realize that I'm nodding off on the couch, watching bad stand-up on Comedy Central. At NINE o'clock in the evening!
OK, this is cool, I think remotely. I had that demand package I wanted to work on this weekend sitting on my desk. I'll just get up early and crank some stuff out.
So I force myself to stay up for a couple more hours and eventually get to bed early for once. I awoke to the alarm, but allowed myself an extra hour to snooze, just for weekend's sake. Then proceeded to give the domicile a good cleaning. Mind you, I did not say a thorough cleaning (it's not Spring Cleaning time quite yet), but a good one. And admittedly, it needed it.
Next, I jet up to the local merchant sector known pragmatically as The Yoke to complete some transactions, pick up a few goods and utilize some services, then I'm back to the hideout where I put the final touches on an client abstract. Not the big one which I've been putting off for the past three weeks and intended to hammer on this morning when I was nodding off last night, but at least I'm out of distractions. I have to do the demand now.
So now that I've accomplished a good deal of what I intended for the day, I'm at a bit of a loss. I just spoke with FC, and she's apparently got a nasty case of food poisoning. Been throwing up since 10:00 last night, so I guess we're not going to get together as previously planned.
OK...
I'm going to see the boys tomorrow for football and poker, so they're all either with their respective FC's, working, or already cruising temporary FC's. And I don't feel like rolling as the 3rd-, 5th- or any other odd-numbered Wheel this evening. So where does that leave me?
Well, there's always the rest of that take-out in the fridge. I could warm that up and go back to work for a few more hours-rationalizing that I'm "preparing" myself for The Canons with all of this extra dedication and labor. Or I could crank up the X-box for some good ol' fraggin' fun!! Maybe I could read one of these five books I've set aside or purchased in the past month. There's always the new Netflix sitting on the idiot-box...
...
...
...(Sound FX: crickets)...
Boy, I'm really fucking lame.
Finally, there's always heading on out, "Lone Wolf style", as J-Catz the barman once called it, and seeing what kind of action I can find. While I am no stranger to this particular modus operendi, lately I've found that it's often more trouble then it's really worth. But hey, maybe I'll have one of those nights that makes for interesting reading on the blog, adds a little spice to get the ol' jucies flowing again, and thus elevate my out of this mundanity.
One thing's for sure: That leftover pasta is calling my name.
"Real Life, No Police Chases," by Anna Quindlen, Newsweek, Jan. 23, 2006
"Today our national narrative follows this big dramatic arc. Gossip reporting relies on it unfailinigly. It can never be that a Hollywood couple woke up one morning, like normal people, and decided they could no longer bear to hear one another chew. It must be that he was tortured by the success of her career, that she has been rocking the trailer on location with her leading man. It cannot be that they are just like us...
Of course, the more humdrum aspects of life do not make for gripping reading. To render them compelling, a writer must describe the universal in eloquent and evocative prose."*
I understand this notion completely. Hell, I once considerd myself a reasonably capable stage director. You know- live theatre. That wonderful, once vibrant art form that entertained the nobilty and the masses equally for thousands (yes THOUSANDS) of years. That art form which has unfortunately succumbed to the banality and idiocy of Hollywood, fallen victim to the "reality" cult and been crushed under the jackboot of coroporate capitalism and mass market media...
Excuse me, but that's a story/rant for another day.
What I'm trying to say is, if I learned one thing after all those years of "formal" education and training, followed by years of coaxing life out of the written word, it's the simple fact that REAL LIFE is fucking boring. And the only way to make it interesting to anyone other than yourself, is to add a little spice, a little flavor in order to get the juices flowing. Like one of those teeny-tiny, innocent looking red peppers that comes in your Mongolian beef. You know, the one that you bite into thinking, this little bitty pepper is kinda cute, I wonder what he tastes like......
HOLYFUCKINGCHRIST,
WHATISTHISRAGINGFIREINMYMOUTH!!!!!
