2004: A Threshold Retrospective

2004.
On the surface, it doesn’t seem like an especially significant year.
Not like, say, a 1999, or a 2000, or a 2001 with its “Space Odyssey.”
Hell, it’s not even a palindrome like 2002.
That’s only on the surface, though. Sure, 2004 doesn’t have the kind of obvious, flashy significance of some other years, but if you examine it more closely you’ll see that…umm...
Okay, 2004 sucked out loud.
The only thing it had going for it was that we had the opportunity, which we didn’t take, to get Bush out of office.
Beyond that, 2004 had nothing to offer, and nothing is exactly what it gave us.
Still, for the next couple of days 2004 is the only year we’ve got, and as we find ourselves nearing the end of it, it seems fitting that we take a look back on the year that was.
So join me now for the first-ever Threshold Year In Review, in which we will recap some of the significant events of 2004. We’ll be looking at events specific to my life as well as events that have actual significance.
Since we’re on, or at least very near the subject, let’s talk about the election. For reasons that are utterly inexplicable to me, and despite the best efforts of professional rabble-rouser and unkempt fat guy Michael Moore, George W. swept the election. Apparently it doesn’t matter if you’re a retarded Right-Wing nut-job who failed to live up to the extremely limited requirements of the cushy position that your daddy got you to keep you out of the war as long as you’ve got some amount of personality.
Personality. The one area in which John Kerry just couldn’t compete, whether it be with George W. Bush, or with dryer lint.
Still, it wasn’t the blandness of his opponent that helped Curious George make his way to victory, it was actually an upswell of religious conservativism that was brought on in part by the revelation on national television that women actually have nipples.
Everyone knows that it’s a perfectly wholesome family activity to watch large men violently slam into each other for our amusement, and that shouldn’t be disrupted by a brief glimpse of a nipple. There’s no room in football for nipples.
Apparently at some point after they are no longer of breast-feeding age seeing a nipple is the single most damaging thing that can happen to a child, though it is evidently acceptable for them to actually have nipples themselves. Presumably, though, they are to be discouraged from spending any more time looking at their own nipples than they absolutely have to.
To ensure that they never see nipples on TV again, CBS was fined a ridiculous amount of money, and Fox was fined even more, though in that case the naughty bits were not actually visible, as they had been pixilated prior to broadcast.
The puritanical backlash resulting from the infamous “wardrobe malfunction” has been pretty widespread:

• Howard Stern was pulled off the air in many major markets and forced to flee to satellite radio.
• In April, Victoria’s Secret pulled its fashion show from the TV schedule.
• Various “live” awards shows were broadcast with a seven-second delay. The ads for the 2004 Billboard Music Awards referred to the show as "the awards show where anything can happen," but clearly the unspoken follow-up statement was "but it better not."
• Several ABC stations refused to air "Saving Private Ryan" unedited on Veteran's Day, for fear of an angry response from viewers and resultant hefty fines from the FCC.
• The TV show “Blind Date” began blurring out women’s chests if they weren’t wearing bras underneath their shirts, and even goes so far as to blur out any amount of cleavage that may be showing.
• The NFL got in hot water once again due to a promo for ABC's "Desperate Housewives" during "Monday Night Football" which featured no nipples whatsoever, but which was "suggestive," and featured a shot of actress Nicolette Sheridan's bare back. Heavens, we even got to see her bare ankles in that ad!

If this trend continues, I see the burqa as the must-have (literally) women's fashion accessory for 2005.
The other major event that helped the religious conservative movement gain momentum was the success of Mel Gibson’s torture porn/love letter to the SS, “The Passion of The Christ,” in which we learned that – Who knew? – crucifixion is really, really nasty.
Apparently this Jesus guy was brutally tortured and killed by the Jews…in much the same fashion that thousands of Jews were later tortured and killed on his behalf throughout the course of the Spanish Inquisition.
In any case, gory scenes of torture and death on the big screen really seemed to help people get back in touch with their religious beliefs, renewing their faith in a loving and kind Messiah who espoused a philosophy of charity, mercy, forgiveness, and compassion. Yep, nothing like a good old-fashiond scourging to fill you will feelings of mercy and love.
This spiritual renewal helped them better appreciate Christ's gentle spirit and become better prepared and more determined than ever to destroy their enemies.
And they were soon to discover that their enemies were not limited to women’s nipples, but also included men who like to have sex…with each other!
Yes, we’re talking about homosexuality, which, like eating shellfish, God regards as an abomination.
It’s bad enough that there are gay people in the world at all (well, apart from the hilarious mincing stereotypes we can all laugh at on TV and in the movies, or, you know, the hot chicks we can watch making out with each other, though really all guys know that all those chicks need is some deep dicking to set them straight), but some of them actually have the audacity to want to get married! Well, we’ll show them! They might be able to show us how to dress, but we’ll be damned if we’ll let them take away the sanctity of marriage from us! Those queers better listen up; broken homes, extramarital affairs, domestic abuse, and the sheer agonizing monotony of married lives are solely the province of God-fearing straight people!
So all of these factors came together to help to create a wave of conservative morality, which, like the tsunami their loving and merciful God recently used to wipe out more than 100,000 people, washed over this country and buoyed George W. Bush to victory.
Of course, for those people not caught up in this wave, there was the issue of the War on Terror, which, to date, has yielded such tangible results as finding weapons of mass. Wait, never mind that one. But even so, we did...umm…well…there was that guy, you know, the one who wasn’t really doing anything. The one from that war. No, not the guy who was actually responsible for attacks on America. The other guy. The bad guy from those “Hot Shots” movies.
Okay, so the actual results aren’t what are important here.
The fact of the matter is that, apparently because a significant portion of the population is retarded and can therefore identify with him, the American people believe that George W. Bush is the best man for the job of protecting our way of life from the people (Many of whom may actually have nipples!) who are out to destroy it.
They believe this even as they choose to ignore the fact that the largest major terror attack on this country occurred on his watch.
But that's irrelevant. George W. is clearly the man for the job. After all, we’d much rather have a Commander-in-Chief who served in the Air National Guard on a base in Texas than a man who actually engaged in combat, because our way of life is just that important to us.
For example, we wouldn’t want to lose our right to free assembly…umm, you know, at least in “Free Speech” Zones”
And we definitely wouldn’t want to live in a theocratic society that places “moral” considerations based on a system of beliefs conceived of thousands of years ago, and which couldn't have less to do with the actual issues of daily life in a world the authors could never have conceived of if it were an owner's manual for a 1956 Studebaker, over providing accurate information that is vital to the well-being of its citizens in areas such as sex and HIV education. Nor would we want to live in a society that obsessively concerns itself with the potentially “impure” thoughts of its citizenry to the extent that there are tremendous consequences if someone so much as catches a glimpse of the unwholesome female parts or that takes actions to ensure that “indecent” and “subversive” viewpoints cannot be expressed over the public airwaves. We also wouldn’t want to live in a society that deprives a significant portion of its population of their right to have an officially-recognized relationship with all of the rights and privileges thereto, or that engages in unprovoked attacks that lead to thousands of civilian casualties, or that perpetuates the unfounded hatred of the Jewish people and….
Umm…you know what? Why don’t we just wrap things up here and move on to the more Jon-specific events of 2004?

