The Photograph

When: 06.21.2008
Where: Still sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton Hotel in downtown Seattle

They had come here to celebrate. And to document every second of the festivities so that their time could be remembered with something as close to clarity as the years would allow.

The four of them, friends since childhood, had managed to escape the clutches of higher education with only a few scars to serve as unwelcome reminders of unhappy times. Being separated by states and time for the last four years had been trying, but the pact they’d made the day they threw their caps in the air echoed in every second until – in different places this time around – they repeated the ritual with black caps. And so, they had come here to make good on that promise they’d made to enjoy life as soon as they were able.

Gathered in the lobby of their hotel, they paused to appreciate the milestone they had just checked off their lists. And the gravity of what was bound to happen after this last jaunt before a whole new reality set in came calling. Looking around, they located just what they’d been searching for. They handed the man a camera, and he nodded in understanding.

Sitting there – the four of them shoulder-to-shoulder for the hundredth, and now maybe last time – they smiled and blinked at the flash.

They all waited just a second longer than necessary before lifting arms from around shoulders.

First, Look Up

Note: The only rule I had for myself while writing these little oddities was this:
Do not edit. Write it as it comes, spelling and grammar be damned.

That said, I have taken the liberty of changing/adding/deleting one or two words in the transcription from moleskine to blog. I can't help myself, but at least it's written someplace in unadulterated originality.

All of these have evolved from an observation, whether I wrote the story of before or after. I figured that would stave off excessive self-indulgence, so please tell me if this tactic has failed. The whole point of doing this is to get over a fear of both publishing and criticism. Here, I look to you. :)

When: 06.21.2008
Where: Sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton Hotel in downtown Seattle

The city certainly knows how to make an impression.

Fresh off the plane from a place melting in an unwelcome, but not altogether unusual heatwave, the first thing I notice are the clouds. Though they are a token of identity more than a mere weather phenomenon here, they are not nearly as depressing as I expected them to be. They move slowly across the sky, like pillowy leaves riding a wide blue stream. Faster than the clouds back home, their journey across the skyline is like the steady soothing noise of a fan in the background; just enough to prevent suffocating in idleness. The clouds here play a soft counterpoint to the glaring sun I’m accustomed to. And I decide theirs is a melody I could quickly begin to love.

Here I am, insecure for now

-- This is Only for Now, by Charlotte Sometimes

One: My secondary boss-type lady (SBTL from here on out), the one I was convinced hated me at first but has been slowly warming up to me, is crazy. It’s a very long, very complicated story, but the gist of it is something like this:

- SBTL asks me to keep track of this flood of warranties that vendors are e-mailing to us.
- I decide to create a spreadsheet to organize the relevant data. Vendor name, product, date warranty was received, who sent it, etc.
- I show said spreadsheet to SBTL before she leaves, so she knows which vendors we have yet to hear from.
- SBTL calls me an overachiever.
- Cue massive WTF? moment, while I try not to shrivel up from the emotional cramping.

She said it like she was joking, but she wasn’t. The term “passive-aggressive” comes to mind. And yet, I still maintain that she abhors my very existence a little less every day. Okay, maybe every week. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

Two: My giggly co-worker (we’ll call this one Giggly), who is basically spearheading the effort to integrate me into the circle, invited me to her birthday party this weekend. At a club. And I said I’d go. Let’s recap, shall we?

- I don’t really know any of these women, though they are all genuinely sweet to me.
- I’ve never been to a club, nor do I have any real desire to.
- Drinking is at the bottom of my fun scale. It’s the title of theirs.

Oh my, this will certainly be memorable. I am tentatively forecasting good stories when I return. :)

Three: I LOVE this job. It’s unreal how much fun I’m having. And I harbor no delusions about the fleeting nature of this feeling, but I’m going to enjoy it while I can. So I would like to take this opportunity to thank the gods of luck for the generosity they have bestowed upon me, yet again. *genuflects*

I'm from a land called Secret Estonia

Nobody knows where it's at, no
Nobody knows where it's at
-- Creepshow, by Kerli

(It's here, between Russia and Sweden, btw.)

Obviously, I’m not from Estonia. Secret or otherwise. My latest musical obsession, however, is.

Meet Kerli.