PUTITOUTITOUT,PUTITIOUT,PITIOUT!!!!!
You know the ones I'm talking about.
Anyway, I try to keep the dull down to a minimum. But sometimes the dull just gets a little overpowering.
So at the end of a fairly light week (45 hours) at the Ranch, I get home from an all-day training convocation last night and am pretty much wiped out, I guess. I mean, I must have been, because after sorting throught the mail and chowing down on some reasonable Italian take-out, I realize that I'm nodding off on the couch, watching bad stand-up on Comedy Central. At NINE o'clock in the evening!
OK, this is cool, I think remotely. I had that demand package I wanted to work on this weekend sitting on my desk. I'll just get up early and crank some stuff out.
So I force myself to stay up for a couple more hours and eventually get to bed early for once. I awoke to the alarm, but allowed myself an extra hour to snooze, just for weekend's sake. Then proceeded to give the domicile a good cleaning. Mind you, I did not say a thorough cleaning (it's not Spring Cleaning time quite yet), but a good one. And admittedly, it needed it.
Next, I jet up to the local merchant sector known pragmatically as The Yoke to complete some transactions, pick up a few goods and utilize some services, then I'm back to the hideout where I put the final touches on an client abstract. Not the big one which I've been putting off for the past three weeks and intended to hammer on this morning when I was nodding off last night, but at least I'm out of distractions. I have to do the demand now.
So now that I've accomplished a good deal of what I intended for the day, I'm at a bit of a loss. I just spoke with FC, and she's apparently got a nasty case of food poisoning. Been throwing up since 10:00 last night, so I guess we're not going to get together as previously planned.
OK...
I'm going to see the boys tomorrow for football and poker, so they're all either with their respective FC's, working, or already cruising temporary FC's. And I don't feel like rolling as the 3rd-, 5th- or any other odd-numbered Wheel this evening. So where does that leave me?
Well, there's always the rest of that take-out in the fridge. I could warm that up and go back to work for a few more hours-rationalizing that I'm "preparing" myself for The Canons with all of this extra dedication and labor. Or I could crank up the X-box for some good ol' fraggin' fun!! Maybe I could read one of these five books I've set aside or purchased in the past month. There's always the new Netflix sitting on the idiot-box...
...
...
...(Sound FX: crickets)...
Boy, I'm really fucking lame.
Finally, there's always heading on out, "Lone Wolf style", as J-Catz the barman once called it, and seeing what kind of action I can find. While I am no stranger to this particular modus operendi, lately I've found that it's often more trouble then it's really worth. But hey, maybe I'll have one of those nights that makes for interesting reading on the blog, adds a little spice to get the ol' jucies flowing again, and thus elevate my out of this mundanity.
One thing's for sure: That leftover pasta is calling my name.
"Real Life, No Police Chases," by Anna Quindlen, Newsweek, Jan. 23, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
OK, I'll play along.
A blog game from Birdie:
Two Parts of Your Heritage
1. Passive-aggressive personality with a predilection for addiction (specifically alcohol and, well let's just say I've conquered a few demons. Thanks, Mom.
2. A penchant for scathing sarcasm and condescension. I'd like to give a big shout-out to Dad!
Two Things That Scare You
1. Being wrong/incorrect, ever.
2. Being embarrassed.
Two fears you overcame
1. Being wrong/incorrect. I've come to accept the fact that I am, more often than not. And learning from your mistakes is so much more rewarding once you get over it.
2. Being embarrassed. Pride is such a dangerous, cumbersome thing... alright, let's be honest. I still haven't gotten over this one.