Threshold Year In Review Pt. 2: This Time It’s Personal

Ah, 2004. I remember it just like it was…umm, well, just like it was right now.
The year definitely had some moments of moment for me.
Some of them were entertaining, such as this, which I feel may have my best off the cuff smart-ass comment of the year:

Kathleen: I’m not really a “diva,” am I?
Me: No; you’re just a bitch.

Some were irritating, such as when my clutch blew up on me.
Most moments, though, simply were.
Still, there were some significant events. For example, I wrote a novel. Granted, it’s not a great novel, but hey, how many novels have any of you written?
I also submitted a short story for publication. Sure, I never heard anything back from the publisher, but considering that it’s been nine years since I submitted anything, I’d say it’s significant.
And on other creative fronts, I think that in 2004 I’ve created some of my best artistic work ever, with some of the best examples being here, here and here.
And also here.
Possibly the most significant event of 2004 in my life, though, was the fact that after nearly eighteen years I quit smoking.
Smoking being my last remaining major vice, this act added to the overall asceticism of my life and made me that much more monkish. That’s probably why I resisted the idea of quitting for so long. After all, I don’t drink anymore, I’ve given up caffeine, I’m not much of a gambler, and as for sex…well, we all know that is not a major issue in my life as far as vices go.
So smoking was really all that I had left.
Still, I’m glad I did it, and I do hope that I’ll never smoke again, but most days I do find myself wanting to light up, and, to be honest, though I did start depositing the amount I used to spend on cigarettes every month into my savings account, I’m not really seeing the financial benefits, and given my lack of any real vices, I'm hard-pressed to figure out where the hell the money is going.
The most obvious impact giving up smoking had on my life, though, was creating my interest in personal fitness. After I quit smoking, bucking the usual trend, I actually lost twenty pounds.
Since that time I’ve added more intensive exercise to my initial regime of endless walking and, as a result, have actually gained thirty pounds, though I’ve retained my much smaller waistline, indicating that most of it is muscle.
At roughly the same time that I quit smoking I began to experiment in the kitchen, learning that not only do I seem to have something in the way of culinary talents, I actually enjoy cooking.
2004 also saw the rather ambiguous conclusion to my most recent attempt at forming a romantic relationship, bringing me that much closer to just giving up on the idea once and for all.
Still, there are certain…imperatives that keep me from giving up all hope, despite the lack of prospects.
In 2004 my hatred of TV executives reached a fever pitch due to the unending assault of reality shows, the untimely and unfair death of “Wonderfalls,” and the news that my beloved “Dead Like Me” would not be returning for a third season.
After more than eight years, 2004 witnessed the restoration, and completion, of my “Sandman” collection, and also brought me Neil Gaiman’s “Neverwhere” on DVD.
Of course, we can’t forget the single most significant event of 2004 in my life, as well as the lives of all of you: the birth of Threshold!
As a forum in which I can express myself, Threshold has allowed me to reach out to Mandy, daughter of Pam, Logistics Manager; it has allowed me to keep you informed on subjects as vital and significant as The Venture Bros., Frank Miller’s Sin City, and the fact that my life isn’t as wretched as I make it seem; and finally, Threshold gave me the power to put the final nail in the coffin of a semi-resurrected, on-again-off-again friendship that died once and for all after I wrote about my dislike of pets.
In any case, without Threshold, where else would you get to read about the exciting events of my life, see my stunning works of art, or expose yourself to my irreverent (and usually irrelevant) spin on modern life? I’ll tell you; nowhere, that’s where. And what kind of life would that be? No kind of life at all.
After all, now that Threshold has become an indispensable part of your life, how could you ever get by without it?
Without Threshold, you would wither and die.
So because I control Threshold, I have the power of life and death over you all! You are all at my mercy! Bwahahahahahahahaha!
But don’t worry; I am a kind and benevolent dictator, and I pledge to keep you all hale and hearty with frequent updates throughout the year to come.
In closing, I’ll bring out that hoary old time-honored tradition of the “Best/Worst” list. Enjoy!

Best Second Season of a Series on Showtime:
Dead Like Me

Worst Second Season of a Series on Showtime:
Dead Like Me (Because it’s the last fucking season! Damn you Showtime! Damn you to hell!)

Best Movies That I Actually Went To the Theater to See:
Spider-Man 2
Hellboy
The Incredibles
Honorable Mention (Simply because I actually went to see it): Van Helsing

Worst Movie That I Actually Went To the Theater to See:
Van Helsing (Just because it didn’t kick nearly as much ass as the other three movies)

Best Personal Musical Discoveries of 2004:
Liz Phair (Just in general)
“Nocturama” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Worst Personal Musical Discoveries of 2004:
That rap song in that goddamn Boost Mobile commercial!
The music in all the damn “Checkers” commercials

Best New Expression of 2004:
Fucktard (Props to Brian for introducing me to the term)

Worst New Expression of 2004
President Bush was elected to a second term (Though “That fucktard President Bush was elected to a second term” creates kind of an interesting synergy)

And, on a more serious note, the best moment of 2004, for me, was probably finding out that my niece Jourdan got accepted into a Pre-Med program at Michigan Tech. The worst moment was finding out that her father, my friend and brother-in-law Dean, was being called up for active duty and being sent to Iraq for a two-year tour of duty as part of the bogus “War on Terror,” and will therefore miss her high school graduation and the first year and a half of her time in college.
Of course the absolute worst event of 2004 is the disaster on the other side of the world. Perhaps I’ve made light of it here, in particular to get in a gibe at the followers of organized religion, but this really is a monumental tragedy the likes of which I’ve never seen in my life and my deepest and most sincere sympathies go out to all of the victims of this disaster as well as to their families and friends.
In any case, that concludes the first ever Threshold Year In Review.
Happy New Year, Threshold readers! See you in 2005.

By George

This is a picture of actress Ellen Muth, who plays Georgia "George" Lass on "Dead Like Me."
You just have to love that sullen expression that is so typical of George.
The image on her shirt, an even more stylized than usual version of my signature, is actually the signature I use in my Britney pictures in which the tattoo on her hip is visible.
Britney has some sort of Japanese character, but I like to replace it with my signature. In this case, rather than use the actual image that was on George's shirt, I thought that it would be a good spot for my signature.
In any case, inspired by the fact that I'll probably be seeing less of George (and the rest of the DLM cast), I decided to draw a picture of her to share with everyone here at Threshold.

New! A Way to Send Me Web Cam Links and Information About "Natural Male Enhancement"

I've created a new Google Mail account specifically to allow Threshold readers (at least those who don't already know me personally) to contact me.
If you click on "About Me" you will now see a link for "Email" under "Contact."
For those too lazy to engage in that many clicks you can simply send any messages/hate mail/death threats straight to heimdal472@gmail.com
I'll probably start using this as my default address for any forms I have to fill out that I suspect will result in me receiving spam, so I probably won't check it very often, but then I'm sure that very few people will have any reason to send me mail anyway...
Also, an update to the last post: there may not be justice after all. Looks like McFarlane himself isn't filing for bankruptcy, just one of his companies. Further, it looks as though it's basically just a dodge to avoid paying a lawsuit settlement.
If you're wondering who McFarlane is, and what I have against him, the preceding sentence ought to go a long way towards telling you what you need to know about his character (or lack thereof).
Beyond that, he's a comic book artist who, undeservedly, has enjoyed a tremendous amount of success. That's the basis for my animosity, and suffice to say he's done a lot of things to demonstrate the fact that he's an underhanded jerk (such as trying to screw over Neil Gaiman, who also won a judgment against him).

