Hallow Pursuits

Part One: Well ...

... tonight’s trick-or-treatmas. I’ve decided I’m just going to stay home with the lights off and avoid those candy-grabbing hooligans. Besides, traffic is *already* a Nightmare Before Christmas. I don’t want to drive in this madness to go anywhere.

I toyed with going to sit at the bar with the rest of the Halloween haters, but I don’t want even the slightest chance of getting spifflicated and having an incident on the way home with herds of children roaming the streets. The last thing I need is to kill little Johnny Invisible Pedestrian while intoxicated.

So I went up to the package store and bought my own “treat.” Nothing beats sitting at home in the dark drinking all by yourself while scores of children claw greedily at your door. Cheers!

So I hope you all have a safe and candiful Halloween. Just like I’m going to have. And if you’re going to drink, drink responsibly. The life you save could be some candy corn-grubbing street urchin’s.

(Ahhh ... when I was young, we’d eat candy corn right off the cob! Oh, don’t listen to me. That’s the “treat” talking.)

God bless us every one.

* * * * * *

haha. get on ur roof and turn ur light on a and when little people pass, throw eggs and shit. good fun.

I drop water balloons filled with ammonia.

My Plan B was to put on a big smile and hand out airplane bottles of Jagermeister.

Or just give the kids spoonsful of Karo syrup like I did last year. How the little tykes loved it! Oh, it warmed my heart!


Part Two: I sure am hungry!

I wish I had about a half pound of Hershey’s Kisses, candy corn and Sweet Tarts to eat!

...

To learn the history of candy corn, go to: http://www.hauntedbay.com/history/candycorn.shtmlor visit your local library.

* * * * * *

... I hate candy corn. And Sweet Tarts. It was mere hyperbole. I’ve never been a real Halloween kind of guy. I just ...

Shhhh ...! I just heard knocking at the door. It’s them! They’ve come ...


Part Three: They’re here!

They’re knocking, knocking, knocking!Go away, children! No candy here! There’s a gingerbread condo in the next complex!

Shoo!

Now where was I?


Part Four: So ...
November 1, 2005

Tuesday, November 1, 2005

What did we all learn from last night?

I learned that if you drink several mugs full of Jagermeister, eventually your brain will turn on you like a rottweiler. My breakfast after last night’s adventure consisted of caffeine, Ibuprofen, antacid and betablockers. I had that fight or flight (mostly flight) feeling all morning. And I’ve been tired all day.

I also learned you don’t patronize your female friends even if you are just kidding. Never mention their chromosomes. Some people are sensitive to that. Leave any sexually inappropriate comments in the workplace where they belong.

"Tell me about a day in your world. ..."

Let’s see ... A day in the life, huh? I’ll give it a shot. And if it turns out full of drama and intrigue, I’ll post it on my blog.

A Day in the Life, Part One
I came to work unkempt. As I had not done laundry, I threw on a sweater I had worn one day last week. I eschewed my shower for time’s sake, so my hair looks like Shemp Howard’s of Three Stooges fame. In short, I’m a bum.

I got to the office and I was starved! I re-heated some leftover spaghetti from yesterday’s lunch and put on a pot of coffee. I am now eating an apple and drinking coffee. It’s not quite 9:30.

I have to order office supplies today. That’s all that’s on my plate. That’s all for now. I’ll keep you apprised if anything happens of note.

A Day in the Life Part Two
This is the part where I try to stay awake until lunch. I had to pee about 20 minutes ago, and that was the most excitement I’ve had so far today.

Sometimes I put my head in my hands and just sit until something happens, but I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m afraid I’ll doze off. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not above dozing off at the office, but I only do that when no one else is here to see.

So, to keep myself occupied, I check MySpace for new messages, new hits on my profile and blog, etc., then pop over to AOL to see if I have any messages, then back to MySpace again. Lately I have also been watching the Webcam at a doggie daycare to relieve the boredom.