Two of Your Everyday Essentials
1. Integrity
2. A bong hit or two at the end of the day, it's my Prozac.
Two things you are Wearing Right Now
1. sweats (it's laundry night)
2. leather teddy (because I look so damn SEXY in it)
Two things you wore too much this year
1. Underwear, which gets in the way of sex
2. My ego on my sleeve
This year's Favorite Bands or Musical Artists
1. Beastie Boys (I actually tried to sing a B-Boys rap at karaoke with my boy Rob, what a friggin' abortion that was.
2. Rolling Stones- last year, this year, every freakin' year!!
Two Things You Want in a Relationship
1. Another person...
2. who's female
Two of your favorite Movies of the Year
1. Crash
2. Sideways
Best movies of all time
1. Apocalypse Now (Saigon. Shit...)
2. Caddyshack (How 'bout a Fresca!?!)
Two things You hate
1. Stupidity
2. Apathy
Two of Your Favorite Hobbies
1. Talking, or in this case, writing about my self. Hell, you're reading it
2. Cunnilingus
Two things you learned this year
1. I CAN quit smoking cigarettes. Even after 20 freakin' years.
2. ... how much more I don't know.
Two Accomplishments You are Proud of
1. Settlements in the 'K v State' and "M v City' matters. I really sharpened some skills on those two.
2. The Hamm Project
Two Things You Want Really Badly
1. Acceptance to and entry in 'seminary'.
2. That is two things.
Two places you went this year.
1. Mexico, to clear my head and gain some focus. An interesting experience.
2. Canada, to meet FC's parents at Christmas. An interesting experience.
Two Places You Want to go on Vacation
1. Italy
2. Belize
Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die
1. Live long,
2. and prosper.
Two Ways that you are a Stereotypical Example of your Gender
1. Sex and food make me happy, don't they you?
2. I really do not need to be engaged in conversation, every minute of the day. So if I'm not talking, it may be because I have nothing to say. But believe me, when I do, I will be sure to let you know.
Two things that make you stand out.
1. My laugh.
2. My... what, "presence"? Nah, my ego. For some reason, I can piss someone off just by sitting next to them at a bar.
Two Things You Normally Wouldn't Admit
1. I miss one night-stands.
2. Sometimes I do miss Illinois.
Two Goals for the New Year
1. Onward,
2. and upward.
Cheers!!
Two Parts of Your Heritage
1. Passive-aggressive personality with a predilection for addiction (specifically alcohol and, well let's just say I've conquered a few demons. Thanks, Mom.
2. A penchant for scathing sarcasm and condescension. I'd like to give a big shout-out to Dad!
Two Things That Scare You
1. Being wrong/incorrect, ever.
2. Being embarrassed.
Two fears you overcame
1. Being wrong/incorrect. I've come to accept the fact that I am, more often than not. And learning from your mistakes is so much more rewarding once you get over it.
2. Being embarrassed. Pride is such a dangerous, cumbersome thing... alright, let's be honest. I still haven't gotten over this one.
Two of Your Everyday Essentials
1. Integrity
2. A bong hit or two at the end of the day, it's my Prozac.
Two things you are Wearing Right Now
1. sweats (it's laundry night)
2. leather teddy (because I look so damn SEXY in it)
Two things you wore too much this year
1. Underwear, which gets in the way of sex
2. My ego on my sleeve
This year's Favorite Bands or Musical Artists
1. Beastie Boys (I actually tried to sing a B-Boys rap at karaoke with my boy Rob, what a friggin' abortion that was.
2. Rolling Stones- last year, this year, every freakin' year!!
Two Things You Want in a Relationship
1. Another person...
2. who's female
Two of your favorite Movies of the Year
1. Crash
2. Sideways
Best movies of all time
1. Apocalypse Now (Saigon. Shit...)
2. Caddyshack (How 'bout a Fresca!?!)
Two things You hate
1. Stupidity
2. Apathy
Two of Your Favorite Hobbies
1. Talking, or in this case, writing about my self. Hell, you're reading it
2. Cunnilingus
Two things you learned this year
1. I CAN quit smoking cigarettes. Even after 20 freakin' years.
2. ... how much more I don't know.
