It's all a matter of perspective.

Friday, October 18, 2002

Prepare yourselves for another fit of bitching. If that sort of thing depresses you, fell free to skip ahead. I have posted a lovely sonnet below.




First of all, let me say that Wylie is an exceptional boy. He has amazing athletic ability. He has the vocabulary of a five year old. He can be a sweet as saccharine. This morning he was lying in bed with Ms. J. watching his morning Sesame Street. I walked into the room and said, “Bye y’all. Have a nice day.” And Wylie goes, “Stop Dadoe! I need a bye-bye kiss!”

But something is terribly wrong. Either there is something wrong with him, or we have made a horrible parenting misjudgment, (the latter is much more likely) but he is well over two years old and still does not sleep through the night. No kidding. He needs our attention every night at some point. This morning he woke up flipping out at 4:00. He wanted in my bed. Then he didn’t want momma in the bed with us. Then he wanted a cup of milk, which he gulped down in about three seconds, and then he wanted more milk. When I would not give him more milk, he wanted back in his bed, where momma was now sleeping. Then we finally got him back asleep and I went back to my bed wide-eyed. I finally got back to sleep around 5:00, and Wylie still gets up at 6:30 ready to watch his shows. This was honestly a very average night. I think we missed something in one of the parenting manuals somewhere.

I’m sleepy! I love the boy, but I am ready for an eight hour sleep without his interruptions. Thank God for Grandparents.

Anyone with any advice on this is welcome to offer it. Anyone with kids, that is. If you have no kids, keep your parenting advice to yourself.




General complaints about work:

I really don’t understand why management doesn’t enforce a “no talking” rule at work. We rarely have to communicate out loud for business purposes, and if we did, there is email and telephone and instant messenger and bulletin boards. It drives me crazy to have to listen to people discuss ignorant, banal, and often times made-up nonsense. It is distracting. It keeps me from my work and keeps me from being able to concentrate on more important things like writing to you. Often times I will literally put my fingers in my ears to not have to listen to people talking about the jousting competition they were at this weekend, how many points their kid scored in pee-wee basketball last night, which pepper is the hottest, who is going to win Survivor, and what score their kid made on the ACT test. It drives me crazy! I actually had a lady at work tell me that her son had always made straight-A’s in class, “until he signed up for those damn AP (advanced placement) classes! Those things ain’t doin’ nuthin’ for him but ruining his grade point!”

Also the lady in the cubicle next to me has six gospel tunes saved on her hard drive that she plays over and over every single day. I even went so far as to subtly make her a mix CD of assorted tunes that I thought she would enjoy: a little R&B, some soul, some blues, some gospel, some pop. She listened to it once and went right back to listening to the same six tunes again. If I try to put on something, she just turns hers up louder.




Governmental Waste

So you say that you don’t believe all of the nonsense people spread about government employees getting away with anything and never working hard? I just took a call from a customer who had gotten locked out of a particular mainframe system. This is not a big deal, and is something that we deal with all of the time. We just call a number that rings in the office of the administrators for that system, and whichever of the four of them that is available will answer the phone and reset this person’s ID. This afternoon I called the number and after four rings it rolled to another phone. That phone rang four times then rolled to another phone. That phone rang four times then rolled to another phone. That phone rang four times then rolled to another phone. The person who answered that phone told me that the admins that reset security violations had snuck out without saying anything at about 11:30 (this was at 2:00) She did not know where they went, neither did she know when or if they were coming back. Furthermore, she could not take a message because she worked in another division down the hallway and she was not even sure why she was taking their calls. I had to go back to my customer and say, “Sorry, but it looks like you are out of luck and are not going to be able to access that screen until Monday.”

That right there is your tax dollars at work, friends.

That is why I am a small government, privatization, no-taxes, libertarian-conservative.

TGIF!
Things That Sustain Her

It is not like changing the air filter for the central heat
Or cutting the grass out of a sense of obligation,
More like and obsessed greaser polishing his street machine
When I massage her neck until my hands cramp from motion.

