There is a thing about Star Trek films; the odd numbered ones tend to suck. The even numbered ones, like The Wrath of Khan and this one (being the tenth Star Trek movie), also tend to suck.
This film also happens to be the end of the run for the Next Generation crew (named that because their series is set approximately three generations after the original Star Trek). Patrick Stewart (Captain Jean Luc Picard) asked to be let out of his three film contract three films ago, but was forced to gut out the role he loathes one more time. It shows.
Data: Captain, there is a ship coming into sensor range.
Picard: ....
Data: Captain?
Picard: Yes. Of course. Man, we sure are in space. Hey, let's all go on board the holodeck so that it can almost kill us again.
(Picard takes a drag off a poorly concealed cigarette)
Data: The ship, sir...
Picard: Ram it!
(long pause)
Worf: Perhaps we should bring it up on the view screen.
Picard: Ah, yes. Whoa, look. There it is. Let's all look at the green screen. Man, it sure is there. Worf, hand me my light saber.
Worf: Uh, Captain...
(Picard stands, appears unbalanced, maybe intoxicated)
Picard: I'm beaming aboard that ship! I'll bitch slap every last one of them!
(He runs at the view screen with a howl, then bounces violently off of it)
The other problem I have with it is the cursing, especially by Patrick Stewart's character. Not your standard curse words which normally constitute cussing; I'm talking about the actual laying down of a curse, like in the olden days. Early in the film he actually turns to the camera and shouts, "A curse on all your houses! May the sword and bloodshed never depart from your family, and may the tumors never depart from your groins!" This is the first time I've actually approved of a family movie receiving an NC-17 rating. Personally, I would have given it an X rating for that scene where Robert DeNiro shoots Harvey Keitel with the jangle pulse.
There is a plot of some kind, involving aliens and/or other dimensions or time travel, or something. At the end, everyone dies. If you like Star Trek, you'll probably like this movie. If you like crap, you will also like this movie. I give it one half star.
*/2
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
A dream - Melanie
Her name was Melanie, and we had been at her place talking for a while, enjoying each others company. She was pretty, and young, and blonde with long hair. I leaned in to kiss her, wondering if she would be receptive. She was, and she kissed me back. I covered her face with small kisses... her cheek, her lips, her neck, and her lips again, her forehead, her ears, her neck again. I leaned her back as we kissed, and we were completely absorbed in each other. I moved my hand up under her shirt and felt her breast. I kissed her neck and her ear again, and pulled her shirt up and moved my kissing down. This went on for some time, we both got really excited, and I had to stop. Stop! STOP! "STOP!" I said. I told her that we had to stop, I was getting too excited, we had to stop. She pulled away and sat up and regarded me with a funny smile. I got up kind of awkwardly and went into the bathroom to splash water on my face. When I was in there, I heard noises in the house, of several people. I hurried back out and caught a glimpse of Melanie sitting on the edge of her bed in her underwear and T-shirt, hands clasped and head down slightly. When I caught her eye, there was a look of intense anger and almost hatred on her face in the way she regarded me. I turned and saw that her entire family had arrived... mother, father, brothers and sisters, and several friends, and they were throwing a party. Everyone was there, and our moment was over. I went over to Melanie and sat next to her, and she scooched over hurriedly to get away from me. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "I hate you!" I was completely befuddled and shocked, and hurt. What had I done? What the hell had I done? I asked her, and she wouldn't talk to me. I kept asking her, what did I do? All she would say was "You know what you did!" What? WHAT? I grew exasperated. I thought to myself... wasn't it always like this? I'll never understand women and why they get mad. They get pissed at me and I have no idea why. I asked her one more time why she was angry with me. "You should have told me my family was here! You should have told me! You disgust me! Get away from me!" I stood there and held my breath. How was I supposed to know? I had been in the bathroom when they showed up, I didn't know they were coming until they got here. I thought, I'm not guilty! I don't deserve this! I imagined trying to explain all of this to her, how her anger for me was completely misplaced. I imagined trying to describe the exact state of my brain and the synapses and how they were firing, and how that would completely describe my thoughts and my memories and my intentions and my innocence in this matter, but that would have just been exhausting, and it wouldn't have done a bit of good. Her anger and hatred wasn't based on logic, it was based on woman. Nevertheless... I exhaled slowly and approached her, and tried to... talk to her, to connect with her again somehow, but she started swatting at me and backing away. It was at that moment that I noticed the Orthodox cross she was wearing around her neck. It was gold, and encrusted with diamonds, and beautiful and shining. I stopped and gasped, and said, "Oh my God, are you Orthodox?!" And she stopped too, regarded me in confusion, and said, "Yes..." and I pulled my cross from under my shirt and let it lie on my chest. She saw it and she too gasped. We looked at each other, and she said, "I guess we have no choice. We have to be friends." And she came forward and embraced me.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A dream - at work and at Matushkas
It was the old days at 7-Eleven. I was at work and Dax was the manager, but he was also Ryan. Sometimes he looked like Ryan, and sometimes he looked like Dax. Mostly he was Dax. The power was off, and this relates to a previous dream I had when I was at work and it was winter, and night time, and there was no power, and I was sleeping at the store. Anyway.
Dax had this long Christmas stocking filled with weed, and we were making pulled pork in the new oven there. We called it 'pre-chewed' pork for one of those weird dream reasons. A bunch of Dax's friends showed up and started talking and reminiscing about something, but I didn't feel like I belonged in their group, so I went over to the coffee bar and started running around it as fast as I could, occasionally hopping from foot to foot, and singing at the top of my lungs. I had the stocking of weed, and I started playing air guitar with it. Dax and his friends all looked over at me like I was a lunatic, and I heard somebody ask Dax if I was going to come outside with them.
They went outside to smoke, but I stayed inside and worked in the dimly lit store. It was hot in there. I started in on a hugmongous pile of dishes, which hadn't been done in years, left over from some long ago party. Before that though, I hid the long stocking full of weed under the sink in the bathroom. As I was doing the dishes, singing at the top of my lungs, I heard somebody say "Hey!". I snuck away and pretended I didn't hear, and then a woman walked in through the back door. She saw me and asked why I didn't answer. "I dunno," I said. She said she was there to inspect the store, and began rummaging through the bathroom. Dax came back in at that time, and I whispered to him, "The weed! I hid it under the bathroom sink!" He tried to blow it off, but he was deeply worried. He managed to retrieve it and keep it away from her.