Two Accomplishments You are Proud of
1. Settlements in the 'K v State' and "M v City' matters. I really sharpened some skills on those two.
2. The Hamm Project
Two Things You Want Really Badly
1. Acceptance to and entry in 'seminary'.
2. That is two things.
Two places you went this year.
1. Mexico, to clear my head and gain some focus. An interesting experience.
2. Canada, to meet FC's parents at Christmas. An interesting experience.
Two Places You Want to go on Vacation
1. Italy
2. Belize
Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die
1. Live long,
2. and prosper.
Two Ways that you are a Stereotypical Example of your Gender
1. Sex and food make me happy, don't they you?
2. I really do not need to be engaged in conversation, every minute of the day. So if I'm not talking, it may be because I have nothing to say. But believe me, when I do, I will be sure to let you know.
Two things that make you stand out.
1. My laugh.
2. My... what, "presence"? Nah, my ego. For some reason, I can piss someone off just by sitting next to them at a bar.
Two Things You Normally Wouldn't Admit
1. I miss one night-stands.
2. Sometimes I do miss Illinois.
Two Goals for the New Year
1. Onward,
2. and upward.
Cheers!!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Am I coming through loud and clear?
First off, let me apologize to my massive readership (all 1.5 of you. You know who you are). I am sorry I have been so remiss in posting over the past month. I can't really use the excuse that I had a bunch of Christmas shopping or other holiday related bullshit to do, because I don't really participate in that crap.
Except for the drinking part. I DO particpate in that wholeheartedly. But the rest of the Ho Ho Hoopla... well, I pretty much take a pass on that stuff.
This not to say that I've been ignoring you, dear Constant Reader(s). Quite the contrary, I've had a number of things worthy of jotting down in my little electronic notebook over the past few weeks, but with all of the year-end shit to do at the Ranch (particularly the few insufferable clients I have), the holiday binge drinking and gladhanding fuck-fests as well as the demands on my time and attention made by FC (not necessarily a negative thing), I just haven't been able to maintain the proper focus to rant properly. But now the all of that crap is past us for another year or so, and I can get back on my high fucking horse and start dishing out the shit my little sector of the world so richly deserves.
And so, with that, I give you:
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, MOTHERFUCKER?!?!?
I'll dispense with the set-up on this one, because 1) you should be smart enough to figure it out on your own, you mental-fucking-midget, and 2) it would ruin the story if I spoon fed you everything.
So, here is the letter I wanted to send:
Dear Bitch,
I have had it. I have had just about enough of the constant fucking noise which emanates from your floor, through my ceiling and in to my domicile. This shit has been going on now for TWO FUCKING YEARS and I am just about to go postal on your haughty little ass!
You're old enough to remember where the term "postal" comes from, right? Well, I tell you what, bitch, I've got my twelve gauge loaded and ready to go. Given the fact that the door to your apartment isn't strong enough to withstand an elephant's fart, I won't even need to waste a shell on the deadbolt in order to gain access to your bungalow a mere 6 feet above me. Nope, I'll just walk right upstairs, and with a good solid kick, be inside taking care of business like the governor of California in one of those robot movies.
And it's a good thing I've got a weapon and ammo that pack some punch, because I'll definitely need all the power I can get, taking care of that herd of buffalo you must have housed up there. I know they look like children, but from where I sit, those are obnoxious rug rats of yours make more noise than the extras on a Kevin Costner set.
EVERY morning and EVERY fucking evening, I am subjected to the endless thumping, thudding, banging and booming as those mouthy little shit monsters of yours run and jump throughout your apartment. And this has been going on now since you moved in back in November of 2003. Seriously. Two years, I have been patient. Two years I have been understanding. But my patience has reached its end, honey, and I am about to give you a little reality check.