Nor like taking out the trash or washing the silverware,
But like a gardener kneeling in moist dirt
Gently cultivating each sweet scented soft flower,
When I switch off the small screen and surrender the night.

Like a voyager out of matches who must regularly nurture
His fire to survive, I am grateful and glad
To serve her; Take her window gazing at furniture,
Clothing and fixtures I could never afford.

These things mean no more to me than any other time together,
But yielding the remote or bringing home sweets are things that sustain her.

Tuesday, October 15, 2002

Today Only

Censored!


Pieces Dan and Nathaniel have written
But Ms. J will not allow them to perform
At a Coffee House Open Mic



The Song
by Andy
Collected, Coerced, and transcribed by Dan

I am a black orchard monkey.
I've come to eat all the fruit...
and now I've come down the road.

Down the road, we are going down the road.
We are going down the road just like a toad.
In the middle of December past month of November,
We were hoppin' down the road like a big ol' toad...

Going to the house gonna watch some TV, gonna eat what's on my...
Don’t know, I'm gonna get some...Cho, Cho, Cho, Cho, Cho, Cho...
Like, like...frog, frog down the road, road like a frog, frog...
Big purple, black, orange, yellow, white frog.
Purple, orange, yellow and green I don't know what I'm doing to me,
But I'm goin' down the road like a toad.

Big ol' truck goin' down the road. Big ol' truck goin' down the road.
Goin' fast and slow...like the big ol' nose...on the face of Pinocchio!!
Were driving down the road at an amazing rate of speed
With pine trees on our left and right and grass beneath our knees'.
We were driving along at a great rate of speed and it was not fast it was slow to me
'cause I was use to snortin' lots of methamphetamines.

Now were gonna met these red necks right up here.
There gonna do lots of favors and drink us allot of beer.
Their gonna take us down to the swimmin' hole,
We’re gonna get us a couple hoes and don't you know,
We’re gonna, swim down at the hole this New Year.

'Cause we're crazy red necks livin' in the woods.
Crazy red necks, feelin' pretty good.
We we're driving down the road lookin' at them goddamn telephone poles...
With wires between them on the center of the earth.

High now, we're talkin' about the world and the way it was round,
About the way that the lizards crawled around.
They don't crawl strait they kind-of-curve just like this, eunt, eunt, eunt.

It was the coolest thing I ever thought of, because I was not a model.
Now I'm just a cook, now, now, now, now just a cook and not a model.
'Cause I could serve on the stage,
eating lots of crackers and bouillon today....

BOUILLON?!?

Bouillon of course, the chicken based by-product that contains no chicken but makes things flavorful in a chicken sort of manner.

Oh yeah, bouillon.
Today Only

Censored!


Pieces Dan and Nathaniel have written
But Ms. J will not allow them to perform
At a Coffee House Open Mic



A Folk Song
by Nathaniel

Jews
Jews can't loose!
Jews
Jews can't loose!

If you bet on the Jews, you'll always end up ahead.
If it were up to the French, the Jews would all be dead!

Jews
Jews can't loose!
Jews
Jews can't loose!

Too keep your money safe, put it in a Jewish bank.
When found on a pirate ship, Jews are made to walk the plank.

Jews
Jews can't loose!
Jews
Jews can't loose!

Horowitz! Goldberg! Miller! Stein!
Horowitz! Goldberg! Miller! Stein!

When fighting Jews in battle, hardly anyone has ever won.
They always forget that Jews are God's chosen ones!

Jews
Jews can't loose!
Jews
Jews can't loose!

Horowitz! Goldberg! Miller! Stein!
Horowitz! Goldberg! Miller! Stein!

Horowitz! Goldberg! Miller! Stein!
Horowitz! Goldberg! Miller! Stein!

Jews
Jews can't loose!
Jews
Jews can't loose!