After that I walked to Matushkas, and I was in my underwear and wearing my combat boots. When I got there, Julie and Leah were there, and I took off my combat boots and we all started talking about Pascha. I remarked about how it was never on the same day every year, and how it should be, and how Easter and Pascha should always be on the same days. I was deeply concerned that it didn't happen like Christmas, or Halloween... on the same day every year, like it did historically. Then Matushka said it should really be on September the 20th, because that's the day that Christ was actually born. I agreed, and she was perturbed... as if she wasn't really serious about it and that she had only been joking. I told Matushka that it was only because I respected the Theotokos so much that Pascha should be on the same day every year, since that was the day She was concsecrated. I know none of this makes a lick of sense. Anyway...
Matushka seemed mollifed by that. Suddenly I knew that I had to go home because Dax was coming over and I had to be there when he got there. I had to walk though. I abruptly realized that I was dressed only in my underwear, and I said, out loud, "Holy cow, I have to go home, and I'm in my underwear. I gotta walk home!" Matushka said, "Are you walking?" I said yeah, and looked at Julie across the room and said to her, "This is like one of those bad dreams, you know?" As I was putting my boots on, I asked Julie if she would walk home with me.
+
Dax had this long Christmas stocking filled with weed, and we were making pulled pork in the new oven there. We called it 'pre-chewed' pork for one of those weird dream reasons. A bunch of Dax's friends showed up and started talking and reminiscing about something, but I didn't feel like I belonged in their group, so I went over to the coffee bar and started running around it as fast as I could, occasionally hopping from foot to foot, and singing at the top of my lungs. I had the stocking of weed, and I started playing air guitar with it. Dax and his friends all looked over at me like I was a lunatic, and I heard somebody ask Dax if I was going to come outside with them.
They went outside to smoke, but I stayed inside and worked in the dimly lit store. It was hot in there. I started in on a hugmongous pile of dishes, which hadn't been done in years, left over from some long ago party. Before that though, I hid the long stocking full of weed under the sink in the bathroom. As I was doing the dishes, singing at the top of my lungs, I heard somebody say "Hey!". I snuck away and pretended I didn't hear, and then a woman walked in through the back door. She saw me and asked why I didn't answer. "I dunno," I said. She said she was there to inspect the store, and began rummaging through the bathroom. Dax came back in at that time, and I whispered to him, "The weed! I hid it under the bathroom sink!" He tried to blow it off, but he was deeply worried. He managed to retrieve it and keep it away from her.
After that I walked to Matushkas, and I was in my underwear and wearing my combat boots. When I got there, Julie and Leah were there, and I took off my combat boots and we all started talking about Pascha. I remarked about how it was never on the same day every year, and how it should be, and how Easter and Pascha should always be on the same days. I was deeply concerned that it didn't happen like Christmas, or Halloween... on the same day every year, like it did historically. Then Matushka said it should really be on September the 20th, because that's the day that Christ was actually born. I agreed, and she was perturbed... as if she wasn't really serious about it and that she had only been joking. I told Matushka that it was only because I respected the Theotokos so much that Pascha should be on the same day every year, since that was the day She was concsecrated. I know none of this makes a lick of sense. Anyway...
Matushka seemed mollifed by that. Suddenly I knew that I had to go home because Dax was coming over and I had to be there when he got there. I had to walk though. I abruptly realized that I was dressed only in my underwear, and I said, out loud, "Holy cow, I have to go home, and I'm in my underwear. I gotta walk home!" Matushka said, "Are you walking?" I said yeah, and looked at Julie across the room and said to her, "This is like one of those bad dreams, you know?" As I was putting my boots on, I asked Julie if she would walk home with me.
+
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Bugs and lizards
I got home from church at about 10:00 tonight (there were a lot of people there for confession, and I wound up being last, as usual) and immediately had to kill two of those big ass 'waterbugs', as Matt calls them. I call them big ass cockroaches. One was on my bed... killed it. It left some goo, so I had to remove the sheet and I'm gonna sleep on a bare mattress tonight. I've awoken with those fuckers crawling on me in the middle of the night. Nothing like waking up to the feeling of teeny scurrying bugs crawling on you, I tell ya. And this morning I reached over for my Arizona Tea and instead of feeling the nice, smooth cool aluminum surface of the can, I instead felt the scribbly, scratchity pointy fucked up multilegged presence of one of those damn bugs perched on the top of my can, right on the tab. Man that pissed me off. The bug got away, and I had to get up for a glass of lukewarm water.
Anywho, back to this evenings bug killing. The other one was perched on the heel of my boot which was lying on its side on the floor. I carefully lifted it and smashed it down. Stupid bug. A third one got away, it disappeared into a crack on the ceiling. That's probably where they live... I should spray some 409 or something chemically in there. One of them actually flew across the living room the other day. I didn't know those bastards could fly! I tracked it down and slaughtered it. I can't wait for summer to be over so those little barstages will go back into hibernation or cryo-freeze or something, whatever it is they do. Maybe they just die... the point is, I usually don't see them in the winter. I'm thinking about getting some roach motels (I wonder if they would work on waterbugs, if that's what they really are), or a bug bomb and set it off when I'm at work. I'd have to leave the dogs outside all day though, and it's hot. Hmmm... they'd probably be ok, there's that veranda in the back yard which provides plenty of shade.
Now I've been observing a teeny little lizard for the past 30 minutes as it explores the wall around my window. I'm not gonna kill it, it's actually kind of cute, and maybe it'll find a water-roach nest and eat the babies or eggs or whatever. That'd be cool.
Yawn.
Anywho, back to this evenings bug killing. The other one was perched on the heel of my boot which was lying on its side on the floor. I carefully lifted it and smashed it down. Stupid bug. A third one got away, it disappeared into a crack on the ceiling. That's probably where they live... I should spray some 409 or something chemically in there. One of them actually flew across the living room the other day. I didn't know those bastards could fly! I tracked it down and slaughtered it. I can't wait for summer to be over so those little barstages will go back into hibernation or cryo-freeze or something, whatever it is they do. Maybe they just die... the point is, I usually don't see them in the winter. I'm thinking about getting some roach motels (I wonder if they would work on waterbugs, if that's what they really are), or a bug bomb and set it off when I'm at work. I'd have to leave the dogs outside all day though, and it's hot. Hmmm... they'd probably be ok, there's that veranda in the back yard which provides plenty of shade.