I know, I know. Things are tough for you, being a single mother of two children under the age of 10. You made sure to point that out to me on one of the occasions when I knocked on your door to complain about the noise. And I think I've given you quite a bit of latitude because of your single-motherness. But that shit don't fly now, especially since you've some dude shakin' up with you full time. Besides, I've got two fucking words for you, the erstwhile single mother. BIRTH CONTROL!!! If you can't handle 'em, don't fucking breed 'em. Oh, your marriage didn't work out?? Well join the fucking parade. No fucking wonder, given your charming personality. And if you fucked your former husband like you fuck your new biker husband, it's no wonder he left you. The most action I've heard coming from your boudoir is 1 minute's worth of half-hearted pumping, and then your off to the bathroom to wash up. Granted, your boy may have a hair-trigger, but that's probably because he just wants to get it the fuck over with. I imagine you bitching and nagging all the way through the intercourse, and he's lucky to even maintain an erection long enough to blow his load. Hopefully, he's got his jimmy on, or he's fixed. I'd hate for anyone to suffer through another pregnancy with you.
Your lack of consideration is what bothers me the most. I've been up to your door a number of times this past year, complaining about the noise your ankle-biters make. Everytime you've got some lame ass excuse. I've banged my fist against my ceiling to let you know that I'm a wee bit pissed on even more occasions. But yet, nothing resembiling an honest effort to quell the rampaging herd. In fact, as I write this at 9:30 PM, I can still hear your little fucktards cavorting like satyrs in the pasture. This shit begins every morning at 6:30 AM and continues until 9-10 at night.
You know what really cracks me up, you slack-cunted, mongoloid hausfrau*? The reaction I got when I finally called the resident manager to inform her that I was sending in a letter of complaint. She stated, and I do quote: "It's funny you should be the one to register a complaint against her. Normally when somebody calls me with a complaint such as yours, I'm groaning at the unreasonableness of it, and trying to find a way to resolve the issue without creating any further commotion. But in this case, I'm looking forward to receiving your letter, because she has NO problem in lodging complaints against everyone else in the complex. So you just send your letter right on in, and we'll deal with it as necessary."
So guess what, you uptight, self-righteous cunt. (yep, I used the 'c' word) I've got my eyes on you. You have no idea who you've pissed off. But from here on out, I plan on making your fucking insignificant, inconsiderate life even more miserable than it obviously already is. I've got the time, the energy and the wherewithall, and you've finally given me an excuse.
Sincerely,
Jaques Roux
(* this phrase copyrighted by some guy named Rob)
Now here's the letter I actually sent:
--------------------
Jaques Roux
123 Sesame Street, Unit #1
Anytown USA
January 5, 2006
Nancy, Resident Manager
Happy Homes Apartments
Anytown USA
RE: Nuisance Complaint
Dear Ms. Nancy:
I write to you at this time to advise you of what has become I consider a long-term, chronic problem. It is my intent to notify you of this nuisance in order to effect a positive and amicable solution.
Over the past two-plus years, I have endured what I consider to be an unrealistic amount of noise emanating from the residents in Unit #21. This noise is being caused by what sounds to be the heavy foot traffic of the two young children and (at least) one adult resident. I consider the frequency and severity over such a long term time has elevated this annoyance to a more acute level.
On almost every morning of the week for the past two years, I have distinctly heard the ”thumps”,” thuds”, “bangs” and “booms” of the two young children and they run, jump and play throughout their apartment. This noise will often continue throughout the day while I am present during the weekends or home on holidays or personal leave from work. Almost every evening when I return home, the noise continues until approximately 9:00 PM. The sounds of the residents as they walk, run and jump, resonate throughout my apartment, often rattling and shaking pictures and glassware and other objects within my apartment.
Now I would like to consider myself a fairly reasonable person. I understand that I live in an apartment complex with many other residents. As a result of our close proximity, we must often exercise tolerance and patience with each other as our personal lives overlap. This is the very idea which makes society “civilized”. I believe that I have exercised and demonstrated the kind of patience and restraint which should be expected from any reasonable person .