Is There Really Such a Thing as Justice?

There may very well be:

Todd McFarlane Files for Chapter 11

I try not to take pleasure in the misfortune of others, so I can't really....ah, screw it, McFarlane is broke! Hee! I have a new "Happy Thought!"

Anything for a Laugh, Close Encounters of NO Kind, Morning-After Awkwardness, and a Hint of Things to Come

I’m sure the eloquence of the previous post goes a long way towards explaining how it is that I’ve been single for nearly a decade now (as does the mug shot in the upper right corner).
Mostly I was just impressed by how hot the chick on the Wal-Mart flier was, so I thought I’d find a way to incorporate her into Threshold in some fashion.
Then I thought it would be funny to go the “Beavis and Butt-Head” route with the letter.
I’m not actually desperate enough to resort to trying to use the Internet to get in touch with some random chick I spotted in a Wal-Mart ad.
Okay, maybe I am that desperate, but I’m not foolish enough to think that it would pay off in any fashion beyond getting a laugh from my small yet faithful core of Threshold readers.
Besides, for all I know “Mandy” isn’t even legal.
Sure, she looks mature, but looks can be deceiving.
I mean, come on, anyone can make a mistake, right?
Right?
Come on, fellas, back me up here. We all make mistakes once in a while.
Don’t we?
I mean, how was I supposed to know that girl was only fourteen? I swear, I thought she was twenty-six! She sure didn’t act like she was fourteen, if you know what I mean. And just because I met her outside the middle school, that doesn’t prove anything…
Okay, okay; you can stop being appalled; I’m just joking. Except for the two months between my eighteenth birthday and my then-girlfriend’s, I’ve never had any encounters of the jailbait kind.
And as we all know, it’s been a long, long, looooooong time since I’ve had an encounter of any kind anyway.
I did actually have something of an encounter with a redhead named Mandy (though actually I think it was “Mandi”) a long time ago.
It didn’t lead to anything, obviously, but it was memorable despite the copious amount of alcohol involved.
Mandi had the potential to be pretty, but that potential was marred by the big, splotchy freckles she was covered with.
They had the appearance of liver spots, and gave her skin a leathery quality that made her look much older than she actually was.
Still, while my beer goggles were never as strong a prescription as some (*cough*Eric!*cough*), they did blur my vision a time or two.
Besides, overall she was a pretty cool person, and it’s not like she was completely unattractive.
And how could I not like someone who once got in a fight with a stripper over me? Well, not just me, as there were other issues involved, but I was at least a component in the battle.
I might have been willing to pursue something with Mandi, but our drunken encounters primarily resulted only in awkward moments in the cold, sober light of day, and I never managed to find a way to broach the subject before I got shit-canned from my job (she was a receptionist where I worked). I had a vague idea of where she lived, but I never sought her out, and eventually I left Minnesota behind forever (or at least for the past four years, though it’s probably safe to say that I’m unlikely to ever return).
Of course, in those days I was in no shape to be in a relationship with anyone that wasn’t a bottle of vodka anyway.
You know, I say that I was in no shape to be in a relationship, and other people have said similar things to me over the years, and yet it’s not as if good mental health is some sort of prerequisite for having a relationship.
I mean, if we all had to wait until our lives and mental states were stable most of us would never hook up in the first place.
Hell, I figure that seeking out someone whose life and mental health are in a total state of disarray is pretty much the only way I’m ever going to trick anyone into going out with me.
Honestly, I think my target demographic probably consists entirely of recently deprogrammed cult members. They’re probably the only people vulnerable enough and sufficiently suggestible to fall for what I laughingly call my charm.
Anyway, moving on to other subjects, I should mention that apart from my brief trip to Safeway last night I haven’t ventured out into the world at all this week.
Even before the whole $200 Sprint fiasco I was a little strapped for cash, so I wanted to keep my trips out into the world to a minimum, since they usually cost me money.
Now I’m down to having $16 to live on after I pay rent, so the cupboards are going to be pretty bare around here.
I’ve got over $100 in Wal-Mart gift cards, but the Wal-Mart around here has a pretty limited selection as far as food goes.
Besides, I don’t think that Pam, Logistics Manager, works there anyway, so it’s not like I’d be able to gain some access to Mandy via my local Wal-Mart.
Apart from the money thing, though, I’ve just been feeling this vague and undefined sense of low-level anxiety all week. I’m not really sure what’s behind it, but it’s made me feel even more inclined than usual to stick close to home.
Of course, it could actually be a result of spending so much time at home. Who can say?
In any case, I think that’s about it for today. Come back tomorrow when I will present the first-ever Threshold Year in Review!

An Open Letter to Mandy, Daughter of Pam, Logistics Manager

Note: I’m sure you’ve all seen the Wal-Mart fliers that feature employees and their family members as models. The most recent flier features a hot redhead named Mandy on the cover. Obviously I don't know much about Mandy, other than that she's hot and she looks good in a powder-blue track suit while standing next to a treadmill, and that her mom, Pam, is a Logistics Manager (whatever that is). So since I liked what I saw, I figured I'd make use of Threshold as a public forum in which to express my interest in learning more.

Hello,

So…how’s it going?

Later,

Jon

A "Monster" of a Performance, Cluelessness, Helplessness, and the Futuristic Wonderworld We Live In

