I like to eat my pizza backwards. Not because of a cheese-filled crust; I rarely eat that kind. The thing is, I don't like the crust too much so I'd rather get that over with...

As socially backwards as I am, I admit I really really enjoy the sense of community I get by being recognized and having actual conversations with people in places I go often.
At the Antiquarium (the Record Shop part), there's the older gentleman with whom I always talk baseball and music. He's even more opinionated and musically snobbier than Horton, if that means anything. I love our discussions. He and I hung out for a while at a show (the same show I'll mention in a sentence or two, actually). The guy in his early 20's who actually does the ordering for their store is becoming an acqaintance now, as well. I just saw his band play last weekend--The Bombardment Society--they're pretty good.
At Homer's (another local record shop, surprise), I don't know names too well, but there are people who greet me "Hi, Joel" and probably groan when I walk in. There's this weird thing going on there where they'll look up a record and tell me they have it, but neither I nor the personnel can actually find the record.
MJ Java is the coffee shop across the street. They see regulars all day long, no doubt, but I'm still in like Flynn.
The grocery store deli department. I tend to be at the deli department at my favorite local grocer's fairly often. I'm usually vegetarian but I'll admit to the occasional fried chicken binge, and of course I get mine there. I swear I'm trying to stop because I always feel so guilty. Anyway, they also have various vegetable and veggie pasta salads there, and that's a big draw. I'm also a potato salad freak (and snob) and that's my place to get it. There are several people who recognize me, but there are mainly 2. Dennis is the one I see the most. Earlier this week I asked to sample some Southern Potato Salad that was on sale. He scooped me a sample, but then scooped a sample of another kind (that okay, wasn't on sale) to compare it with and said outright that the Southern was pretty lousy in comparison to the other kind. He was right and I got the other kind, though I don't totally remember the name of it. The other person there is this girl (I don't remember her name at all) who greeted me earlier this evening and said "haven't seen you in a while, it's good to see you hear again" and I explained I just must not have been in when she was. She said she just graduated high school, though, so I'm guessing she's been busy. I don't think she's really helped me all that often, but there was a day when a couple customers had been rude to her during a pretty busy period and so after she helped me, I told her I appreciated the good job. The smile told me it made her night and she's been really sweet ever since. With Dennis it's been a more drawn out getting to know each other, though I praise him regularly too. He tends to have customers get a bit rough with him, too (I think partly because of his mannerisms and ambiguous sexual orientation) and so I've made sure to say some good things to him to make up for their impoliteness. I'm not just praising people emptily, because they do a really good job over there. In fact, I've even told a manager that they do a good job and mention them by name.

Anyway, I have no idea what brought this on except that I think it shows that sometimes people like to be appreciated. I mean, seriously, if someone is trying to do a good job and make me, the customer happy, they should know that I notice that and be praised for it. People in service jobs, whether they enjoy them or not, take a lot of crap from people and put in a lot of hours for not really a whole lot of money. I don't necessarily expect superior service because, let's face it, they're underpaid and overworked like I am. However, if someone does a good job, I really think it's my responsibility to let them know that yes, they are appreciated. I don't say this to say "oh hey, look at me, i'm a prince" so much as to say hey, let people know you appreciate them. you never know when it might make their day through just a sentence or two.

I'm going to go see Kathleen Edwards play & sing at The Music Box tonight. I'm really excited, she's one of my favorites right now.