My upstairs neighbors have not, in my opinion, upheld their part of this social contract. I have notified Ms. Bitchface directly and in advance when I would be hosting small gatherings in an effort to avoid any inconvenience to her and her family. I have voiced my complaints regarding the noise directly to Ms. Bitchface on more than one occasion over the past year, but still the racket persists.
This noise intrusion is especially bothersome in the fact that I am frequently required to work from home well past “normal” business hours. I will often continue with job-related tasks during week-day evenings as well as over most weekends. Compound this with the fact that I will soon be attending graduate school, and this chronic noise will become quite unbearable.
I have carefully reviewed the language within my rental agreement with Tracy Ann Apartments as well as the Landlord-Tenant Acts and other applicable RCW’s dealing with laws and regulations involving apartment residency. Upon review, I note the following stipulations contained within the rental agreement itself:
· Quite hours are from 10:00 PM to 8:00 AM daily. Please refrain from doing laundry, vacuuming or any other activity that may disturb your neighbors. [Emphasis added]
· Noise from television [sic] and stereos should be maintained to a level which stays within the walls of the apartment. [Emphasis added]
· Tenant is obligated to not permit a nuisance (substantial interference with other tenants’ use of their property). [Emphasis added]
It is my position that due to the severity, frequency and duration of the noise emanating from Unit #2 into my dwelling (Unit #1), as well as the conditions set forth above pursuant to RCW 59.18, the residents of HappyHomes Apartments, Unit #2 (Ms. Bitchface and family) have violated the terms of the rental agreement by creating a nuisance and, after notification, have allowed said nuisance to persist for an unreasonable time.
Please accept this correspondence as constructive notice regarding my complaint and be advised that from henceforth, I will be documenting each and every occurrence of noise which I consider invasive, intrusive and otherwise unreasonable. Furthermore, I will contact the Resident Manager to notify them of each instance as they occur. If my notification of this nuisance fails to result in a significant behavior modification and reduction in noise, or if I experience any deleterious impact to my person or property as a consequence of my complaints, I will be forced to proceed with further, more significant action.
Finally, let me please state that I bring this matter to your attention not to create strife or discord within the Happy Homes Apartment community. I enjoy living here a great deal and harbor no malice or ill-will towards the residents of Unit #2. But I believe that I have been more than tolerant with respect to this matter. My patience has reached its end.
If you would like to discuss this matter further, please feel free to contact me at (000) 555-1212, or at work, (000) 555-1313. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation in this matter.
Respectfully,
Jaques Roux
cc: Ms. Pissy Bitchface
-------------------------
I dropped my love notes in the outgoing mail at the Ranch today. I expect that they will reach their intended recipients by tomorrow eveing. I suspect that should get a rise out of someone...
Except for the drinking part. I DO particpate in that wholeheartedly. But the rest of the Ho Ho Hoopla... well, I pretty much take a pass on that stuff.
This not to say that I've been ignoring you, dear Constant Reader(s). Quite the contrary, I've had a number of things worthy of jotting down in my little electronic notebook over the past few weeks, but with all of the year-end shit to do at the Ranch (particularly the few insufferable clients I have), the holiday binge drinking and gladhanding fuck-fests as well as the demands on my time and attention made by FC (not necessarily a negative thing), I just haven't been able to maintain the proper focus to rant properly. But now the all of that crap is past us for another year or so, and I can get back on my high fucking horse and start dishing out the shit my little sector of the world so richly deserves.
And so, with that, I give you:
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, MOTHERFUCKER?!?!?
I'll dispense with the set-up on this one, because 1) you should be smart enough to figure it out on your own, you mental-fucking-midget, and 2) it would ruin the story if I spoon fed you everything.
So, here is the letter I wanted to send:
Dear Bitch,
I have had it. I have had just about enough of the constant fucking noise which emanates from your floor, through my ceiling and in to my domicile. This shit has been going on now for TWO FUCKING YEARS and I am just about to go postal on your haughty little ass!
