I’ve been thinking about my school days ever since I had that weird dream (let’s call it a nightmare) about the nudist colony.
Mostly I think about the things I should have said or done that I didn’t say or do.
That’s an awful thing; obsessing over the past like that. It can ruin a person, worrying about the things you can’t ever change. We cannot re-record or erase what has happened; we can only learn to live with it, learn from it, and use it to make us better people. That’s my theory anyway. I could be a complete crackpot.
But still, when my mind wanders, I’ve been thinking about classes I wish I’d paid more attention in. Things I wish I’d said to those girls I’d had crushes on. People that needed a solid punch in the face. That comes up a lot. I wish I’d stood up for myself more often. For every time someone made fun of me or called me names, I’ve come up with a great comeback; but usually long afterwards, sometimes years (Just yesterday, I came up with the world’s greatest retort to a name someone called me in 6th grade. I really want to use it. I’m thinking of looking that guy up and giving him a call).
In the absence of a quick response, I kind of wish I just kicked a few people in the balls. But, I’m not that kind of person, never was.
I think people are hard-wired to see the bad in things, at first anyway. I think that’s why, when I started thinking about school again, I focused only on my regrets. I’ve begun to think more about the things that went right and the things I accomplished. In retrospect, I think they outweigh my regrets by a HUGE margin. The fact of the matter is that I’m here today; I haven’t resorted to a life of crime, I have my friends (that’s you), and I like to think of myself as a very open-minded person.
I think that’s a good outcome, especially considering that time I got nailed in the nuts by a kickball.
P.S. - Kate, please read my last comment on the post below.
4/26/2005
4/21/2005
Things have been pretty good as a status quo. I have a few rants. These are just the things I think about during the week:
A lifetime ago I applied for a job at Home Depot, but was rejected because I failed the entry exam. I guess that’s what I get for giving my honest opinion and responding with a “No,” to the question, “Do you enjoy when customers and co-workers kick you in the balls?” Now, when I go to Home Depot, I can’t imagine how any of the people working there managed to pass that test. Frankly, they’re all idiots. I won’t generalize though, I’m sure there are plenty of good people working for Home Depot, I just haven’t met any (except Greg, ex-employee). I usually get the assholes.
My car has a thermostat that tells me the outside temperature. However, the reading is skewed by the metal that surrounds it and the temperature of the engine. So basically, it only gives you a vague idea of the temperature; the kind of vague idea of temperature you’d get from, say, walking from your house to your car.
Our new refrigerator dispenses lukewarm water. You’d think that water coming from a fridge would be colder. The water is warmer than bottles of water in the fridge. What the hell kind of design flaw is that? They have a cooling unit that dispenses water that isn’t cooled.
When disposing of our old fridge, we forgot to clean out the bottom drawer. Now we have no cold cuts or cheese.
Someone at work bought a new car that looks remarkably similar to mine. I didn’t notice it until I was standing in front of it mashing the “unlock” button on my keychain wondering why it wasn’t working. My car was actually parked behind me. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but my car is a Toyota. The car I confused with mine was a Honda.
The other night I had a dream that I was hanging out with everyone I ever went to school with. We were all at a nudist colony, but for some reason I was the only one doing anything in the nude. What the hell does that mean?
Kung Fu Hustle was quite good. Much better than Shaolin Soccer, which ended up being like a sub-par Disney comedy featuring a sports team that (instead of having, like, a dog or a monkey on the team) had kung fu masters. Anyway, Kung Fu Hustle was riotous, enjoyable, violent (sometimes brutally so), and generally a good time. I think in order to really enjoy it though, you have to be willing to laugh at everything, there’s a lot of subtle humor in it that you have to embrace right away.
A lifetime ago I applied for a job at Home Depot, but was rejected because I failed the entry exam. I guess that’s what I get for giving my honest opinion and responding with a “No,” to the question, “Do you enjoy when customers and co-workers kick you in the balls?” Now, when I go to Home Depot, I can’t imagine how any of the people working there managed to pass that test. Frankly, they’re all idiots. I won’t generalize though, I’m sure there are plenty of good people working for Home Depot, I just haven’t met any (except Greg, ex-employee). I usually get the assholes.