After work I picked up a couple groceries and decided to pick up a birthday card for my great-grandmother. She's turning 90 soon. I think the celebration is in a week or so.
She's an interesting woman. As much of a jerk as it may make me sound, I can't really spend too much time around her because of her negativity. Not that I'm a particularly positive person, but she really sort of takes the cake on this venue.
I discovered that trying to buy a birthday card for a 90 year old woman is a bit of a task.
I figured I could get her a nice flowery one. She can't see very well but likes flowers and that would be nice.
The thing is, all of the general birthday cards follow the pattern of wishing a happy day, which is great, but go on to wish a person a wonderful year to come. It's a great thought and I really do wish her that, but I'm thinking a card saying that may be a bit insensitive. I mean...she's a 90 year old woman who constantly complains of various ailments and has just recently moved into a nursing home for good. Her hearing is not good at all, but she swears she overheard a couple of the "colored" (pardon me--her term, not mine) workers plotting her demise. Sure, there are activities and whatnot to do there, definitely more for her to do than stuck in her house, but either way, the year ahead is NOT full of promise. For other 90 year olds in her situation? Sure. Definitely. However, her attitude prohibits her from hope. It's sad. It's very very sad...tragic even...that someone has chosen for the final years of her life to be so bitter, so begrudging. I refuse to judge her; she's had some legitimately rough things happen to her and I love her whether she's a Pollyanna or not. I just know it's sad.
I finally picked out a card for her (with a specific "Grandmother" designation) with (sincere) wishes for a very good day. Really...for her...for me, a young upstart struggling to make ends meet but with a probably longer future ahead of me...for both of us, that's what it comes down to. Deciding to have a good day. Deciding the next day...for the rest of life, no matter how long it is.

It's really sort of a downer. I have my blue plastic drinking cup with me at work, always filled with cold water for my refreshment and health all day long.
Unfortunately, I'm absent-minded and left it in the bathroom earlier this afternoon. About twenty minutes later, I went to retrieve it and it was gone.
One of three things happened to it:
(a) a custodian threw it away;
(b) the federal government confiscated it as an aid to their ongoing investigation into my life;
(c) it fell prey to one of my cultish fans, who will either be posting pictures of it to his website or selling it on EBay by night's end.

Speaking of EBay, nothing is more relaxing for me than perusing all the different merchandise offered via auction that is chimpanzee paraphernalia.

A new essay is coming soon.

(true story)