You're old enough to remember where the term "postal" comes from, right? Well, I tell you what, bitch, I've got my twelve gauge loaded and ready to go. Given the fact that the door to your apartment isn't strong enough to withstand an elephant's fart, I won't even need to waste a shell on the deadbolt in order to gain access to your bungalow a mere 6 feet above me. Nope, I'll just walk right upstairs, and with a good solid kick, be inside taking care of business like the governor of California in one of those robot movies.
And it's a good thing I've got a weapon and ammo that pack some punch, because I'll definitely need all the power I can get, taking care of that herd of buffalo you must have housed up there. I know they look like children, but from where I sit, those are obnoxious rug rats of yours make more noise than the extras on a Kevin Costner set.
EVERY morning and EVERY fucking evening, I am subjected to the endless thumping, thudding, banging and booming as those mouthy little shit monsters of yours run and jump throughout your apartment. And this has been going on now since you moved in back in November of 2003. Seriously. Two years, I have been patient. Two years I have been understanding. But my patience has reached its end, honey, and I am about to give you a little reality check.
I know, I know. Things are tough for you, being a single mother of two children under the age of 10. You made sure to point that out to me on one of the occasions when I knocked on your door to complain about the noise. And I think I've given you quite a bit of latitude because of your single-motherness. But that shit don't fly now, especially since you've some dude shakin' up with you full time. Besides, I've got two fucking words for you, the erstwhile single mother. BIRTH CONTROL!!! If you can't handle 'em, don't fucking breed 'em. Oh, your marriage didn't work out?? Well join the fucking parade. No fucking wonder, given your charming personality. And if you fucked your former husband like you fuck your new biker husband, it's no wonder he left you. The most action I've heard coming from your boudoir is 1 minute's worth of half-hearted pumping, and then your off to the bathroom to wash up. Granted, your boy may have a hair-trigger, but that's probably because he just wants to get it the fuck over with. I imagine you bitching and nagging all the way through the intercourse, and he's lucky to even maintain an erection long enough to blow his load. Hopefully, he's got his jimmy on, or he's fixed. I'd hate for anyone to suffer through another pregnancy with you.
Your lack of consideration is what bothers me the most. I've been up to your door a number of times this past year, complaining about the noise your ankle-biters make. Everytime you've got some lame ass excuse. I've banged my fist against my ceiling to let you know that I'm a wee bit pissed on even more occasions. But yet, nothing resembiling an honest effort to quell the rampaging herd. In fact, as I write this at 9:30 PM, I can still hear your little fucktards cavorting like satyrs in the pasture. This shit begins every morning at 6:30 AM and continues until 9-10 at night.
You know what really cracks me up, you slack-cunted, mongoloid hausfrau*? The reaction I got when I finally called the resident manager to inform her that I was sending in a letter of complaint. She stated, and I do quote: "It's funny you should be the one to register a complaint against her. Normally when somebody calls me with a complaint such as yours, I'm groaning at the unreasonableness of it, and trying to find a way to resolve the issue without creating any further commotion. But in this case, I'm looking forward to receiving your letter, because she has NO problem in lodging complaints against everyone else in the complex. So you just send your letter right on in, and we'll deal with it as necessary."
So guess what, you uptight, self-righteous cunt. (yep, I used the 'c' word) I've got my eyes on you. You have no idea who you've pissed off. But from here on out, I plan on making your fucking insignificant, inconsiderate life even more miserable than it obviously already is. I've got the time, the energy and the wherewithall, and you've finally given me an excuse.
Sincerely,
Jaques Roux
(* this phrase copyrighted by some guy named Rob)
Now here's the letter I actually sent:
--------------------
Jaques Roux
123 Sesame Street, Unit #1
Anytown USA
January 5, 2006
Nancy, Resident Manager
Happy Homes Apartments
Anytown USA
RE: Nuisance Complaint
Dear Ms. Nancy:
I write to you at this time to advise you of what has become I consider a long-term, chronic problem. It is my intent to notify you of this nuisance in order to effect a positive and amicable solution.