I don’t know about your job, but in my job we have a phenomenon known as “billable hours.” This is the time spent on projects that we can charge the client for so my company doesn’t have to bear the brunt of my salary. So far this year, I have had maybe four or five days that were billable. No wonder they’re going to shut us down.

It’s a quarter to one. We usually go down to our little café at one o’clock or so and grab lunch. Tuesday is lasagna day, but I think I’ll get a salad instead since I had the leftover spaghetti this morning.


A Day in the Life Part Three
Now is the time I am typically overwhelmed by despair realizing I have over three hours to go before I can go home. Could be my blood sugar crashing after the salad, two chocolate chip cookies and coffee, but whatever the cause, time moves very slowly for me this time of day.

I’m alone in the office now, and I’m sorely tempted to put my head in my hands until something happens, but I’m sure I’d doze off and my co-worker would come in and catch me.

I’m sleepy and the weather doesn’t help. We’re getting the back end of the hurricane and it’s cold and dreary out. And, as early as it gets dark now, I’m sure I’ll have to fight to stay awake to a decent hour tonight.


A Day in the Life Part Four
Three o’clock. That’s when I pee again and brush my teeth. I’m through drinking coffee for the rest of the night.

Time begins to move faster at 3:00 as I realize there are only a little over two hours remaining in the “work” day.

I’ve been on Monster.com planning ahead for my impending layoff. If all goes well, I’ll have everything worked out ahead of time so I can bail here before the next shoe drops. If I could transition into a new job with no downtime, I would sacrifice a severance package just so I wouldn’t have to pack up another office. (No, this is not the first time I’ve had my office close.)

Just two hours now. I think I’ll make it.

* * * * * *

Your life is truly an interesting story.

I think you missed the point.

What was the point?

If I’d had a point, I wouldn’t have written the freakin’ blog. “To drivel hopefully is better than do a rave.”

To Market, To Market

Part One: Oh, it Hurts!
Wednesday, October 12, 2005

So, I’m meeting with these two advertising guys who are in our office for a while (occupying the empty office in our little agency) over lunch. I’m trying to act reasonably professional — as professional as people in creative professions get — to give myself some kind of credibility.

It’s taco salad today in our café downstairs, so that’s what I’m eating. So, I’m representing to these two ad people and a shard of nacho drives itself between two teeth and into my gum like a railroad spike. God, the pain! I kept my composure and I don’t think anyone noticed, but I’ve been trying to dislodge this thing for 10 or 15 minutes. What I wouldn’t give for some floss right now!

And then I changed the magenta cartridge in the color printer. What a busy day!


Part Two: I Can’t Take Much More of This
Thursday, October 20, 2005

… I’ve been listening in on a creative session for the past four hours. How you take Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, throw in Nazis and a spider, call it an African parable and make it come alive dramatically, I can’t fathom. I think they’re going to blindfold the audience, too.

And these guys are taking it all far too seriously. What gets me is that if I were part of the project team, especially in a creative capacity, it would have my buy-in, too. I’d be all about it. Blindfold the audience? Sure! Illustrate the African parable with a poem read in French and Chinese? You bet! Back it all up with an hour-and-a-half PowerPoint presentation to tell the audience why what they just saw was so important? Of course! (Now, explain the Nazis again ...?)

Ahhhh ...! Experiential Marketing at its finest. My head hurts.


Part Three: How to reframe the current paradigm into a new model ...
Friday, October 21, 2005

Those guys from yesterday are back again with their jargon and buzz words. I can’t type fast enough or I’d tell you what they are saying. I have learned that, “[Atlanta] is a radically different world in terms of ethos …” Which appears to be a way of saying we have more black people here than Minnesota.

I hate this project and all it stands for. I want a drink.

Feeling a Little Queasy

We walked across the 17th street bridge today to go to that new FOX Grill that just opened.

Big space, kind of slow service. But that’s not my point. The point is, I ordered the calamari. This was not your chewy, rubber band kind of calamari, but sort of a breading-falls-off, slimy calamari.

About half of it was the part with suckers. I don’t like the part with suckers. The sucker parts were kind of purple, making it look not so much cooked as bruised. No, sir, can’t eat squid suckers that look like victims of domestic violence.