My car has a thermostat that tells me the outside temperature. However, the reading is skewed by the metal that surrounds it and the temperature of the engine. So basically, it only gives you a vague idea of the temperature; the kind of vague idea of temperature you’d get from, say, walking from your house to your car.
Our new refrigerator dispenses lukewarm water. You’d think that water coming from a fridge would be colder. The water is warmer than bottles of water in the fridge. What the hell kind of design flaw is that? They have a cooling unit that dispenses water that isn’t cooled.
When disposing of our old fridge, we forgot to clean out the bottom drawer. Now we have no cold cuts or cheese.
Someone at work bought a new car that looks remarkably similar to mine. I didn’t notice it until I was standing in front of it mashing the “unlock” button on my keychain wondering why it wasn’t working. My car was actually parked behind me. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but my car is a Toyota. The car I confused with mine was a Honda.
The other night I had a dream that I was hanging out with everyone I ever went to school with. We were all at a nudist colony, but for some reason I was the only one doing anything in the nude. What the hell does that mean?
Kung Fu Hustle was quite good. Much better than Shaolin Soccer, which ended up being like a sub-par Disney comedy featuring a sports team that (instead of having, like, a dog or a monkey on the team) had kung fu masters. Anyway, Kung Fu Hustle was riotous, enjoyable, violent (sometimes brutally so), and generally a good time. I think in order to really enjoy it though, you have to be willing to laugh at everything, there’s a lot of subtle humor in it that you have to embrace right away.
4/14/2005
I think there’s a higher power keeping me from going to the gym. Well, that’s not really true, I’m just a lazy ass. Although, the deciding factor this evening was diarrhea, which, when you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome, a lot like an act of God (especially at first, when you’re walking along (or, in my case, driving) minding your own business, then suddenly you have a religious experience, “HOLY SHIT LORD ALMIGHTY GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!!!” and start looking for the nearest gas station). Unfortunately, the last two nights were just pure unbridled lethargy.
What kept me from going Tuesday? A haircut. I’m one of those short-haired guys who likes to keep his coiffure neat. Not to say I’m obsessive, but when I notice that my hair is becoming unruly, I begin a quest to get a haircut. Why did I notice this on Tuesday and not Monday? I don’t have an easy answer. If you didn’t know of all the circumstances and events, you might say I was just looking for an excuse to not go to the gym… In fact, if you knew all the circumstances and events, you’d still say I was looking for excuses to not go to the gym. Who knows?
By not going Tuesday, I made a vow to go Wednesday. Well, Wednesday rolled around and I was ready. I had my gym bag in the car and everything (well, it was still there from yesterday). But, for some reason, at exactly 4:12p.m., I began feeling tired and worn out beyond belief. It hadn’t been a stressful day or anything, I was just bushed. I don’t know why (::cough:: doesn’t exercise ::cough::). I barely made it home before falling into a television induced coma before dinner. It was weird.
What happened to my resolve? Not two months ago I was at the gym religiously. Granted, two months ago I didn’t have a job, and before that, I worked at a place that was closer to the gym than my house. But still, I want to be a better person, so I still want to go to the gym at least three days per week. Except this week because, well, there’s only two days left in the week.
What kept me from going Tuesday? A haircut. I’m one of those short-haired guys who likes to keep his coiffure neat. Not to say I’m obsessive, but when I notice that my hair is becoming unruly, I begin a quest to get a haircut. Why did I notice this on Tuesday and not Monday? I don’t have an easy answer. If you didn’t know of all the circumstances and events, you might say I was just looking for an excuse to not go to the gym… In fact, if you knew all the circumstances and events, you’d still say I was looking for excuses to not go to the gym. Who knows?
By not going Tuesday, I made a vow to go Wednesday. Well, Wednesday rolled around and I was ready. I had my gym bag in the car and everything (well, it was still there from yesterday). But, for some reason, at exactly 4:12p.m., I began feeling tired and worn out beyond belief. It hadn’t been a stressful day or anything, I was just bushed. I don’t know why (::cough:: doesn’t exercise ::cough::). I barely made it home before falling into a television induced coma before dinner. It was weird.