I finally got to see the movie “Monster” in its entirety last night, as Adelphia chose not to have my digital cable cut out in the middle of it the way it did last week.
I have to say that I was impressed. The movie itself was only so-so, but the performance put in by Charlize Theron was every bit as amazing as I’ve heard. It was made especially impressive by the fact that none of her previous performances had ever even hinted at her being capable of something like this.
So if you get a chance, I’d advise checking it out.
What I found interesting is that I’ve known a lot of people very much like the characters presented in “Monster,” though so far as I know none of them have been serial killers, or even prostitutes for that matter.
It’s more in the way of similarities in an overall approach to life, I think, and some specific patterns of behavior that I recognized. There are a lot of people back home who wouldn’t have seemed out of place in the setting of the movie, and I’m sure there are people in small communities all across the country who would be equally at home there.
I got a very late start today, sleeping in until after 11, though considering that I was up until nearly 4, I guess it can’t really be looked at as “sleeping in.”
As I was sitting around trying to decide whether or not I was going to venture out into the world at all today, my mom called to ask me about something.
When I was hanging up I noticed that my phone’s LED flashed, which I knew meant…something.
I had gotten a text message while on the phone, maybe?
Yes, that was the one.
The message informed me that, once again, my service had been shut off due to the overall incompetence of the people who switched me over to the discounted plan.
A couple of hours on the phone with various people at Sprint, several contradictory explanations, and $200 later and I was finally working again.
Why $200? I still have no real idea.
Whenever I tried to pay my bill online I was unable to access my invoice, and it told me that I had a zero balance.
I sort of assumed that when I started the new billing cycle I might be hit with a surprise, but in the meantime there really wasn’t much that I could do, and I didn’t figure on being shut off again.
When I called in the first person I talked to told me that I owed $200, but that after I paid it I could talk to the actual customer service people, since he was with some group dedicated to dealing with suspended accounts, and straighten it out.
As I said, there was a tremendous amount of incompetence involved.
Anyway, after doing a lot of swearing, and hearing some vague explanations about prorating, I bit the bullet and paid the $200, then called back to talk to customer service, only to find that my service was STILL suspended, and that the automated system claimed that I still owed $86.
After getting connected to someone in Atlanta who couldn’t help me, I was transferred to India, and then finally I was transferred again and I talked to someone who explained that, just as I had known all along, all I really owed was the remaining payment on my old, pre-discount account, and that I now had a $200 credit on my new, discounted account.
The remaining balance on my old account still hadn’t been paid, though.
*Sigh*
She also figured out that some weird prorating issue had messed up my balance by performing some sort of arcane calculation of my minutes used, which put me well over my usage limit even though, as I always am, I was well below my monthly limit.
So she basically gave me a bunch of free minutes to put me below the limit, then took the amount I still owed on my old account from the $200 credit on my new account, and as it stands I have service, and should, presumably, be paid up in advance for some time to come.
Of course, the unexpected loss of $200 has tightened my purse strings considerably for the next week and a half, so on top of all of the irritation involved, I’m pretty much broke.
Fun stuff.
Beyond that, the day was pretty uneventful, apart from re-reading, and thoroughly enjoying, some “Sin City” stories.
Last night when I went out to push that guy off the ice I had sort of an odd experience.
I had gone out to help him because I know how much I would have appreciated having someone help me on Saturday, and because no one else, even though there were a bunch of people who were much closer, seemed to be doing it.
Anyway, when I got there, I noticed that the guy’s wife/girlfriend was standing there watching him try to back out.
The amount of force needed to push the car off the ice was so minimal that a child could have done it, so there’s reason that this woman couldn’t have pushed him.
It just struck me as incredibly anachronistic, like some fight scene in an old serial western in which the woman just stands helplessly by and watches while the men fight to the death.
Hey honey, haven’t you ever seen a Virginia Slims ad? You’ve come a long way, baby…now get your ass in front of the car and push.
After I accepted their thanks and headed back for my apartment I shook my head in dismay at the whole thing, and thought about all the times that my mom has helped my dad with chopping and piling firewood, or hauling heavy things around, and just generally helping him with various other tasks that this woman would, apparently, have been altogether too dainty for.
Still, even if she was somehow too dainty to engage in such an activity, why didn’t she get behind the wheel while he pushed?
I mean, that’s what I would do, even though I would expect the woman to at least offer to push.
Beyond the woman’s sexist view of herself and her capabilities (or maybe just her own selfishness), though, I guess that in a larger sense it’s just demonstrative of how utterly helpless people around here are when it comes to winter.
Considering this, it’s no wonder that school closures are announced hours in advance of the first flake even falling when a “storm” is predicted.
If I hadn’t helped them out, it’s likely that they never would have gotten out, since I doubt that they would have figured out that, since there were two of them, one of them could push.
I don’t think anyone else would have helped them, either, and not because they didn’t care, or were bad people, but because performing such an act would have never occurred to them. People in this area are just totally mystified by any weather pattern other than a warm, sunny day.
And sometimes even those can lead to panic in the streets.
In any case, this couple hung up on the ice was completely hosed until I came along, and we’re only talking about a relatively small patch of ice. There isn’t even any snow to be found anywhere in the area, so we’re not even talking about a winter wonderland, let alone the frozen tundra.
I guess I should be too hard on them, though, since not everyone has experienced just how harsh winter can be the way that I have.
Still, human beings are renowned for their ability to adapt, and considering how truly mild winter really is here, it shouldn’t be that difficult to adapt to it.
So I guess what I’m saying is that most of the people in Northern VA need to grow a pair. At worst they’re going to have to deal with a couple of inches of snow in a winter that will effectively be over before the end of February.
Just because you see a couple of flakes fall from the sky it doesn’t mean you have to turn into the Donner Party or something. You’ll survive.
The problem is, though, that they never learn that lesson after they do survive the winter. It’s as if they completely forget what just happened the moment spring arrives, and so they’re caught completely off guard the next time the temperature starts to dip again. “You mean this happens every year? I thought it was just the one time.”
Ah well, it’s going to be a long winter (In relative terms at least. Not a long, October through May winter like I'm used to), and I’m sure I’ll have plenty more complaining to do on this subject. Best not to vent it all today.
I did end up venturing out into the world briefly.
I walked over to Safeway to get some milk.
I did so unwashed and unshaven, as I decided that I just don’t care.
In any case, when I was heading up to the register I thought I had lucked out, as the Express lane was actually open (for a change) and free of customers. There was a couple in front of me, but they had more than fifteen items, and so they were going to keep walking...until the cashier decided to be generous and ring them up anyway.
Still, it was likely to be the fastest line in the place anyway, especially since they didn’t have that much more than fifteen items, so it shouldn’t have taken them that long to get through. So I got behind them.
Of course, I failed to factor in the fact that they were in their fifties, which meant that something would happen to make this take longer than it really should.
In my mind it was a toss-up as to whether that something would be some dispute (exacerbated by the language barrier with the cashier [which would itself be exacerbated by hearing impairment on the part of the couple]) over the price that some individual item rang up at, or if it would be caused by the fact that once you reach a certain age you lose the ability to comprehend any technology developed after 1970.
It was, as the lady struggled to understand the credit card reader, decidedly the latter.
Still, it didn’t take nearly as long as it could have, and eventually I made my way home, ate my dinner, and sat down to write this.
And that brings us up to date.
At least for the purposes of this entry.

New Feature! Stay On The Bleeding Edge of Threshold!

If you look to the bottom of the sidebar on the right, below where it says "I Power Blogger," you'll see a field you can enter your e-mail address in. This will sign you up to receive an e-mail when Threshold is updated.
And won't that be exciting?