Over the past two-plus years, I have endured what I consider to be an unrealistic amount of noise emanating from the residents in Unit #21. This noise is being caused by what sounds to be the heavy foot traffic of the two young children and (at least) one adult resident. I consider the frequency and severity over such a long term time has elevated this annoyance to a more acute level.
On almost every morning of the week for the past two years, I have distinctly heard the ”thumps”,” thuds”, “bangs” and “booms” of the two young children and they run, jump and play throughout their apartment. This noise will often continue throughout the day while I am present during the weekends or home on holidays or personal leave from work. Almost every evening when I return home, the noise continues until approximately 9:00 PM. The sounds of the residents as they walk, run and jump, resonate throughout my apartment, often rattling and shaking pictures and glassware and other objects within my apartment.
Now I would like to consider myself a fairly reasonable person. I understand that I live in an apartment complex with many other residents. As a result of our close proximity, we must often exercise tolerance and patience with each other as our personal lives overlap. This is the very idea which makes society “civilized”. I believe that I have exercised and demonstrated the kind of patience and restraint which should be expected from any reasonable person .
My upstairs neighbors have not, in my opinion, upheld their part of this social contract. I have notified Ms. Bitchface directly and in advance when I would be hosting small gatherings in an effort to avoid any inconvenience to her and her family. I have voiced my complaints regarding the noise directly to Ms. Bitchface on more than one occasion over the past year, but still the racket persists.
This noise intrusion is especially bothersome in the fact that I am frequently required to work from home well past “normal” business hours. I will often continue with job-related tasks during week-day evenings as well as over most weekends. Compound this with the fact that I will soon be attending graduate school, and this chronic noise will become quite unbearable.
I have carefully reviewed the language within my rental agreement with Tracy Ann Apartments as well as the Landlord-Tenant Acts and other applicable RCW’s dealing with laws and regulations involving apartment residency. Upon review, I note the following stipulations contained within the rental agreement itself:
· Quite hours are from 10:00 PM to 8:00 AM daily. Please refrain from doing laundry, vacuuming or any other activity that may disturb your neighbors. [Emphasis added]
· Noise from television [sic] and stereos should be maintained to a level which stays within the walls of the apartment. [Emphasis added]
· Tenant is obligated to not permit a nuisance (substantial interference with other tenants’ use of their property). [Emphasis added]
It is my position that due to the severity, frequency and duration of the noise emanating from Unit #2 into my dwelling (Unit #1), as well as the conditions set forth above pursuant to RCW 59.18, the residents of HappyHomes Apartments, Unit #2 (Ms. Bitchface and family) have violated the terms of the rental agreement by creating a nuisance and, after notification, have allowed said nuisance to persist for an unreasonable time.
Please accept this correspondence as constructive notice regarding my complaint and be advised that from henceforth, I will be documenting each and every occurrence of noise which I consider invasive, intrusive and otherwise unreasonable. Furthermore, I will contact the Resident Manager to notify them of each instance as they occur. If my notification of this nuisance fails to result in a significant behavior modification and reduction in noise, or if I experience any deleterious impact to my person or property as a consequence of my complaints, I will be forced to proceed with further, more significant action.
Finally, let me please state that I bring this matter to your attention not to create strife or discord within the Happy Homes Apartment community. I enjoy living here a great deal and harbor no malice or ill-will towards the residents of Unit #2. But I believe that I have been more than tolerant with respect to this matter. My patience has reached its end.
If you would like to discuss this matter further, please feel free to contact me at (000) 555-1212, or at work, (000) 555-1313. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation in this matter.
Respectfully,
Jaques Roux
cc: Ms. Pissy Bitchface
-------------------------
I dropped my love notes in the outgoing mail at the Ranch today. I expect that they will reach their intended recipients by tomorrow eveing. I suspect that should get a rise out of someone...
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