Jews
Jews can't loose!
Jews
Jews can't loose!
Today Only

Censored!


Pieces Dan and Nathaniel have written
But Ms. J will not allow them to perform
At a Coffee House Open Mic



Barbeque
by Dan

The pain, which my ass was stricken with, was unimaginable.
A pain like no other…
Silent screams could be heard evacuating the room, as if they were jumping from a lost ship at sea.

The pain...
The pain...

Oh the horror...

By it's inception I knew the tragedy of the coming morrow.
But how could I say no to such a request.
Warned twice of it's impact I engage without hesitation into inevitable sorrow.

Time...

Is my only ally in this struggle.
However time is something that a dying man may not wish.

At long last the pain was taken from my soul.
A simple, ancient method was performed on my body like an olden ritual.
And in one word you'll know the rest of the story...

Enemized
Today Only

Censored!


Pieces Dan and Nathaniel have written
But Ms. J will not allow them to perform
At a Coffee House Open Mic



Coffee
There's a familiar exchange of love between the men and the coffee cup. Why shouldn't the coffee cup get some love? After all you don't hold the delicious black nectar of life itself. All we do is consume. So my hat is off to the coffee gods and the cups that make their consumption possible. Another thing, we rarely pay any attention to coffee cups outside of drinking coffee. We treat them like a porno mag stuffed under the bed only drawn out by our desire for a quick fix! NO! I Wont Have It! I am here to put an end to coffee cup neglect. Not only should the coffee cup be used for all beverages, but I think the coffee cup, if properly examined by a group of native
Kwajaleins (part of the Marshall Islands), is the answer to high speed travel in space. Oh...My...Gosh!

It's all clear! Don't you see it?! CAN YOU FEEL IT BABY!! All this time we've been sittin' on our butts lookin' at porno mags while the Kwajaleins have been goin' who-knows-where, doin' who-knows-what.

I just want to know one other thing.
ARE YOU WITH ME BOTHER!!??!!

Thanks for listening while you read.
talking from his ass
Dan...

Retort
Let me tell you something cowboy:

I had a coffee mug that I loved very much. I would refill it many times during the day. When it was fresh and full I would gently hold the steaming mug to my bosom and let the aroma lift to my anxious palate in a sort of olfactory orgasm. Savoring every molecule, I would slowly lick the last few drops from the sides of the mug when the volume became low enough that gravity would not pull them out.

The dark bean was my savior; the snowy ceramics mug my best friend.

Focusing on the sunburst Gibson Les Paul on its outer shell, I know its message well. "Hard Rock Cafe" it proclaims, "Houston, Texas." Loud and clear it speaks to me, in a back country sort of guffaw that makes one picture a lonesome scene, perhaps a camp fire and Sam Elliot as he pulls the mug away from his parched lips and sucks the java residue from his ample mustache.

Ah my old friend the coffee mug, how it has been with me through the ages. A gift to me from my roommate Ray-Ray after a psychology department field trip, I often carried it in my backpack during the college years. Many a day it left the classroom next to notebooks in an empty and neglected state, waiting to be rinsed and refilled at my convenience. Often times it would hold more than just coffee. First thing in the morning as the precious brew was percolating; perhaps I would fill it with milk to take a BC powder with. Occasionally it would be necessary for the first cupful to be half Evan Williams or cheap vodka, still trying to combat that hangover. My mug was always with me, and often the only thing that got me to work or class on time.

Perhaps the thing that I miss most about my old friend is the way it brought perfect regularity to my digestive system. As I close my eyes even now I can remember sipping that last cup of the morning and immediately making a break for the privy. Nothing in the universe is so healthy for ones colon as a steady supply of the glorious bean juice of the Java Arabica plant. Even to this day I long for that feeling of immediacy to my bowels.

The coffee mug, I know it well. Alas I have no good use for it now. The damn thing just sits on my desk holding pennies.

Longing for more,
Nathaniel

Monday, October 14, 2002