the lingering snicker -but also sort of freaky.

I can't keep from letting out an occasional snicker. Why? you ask.
Great question.
There is a stuffed bear in a Santa hat on my bosses desk in a make-shift coffin. headstone and all.
Why is there a bear in a coffin?
It all started with an Indian man and a pink top hat.


No really
Someone put a fuzzy, pink top hat on the corner of my cubicle. After a few days it was joined by a bear. A bear in a santa hat no less.
"who the heck put that there?"
"Kasheem"
I relocated the bear to the office across the hall, whose occupant promptly moved it back to a different local in my cube.
This continued for several weeks. A third party then joined the fun and made it a mind game.
"how did the bear move when I was in here talking to you the whole time?"

Anyways one thing leads to another and the bear ends up hung from the light in the office across the hall. I do not take full responsibility.
However I will say I cracked up at the note that the unknown left.
"dear cold cruel world,
No bear should have to endure such a life. Twas a fortnight since I last had a home and honey. I have been chained to this Santa myth for too long now. My kningdom for a tank top. - bearly yours"

You gotta admit, that's pretty funny. So anyways - the mastermind of the travesty is out of town today, and who knew that the man across the hall and I would find everything one would need for a complete bear funneral within the copy room of our floor?

There he lay in a pink satin lined box surrounded by daisies and clasping a sprig of baby's breath in his paws. A tomestone sits above his head reading: "RIP - "my kingdom for a tank top"


Sweet dreams little santa bear.... sweet dreams.

hello?

"bueno"
"Hi, this is Emily with...... I need to verify...... can you do that for me?"
"spanish spanish spanish....."
"Do you speak any English?"
"No, spanish spanish spanish.."
I wait a second. Then she says:
"This is my friends phone."
"Alright, can I leave a number for your friend to call me back?"
"Sure hang on just a second... okay, go ahead."


Does this not seem odd to anyone else? Is it unbelievable that this has happened multiple times in the past week?

People do strange thing when they think they're in trouble. My best guess is that it is not even her friends phone and that when I call back next week it will say "this number is no longer in service" That seems to be the pattern so far anyways.

Why the heck would you want to see how long you can break rules and get away with things as a life-style. So that you have this nagging guilt all the time that makes you do things like cancel your phone service even when you don't need to. It seems like that is pretty counterproductive. To claim to be living free and without boundries, but you're really held captive by your own guilt and fear of where this may lead.



So I was going to see if I am dependent on caffine.
The answer is yes.
My head was punding and my eyes were drooping.
I had gone two days with out and finally brokedown. And by brokedown I mean I had three diet cokes in under an hour. That's less like breaking down and more like the engine fell out of the car five miles back and the brakes went out so I just swirved around until I finally ran through some guardrails. Then I ended up in a river, a river flowing with beautiful beautiful Diet Coke.
No big deal... it's diet.


This is the second day in a row where I have been the only soul in the office. It's sort of like I want to run up and down the halls and slide around in socks. But at the same time I know that would be the precise moment everyone would return from wherever they've been. Oh and also it's mostly carpet anyways.

box of awkward

Well I tried the stairs today.
My office is on the third floor. I sometimes take the stairs down, but have never taken them up. In my recently reformed "health-conscious" mind set I decided to use the stairs always.
I can't the third floor door is looked in the stair well. Not from the hallway, Just the other side. so I go back down the stairs and stand and wait for the elevator.
This elevator is more uncomfortable than any other elevator I've known. It has faux wood for three walls, but the fourth is the shiniest mirror ever.
I've been in mirrored elevators before, but none seem as uncomfortable as this.
So every occupant looks to the floor. I always want to do or say something, but nothing appropriate can be mustered to fill the thick, uneasy air.
Sometimes people talk. But it's weird when they won't look at you in the flesh, but prefer to look at you in the mirror. so you feel like your talking to someone is not standing less than two feet from you. Then there's that one girl from the second floor that has no objection to taking full notice of the mirror, regardless of the company. She'll pick her teeth, fix her make-up, examine her hair and various other self maintainence activities. All of which are performed about three inches from the shiney wall. Then that makes you feel uncomfortable because you begin to think , "She knows I'm in here - right? I hope she does."
Or the man that gets in fro his smoke break and acts as if the elevators packed, even when it's just you and him. so he stands real close with his cigarette-smellin-self. You don't take a giant step or two away and hold your nose and wave your hand around (like you want to) because then it would be obvious that he was too close and smells bad. And then it'd feel more awkward.
oy.
There is no end.
i think that it would be great to write a short story that is from the "fly on the wall" view in an elevator. A story that observes the characters only within those walls. Like a series of first impressions.
Maybe not.