What happened to my resolve? Not two months ago I was at the gym religiously. Granted, two months ago I didn’t have a job, and before that, I worked at a place that was closer to the gym than my house. But still, I want to be a better person, so I still want to go to the gym at least three days per week. Except this week because, well, there’s only two days left in the week.
4/10/2005
Yesterday was a pleasant multimedia kind of day. I saw a good movie, picked up some good music, I’m pleased overall.
First off, a special thanks to the beautiful Stephanie, who guided me by phone to Davis Square from a place that was… um… not Davis Square. Her original directions, which I had written down, were simple enough, but I, inevitably, missed the proper exit, so I was forced to use the Mapquest directions that I was carrying as backup. Where as her directions where a simple left, right, and left, the Mapquest directions formed a series of lines that, when viewed from a distance, looked like a hand giving you the finger. Somewhere around the second knuckle, I took a wrong turn. To my credit, nothing seemed to be labeled properly. Anyway, I ended up somewhere that I can only describe as, “Probably North of Boston.” It looked like a lawless town, ruled by bitter law men and brothel owners, in a time before the laws of the New America would take over.
The movie we saw was Sideways. Quite a good film. Lots of subtle humor as well as balls-out laughs. As far as the two main leads go, Paul Giamatti delivers a brilliant performance as usual and Thomas Haden Church sort of breaks out of the usual disposable performances I had associated with him, although just barely. Frankly, I would love to see him in a strictly dramatic role, just to see how that goes.
The music I picked up afterwards were Nick Drake and Jack Johnson. I had discovered Nick Drake on the Garden State soundtrack (“One of These Things First”) and was entranced by his classical mellow style. Plus, because he was big in the 60s British folk-rock era, so now I feel like a more cultured music listener. Stephanie recommended Jack Johnson, which I was surprised to discover, had a lot in common, stylistically, with Nick Drake, though it would be very easy to say that Jack Johnson was more upbeat. I dug it, and I’m liking it more and more with each listen.
I feel more grown up sophisticated today having, in one evening, seen an award winning independent film, and purchasing classy music ranging from 60’s folk-rock to modern mellow.
To offset that feeling, I paid 8 bucks for an Chinese DVD about a secret agent that kicks everyone’s ass with crazy kung fu.
HEEEEEEEEEEE YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
First off, a special thanks to the beautiful Stephanie, who guided me by phone to Davis Square from a place that was… um… not Davis Square. Her original directions, which I had written down, were simple enough, but I, inevitably, missed the proper exit, so I was forced to use the Mapquest directions that I was carrying as backup. Where as her directions where a simple left, right, and left, the Mapquest directions formed a series of lines that, when viewed from a distance, looked like a hand giving you the finger. Somewhere around the second knuckle, I took a wrong turn. To my credit, nothing seemed to be labeled properly. Anyway, I ended up somewhere that I can only describe as, “Probably North of Boston.” It looked like a lawless town, ruled by bitter law men and brothel owners, in a time before the laws of the New America would take over.
The movie we saw was Sideways. Quite a good film. Lots of subtle humor as well as balls-out laughs. As far as the two main leads go, Paul Giamatti delivers a brilliant performance as usual and Thomas Haden Church sort of breaks out of the usual disposable performances I had associated with him, although just barely. Frankly, I would love to see him in a strictly dramatic role, just to see how that goes.
The music I picked up afterwards were Nick Drake and Jack Johnson. I had discovered Nick Drake on the Garden State soundtrack (“One of These Things First”) and was entranced by his classical mellow style. Plus, because he was big in the 60s British folk-rock era, so now I feel like a more cultured music listener. Stephanie recommended Jack Johnson, which I was surprised to discover, had a lot in common, stylistically, with Nick Drake, though it would be very easy to say that Jack Johnson was more upbeat. I dug it, and I’m liking it more and more with each listen.
I feel more grown up sophisticated today having, in one evening, seen an award winning independent film, and purchasing classy music ranging from 60’s folk-rock to modern mellow.
To offset that feeling, I paid 8 bucks for an Chinese DVD about a secret agent that kicks everyone’s ass with crazy kung fu.