On Thin Ice, Claus Encounters, and Another Dream Destroyed by Sports

As most of you know, I’m something of a homebody and I work an odd schedule, so I tend to be home more often than not.
However, the people who live in my apartment complex must be even bigger homebodies and work even odder schedules, as they never seem to go anywhere.
This is evidenced by the fact that at any given time, on any given day, the parking lot is almost always full. There are only very limited windows of opportunity during which I can manage to snag a parking space in front of, or even anywhere near, my building.
As I drove home on Christmas Eve, I had hoped that the holidays would prove an exception, and that my neighbors would actually have someplace else to go for a change.
I soon discovered that this wasn’t the case, as there were, as per usual, no spaces available in front of my building.
There was, however, a spot near my building, and so I parked there.
Because I was paying attention only to the fact that it was relatively near my building, I didn’t notice that this space was the one where excess water always seems to gather, and that said water had frozen solid, which is undoubtedly why the space was actually available.
So in the entire parking space I had managed to park on the only patch of ice.
As I slid forward to the point that my front tires were stopped only by hitting the curb, I knew that this was going to be bad.
Still, as I so often do, I resolved to deal with it in the morning.
Lying in bed that night I envisioned just how much of a pain in the ass it was going to be to get out of that space in the morning, but eventually I drifted off to sleep that was filled with neither visions of sugar plums, nor, in fact, of strippers.
At 4:15 my alarm announced that Christmas had arrived. Hooray! Maybe as a present Santa had moved my car for me.
He hadn’t, but at least he hadn’t put a lump of coal (or something worse) in my stocking, though that probably was only because I hadn’t hung a stocking. If I had, I’m sure I would have found a “gift” from Rudolf or one of the other reindeer in it.
I had considered not getting up to work out and “sleeping in” until 5 as something of a Christmas present to myself, but ultimately decided against it, and so I was up, as on most Saturdays, way too friggin’ early in the morning.
Out I went into the cold Christmas morning and started up my car, which, when put into reverse, moved back about two feet before the tires began simply spinning.
It was pretty much exactly how I’d envisioned it while lying in bed (Who says that dreams don’t come true?).
I admitted defeat early, and avoided spending too much time spinning my wheels.
Then I considered my options.
I could either try to find some way to get my car moving on my own, or forego the workout, take a shower, get dressed, and then call Brian and Kathleen. As they would be leaving work early, I wouldn’t be able to just catch a ride with them, so I would have basically just needed them to give me a push.
As I considered that option, I realized that the car really didn’t need to be moved far in order to be off of the ice, and my car is fairly small…
So I threw it into neutral and tried to push it off the ice on my own.
It’s worth noting at this point that this was, literally, an uphill battle, as there is quite a slant there (which is why water builds up that area in the first place).
I managed to successfully move my car back about five feet, which wasn’t quite enough to get it off of the ice. I might have been able to push it farther, but I essentially ran out of solid ground, as the ice waited in front of me if I stepped forward any further.
So I eased the car back to its original position and once again considered my options.
If I weren’t the cold-hearted, animal-hating, nihilistic, mean, doo-doo-headed bastard that I am who is probably only allergic to pet dander because he’s a cold-hearted etc., I would own a cat, and therefore have access to cat litter which I could put on the ice to provide my tires with some traction.
However, I am a cold-hearted etc., and so I had no cat litter to speak of.
What I did have, though, was the soil and mulch that the various decorative shrubs around my apartment complex are planted in. I managed to dig up enough to successfully free my car, and thus I was on my way, with enough time to spare to get in a workout in addition to the one I’d gotten from attempting to move my car without the benefit of an internal combustion engine.
In the spirit of the day, I did actually listen to a Christmas song on my mp3 player while I was on the treadmill.
Well, it’s kind of a Christmas song. It has “Christmas” in the title, at any rate, there are some “jingle bells” in it (Type O Negative – “Red Water (Christmas Mourning)” Lyrics).
After I finished my workout I headed for the locker room to shower and get dressed.
On occasion, even though I’m there well before most of the world is awake, I do encounter other employees making use of the showers in the locker room, though most mornings it’s typically the same person.
On this particular occasion I encountered someone who, and I’m not kidding, looked like Santa Claus.
He didn’t have a beard, though he did have a mustache, and he had clearly just finished showering and getting dressed (and possibly shaving), and was gathering up his sack (again, I’m not kidding, though I guess it was really more of a backpack), and was on his way out.
If he was an employee, he’s one I’ve never seen before.
I have to say, though, that he didn’t appear especially jolly, but if he had just completed the task of traveling around the world and dispensing gifts to all the good little children, one can hardly blame him.
After all, even though he only really works one day a year, it has to be pretty grueling. I can relate; cramming a full work-week into three days can be brutal, so it has to be that much worse to cram an entire year into one day.
Plus he has to spend that work day with nothing to look at but reindeer assholes and trying to squeeze down chimneys and avoid being seen by nosy little brats the world over.
And you just know that Mrs. Claus is waiting for him when he gets home to bitch him out because she figures he’s probably got girlfriends all over the planet waiting to get their stocking stuffed and for him to come down their chimneys, especially since he has that whole voyeurism problem, and besides that he has to deal with those gay little elves singing their fruity songs all year long, and every year there are more and more rabble-rousers stirring up talk about unionizing…
So I don’t think I’d be especially jolly either.
Then again, I also don’t think I’d stop to shower and shave in Northern Virginia, either. Come on Santa; think tropical!
In any case, the rest of the day proceeded very slowly. We were down to three people on Friday and Saturday: myself and Brian and Kathleen.
Not too long ago a full complement on our shift consisted of six people (not counting Scott, since, as the boss, he never does any actual work).
But with the layoffs, a resignation, and people off for the holidays, we were down to three.
Until three o’clock, when Brian and Kathleen took off early to head to Kathleen’s dad’s, bringing us down to one.
Eventually, though he arrived late, someone from another shift who had volunteered to fill in for the remainder of the day came in and there were two of us.
The day itself was filled with some work-specific headaches that I won’t get into here, and overall it didn’t feel much like Christmas so much as it felt like a really irritating day at work, where, incidentally, in Scott’s absence I was in charge, which only added to the fun.
For their part, Brian and Kathleen found that their flight to Ohio had been cancelled shortly before they were set to leave for the airport, and eventually they had to resort to driving to her dad's.
So that was their Christmas present.
On the topic of presents, the only actual gift I got, apart from the gifts from Scott and Stacy, was a new wallet from my sister Kristy. Apparently it was some sort of gift set, as it arrived in this odd little wooden box. It’s a nice wallet, though, and I was actually thinking about getting a new one, so that worked out.
Beyond that, I got Wal-Mart gift cards from my mom and dad and from my brother Brad, and I will undoubtedly be getting another gift card in the mail from my sister Kim, as she had nearly forgotten to get me anything, and so hadn’t mailed it until Thursday.
“Flame Chick” had made an appearance at work on Christmas day, apparently filling in for someone else, as that's not her usual shift.
Throughout the course of the day I came to discover, from her exchanges with other people there, that she is a rabid sports fan.
This, of course, means that, if such a thing is possible, there’s even less chance of anything developing between us. I say “if such a thing is possible,” since there was already no chance.
(As I type this, the unmistakable sound of tires spinning on ice alerts me to the fact that someone else is presently engaged in a struggle with the icy patch.)
So that was kind of a letdown. The Vegetarian thing had seemed like kind of an obstacle, but since she doesn’t seem to be preachy about it, I figured it wasn’t too big of a deal.
Fanatical interest in sports, though, is utterly unacceptable (There will be a Threshold entry on this particular topic at some point in the future).
Still, even though I had come to know that there could never be anything between us due to the vast schism that my discovery of her interest in sports had created, I couldn’t help but notice that the back of her long, graceful neck, revealed by the fact that she was wearing her beautiful auburn hair up, seemed to have been designed for being kissed and…*sigh*
Why did it have to be sports?
(By the way, I went out and gave the poor bastard a push and got him off the ice.)
But in any case, that was my Christmas.
Still, the little ways that the Universe tried to mess with me were absolutely nothing compared to what it pulled with the earthquake and tsunamis.
Nice timing, too. What a wonderful way to say Merry Christmas to the world...
On Sunday I was the only original member of my shift, working with the assistance of two people from other shifts (including the guy who’d come in on Saturday) who had volunteered to fill in for my shift’s missing members.
I usually only see the two of them during our shift overlap on Friday mornings, so I don’t know them very well. Having to work with people I don’t know, and who do things very differently than we do them on my shift, made it a very long day.
But it’s over now, and soon life will be back to normal.
Not that “normal” is really all that much better, but hey, you take what you can get.
In any case, the holidays are nearly over with, thankfully, and soon we’ll be starting a new year.
I can’t imagine it will be much different from the last few, but hey, anything’s possible I guess…

A New Holiday Classic!