All this would not have been so bad if I hadn’t topped it off with a huge slab of carrot cake and two generous dollops of ice cream. So now the cake, ice cream and squid is not sitting well. Especially after the walk back across the bridge.

Bald-Faced Lie

I was trimming my beard when my beard trimmer seized up on me and was ensconced in my facial hair like a tick on a dog. The only thing for it was to go for the clean-shaven look again. It took off ten years!

The bad news is that it also made me gain 25 pounds. I look like the bloated carcass of a drug dealer who has been badly beaten, strangled and thrown overboard from a drug-running ship after a deal gone bad, washed ashore and sat in the sun for two or three days. Yes, sir, that fat. I’m just afraid some seagull is going to see me and come peck my eyes out.

The Ballad of Louis LaRue

This is a tale of the Old Wild West when the century was fixin’ to turn,
And an old vagabond with a watch on his vest and a face both weathered and stern.
Louis LaRue was the traveler’s name, and medicine his trade and his stock.
He came from New York with his charlatan’s game, and everyone just called him “Doc.”

He rolled into town on an old sorrel mare and a wagon with tonic and salve,
An old bowler hat o’er brown thinning hair, to see what the locals would have.
“I’ve nostrums and cure-alls and snake-oil galore! Elixirs — all bona fide!
“I’ve linaments, powders not seen before,” A crowd gathered, eyes growing wide.

“Step right on up!” was the mountebank’s call, “Tell me your ills and I vow
“I’ll cure you right here before God and all with what’s in these bottles, right now!
“Your hair’s falling out? Your bowels are loose? No wonder you’re miserable sore!
“Set it aright with Kick-a-Poo Juice — If it don’t work, come back for more!”

The townsfolk came on with ache and with ill, with disease and sickness and hurt.
And Doc took ’em on with luck and with skill, or left ’em to die in the dirt.
“A liver,” “a spleen,” “a stomach ache,” “a horse hoof right to the head.”
“A bunion,” “a boil,” “you are a fake,” “and you are better off dead.”

He took lots of cash and passed out his brew, his pockets grew full with the coin
But even dispensing the tonic, he knew that by sundown he must be a-goin’.
For he knew that he was a fraud and a fake, his medicine — sugar and booze.
And if he stayed on, more money to make, in the end, he’d more likely lose.

He knew all of the folks that he’d treated were blind with belief and with trust
And once they found out they’d been cheated, he hoped all that they’d see was his dust.
But each single case he promised he’d cure with his potions or poultice or pill.
“My word is my bond, it works, yes, I’m sure — why look at me! Do I look ill?”

Word spread, his remedies grew in renown as a cure for sickness and cares.
The folks came in droves from all over town to sample his full-bodied wares.
Everyone tried it, man, woman and child for ailments they were trying to lick.
Even the parson’s lips were defiled, and some people weren’t even sick.

So, he stayed in town a day and a half, lured by gainful acclaim,
And greedily, then, he worked at his graft and continued to wildly declaim:
“Influenza,” “measles,” “croup,” “la grippe,” — no condition too big or too small.
“Whimsy,” “dropsy,” “broken hip,” Doc LaRue’s remedy treated ’em all.

And, lo and behold, they were willing to pay, all those people he thought he had rooked.
For, he had stayed on that extra half-day, and now the whole town, it was hooked.
Folks would all guzzle it down then come back more likely than not,
For the treatment was like a night on the town — and ’ol Doc got a dollar a shot.

And, to his surprise, people got better as they greedily soaked up his cure.
That little dry town was a little bit wetter, the folks more besotted for sure.
And Doc was not run out on a rail, instead he was invited to stay
And sell his potion by bucket and pail for as long as his patrons could pay.

So, his remedies did have the power to heal — and the scoundrel got rich to boot.
Folks kept on drinking, they got a good deal, and Doc came away with the loot.
But Doc was amazed, “This isn’t a cure! Why would anyone drink it?”
The truth is just a little obscure: to get better, you just have to think it.