HEEEEEEEEEEE YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
4/08/2005
After a year and a half of parking in the same spot, yesterday I got a ticket.
I was angry about it, but it was early and my brain wasn’t on, so I used “Fuck” in the wrong context. “What’s up with this piece of fuck?”
Who gives you a ticket outside your own house? I mean, it’s not like I living in Boston, where parking is a strictly regulated premium. I live on the north end of Manchester (the biggest ant in a tiny little ant hill), pretty much in a picture perfect suburban setting. I don’t even know where the nearest fire hydrant is in my neighborhood. As long as you’re not blocking someone’s driveway, usually you’re fine.
But, apparently that’s not the case, as I was fined $15 for parking on the even side of the street on an odd numbered night. For those of you who don’t live in a state that’s insane, the winter parking ban states that no car may be parked on the street unless it is on the side of the street with the even numbered houses on even days and odd houses on odd days. This is so they can plow your neighborhood… eventually (in my case, usually 24 to 48 hours after the snow has stopped falling). This winter parking ban lasts from November 15th (OK), to May 15th (huh!? I know it’s New Hampshire, but… MAY?!)
I’ve been parking in the exact same spot for a year and a half, ever since I moved back from MA. Somehow, I went ALL winter without getting a ticket for violating this rule. Yet now, a good two weeks since there has been any snow on the ground, some rogue meter maid, no doubt drunkenly joy riding around the neighborhood, has lashed out and fined me, just for shits and giggles.
Well, I hope you’re laughing meter lady. If I ever see you again… well… I guess I owe you $15.
I was angry about it, but it was early and my brain wasn’t on, so I used “Fuck” in the wrong context. “What’s up with this piece of fuck?”
Who gives you a ticket outside your own house? I mean, it’s not like I living in Boston, where parking is a strictly regulated premium. I live on the north end of Manchester (the biggest ant in a tiny little ant hill), pretty much in a picture perfect suburban setting. I don’t even know where the nearest fire hydrant is in my neighborhood. As long as you’re not blocking someone’s driveway, usually you’re fine.
But, apparently that’s not the case, as I was fined $15 for parking on the even side of the street on an odd numbered night. For those of you who don’t live in a state that’s insane, the winter parking ban states that no car may be parked on the street unless it is on the side of the street with the even numbered houses on even days and odd houses on odd days. This is so they can plow your neighborhood… eventually (in my case, usually 24 to 48 hours after the snow has stopped falling). This winter parking ban lasts from November 15th (OK), to May 15th (huh!? I know it’s New Hampshire, but… MAY?!)
I’ve been parking in the exact same spot for a year and a half, ever since I moved back from MA. Somehow, I went ALL winter without getting a ticket for violating this rule. Yet now, a good two weeks since there has been any snow on the ground, some rogue meter maid, no doubt drunkenly joy riding around the neighborhood, has lashed out and fined me, just for shits and giggles.
Well, I hope you’re laughing meter lady. If I ever see you again… well… I guess I owe you $15.
4/05/2005
I woke up late for work today, which sucked. I hate waking up late, then I have to rush out the door, and when I rush out the door I always feel like I’m forgetting something. You know, I’ll get in my car, and I’m almost ready to drive off, when I think, “Oh crap. Well, I guess I better go back in the house and put on some pants.”
My alarm clock malfunctioned, it was my fault though. The radio went on at the right time, and in a half slumber I listened to the drivel of the morning show hosts. I hit the snooze button, but then decided I wanted to continue listening to the ranting. So I hit the timer button, which turns on the radio for an hour, supposedly so you can drift off to sleep listening to it. I only listened another minute or so when I realized I’d rather be unconscious. So I hit the snooze button again. The alarm never came back on. I woke up on my own about twenty minutes after I should have been on the road. In a perfect world, I might have naturally woken up sooner, but my body’s still yelling, “Hey! What the hell happened to that extra hour? What’s this ‘fall back’ shit?”
Personally, I think we should always add an hour at every daylight savings time. It’ll be cool, everyone would have three or four extra days in their lifetime. Granted, within a few years we’ll be taking our lunch breaks at midnight, but we can deal with that when we get to it.