Now I've been observing a teeny little lizard for the past 30 minutes as it explores the wall around my window. I'm not gonna kill it, it's actually kind of cute, and maybe it'll find a water-roach nest and eat the babies or eggs or whatever. That'd be cool.
Yawn.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Psalm 102
I first discovered this psalm when I was reading at grave watch in 2009, and it immediately became my favorite. I believe that it's a testament to suffering and sadness and despair; that as a result of these things do we come to experience and know God.
Hear my prayer, O LORD, and let my cry come unto thee.
Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble; incline thine ear unto me: in the day when I call answer me speedily.
For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth.
My heart is smitten, and withered like grass; so that I forget to eat my bread.
By reason of the voice of my groaning my bones cleave to my skin.
I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl of the desert.
I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
Mine enemies reproach me all the day; and they that are mad against me are sworn against me.
For I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping.
Because of thine indignation and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up, and cast me down.
My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass.
But thou, O LORD, shall endure for ever; and thy remembrance unto all generations.
Thou shalt arise, and have mercy upon Zion: for the time to favour her, yea, the set time, is come.
For thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and favour the dust thereof.
So the heathen shall fear the name of the LORD, and all the kings of the earth thy glory.
When the LORD shall build up Zion, he shall appear in his glory.
He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer.
This shall be written for the generation to come: and the people which shall be created shall praise the LORD.
For he hath looked down from the height of his sanctuary; from heaven did the LORD behold the earth;
To hear the groaning of the prisoner; to loose those that are appointed to death;
To declare the name of the LORD in Zion, and his praise in Jerusalem;
When the people are gathered together, and the kingdoms, to serve the LORD.
He weakened my strength in the way; he shortened my days.
I said, O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days: thy years are throughout all generations.
Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth: and the heavens are the work of thy hands.
They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed:
But thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end.
The children of thy servants shall continue, and their seed shall be established before thee.
Hear my prayer, O LORD, and let my cry come unto thee.
Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble; incline thine ear unto me: in the day when I call answer me speedily.
For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth.
My heart is smitten, and withered like grass; so that I forget to eat my bread.
By reason of the voice of my groaning my bones cleave to my skin.
I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl of the desert.
I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
Mine enemies reproach me all the day; and they that are mad against me are sworn against me.
For I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping.
Because of thine indignation and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up, and cast me down.
My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass.
But thou, O LORD, shall endure for ever; and thy remembrance unto all generations.
Thou shalt arise, and have mercy upon Zion: for the time to favour her, yea, the set time, is come.
For thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and favour the dust thereof.
So the heathen shall fear the name of the LORD, and all the kings of the earth thy glory.
When the LORD shall build up Zion, he shall appear in his glory.
He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer.
This shall be written for the generation to come: and the people which shall be created shall praise the LORD.
For he hath looked down from the height of his sanctuary; from heaven did the LORD behold the earth;
To hear the groaning of the prisoner; to loose those that are appointed to death;
To declare the name of the LORD in Zion, and his praise in Jerusalem;
When the people are gathered together, and the kingdoms, to serve the LORD.
He weakened my strength in the way; he shortened my days.
I said, O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days: thy years are throughout all generations.
Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth: and the heavens are the work of thy hands.
They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed:
But thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end.
The children of thy servants shall continue, and their seed shall be established before thee.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
What's it like?
What must it be like for the person who knows that he only has a set amount of time left for him? I can see him going about his daily activities like he always did for years and years and years, secure in the knowledge that the next second will occur, and the next, and the next, leading into minutes, and hours, and days... and on into an indefinite future of aliveness. But eventually the countdown will reach zero, and there will be no more comfort to take in the notion of 'a little more time'. But still... what will he do? Turn a screwdriver? Wash a dish? Pat a dog on the head? Take a nap? Visit a friend? Stare at the wall? Count stucko phantoms? Go to sleep? What will be the last thing he does, ever? How does that countdown reach the end for him?
What will he feel when he sees the forever still and distant terminator on the horizon getting impossibly but inevitably closer? Will it fade from day into night, or will it be an abrupt transition? Will there be another terminator, this time describing a new day? What kind of day will it be? Will there be things to do in it? Will now keep going on and on, or will it end?
Will all of those things that gave his life meaning still mean anything in this new day, if there is one? What about that woman he loved? What happens to that? Did it mean anything real; anything that will translate into 'after the now'? Or what about the children he never knew? Will he see them, when they eventually join him in the afterness? Will he see those he's hurt and broken and killed? Will anything from the before-time of physical life survive in that after-time? And if so, is there a such a thing as forgiveness there?
What is one man's life in the grand scheme of things? Can one living consciousness really be sentenced to an eternal separation from God due to an infinitesimal mistake made during that pinprick of an instant of eternity that we call life? It's possible to kill with just a few words, and without even knowing it. How can that kind of power fall to just one person, and how can he not even be aware of it? How can such irresponsibility exist?
How can such despair exist? There must be an equal hope to counter it... there has to be balance. There has to be. Is there no hope for the damned?
Whoever that guy is, I wish him the best, and all of God's Grace. I know he exists somewhere.
What will he feel when he sees the forever still and distant terminator on the horizon getting impossibly but inevitably closer? Will it fade from day into night, or will it be an abrupt transition? Will there be another terminator, this time describing a new day? What kind of day will it be? Will there be things to do in it? Will now keep going on and on, or will it end?
Will all of those things that gave his life meaning still mean anything in this new day, if there is one? What about that woman he loved? What happens to that? Did it mean anything real; anything that will translate into 'after the now'? Or what about the children he never knew? Will he see them, when they eventually join him in the afterness? Will he see those he's hurt and broken and killed? Will anything from the before-time of physical life survive in that after-time? And if so, is there a such a thing as forgiveness there?
What is one man's life in the grand scheme of things? Can one living consciousness really be sentenced to an eternal separation from God due to an infinitesimal mistake made during that pinprick of an instant of eternity that we call life? It's possible to kill with just a few words, and without even knowing it. How can that kind of power fall to just one person, and how can he not even be aware of it? How can such irresponsibility exist?
How can such despair exist? There must be an equal hope to counter it... there has to be balance. There has to be. Is there no hope for the damned?