What are the odds?

So what are the odds that a house i tried so desperately to find last week is on a street one block from where i had decided to give up?
What are the odds that I would not be able to recall that she said, "white house with blue trim" and when I turn the corner there's a blue house with white trim? talk about confused.....

What are the odds that the only thing in the car we had to offer the toothless homeless man harrassing us was beef jerky? He pulled back his lips to reveal nothing but gums , said thank you anyways, took the beef jerky and went on his way.

What are the odds that Courtney would arrive at the percise moment we left, only through opposite gates?

What are the odds that a perfect plan to surprise someone for their birthday got "ruined" by a trip to Miami Beach?

just wondering

So there is a really large deaf community in my city. I was watching some of them talk for a while yesterday and I wondered, are there mumblers in sign language?
If there are, what are they called? What about studdering? Can someone have poor vocabulary in sign language?

so my dear friend and i went and had a fashion shoot at "the slab" in Kingsland Texas.

a few things of note

jiffy lube isn't necessarily "jiffy" at all.

I was behind a car at the stoplight that has a bumper sticker that read, "I brake for penguins"

There was a man hopping down the sidewalk on 38th street. seriously. He had two big, pink bunny ears strapped on his helmet and what appeared to be "pogo-stilts" strapped to each shoe. He was making some serious progress. And he was going uphill. No easy feat, I'm sure.

A little boy was walking around the restaraunt with binauculars around his neck.

"are you a REAL model?"
"Sometimes."
"I've always dreamed of being a model!"
she sucks in her chubby belly and walks around in a circle.

some pictures from my last trip home... does anyone know what kind of birds those sre. i thought they would peck out my eyeballs.

.
Today I was up at five.
Yesterday five thirty.
six the day before.


Does this mean I have to get up at four thirty tomorrow?
not that i'm obsessed with patterns or anything... just wondering.
speaking of being obsessed. I watched a movie that had a write up on the cover that far exeeded the movies potential for greatness. It was French (problem number one). It claimed to be a gripping phsycological thriller that kept you gasping. Promises unfullfilled. I did, however release one gasp. A man cut his own throat mid-sentence. it caught you completely off guard. then the rest of the movie was a total drag. It didn't even have music in the background. and my phsycie was not thrilled. just board. and then it just ended with absolutely no resolution and a trillion unanswered questions. so i watch the directors interview to try and see if there was a reason i felt so frusteratedly confused. he said "i hate those writers and directors that presume to be able to tell you all the story".
what?
isn't that supposed to be the point? I can understand cliff hangers and seed-planting mysteries. but even then they mostly have some sort of substance to stand on. not this guy's "story", though. it was as pointless as mardi gras beads when it's not mardi gras.
so basically i say that you should enjoy telling people stories and painting pictures and leading them to conclusions they may not have come to on their own if you want to choose to write and direct. that seems to be the idea behind wanting to write and direct.
if you didn't want to leave the viewer with a more informed view, or at least entertained, then why don't you get a job as a writer for Bop magazine? even that is slightly entertaining.

so, basically, don't go rent CACHE'. I give it two emphatic thumbs down.
if you've ever seen "coffee and cigarettes" you have a slight idea of how this movie unfolds. it doesn't. that's how. there is no unfolding to be done. LA-AME.

ps. sorry if this is your favorite film. but if it is i have a feeling you're faking it and you really like tommy boy better.