Let these words be a lesson to you if you’ve goods of your own to flaunt,
If you want to get rich like Louis LaRue, give folks the dope that they want.
’Cause in the end, despite all your twaddle, most folks are still a bit blind.
It doesn’t matter what’s in the bottle, it’s only what’s in the mind.

Why I’m the Perfect Guy

Please indulge me as I reveal my answers to a certain person’s requirements for the perfect guy. (I hope she’s not reading this!)
_____________

Somebody who has imperfections and knows it.
I’ve got plenty of imperfections. I’m 39 — I’m getting more imperfections every day. I could enumerate them, but I don’t see why I should; I have imperfections, but I am not defined by them.

Somebody who likes to fly by the seat of their pants and take life by the balls.
I don’t plan ahead and I scratch a lot, does that count? No, really, I take what’s thrown at me and solve the problems as they arise. In general, I’m not the kind of person who is given lemons and makes lemonade … I’m the kind of person lemonade happens to.

Somebody with a kind heart, compassion for those
less fortunate and the desire to be a better person.
I’m a pretty good person, but who couldn’t stand a little polish? I think I have compassion for those less fortunate than myself, but for people of equal fortune, I won’t spare the sarcasm if they deserve it.

Outdoorsy is good, but don’t be over the top about it.
I like the Botanical Gardens and Stone Mountain. I like camping, but not hiking. I don’t fish. Fur kills.

Dressing well is a plus.
I clean up nice but I believe in comfortable footwear.

Chivalry is good.
Of course it’s good. I was brought up to be a gentleman. But, this is the 21st century. If a damsel is really in distress, she should call 911.

Oh, above all, you must love animals!
I like most animals. I’m not crazy about fish or birds. I am well loved by dogs and cats. I have two cats myself. I am also loved by kids and old people. Parents like me and I could talk for hours with your grandparents.

Our Visitor

We have a guest in the office for a couple of days. An old guy who makes more bodily noises than anyone I’ve ever heard in the workplace. He makes the same noises I make after eating a big Thanksgiving dinner, but he makes them all the time.

Noises he makes:

Hup!
Hoop!
Uunngh!
Urp!
Aahhgh!
Hhuuhh!

He also talks loudly and refers to women as “gals.” I can’t take him much longer.

Correspondence: October 5, 2005

I haven’t heard from you since my last scary e-mail (a friend of mine said I came across as too psycho), so I thought I’d holla.

I’d love to write something comical and entertaining here, but my brain is numb with ennui from the complete and utter lack of work we have right now. Another day in paradise.

So, instead of holding forth on some obscure, yet amusing, topic, I’ll invite you to tell me about you. How do you like being 32? Have you stumbled into any unexpected maturity? How inopportune to become encumbered by maturity just when you’re old enough to start enjoying yourself.

I remember when I was 32 at the end of the 20th century. Wait … no I don’t. I was drinking pretty heavily in those days. I remember a blur of proposals to fast-food restaurant chains, doing work for a major soft-drink company in Atlanta and an all-around sense of job security that seems to be lacking now.

How’s California these days? Are you near the fires? What’s the worst thing you’ve seen today? The best? If you were a kitchen appliance, which one would you be?

… Sounds like your date was more disastrous than my last date. On mine, after 45 minutes she said she had to go get something to eat, but, “good luck in the future.” That means I’m not going to see her again, right? At least there was no vomiting involved.

Ahh … where do I work, you ask? I’m in the struggling Atlanta office of an agency based in St. Louis. It’s not quite advertising, not quite PR, not quite a production company, but has elements of all of the above. We produce large meetings which may include video, live entertainment and the like. We also produce Mobile Marketing programs.

I’ve been in this job for two years. Before this, I was an Associate Creative Director for a similar company. I was there for seven years before they downsized and, ultimately, closed the office.

How about you? Have you recently gone from freelance to a staff position? That would explain your new regimen. What do they have you writing?

… I believe I already expressed our curious lack of work at the office. I spent my day working on a poem and eating an apple. Hard to say which one was more invigorating.