Whoever that guy is, I wish him the best, and all of God's Grace. I know he exists somewhere.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
A piece of history
This is a rare vintage photo of the male choir, Chantus Maximus, of St. Maximus the Confessor Orthodox Mission, circa 1918. The sole surviving member, Elias Davis (far left), is 133 years old and, unfortunately, suffers from advanced dementia, believing that he lives on Mars in the town of Barsoom where he raises spotted mice for the local Rotary Clubs' annual charity auction benefiting the Downtrodden Methane Breathers of Deep Mariner Valley. In actuality, he resides in Denton, Texas, on top of the flag pole near the old courthouse in the town square, where he has become somewhat of a cultural icon. He can occasionally be heard muttering in Klingon about how much better the service was four and a half billion years ago.
The credit for this photo belongs to Leah Cole. Unfortunately, on her way back from 1918 to present day Denton, her time machine ran over a brontosaurus and she disappeared somewhere in the Cretaceous period, never to be heard from again.
The credit for this photo belongs to Leah Cole. Unfortunately, on her way back from 1918 to present day Denton, her time machine ran over a brontosaurus and she disappeared somewhere in the Cretaceous period, never to be heard from again.
Soon
The other day after Mike got tonsured, Dorothy took my arm and said, "That's going to be you soon!" Really. How could she read my mind?
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The new girl
Chiy actually hired a girl. Her name is Olivia, and she's roommates with Stephen and Matt, and she said they're always talking about me. When I hear something like that, I'm always surprised. What are they talking about, and why? She said, "Don't worry, nothing bad!" Still, I can't help imagining all of them sitting around the table at their house, talking about me. Are they talking about my religion? About the fact that I'm a mysterious sonofabitch who always keeps to himself? Am I cute? Old? Funny looking? Cool? A loser? Well, she said 'nothing bad'... but I've wondered now and then what people say about me behind my back. I'm sure there's been plenty of shit talked about me over the years. Olivia is really friendly though. It should be fun working with her. She always says hi to me when she's in the store. Even when I'm in the cooler, she'll open the door and shout 'Hey Ash!' and she's always telling Matt to tell me that "Olivia said hi!" I hope we can be friends. I miss Brittney, and now Matius is gone too, my two good friends at work. I'm thinking about going to school at the seminary on Kodiak Island, for the drug and alcohol counseling degree, if it's possible. I dunno what that has to do with anything. Anywho. I'm tired, time for bed.
Friday, July 29, 2011
I wonder
Over a year ago, at a point of abject despair, God reassured me that everything is going to be all right. Then, some time later, He instructed me to be patient, to accept that things are the way they are, and to trust in Him. I think that means that He has a plan for me and an ultimate object or goal or destination for my life, and that it's not time for it yet... maybe not by a long shot. Occasionally I am very happy for seemingly no reason, and I'm thankful for these little glimpses of peace and joy and the knowledge of what is possible. Sometimes though I get very depressed, and I despair, and I'll even teeter on the verge of just throwing away all of my faith, and I wonder what the heck I think I'm doing, and I feel like an idiot. But then I remember those three things... patience, acceptance and trust. That means I'm probably gonna have to wait, and in the meantime, I'm not going to instantly be happy, or at peace, or good or saint-like or even close to any of those things. I'm going to keep trying but I'll continue to fall again and again, and I'll kick myself again and again, and struggle on and on, and fail continuously... that's the way it is, and it's a hard fact to accept, but wasn't that what my life was like before all of this? And here I am now, somehow still doing life, and in a way I never imagined and never would have remotely considered three years ago, and I'm not dead from an overdose or in jail or homeless, and things have definitely been worse. I wonder what's waiting for me. Simple happiness based on a sudden realization or understanding some day? A lifetime of despair and pain, but continuous hope and accrued wisdom and finally true faith on my deathbed? Finally a woman who is right for me, just perfectly right, who fits into my life and is ok with all of my flaws, who actually wants my love and accepts it and understands it and and loves me that way too? A family? A monastery? Or maybe illness or an accident or even death? I dunno. I do know that I have to refer to those three things... four, actually... often, because otherwise I'll lose all hope. That's what they're for, I think, to carry me forward until whatever God has planned is revealed to me. Maybe I'll have to wait another 25 years, like I did the first time around. Until then... patience, I guess, and acceptance of my problems and failings and imperfections and sadness, and trust in God's plan, and faith that everything will be all right. I have to believe that... there isn't any choice, except the choice to have no free will as far as faith is concerned. It's the only way I can keep hold of it.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
These days
I've been out walking
I don't do too much talking these days
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to
I've stopped my rambling
I don't do too much gambling these days
These days I don't remember who
I used to be when I knew where to go
And I wonder if I'll ever know
And I had a lover
I don't think I'd risk another these days
These days if it seems I'm afraid
To live the life that I've made in my mind
It's just that I've been losing all this time
I've stopped my dreaming
I don't do too much scheming these days
These days I watch life turn to stone
While counting time in quarter tones to ten
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.
I don't do too much talking these days
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to
I've stopped my rambling
I don't do too much gambling these days
These days I don't remember who
I used to be when I knew where to go
And I wonder if I'll ever know
And I had a lover
I don't think I'd risk another these days
These days if it seems I'm afraid
To live the life that I've made in my mind
It's just that I've been losing all this time
I've stopped my dreaming
I don't do too much scheming these days
These days I watch life turn to stone
While counting time in quarter tones to ten
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
A breakdown
There's this song that's been floating around since 1967 that I've known for years but never really paid any attention to until recently. Ain't it like that for most truly valuable things? You only discover them way way down the road after a lifetime of not even noticing?
Anywho. This song is called 'Alone Again Or'. That's it. Strange, huh, the title? Alone again or what? That's the first thing I noticed as being kind of... 'do what?' about it. So, it's like this. Here's a breakdown of the lyrics:
Yeah, said it's all right
I won't forget
All the times I've waited patiently for you
And you'll do just what you choose to do
And I will be alone again tonight my dear
Yeah, I heard a funny thing
Somebody said to me
You know that I could be in love with almost everyone
I think that people are
The greatest fun
And I will be alone again tonight my dear
To begin with; the first verse. It's such a normal, self pitying verse. So many people can relate to it, I'll bet. How many times has this situation unfolded throughout the course of history? Boy meets girl, or vice versa, and we have this as a result. "Yeah, it's alright, you're gonna be doing what you're doing while I'm alone, as I always am, I hope you feel like shit, MY DEAR". Sarcasm implied, and hopefully understood. That's the message of the first verse.