Inspired by the season, my muse has driven me to write an updated version of a traditional Christmas poem. Enjoy!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the apartment
Nothing was put away in its proper compartment
The laundry was thrown on the floor without care
‘Cause I knew no one else would see the mess there

And I was nestled all snug in my bed
While visions of strippers danced in my head
“Hot Mama” wore no kerchief, but she did wear a cap
And she danced on the stage to the music of rap

When outside my window there arose such a clatter
But it didn’t involve me, so it didn’t matter
Back to my dreams I flew like a flash
And offered a dollar as “Hot Mama” took off her sash

The strobe-light on her breasts during the show
Gave the luster of mid-day to her G-String below
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a cute little waitress with my $5 beer

The waitress I’d seen dance so lively and quick
I think that her stage name was simply “Hot Chick”
But tonight she waited tables in spite of her fame
Since at this time of month she was out of the game

Now Kayla! Now Ivy! Now Heaven and Vixen!
Came up to the stage, they were dancin’ and blitzin’!
From the top of the pole it looked like they’d fall
Now lap dances! Lap dances! Lap dances all!

Despite the transaction fees that were entirely too high
The twenties from the ATM piled up to the sky
And off to the corners the suckers they flew
With fantasies they hoped would now come true

But then in a twinkling, their money went poof!
And panting and unsatisfied the suckers hit the roof
The bouncers took each one in hand and turned him around
And tossed them all out the door without making a sound

Kayla was dressed all in leather from her head to her foot
But under the circumstances her clothing was moot
With a gleam in her eye she arched her long back
And she looked at me like a predator about to attack

Her eyes – how they twinkled! Her smile so merry
Her tongue the color of roses as she licked at a cherry
Then she ran it along her red lips all sexy and slow
And sliding up to the pole she started her show

I clenched a dollar bill tightly between my teeth
While secondhand smoke circled her head like a wreath
She had a slender face and a flat little belly
And the sight of her made me want to cover her with jelly

She was tall and thin, like some sexy young elf
And she smiled when she saw me, in spite of herself
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head
Soon gave me to know – I was alone in my bed

She spoke not a word as she continued her work
She slid off her stockings; then called me a jerk
And shaking her finger in front of my nose,
She shrugged and she laughed as from my dream I arose

Looking at the time on my clock I let out a whistle
And we’ve finally reached the end of this epistle
Now the point of this story is finally in sight:
For Jon, Christmas is just another lonely, dream-filled night

My gift to the world

So here we are at the end of yet another of my long weekends.
I didn’t really accomplish much in the past four days, but that’s not terribly surprising.
After being mostly satisfied with the picture I completed on Tuesday I’ve been pretty much incapable of producing another image that I like even a little.
That’s usually what happens, though; when I finish one really good picture my talent takes a while to recharge.
Two more days and this whole Christmas thing will be over. Then I just have to get through New Year’s and Valentine’s Day and I’ll no longer be bombarded by constant reminders of the fact that I don’t have anyone special in my life to spend the holidays, or really, any time with.
What makes the period that stretches from Thanksgiving to VD (I just find it funny that “Valentine’s Day” and “Venereal Disease” have the same initials, at least as long as you leave out the "Saint" part. Hmm...I'm sure there must be some kind of metaphor in that somewhere...) especially irritating is the fact that one of the things I miss most about being in a relationship is having someone to do things for.
Sometimes I miss that almost as much as having someone to do things to.
In any case, I really did enjoy being able to engage in spontaneous (and sometimes not so spontaneous, like during holidays) gestures of affection through gift-giving.
Of course, that’s more of an assumption on my part. I think I would enjoy demonstrating affection through gift-giving, but when I was married we were invariably strapped for cash, so generally I had to engage in spontaneous gestures of affection through, well, gestures.
Nice, cheap gestures.
I would do things like leave notes, or sweet little messages on the answering machine for her, and that sort of thing. I suppose that more gift-giving took place during the dating period, though I guess that’s fairly typical.
Still, while we were married I did enjoy going Christmas shopping for her.
I suppose that it’s the fact that I no longer have that particular activity to look for each year that soured me on the whole Christmas thing. After all, I honestly did find it better to give than to receive, so when I don’t have anyone special to give to, who cares?
I’m not sure what it was, precisely, about going Christmas shopping that I enjoyed, since for the most part we couldn’t really afford to buy the things that we did, and since it’s supposed to be the thought that counts, evidently my thoughts sucked, as she very seldom liked anything that I gave her for Christmas.
She never came out and said that she didn’t like the things I gave her, but she really didn’t have to, as her behavior said it all. If I bough her jewelry, she would either break it or lose it. If I bought her clothes she would either exchange them for something else or simply bury them in the back of the closet never to see the light of day.
I don’t think I had horrible taste or anything. It’s not like I was buying her really trashy or obnoxious clothes, and I’d like to think that living with her day in and day out for a few years gave me some kind of insight into the sort of things she liked, and that I some valid ideas about what might look good on her.
So I’ve never really been sure why she almost never liked anything I bought for her.
Whatever the case, she always had some excuse for not wearing the clothes I bought her. The most common were “They’re too nice to wear as everyday clothes” or “It’s cute, but I wouldn’t look good in it.”
That second excuse in particular especially annoyed me one year when I bought her this really cute little black pleated skirt. I remember my eyes being drawn to it in the store, as in my mind’s eye I pictured it on her, and I liked what I saw. I thought it had a subdued sexiness to it, and while it was sort of dressy, it was equally suited to everyday wear.
As she rang it up, I remember that the salesgirl even commented on how cute it was, and she expressed her belief that my wife would “love it.”
I think that out of all of the gifts that I’d bought that year I was most excited to see her open that one, and I really wanted to see her wear it.
She wouldn’t even try it on.
No matter how much I tried to persuade her to try it on even once just so I could see her in it, she refused, and steadfastly insisted that she simply would not look good in it.
In fairness, both to her and to myself, she didn’t hate everything that I bought her, as there were some things that she wore pretty regularly, and stuffed animals were usually a safe bet as far as things to buy her went, but in general, if it came from me, it would go unworn, unloved, and ignored.
The point of this is that despite year after year of failed attempts at buying the perfect gifts I remained undaunted. Even though I knew my gift selections would go over like a lead balloon, I still liked buying them for her.
The last time I thought, mistakenly of course, that I was actually starting to have a relationship with someone I remember that one of the things I found most exciting about the prospect of romance was that I would finally have someone to buy things for. In fact, while the “relationship” was extremely short-lived, I did actually buy her a couple of things.
Honestly, though, it’s not really about the buying or even the gift, but the feeling behind it. I miss having someone to care about enough to take the time to look for the perfect gift (even if I completley fail to find it), or who would spring to mind on some random occasion when I spot something in a display and think, “Oh, _____ would love that.”
This morning I actually woke from a dream in which I was out doing some last-minute shopping in search of the perfect gift for…someone.
Someone who doesn’t exist outside of my dreams, obviously, though clearly it demonstrates that this gift-giving urge is pretty deeply-seated in my consciousness.
These days, of course, I don’t really bother shopping at all. As I’ve mentioned before I just send money to my sister for her to distribute how she sees fit, whether as cash or in the form of gifts (which she would have to buy).
I did buy actual presents for my brother and for my mom and dad, though, but I did that online, which actually makes it sort of impersonal.
Of course, another disadvantage of flying solo is that I don’t receive much in the way of really cool gifts.
Mostly I get gift cards. My sister Kristy invariably gives me an actual present, but beyond that I don’t get much (Though Scott and Stacy gave me an “Ove Glove,” or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof, and a refrigerator magnet featuring Stewie from “Family Guy”).
Honestly, I haven’t had a really good Christmas haul since my last Christmas as a married man, which was ten years ago.
Strangely enough, that last Christmas together was the one year I managed to buy her something she really liked (a leather coat).
The last couple of years my years my mom has just given me money.
Last year I actually used most of the money she gave me to buy a present for someone else, as Christmas came during yet another failed attempt at initiating a relationship, which naturally got the gift-giving itch to flare up.
So I was surprised, especially since I had already bought the pots and pans that the money she was going to give me was supposed to be for, when I found that my mom had sent me a gift card in the amount of what I spent on the pots and pans rather than a check.
In any case, on the topic of my inner Santa, I suppose the obvious question would be why I don’t just transfer the gift-giving urge that's lurking deep inside of me onto my friends and family, as that way I could get at least some kind of gratification as I scratch that itch.
Meh.
I just don’t work that way.
Not consciously, at least. I’m usually not big on the whole transference thing (my reallocation of DLM enthusiasm to “Sin City” notwithstanding).
If I’m prevented from doing something I don’t typically seek out some substitute for it; I just stop doing it.
After I quit smoking I started walking a lot, but that was more a matter of dealing with the excess nervous energy I had. Once that leveled off I stopped walking, so now I don’t have anything that takes the place of smoking.
As for the cooking thing, which was also concurrent with my quitting smoking, it isn’t really a substitute for smoking either, as I don’t do it every day, and it has more to do with wanting to save money and add a little variety (and control over ingredients) to my diet.
(As an aside, my newly-discovered talent for cooking only adds to my overall annoyance about the gift-giving thing, as a romantic, home-cooked meal is yet another gesture of affection that I could make - if I had anyone I could have over for a romantic, home-cooked meal.)
So, typically what I do whenever I’m prevented from doing something is simply stop doing it…and complain about not being able to do it.
Other people find outlets for frustrated urges through things like volunteerism or spending time with their families and friends.
I complain.
I mean, I can’t really do volunteer work.
It’s not that I don’t care, or am opposed to helping people…but I just don’t like people.
(I know; that hardly comes as a surprise.)
Though I may often say otherwise (mostly in jest), I don’t honestly wish any particular harm on anyone, and I’m sure there are many ways that I could contribute to making the world a better place, but in general I find it best if I stay away from people as much as possible.
So I can’t imagine myself actually going out to help them, especially since it would undoubtedly involve being part of a group of people. Yuck.
And all of the members of my family are very far away, so while it’s not impossible, it is at least difficult to get overly involved in their lives, and as we should all know by now, if it’s difficult, the odds are that I’m not going to do it.
Out here in VA the only friends I have are the people I work with, and I spend plenty of time with them already. I don’t think I need to aggressively pursue spending even more time with them, nor do I think they’d really want me to.
Any other friends I have are as far away as my family (for the most part), and as I mentioned in a previous post, there really isn’t anything for us to do if we were able to spend more time together anyway.
Of course, if I weren’t the cold-hearted, animal-hating, nihilistic, mean, doo-doo-headed bastard that I am I could try to satisfy my frustrated impulses with the help of some unsuspecting, defenseless pet.
Yep, I could go full-on psycho, indulging my gift-giving urges, and maybe even manifesting whatever latent paternal instincts I may have lurking deep inside me, with the help of, say, a poodle.
A poodle that I would call Miss Pretty Penny Poodle, and who I could dress up in cute little sweaters and, naturally, poodle skirts, and I could buy her little presents and take her shopping with me, and I could bring her to dog park so that she could find herself a suitor, and one day I could walk Miss Pretty Penny Poodle down the aisle at her doggy wedding, and one day Mrs. Pretty Penny Schnauzer (née Poodle) would bring me many litters of grandchildren whom I could shower with affection and little doggy sweaters and flea collars and chew toys and…
Fortunately, both for myself and for any poor animal that might suffer needlessly, I am a cold-hearted, animal-hating, nihilistic, mean, doo-doo-headed bastard, so nothing like that is ever likely to happen.
No, it’s much more likely that I would become some sort of Christmas-themed serial killer (“The St. Nick Killer,” for example, who makes no distinction between “naughty” or “nice” when selecting his victims, and who you really don’t want to leave gifts under your tree or in your stockings.), but something like that would be difficult, and we know how I feel about things that are difficult.
(Besides, as I said, I don’t really wish any sort of specific harm on anyone. I really don't. Honest!)
So what’s even more likely is that I will continue to complain, using this as my forum.
And honestly, I think it’s the best gift I can give anyone.
After all, if you read my ravings here you’re bound to get at least the occasional chuckle, or maybe find something to think about, or see a picture that you really enjoy, or at the very least find that you've managed to kill a fair amount of time.
And most importantly, after your get through reading my musings and the tales of my misadventures you can always lean back in your chair and say, “Thank God I’m not him.”
And if that isn’t a gift, I don’t know what is.
So Merry Christmas, Threshold readers!
And you’re welcome.