My alarm clock malfunctioned, it was my fault though. The radio went on at the right time, and in a half slumber I listened to the drivel of the morning show hosts. I hit the snooze button, but then decided I wanted to continue listening to the ranting. So I hit the timer button, which turns on the radio for an hour, supposedly so you can drift off to sleep listening to it. I only listened another minute or so when I realized I’d rather be unconscious. So I hit the snooze button again. The alarm never came back on. I woke up on my own about twenty minutes after I should have been on the road. In a perfect world, I might have naturally woken up sooner, but my body’s still yelling, “Hey! What the hell happened to that extra hour? What’s this ‘fall back’ shit?”
Personally, I think we should always add an hour at every daylight savings time. It’ll be cool, everyone would have three or four extra days in their lifetime. Granted, within a few years we’ll be taking our lunch breaks at midnight, but we can deal with that when we get to it.
4/03/2005
My education came full circle on Friday.
This week I was given the task to write an article on the partnership of our company with another company and the technology behind our corresponding products. Knowing nothing about any topic mentioned when I started (well, I knew about our company, duh), I hit the books and produced a well constructed piece. It brought me right back to the days of school reports, which I hated back then, but actually enjoyed doing this time. I guess it had something to do with not having to write an outline, or present a thesis, or deal with that old moldy lady at the library.
My supervisor told me that the article was great, but she had a few very sensible changes. However, it was her first suggestion that rocked my world. She said that, although the article was good, it read too much like a college essay… I’ll let that sink in a little… The first problem with my article was that it sounded too much like a college essay!
So what the hell was I doing in college?
At that moment I wanted to gather up every essay and report I’ve ever written and bring them back to my professors, dump them on the floor, and say, “Here, you can have these back, the real world doesn’t want them.”
I wasn’t mad at anyone. I just found it funny that my style of formal writing was popular among teachers, but had no use now that I finally had a actual job to use it in.
Oh, and on another note, I’m trying to link to the recording of my performance last week. I recommend that you right click it and download it to your computer for best listening quality. Even with that though, the quality is the downstairs neighbor of Ass. It's already pretty loud, but this was the best I could do. If anyone has any suggestions that might help in cleaning it up more (techniques or inexpensive programs), then I’ll repost it.
Emerald Isle 3/23/05
Also be warned, it's a pretty big file, about 5.something Megs. If you don't have broadband it could take a few minutes to download.
One last warning. Please do not listen to this recording if you are offended by the word "Fuck." ... Oh shit, I just said "Fuck!"
This week I was given the task to write an article on the partnership of our company with another company and the technology behind our corresponding products. Knowing nothing about any topic mentioned when I started (well, I knew about our company, duh), I hit the books and produced a well constructed piece. It brought me right back to the days of school reports, which I hated back then, but actually enjoyed doing this time. I guess it had something to do with not having to write an outline, or present a thesis, or deal with that old moldy lady at the library.
My supervisor told me that the article was great, but she had a few very sensible changes. However, it was her first suggestion that rocked my world. She said that, although the article was good, it read too much like a college essay… I’ll let that sink in a little… The first problem with my article was that it sounded too much like a college essay!
So what the hell was I doing in college?
At that moment I wanted to gather up every essay and report I’ve ever written and bring them back to my professors, dump them on the floor, and say, “Here, you can have these back, the real world doesn’t want them.”
I wasn’t mad at anyone. I just found it funny that my style of formal writing was popular among teachers, but had no use now that I finally had a actual job to use it in.
Oh, and on another note, I’m trying to link to the recording of my performance last week. I recommend that you right click it and download it to your computer for best listening quality. Even with that though, the quality is the downstairs neighbor of Ass. It's already pretty loud, but this was the best I could do. If anyone has any suggestions that might help in cleaning it up more (techniques or inexpensive programs), then I’ll repost it.
Emerald Isle 3/23/05
Also be warned, it's a pretty big file, about 5.something Megs. If you don't have broadband it could take a few minutes to download.
One last warning. Please do not listen to this recording if you are offended by the word "Fuck." ... Oh shit, I just said "Fuck!"
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