Thankfully, there's a second verse which describes an encounter with someone who relates the joy he gets from other people, which results in a change in attitude towards the situation of being alone. The resulting message is that people are (word that doesn't exist but means awesome), but being alone is a (word that doesn't exist but means awesome) thing too. 'My dear' becomes a declaration of love instead of hate.
The band is called Love, after all, right? Funny. I heard a funny thing, and it was this song.
It's got a kind of Flamenco/Spanish thing to it. I first heard it back in... '98 I think, in a movie called 'Bottle Rocket' by Wes Anderson.
Anywho. This song is called 'Alone Again Or'. That's it. Strange, huh, the title? Alone again or what? That's the first thing I noticed as being kind of... 'do what?' about it. So, it's like this. Here's a breakdown of the lyrics:
Yeah, said it's all right
I won't forget
All the times I've waited patiently for you
And you'll do just what you choose to do
And I will be alone again tonight my dear
Yeah, I heard a funny thing
Somebody said to me
You know that I could be in love with almost everyone
I think that people are
The greatest fun
And I will be alone again tonight my dear
To begin with; the first verse. It's such a normal, self pitying verse. So many people can relate to it, I'll bet. How many times has this situation unfolded throughout the course of history? Boy meets girl, or vice versa, and we have this as a result. "Yeah, it's alright, you're gonna be doing what you're doing while I'm alone, as I always am, I hope you feel like shit, MY DEAR". Sarcasm implied, and hopefully understood. That's the message of the first verse.
Thankfully, there's a second verse which describes an encounter with someone who relates the joy he gets from other people, which results in a change in attitude towards the situation of being alone. The resulting message is that people are (word that doesn't exist but means awesome), but being alone is a (word that doesn't exist but means awesome) thing too. 'My dear' becomes a declaration of love instead of hate.
The band is called Love, after all, right? Funny. I heard a funny thing, and it was this song.
It's got a kind of Flamenco/Spanish thing to it. I first heard it back in... '98 I think, in a movie called 'Bottle Rocket' by Wes Anderson.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
I'm a genius
What we have here is the setup I use in order to keep the floor from getting soaked and rotting away due to the leaky air conditioner in my room. See, the thing is, my AC drips water from the front all over the window sill, which then drips down onto the floor. I think it's supposed to drip out the back instead of the front, but go figure. At least it blows cool air... but not when it's raining, or immediately after it rains. For some reason, when water gets inside, it slows the machinery down and it just sits there and barely hums, gasping out tepid air until all the rain water has either evaporated or leaked out onto the floor. I don't know why it does that, but then again I'm absolutely convinced that it's because my AC is allergic to water. That would explain why it's always vomiting the stuff out the front end instead of disposing of it quietly out the back end, with dignity, like normal AC's do.
Anywho, after a week or two of just letting it leak, the floor directly underneath the window becomes soaked and begins to mildew, filling the air with that pleasant scent of decay. In order to combat this, I first tried stuffing a towel into the crevice which separates the bottom of the AC from the window sill. This worked fine for about a day, until the towel became soaked and started dripping all over the floor anyway. My next idea was to roll up another towel and stick it there under the window sill, thus catching the dripping water from the first towel when it became saturated. The problem with this method was I had to keep switching out the soaked towels for dry ones, and I only have a limited number of towels. Also, I would frequently forget about the towels and they'd just keep getting more and more soaked, with the damp area of the floor underneath the window sill growing larger and larger with each passing day.
Finally I got fed up with this ghetto bullcrap and contrived a semi-permanent solution which only required a minimum of effort. I also used physics, which makes me a genius. Here's what I did:
See what that is? It's my laundry hamper sitting underneath my AC, filled with water. See the towel jammed up in there between the bottom of the AC and hanging down into the hamper? That's how the water goes into the hamper and not onto the floor, by soaking into the towel first. See that hose stuck into the water and running out the window? That's for draining the water out of the hamper, since after about 4 days it will fill up all the way to the top and start spilling over the edge. I wonder where the heck all that water comes from, anyway. The air? Probably. So my AC produces about 20 gallons of water a week by just sucking it right out of the air like magic. My very own moisture farm, except it's a major pain in the ass and I don't live on Tatooine where a moisture farm might come in handy. Still, that's physics at work right there, people. The same physics that will eventually make moisture farming on the moon a practical reality.
On to the next step. See that? That's the back end of the AC, with the other end of the hose hanging out the window. The whole setup is like a colostomy bag for my AC. In order to get it to drain I have to siphon the water out of the hamper so that it gets from point A (the front of the AC) to point C (the ground outside), bypassing point B (the floor under the window sill) completely. That's the physics part that makes me a genius, plus I use geometry.
I'll skip showing the part where I have to suck on the butt end of that filthy, nasty hose which has been sitting outside in the dirt and grass, exposed to the sun and rain and snow and all the elements of nature for the past two years, in order to get the siphoning started so the water will drain out of the colostomy hamper. However, I will show the results. See the water pouring out of the hose? Once again, that's physics at work, people. The same physics that will eventually allow mankind to land on the surface of the sun and retrieve a sample of sun rock for study back here on Earth.
Anywho, after a week or two of just letting it leak, the floor directly underneath the window becomes soaked and begins to mildew, filling the air with that pleasant scent of decay. In order to combat this, I first tried stuffing a towel into the crevice which separates the bottom of the AC from the window sill. This worked fine for about a day, until the towel became soaked and started dripping all over the floor anyway. My next idea was to roll up another towel and stick it there under the window sill, thus catching the dripping water from the first towel when it became saturated. The problem with this method was I had to keep switching out the soaked towels for dry ones, and I only have a limited number of towels. Also, I would frequently forget about the towels and they'd just keep getting more and more soaked, with the damp area of the floor underneath the window sill growing larger and larger with each passing day.
Finally I got fed up with this ghetto bullcrap and contrived a semi-permanent solution which only required a minimum of effort. I also used physics, which makes me a genius. Here's what I did:
See what that is? It's my laundry hamper sitting underneath my AC, filled with water. See the towel jammed up in there between the bottom of the AC and hanging down into the hamper? That's how the water goes into the hamper and not onto the floor, by soaking into the towel first. See that hose stuck into the water and running out the window? That's for draining the water out of the hamper, since after about 4 days it will fill up all the way to the top and start spilling over the edge. I wonder where the heck all that water comes from, anyway. The air? Probably. So my AC produces about 20 gallons of water a week by just sucking it right out of the air like magic. My very own moisture farm, except it's a major pain in the ass and I don't live on Tatooine where a moisture farm might come in handy. Still, that's physics at work right there, people. The same physics that will eventually make moisture farming on the moon a practical reality.