DLM footnote

I really have no faith that the "Save Dead Like Me" petition will change any minds over at Showtime (After all, I once signed a petition to save "Wonderfalls," another wonderful show created by the same person as DLM, to no avail), but what the hell, I signed it anyway, and a few other people I know have as well.
MGM, which produces the show, has stated that they haven't given up on DLM and will shop it around to other networks.
One network that has been mentioned already is the Sci-Fi Channel.
This is a distinct possibility, as Brian Fuller, the show's creator (whose involvement was actually very limited in the second season) already has a series in development with SFC (Namely a series entitled "The Amazing Screw-On Head," which is based on the Mike Mignola [Creator of "Hellboy"] comic of the same name. I've only read one issue of the series; it's just as bizarre as the title would suggest.), so that provides an opening.
Also, several years ago SFC rescued another MGM property that had been dropped by Showtime: Stargate SG-1. Stargate has managed to thrive at SFC, so maybe DLM could do the same.
I have my doubts, though, since much of the charm of DLM stems from the fact that on a premium cable channel it's not hampered by restrictions on language and content.
If George can't say things like "You're full of shit you little punk!" or drop the occasional (or, more accurately, frequent) F-bomb, I don't think it would be the same show that I've come to know and love.
So I don't know; I think I'm pretty much boned in this regard.
If Showtime doesn't change its mind about this, I'm inclined to cancel it.
Honestly, I don't watch it much (apart from watching DLM), so I wouldn't really miss it, but since my cable bill is based on a "package" system, I would probably end up losing other channels as well, and yet, paradoxically, also end up paying more.
Ironically enough, the impetus to cancel Showtime came on a day when they were actually going to be airing a movie that I wanted to see ("Monster," which I started watching, but my cable company [Adelphia] sucks, and so all of the premium channels just spontaneously cut out in the middle of the movie. [Additional info: I began writing this last night after my digital cable went out, but couldn't post it, as my Internet acces decided that it would also crap out. Adelphia sucks, but I'm not really keen on satellite, so, again, I'm boned.]).
Still, what really, really pisses me off about Showtime canceling DLM is that at the same time they made that decision, they gave the greenlight to a new series to run in its place.
This new series is based on...*sigh*...the "Barbershop" movies.
It could be worse, I guess. It could be some damn reality series, and as we know, reality sucks.
After all, the reality is that I will probably never see another new episode of Dead Like Me...

At least it hasn't resorted to leaving bags of flaming poo on my doorstep...