We all have our addictions. Mine just happens to be caffeine. I wake up from a post-work nap and groan. I had hoped to rid myself of this headache with sleep, but it didn’t leave and in fact, has been joined with a cousin headache that tells me it’s time for caffeine, no negotiations. I push an old mesh Cubs hat over my bedhead and stagger out of my townhouse, trying to decide where to find some food and cure at least one headache with an accompanying cola beverage. Across the courtyard and down the steps I walk. I start to turn right and am sorting through my options when I hear someone yelling at me from my left, near the dumpsters. I walk closer so I can hear the man. A black baseball cap, bearing the logo from the popular television show “Friends,” perches awkwardly on his head. The brim casts shadows over tired eyes, but their contrast to his dark skin betrays them as bloodshot.
“Hey, you wanna smoke?”
Knowing he wants more than a smoke, I say no, thanks. He tells me he like to smoke with people. I refuse again and tell him I just don’t really dig cigarettes.
“I ain’t talkin’ cigarettes. I got pot, dude, I give you a joint.”
“Nah, I’m not really in the mood right now. Thanks, though.”
“What do you like?” he inquires, then begins listing off what he can find for us to indulge in, everything from mushrooms to acid. After failing to interest me in any of the choices, he cocks his nappy head and assumes the tone of a salesman who has encountered a connoisseur. “I know…you like cocaine, don’ya?”
I tell him no, thank you, one more time. He gets the message, lights a cigarette, and gets to his real intention. He tells me a sad story about a car being out of gas and parked in a place where the property owner has threatened to have the vehicle towed if it isn’t moved soon. Of course, in order to use a gas can at the gas station he needs a $5 deposit but he doesn’t have enough money. I’m pretty sure he’s lying, but I give him a dollar anyway.
“This man at the gas station, he don’t like me. He don’t trust me. I need you to come with me so he believe me.”
By now I know another person who doesn’t believe him, but I’m curious as to where this might go, so I agree while reminding him that I am supposed to be meeting a friend soon so don’t have very long. He says that’s cool and points out that now he and I are friends and it’s hard to find good friends like me. I have half a notion of what’s probably coming next…and it does.
Nine times out of ten, when someone asks you for money and has more than 2 seconds to do so, he’ll play the religion card. My new friend, sure enough, tells me he’s a Christian and asks if I am one.
“Well…I try to be.”
“I knew it! I knew I could trust you. God wanted us to meet. He knows I’m in need and He sent me a friend.” The man of faith glances at me, his lip curling up to reveal a gapped smile. I can’t quote what he asks next. I consider telling him that I like that part of the woman’s body as much as any other part but figure the comment would be lost on him. I instead mumble something about how yes, I guess so, and my religious psychic friend exclaims that he knew that, too.
We walk down the cobblestone alley, not the quickest route to the gas station. I ask him why we’re going this way and he explains that he has to tell “this Mexican guy” that he got help. We never do meet up with the guy, but instead walk into the local Latino grocery store, where he buys $1.80 worth of greasy chicken, bumming another buck off me in the process. At this point, I know he’s a liar, but like a young buy in a video arcade or a pervert at a peep show, I keep feeding quarters into the adventure to keep it going.
After leaving the store, we cut through yards, and he says he wants to get to know his new friend. I lie about my name, tell him I’m from Chicago, and remind him I need to meet my friend soon. I’m interested to see what’s going to happen, but it’s essential I maintain control.
Eventually we wind up going up back stairs at an apartment building. I know somehow I’ll end up inside, but need to let him know it’s his privilege and that I’m no dummy, so I balk a few times, maintaining “I don’t go in houses, man.” He says he needs to go in and call the guy about the car and rest for a minute and that this is his apartment. I make sure the door is left open a bit, sit down in a power position and observe my potential defense options should he get crazy.
He dials a number (of course he has the number of the gas station or whoever he was pretending to call memorized) and conducts a fake conversation, then sits down. I tell him we need to get going and he insists on sitting and resting, then lights another smoke, bringing up his spirituality again.
As he pontificates on his faith and God’s sovereignty in making our fledgling friendship feasible, my Christian companion fidgets. Finally he digs in his pocket and pulls out a clear hollow tube of several inches long and a small baggie containing a couple small white lumps.
“This isn’t drugs. I have asthma. Do you have asthma?”
“No, not really.”
I know he’s going to offer me a pull and he does. I say no, that’s all right. He becomes insistent and autocratic, asking repeatedly and becoming frustrated at my refusals. There are a lot of things I have no problem with, but crack scares me. Our exchange reaches its climax when he demands that I take a puff to prove I’m not a cop. I tell him to hold on a second, back off, I trust him enough to come in his house, he’s gotta trust that I’m not a narc. He slaps on a big gappy grin and grabs my hand.
“Yeah, you right, you my brutha, I trust you. You all right.”
We all have our addictions. Thank God mine is only caffeine.

Here's some Great News: The Family Guy is now on Adult Swim.

I finished watching Gummo. I don't know...it had some interesting moments and scenes, but overall bored me. I like the concepts, but not really how they worked out. For example, I like the idea of Bunny Boy, but his scenes lasted way too long. The main two boy characters work all right, but I just couldn't care about them. Maybe I'm not supposed to.

Willard Scott is on Larry King Live.

Right now I have on the History Channel. Apparently Hitler was absolutely infatuated with a Jewish girl when he was young. She never returned his affections, however. Wow.

One last note for the evening. Always wash new towels a couple times before using them. Just trust me.

I wear her stars around my wrist...

I'm pretty proud of myself. I am NOT someone who organizes very well, yet I spent significant time this weekend not only getting my homework done, but also working on several organization type projects. This gives me hope.

My big thing now is eating Trail Mix for breakfast. I got this "high energy" kind that *C introduced me to; it's chock full of protein and yummy things like raisins and carob chips. Not only does the trail mix taste great, but it's also very crunchy, which is a Big Deal to me.