On to the next step. See that? That's the back end of the AC, with the other end of the hose hanging out the window. The whole setup is like a colostomy bag for my AC. In order to get it to drain I have to siphon the water out of the hamper so that it gets from point A (the front of the AC) to point C (the ground outside), bypassing point B (the floor under the window sill) completely. That's the physics part that makes me a genius, plus I use geometry.
I'll skip showing the part where I have to suck on the butt end of that filthy, nasty hose which has been sitting outside in the dirt and grass, exposed to the sun and rain and snow and all the elements of nature for the past two years, in order to get the siphoning started so the water will drain out of the colostomy hamper. However, I will show the results. See the water pouring out of the hose? Once again, that's physics at work, people. The same physics that will eventually allow mankind to land on the surface of the sun and retrieve a sample of sun rock for study back here on Earth.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Bullshit small talk at work
Customer: Crushes.
Me:
Description: Customer wants a pack of Camel Crushes. I get them.
Difficulty: Nonexistent.
Observation: This most basic level of interaction bypasses any pretext of social dilly dallying.
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Customer: Hey.
Me: Hey.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: Simple acknowledgment of existence and simple item procurement.
Difficulty: Simple, easy, almost no thinking involved.
Observation: The bare minimum of social pleasantries are observed.
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Customer: Hello.
Me: Hello.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: Social formalities are introduced at the basic level with 'hello' as opposed to 'hey' or simply an ineffectual grunt.
Difficulty: Still simple and easy, but the vague threat of further interaction beyond the basic 'money for smokes' concept lingers.
Observation: When the customer actually says hello, I usually feel compelled to make eye contact, and body language is thrown into the equation. The possibility that more words will have to be thought up and said could lead to further complexities.
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Customer: How's it going?
Me: Pretty good.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: A little harder; the next level of basic social interaction. A query for information, necessitating an appropriate response in addition to procuring the indicated item.
Difficulty: Simplicity is sacrificed for social niceties, introducing the possibility that further social interaction may be required at least a rudimentary level. However, it's usually safe to assume that no undue thinking will need to occur.
Observation: Although a step up from simple acknowledgment, this exchange occurs almost automatically, with both parties usually aware at an unconscious level that the customer has no real interest in how things are actually going.
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Customer: How ya doing?
Me: Ok.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Or, alternately...
Customer: How ya doing?
Me: Well, I twisted my back the other -
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: Comparable to 'how's it going'.
Difficulty: Possibly tiring. Although this exchange is still largely automatic, it is more personal. The probability of a simple exchange decreases with possibility that the ego may become involved.
Observation: A couple of times I've found myself interrupted, embarrassed, and pissed off when I tried to answer this question with something other than the stock reply. It's important to remember that all the customer really gives a flying horses patoot about is getting those Camel Crushes from point A to point B.
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Customer: Hey man. What's up? How's it going? Say, do you think I could... you know... or do you think you could, I mean, you know... do that payroll thing? For a couple of beers and a couple of packs of Camel Crushes? And I can get you back on Friday?
Me: Aw crap...
Description: A blitzkrieg of social pleasantries forces thinking and talking into primary mode.
Difficulty: Exhausting.
Observation: This happens because I'm too damn nice, or stupid. I don't know which yet. It all started when I let one guy payroll a pack of cigarettes, and then another. At first it was just ten bucks a week, but then I started doing it for Bruce, and then for Wheels too... and the next thing I knew, I was letting these guys payroll anywhere from 10 to 40 bucks a week each, resulting in a significant percentage of my check this week being payrolled away on cigarettes and booze for these parasites. I know what it says in the Bible: "If somebody asks you for your shirt, give them your coat too." I'm beginning to wonder if that should apply to beer and cigarettes.
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Customer: Hey.
Me: Hey.
Customer: This and a pack of Camel Crushes.
Me: Got your ID on yer?
Customer: Yeah man, sure.
Me: I need a current one, not just this temporary piece of paper.
Customer: I got this from the DMV.
Me: Do you have the expired plastic one to go with it?
Customer: No.
Me: I'm sorry man, but I can't sell you the beer.
Customer: Well hell, why do they give you the temporary one then?
Me: Sorry.
Customer: Can she buy it for me?
Me: No, that would be illegal. It's a state law, sorry. The TABC has been giving $2500.00 tickets to us for selling to people with expired ID's, and -
Customer: Fuck it.
Me: Again, I'm sorry, but I'm not risking a $2500.00 ticket and jail just so you can catch a buzz.
Description: Things fall apart, the center does not hold. The World War Three of customer interaction.
Difficulty: Yeesh.
Observation: Screw it.
Me:
Description: Customer wants a pack of Camel Crushes. I get them.
Difficulty: Nonexistent.
Observation: This most basic level of interaction bypasses any pretext of social dilly dallying.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer: Hey.
Me: Hey.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: Simple acknowledgment of existence and simple item procurement.
Difficulty: Simple, easy, almost no thinking involved.
Observation: The bare minimum of social pleasantries are observed.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer: Hello.
Me: Hello.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: Social formalities are introduced at the basic level with 'hello' as opposed to 'hey' or simply an ineffectual grunt.
Difficulty: Still simple and easy, but the vague threat of further interaction beyond the basic 'money for smokes' concept lingers.
Observation: When the customer actually says hello, I usually feel compelled to make eye contact, and body language is thrown into the equation. The possibility that more words will have to be thought up and said could lead to further complexities.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer: How's it going?
Me: Pretty good.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: A little harder; the next level of basic social interaction. A query for information, necessitating an appropriate response in addition to procuring the indicated item.
Difficulty: Simplicity is sacrificed for social niceties, introducing the possibility that further social interaction may be required at least a rudimentary level. However, it's usually safe to assume that no undue thinking will need to occur.
Observation: Although a step up from simple acknowledgment, this exchange occurs almost automatically, with both parties usually aware at an unconscious level that the customer has no real interest in how things are actually going.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer: How ya doing?