Kerli - Walking On Air (Official Video)

Her latest (first?) album is called Love is Dead, and it is pretty much made of solid awesome. Although Kerli has been somewhat accurately compared to Björk, the likeliness exists in vocal styling alone. There’s a gravelly-but-not-too-deep quality about their voices that is unique enough to catch your attention and plant you firmly in “love it” or “hate it.” But unlike Björk, Kerli’s music is a bit less edgy in its composition. It’s definitely got that same air of techno to it, but she fits nicely into the pop/rock genre, with a healthy dose of Goth that bands like Evanescence only wish they could achieve. And I love me some Amy Lee, don’t get me wrong, but this stuff is just so much more ... creepy.

In interviews, Kerli has mentioned growing up in a culture where you showed your love for your children by beating them every night after school, and twice on Sundays. She writes songs about being positive in the face of too-tough-love and Communism, and being who you are no matter what people say. Even if you happen to be a little creepy. Perhaps especially then.

Trust me when I tell you to go forth and has. Srsly.

Artist: Kerli
Album: Love is Dead
Start Here: Walking On Air, Bulletproof, Up Up Up

"Am I a complete raving lunatic ...

or have we not been paid ANYTHING in three weeks?"
"Can't both be true?"
-- Wild Writer (Bobcat Goldthwait) and Father Writer (Robert Klein), Radioland Murders

Payday? Is awesome. Now I remember why working doesn't suck twice a month.

Actually, I think I'm still in the honeymoon phase with The Nine-to-Five (which is actually the Eight Thirty-to-Five Thirty). I spent most of last week out in the field at a brand new site, meeting a trillion new people and generally not knowing what the hell was going on. When they said they were going to train me for the Project Manager position, I think what they meant was, "we're going to throw your ass into the deep end of the rat race. And if don't drown, you can has higher pay bracket! Isn't that nice?"

My boss is trying desperately to take the time to explain what she's doing and why, but she's so busy keeping tabs on EVERYTHING that's going on, sometimes she forgets. She talks out loud to keep her mind focused on the higher priority things, but I can never tell if she's talking to herself or addressing me. Which means I stare at her like the clueless greenhorn I am until she either tells me what she wants me to do in layman's terms or tells me to ignore the rambling.

But the bloom is definitely still on the rose. Everyone down at the office has been amazingly nice to me, and very tolerant of my endless barrage of questions. Even the one woman that I was convinced hated me has been kinda, in her own way warming up to me. I spend more time out of the office than in, and even though I've been told that's unusual and not to get used to it, I am having tons of fun learning the ropes and meeting people. Here's to hoping this trend continues for a while longer!
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Also, WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE MY 30 Rock DVDs?! I cannot find them anywhere, and I am immensely saddened. Blerg.

Hello, I've had you on my mind

For hours, there's no doubt
No use wasting time
Hello, by Tristan Prettyman

So, I've toyed with the idea of starting a blog ever since my typography teacher suggested it as a means of overcoming some hideous anxiety about my writing. Then Kami suggested it as a type of newsletter to keep the Six Musketeers in the loop of every one's hectic lives. What results here is a mash-up of the two. For the fistful of you (see: Kami) who read this thing, expect equal parts boring life story and bad creative writing. Feel free to comment on either. Please note that the writings I post here are copied directly from my moleskin, where they were written exactly as I thought them. I haven't edited them, which is part of what I was told to do to help with my squeamishness every time I pick up a pen. We'll see how that goes.
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Post-Script: All of my posts (except the writings) will be titled with quotes from various places. If the words are from a song, then there will be a link that points to a download. If they're from a story or other written material, the link will lead you to more info on the source. Sound good?
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Post-Post-Script: I should probably let everyone know what the final tally in my mommie's Adventure of the Great Gangrenous Gallbladder of '08 was. Mommie: 1. Gallbladder: DED.

After the ER doctor sent her home Tuesday night with a cool, "your gallbladder isn't distended -- despite everyone but me being sure it is -- so go home and have fun writhing in pain," her oncologist told her to march back to the hospital. They had been sent strict orders to admit her, what with the trial chemotherapy she was on having a 45874329.6% success rate in DESTROYING patients' gallbladders. Several tests and a wowed surgeon later, and the diagnosis was official: mommie had gangrene. In the (of the?) gallbladder. Sweet. At least, that's what the surgeon said.

Apparently, the guy had never seen such a horrid case of dedness, and was naturally thrilled at the procedure he was about to perform, however simple. Since UCLA is a teaching hospital, he documented the surgery well so that all the little interns could see what happens when a patient is denied a common operation. Repeatedly.

The end result is that mommie comes home tomorrow, sans gallbladder, but feeling much better. Woot!!