Lately Carter and I are working a good deal on this compilation thing. I'm pretty hyped on it now...we've gotten some really good submissions and are looking forward to a compilation with some really great material.

I went and saw The Matrix: Reloaded on late Saturday afternoon. I thought it was all right. It is what it is...the second in a series of 3 (not a "sequel," but part 2 of a trilogy). There were some impressive visual tricks and action. I thought it was a bit more disjointed and definitely cheesier in its philosophy than the original (which I loved), but like I said, it's a bridge between part 1 and part 3.
For those keeping the Inevitability Charts, you're 2 for 2...
1. Yes, I did fall asleep briefly (once during the big scene where a zillion Smiths attack Neo and once during that sequence with that French guy).
2. Yes, someone just behind me got a cellphone call in the middle of the movie.

Speaking of disjointed, my entries have been lately, at least the last couple times. Oh well.

Well, everyone, I'm back from vacation.
I got an incredible tan, picked up souvenirs for all the kids, and sent postcards to all my closest friends and relatives.
Seriously, it was a much needed break and the best week of my life. I'll spare you all the details, but it was wonderful, I am in love, birds are chirping, her family likes me, my family likes her, and so on. A few photos were posted on the Vagrant Cafe board.

I've been back at work almost a full work week now. Things are busier now than before, but that's more than fine. People seem a bit edgier, but that's understandable given the circumstances.

I started my first summer class this past Monday. Modern Familiar Essay. It's going to teach me to write, which is exactly what I want! I'm sure I'll be posting essays and whatnot in the blog here.

Nothing too huge planned this weekend. The Cubs are playing the Cardinals, which is always huge, so that will be big for me. I have essay homework to do. This compilation Carter and I are working on needs my attention so that's another high priority, along with record reviews and other zine writing.

The Matrix: Reloaded opens this weekend. It actually opened late late Wednesday night (technically Thursday), but I figure I'll go on a weekend afternoon. I absolutely HATE being in a crowded theatre. I'm very excited to see this film. Also I had a free rental coupon so I rented Gummo, I'll watch that sometime this weekend as well.

In two weeks, Kathleen Edwards is playing here in Omaha at The Music Box. Anyone in or near Omaha, I highly suggest you go. Check out her music, whether you're in Omaha or not, and see if she's playing near you soon. While we're on music, the new Starflyer 59 record comes out Tuesday.

Well, there are a few random updates. More as I'm inspired.

Trading Spaces

Due to this month's structural changes at work, I am now spending 2 (later 3) a week in a cubicle occupied by someone else the rest of the week. Today was my first official day in the cube. I felt a bit invasive sitting down in someone's cube, as if I were walking on the wrong turf. I'm allowed very little in the way of personal effects at my usual desk; they want to avoid the appearance of tackiness in a professional setting so I make due with a recently added picture of my girlfriend. This wonderful picture came with me into the strange cube so I could feel a bit more at home amongst the 16 or so large pictures of tropical and beach scenery. I also bring along my own "Buy the Big O" coaster that I ganked from the Chamber of Commerce (it's a slogan meaning "come to Omaha," not an official support statement for the city's thriving prostitution industry). I figure my co-worker would not appreciate having water circles tomorrow. I don't touch the radios, not wanting to bump the dial from the local Christian radio station. I then go to use the computer. I stare at the monitor and realize today's going to be interesting. For one, I'm squeamish about crud and sometimes even dust on the screen. I spend about 10 minutes with window cleaner and napkins smearing, scraping, and finally defeating the spots and gunk that have accumulated. If only I could get rid of all the papers she has taped along the sides of the monitor -- important notes she can't forget, fine. Pictures of dogs (one of a little tiny dog in a hoagie bun?) and American flags push me over the edge and I'm looking around, knowing already she probably doesn't have a stash of alcohol, which I desperately need whether it's 9am or not.