Me: Ok.
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Or, alternately...
Customer: How ya doing?
Me: Well, I twisted my back the other -
Customer: Pack of Camel Crushes.
Description: Comparable to 'how's it going'.
Difficulty: Possibly tiring. Although this exchange is still largely automatic, it is more personal. The probability of a simple exchange decreases with possibility that the ego may become involved.
Observation: A couple of times I've found myself interrupted, embarrassed, and pissed off when I tried to answer this question with something other than the stock reply. It's important to remember that all the customer really gives a flying horses patoot about is getting those Camel Crushes from point A to point B.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer: Hey man. What's up? How's it going? Say, do you think I could... you know... or do you think you could, I mean, you know... do that payroll thing? For a couple of beers and a couple of packs of Camel Crushes? And I can get you back on Friday?
Me: Aw crap...
Description: A blitzkrieg of social pleasantries forces thinking and talking into primary mode.
Difficulty: Exhausting.
Observation: This happens because I'm too damn nice, or stupid. I don't know which yet. It all started when I let one guy payroll a pack of cigarettes, and then another. At first it was just ten bucks a week, but then I started doing it for Bruce, and then for Wheels too... and the next thing I knew, I was letting these guys payroll anywhere from 10 to 40 bucks a week each, resulting in a significant percentage of my check this week being payrolled away on cigarettes and booze for these parasites. I know what it says in the Bible: "If somebody asks you for your shirt, give them your coat too." I'm beginning to wonder if that should apply to beer and cigarettes.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Customer: Hey.
Me: Hey.
Customer: This and a pack of Camel Crushes.
Me: Got your ID on yer?
Customer: Yeah man, sure.
Me: I need a current one, not just this temporary piece of paper.
Customer: I got this from the DMV.
Me: Do you have the expired plastic one to go with it?
Customer: No.
Me: I'm sorry man, but I can't sell you the beer.
Customer: Well hell, why do they give you the temporary one then?
Me: Sorry.
Customer: Can she buy it for me?
Me: No, that would be illegal. It's a state law, sorry. The TABC has been giving $2500.00 tickets to us for selling to people with expired ID's, and -
Customer: Fuck it.
Me: Again, I'm sorry, but I'm not risking a $2500.00 ticket and jail just so you can catch a buzz.
Description: Things fall apart, the center does not hold. The World War Three of customer interaction.
Difficulty: Yeesh.
Observation: Screw it.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Hipster sighting
"Did you see the tight pants that guy was wearing?" asked Brittney, referring to a customer who had just exited the store.
"Yup. And speaking of hipsters, that's a definite hipster fashion," I said, since we had just been talking about hipsters a few minutes earlier. I thought about the time when I used to wear tight pants like that, back when it was a rock & roll thing. "I used to wear them tight too, about twenty years ago when it was the glam rock style," I remarked as I leaned down and grabbed the excess material of my pants leg around my calf. I bunched it into my fist, tightening it until it clung to my leg all around. "See?"
Brittney observed the effect. She laughed and said, "His were tight in the butt."
I let go of my pants leg and stood up. I reached around reflexively and grabbed the seat of my pants and then let go quickly, suddenly self conscious. "Oh. Yeah... well, he probably wasn't a hipster. And mine weren't ever tight in the butt," I lied.
"Are you gonna go back to that style now that it's the 'in' thing again?" asked Brittney.
I imagined trying to pull off that style now and pictured my belly spilling over the thirty inch waist of the tight glam rock jeans I used to wear back in the early 90's. I frowned. "I don't think so," I said. "I don't want to be mistaken for a hipster..."
At that moment I glanced outside and watched as a scooter pulled up to the gas pump. Aha, I thought to myself. Now that is a bona-fide hipster! A hipster sighting is always a cause for some fun for me at work, since identifying one isn't always cut and dried. This one, however, was a dead ringer. I pointed the specimen out to Britney. "See there, the guy with the scooter? That's a for sure hipster. And a scooter is always a good sign."
Brittney followed my finger to where I was pointing and laughed. "You're silly," she said. "Weren't you just saying that you wanted a scooter an hour ago?"
I rolled my eyes. "That's different. I want one for getting from point A to point B, not so I can display my non-conformity by conforming to the vague rules of an anti-conformist sub culture."
Brittney rolled her eyes at me and smiled. "Uh huh."
I shook my head and laughed. "A hipster I am definitely NOT. I'm stuck in the entirely different sub-culture of early 90's grunge. At least most people have heard of my music."
"Yeah, like most people have heard of Pinback."
Brittney will never know how close my brain had come to imploding just then. "Uh... anywho," I said after I'd recovered. "Back to the hipster. You know how I can tell he's a hipster?" The guy dismounted his scooter and began fiddling with the gas pump. "First off, he's riding a scooter. That isn't a dead giveaway in itself, but it's a good indicator." We observed as he abruptly left off what he was doing, and as he approached the store I noted his attire. He was wearing tight fitting cut-off blue jean shorts, Chuck Taylors with black socks, and a black t-shirt with a picture of a pistol on the front with 'New York' printed in large letters above it. He was also wearing a backwards baseball cap.
"Ok, see?" I remarked. "He's wearing the tight skinny cut-offs. See how tight they are?"
"Yeah, those sure are some tight shorts," observed Brittney. "How can he actually like them being that tight?"
"It isn't for the likes of us the question the ways of the hipster," I answered, eliciting laughter from both of us.
"See the black socks?" I said as I resumed my commentary. "That means anti-establishment, to wear shorts with black socks. And the t-shirt with the slogan that makes no sense... what the heck is that supposed to mean? Probably something ironic that nobody has ever heard of or understands except for him and whoever he invites into his loft apartment." I sure as heck didn't know what it was supposed to mean, unless it was just a simple statement about gun violence in The Big Apple, done in an obvious way as an attempt to be confusing and profound at the same time. Typical. "Oh, and look," I said. "He's even got the country hick baseball cap with the tall flat front."
At that moment the hipster came into the store and wandered back to the cooler. "Hey," I said to Brittney. "Leah told me that she teased Nick once about being a hipster. I think he might be a closet hipster."
"Does he have rich parents?" Brittney asked, since earlier I had been describing hipsters as decadent youths, eternally dependent on their wealthy parents to support them throughout their twenties and thirties so that they could spend all of their time observing the philosophical irony of something or another, while at the same time acting like they didn't care about it. While drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. Or lattes.
I thought about it for a second. "Hmmm... I dunno," I replied. "He was a hobo for a while and used to jump trains a lot. He definitely lived a kind of homeless lifestyle for some time. Maybe he's a hobo-hipster. A hobster."
This got a laugh out of Brittney. "Oh man, did that make things worse?" she said, referring to my situation concerning Nick.
At that moment the hipster came up to my register. He placed a soda on the counter and asked for two dollars in gas.
"Well, it didn't help anything, but that's just me being retarded," I said as I rang up the soda and set the gas pump. "I actually liked Nick just fine before," I said. "We were right on the cusp of becoming good friends when things fell apart. I even asked him to be my Godfather once." I met Brittney's eyes and laughed. "Man, that would have been awkward."
"Wow. Yeah, I remember you telling me about that," said Brittney. "Did he wear the skinny hipster jeans?"
At that moment the hipster at my register gave Brittney a brief but pointed glance, then took his change and exited the store.
"Did you see that?" Brittney said excitedly. "He looked up when I said hipster!"
"We've just made an authentic hipster sighting. We were quite lucky... the hipster in it's natural environment is an elusive creature," I remarked.
Brittney laughed and shook her head. "You're silly," she said.
"Yup. And speaking of hipsters, that's a definite hipster fashion," I said, since we had just been talking about hipsters a few minutes earlier. I thought about the time when I used to wear tight pants like that, back when it was a rock & roll thing. "I used to wear them tight too, about twenty years ago when it was the glam rock style," I remarked as I leaned down and grabbed the excess material of my pants leg around my calf. I bunched it into my fist, tightening it until it clung to my leg all around. "See?"
Brittney observed the effect. She laughed and said, "His were tight in the butt."
I let go of my pants leg and stood up. I reached around reflexively and grabbed the seat of my pants and then let go quickly, suddenly self conscious. "Oh. Yeah... well, he probably wasn't a hipster. And mine weren't ever tight in the butt," I lied.
"Are you gonna go back to that style now that it's the 'in' thing again?" asked Brittney.
I imagined trying to pull off that style now and pictured my belly spilling over the thirty inch waist of the tight glam rock jeans I used to wear back in the early 90's. I frowned. "I don't think so," I said. "I don't want to be mistaken for a hipster..."
At that moment I glanced outside and watched as a scooter pulled up to the gas pump. Aha, I thought to myself. Now that is a bona-fide hipster! A hipster sighting is always a cause for some fun for me at work, since identifying one isn't always cut and dried. This one, however, was a dead ringer. I pointed the specimen out to Britney. "See there, the guy with the scooter? That's a for sure hipster. And a scooter is always a good sign."
Brittney followed my finger to where I was pointing and laughed. "You're silly," she said. "Weren't you just saying that you wanted a scooter an hour ago?"
I rolled my eyes. "That's different. I want one for getting from point A to point B, not so I can display my non-conformity by conforming to the vague rules of an anti-conformist sub culture."
Brittney rolled her eyes at me and smiled. "Uh huh."
I shook my head and laughed. "A hipster I am definitely NOT. I'm stuck in the entirely different sub-culture of early 90's grunge. At least most people have heard of my music."
"Yeah, like most people have heard of Pinback."
Brittney will never know how close my brain had come to imploding just then. "Uh... anywho," I said after I'd recovered. "Back to the hipster. You know how I can tell he's a hipster?" The guy dismounted his scooter and began fiddling with the gas pump. "First off, he's riding a scooter. That isn't a dead giveaway in itself, but it's a good indicator." We observed as he abruptly left off what he was doing, and as he approached the store I noted his attire. He was wearing tight fitting cut-off blue jean shorts, Chuck Taylors with black socks, and a black t-shirt with a picture of a pistol on the front with 'New York' printed in large letters above it. He was also wearing a backwards baseball cap.
"Ok, see?" I remarked. "He's wearing the tight skinny cut-offs. See how tight they are?"
"Yeah, those sure are some tight shorts," observed Brittney. "How can he actually like them being that tight?"
"It isn't for the likes of us the question the ways of the hipster," I answered, eliciting laughter from both of us.
"See the black socks?" I said as I resumed my commentary. "That means anti-establishment, to wear shorts with black socks. And the t-shirt with the slogan that makes no sense... what the heck is that supposed to mean? Probably something ironic that nobody has ever heard of or understands except for him and whoever he invites into his loft apartment." I sure as heck didn't know what it was supposed to mean, unless it was just a simple statement about gun violence in The Big Apple, done in an obvious way as an attempt to be confusing and profound at the same time. Typical. "Oh, and look," I said. "He's even got the country hick baseball cap with the tall flat front."
At that moment the hipster came into the store and wandered back to the cooler. "Hey," I said to Brittney. "Leah told me that she teased Nick once about being a hipster. I think he might be a closet hipster."
"Does he have rich parents?" Brittney asked, since earlier I had been describing hipsters as decadent youths, eternally dependent on their wealthy parents to support them throughout their twenties and thirties so that they could spend all of their time observing the philosophical irony of something or another, while at the same time acting like they didn't care about it. While drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. Or lattes.
I thought about it for a second. "Hmmm... I dunno," I replied. "He was a hobo for a while and used to jump trains a lot. He definitely lived a kind of homeless lifestyle for some time. Maybe he's a hobo-hipster. A hobster."
This got a laugh out of Brittney. "Oh man, did that make things worse?" she said, referring to my situation concerning Nick.
At that moment the hipster came up to my register. He placed a soda on the counter and asked for two dollars in gas.
"Well, it didn't help anything, but that's just me being retarded," I said as I rang up the soda and set the gas pump. "I actually liked Nick just fine before," I said. "We were right on the cusp of becoming good friends when things fell apart. I even asked him to be my Godfather once." I met Brittney's eyes and laughed. "Man, that would have been awkward."
"Wow. Yeah, I remember you telling me about that," said Brittney. "Did he wear the skinny hipster jeans?"
At that moment the hipster at my register gave Brittney a brief but pointed glance, then took his change and exited the store.
"Did you see that?" Brittney said excitedly. "He looked up when I said hipster!"
"We've just made an authentic hipster sighting. We were quite lucky... the hipster in it's natural environment is an elusive creature," I remarked.
Brittney laughed and shook her head. "You're silly," she said.
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