So the news about DLM pretty much destroyed my day.
Not that the day really had much going for it in the first place, but even so, it was just another piece of unnecessary cruelty on the part of the Universe.
I learned long ago that, while I’m not exactly Job or anything, the Universe does like to mess with me, and sometimes it’s just downright mean about it.
The best example of the Universe’s perverse and cruel sense of humor when it comes to Jon happened around two years ago in Tucson, in the days immediately prior to my move to Northern VA.
As most of the people who read these entries know, in those days I worked in a call center providing technical support for the same company that I still work for, albeit in an entirely different capacity.
(Again, most people reading this know which company that is, but I don’t think that company policy allows me to mention it by name under these circumstances, which is why I try to be at least a litte vague.)
In keeping with the demographics of the tech support industry, most of my co-workers were, to put it charitably, ugly as shit.
Actually, that’s not really true, but the fact of the matter remains that there were a lot of morbidly obese people, for example, altogether too many men, and basically very few women who were even remotely attractive.
That, and the simple fact that she was absolutely gorgeous, made Natalie really stand out.
I remember the first time I saw her. It was as if my eyes were actually drawn to her, and she seemed to have a glow around her (Seriously; read “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” and “Lila” for an examination of this phenomenon.) that made everyone around her fade into the shadows.
I knew that there was absolutely zero chance that she was single, and that was confirmed by “overhearing” conversations (okay, so I actively listened to what she was saying when I had the opportunity) that she had with other people on smoke breaks in which she made frequent reference to her boyfriend.
Still, she had entered my consciousness, and the fact that she was involved did nothing to diminish my interest in her.
It did, however, in conjunction with my self-esteem issues and general social awkwardness, keep me from trying to make a move on her, or even initiate a conversation.
Besides, she was, obviously, very popular, so it would have been almost impossible for me to get any sort of access to her.
One night, however, it was just the two of us out in the smoking area, and she actually initiated a conversation with me.
I knew that it didn’t indicate any interest in me on her part, as she was simply a friendly person and would have initiated a conversation with anyone.
Still, it did prove to be the first of many conversations. We didn’t exactly become friends; for example, I doubt that she ever even knew my name throughout most of the time that we talked.
However, we did talk frequently, and there were even times when she would come out to the smoking area and actually seek me out.
Throughout most of it I was awkward, nervous, and tongue-tied, so unless she was extremely naïve (which is possible) or just generally clueless (again, this is a possibility; I have to admit that most of my interest in her was physical), she had to have known that I was interested in her.
Even so, nothing ever did, or could, develop from this casual acquaintance.
You know, unless you count my complete obsession with her as “something.”
Fortunately my overwhelming laziness has always prevented my obsessive nature from turning me into anything even remotely dangerous. At worst, I annoy my friends a little with my incessant blathering about my obsession.
So, beyond simply manipulating circumstances to whatever extent I could to allow me to have some contact with her, I really didn’t do anything in the way of stalking.
I did try, unsuccessfully, to drive her out of my mind on several occasions. One such attempt resulted in writing a poem about/for her, which I thought might help purge the obsession, and which I am not going to share here.
I had a friend who kept encouraging me to ask her out and to give her the poem, though I think he was just doing so because he wanted to see me humiliated and crushed.
I did consider it, but ultimately I was too sensible/cowardly.
Until I found out that I was leaving.
On the Friday that marked my last day at work, I sent her an e-mail telling her how I felt, how much I regretted the fact that I would never get to know her better, and containing the poem.
In true cowardly form, I sent it to her fifteen minutes before the end of her shift (Yes, I was enough of a stalker that I knew her schedule), giving her a chance, though not much of one, to respond in some fashion.
I suppose that even though I knew that the timing effectively prevented anything from coming of it I thought that it would be cathartic in some fashion.
Honestly, I think that I was also hoping for some sort of big “movie moment” during which, a half an hour later when I got off work, she would be waiting for me at the door.
Naturally, she wasn’t.
I knew from conversations that we’d had that she didn’t own a computer, so if she hadn’t checked her mail before leaving work, she wouldn’t see it until Monday (I was leaving on the Wednesday following).
Over the weekend I did various things in preparation for leaving, and throughout it all I wondered how Natalie had reacted (or would react) to my message.
On Sunday I went to a nearby Wal-Mart in order to find my friend Jeff, who, so far as I knew, worked there. Jeff was a friend from my drinking period who had moved to Tucson from Michigan, basing his decision largely on the fact that I lived there. Once he arrived he found that I was still sober, and that when we weren’t drinking together we had very little in common.
The last time I’d seen him had been months before, shortly after I’d discovered that he and his girlfriend had moved out of the apartment they’d been living in. I had neglected to get his new address or phone number.
Still, I felt that I should let him know that I was leaving Tucson, so I stopped at the Wal-Mart to see if he was there.
He was, and after I said my goodbyes I decided that I would pick up the few things I needed while I was there, grabbed them, and then got in what appeared to be the shortest line.
The population of the metropolitan Tucson area, according to some sources, is roughly 800,000.
There are six Wal-Marts in the area.
In over a year of working at the call center I had never once “bumped into” one of my fellow employees outside of work.
Considering these facts, there is no chance that Natalie would be standing in line ahead of me – with her boyfriend, no less – unless God, Allah, Brahma, Buddha, the Universe, or whatever you want to call it, had simply decided to fuck with me.
There was one person standing in line directly ahead of me, separating me from her.
And of course, there was her boyfriend, also separating me from her.
The fact that I had to see her with her boyfriend would have been bad enough under any circumstances, but in this case it made it especially intolerable, as did the fact that I had no idea if she had read my e-mail or not.
If she had read it, how had she felt about it? Had she felt anything? What would happen if she saw me? Would she ignore me, which would hurt, or would she pretend like nothing happened?
I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I wanted to have one last chance to see her smile, and I also wanted to know if she had read my message and at least get a feel for how she had reacted to it, but on the other, if she had reacted negatively to the message, I didn’t think I’d want to know.
The boyfriend’s presence only complicated matters further.
It was, essentially, a no-win situation.
Ultimately I decided to just try not to be noticed, keeping my head moving so as to prevent her from getting a good look at me. I figured that if she noticed me and said something, fine, but if she didn’t, it wasn’t because I was avoiding her.
Well, not exactly, anyway.
Whatever the case, whether she saw me and chose to ignore me or didn’t see me, she and her boyfriend left without her ever saying a word to me.
That was the last time I ever saw her.
She never responded to my mail.
The last I heard, though I hadn’t actually sought out the update, my friend “Zalfiro,” who worked with her for a while, had informed me that she’d had a baby.
In any case, the point of all of this is that my random encounter with her (and her boyfriend) was a clear case of the Universe cruelly messing with me.
If for no other reason than to free myself from being the butt of its jokes, I’ve often wished that the Universe, every once in a while, would choose to laugh with me, but it almost never does, and certainly it never does so in a big way that would make up for some of the practical jokes it’s played on me in the past.
And there have been plenty of opportunities for it to do so.
In particular I remember a time back when I lived in Minnesota.
There was a girl that my friends and I had seen around town a lot. She looked rather a lot like a more voluptuous Sarah Michelle Gellar, and her name was Tiff.
Like any red-blooded heterosexual male, my friend Eric found Tiff extremely attractive and would have jumped at an opportunity to get to know her better (And by “get to know her better” I mean “nail her”).
Eric may be many things, but he is not a man who will waste time in pointless pursuit of a “dream girl” when there are plenty of available real girls to choose from (And by “real” I mean “real fat”).
So one night, adhering to principles of the maxim about a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush (there’s a “dirty” version of that expression which would be more apropos, but I don’t remember how it goes), Eric went off to a particular bar in pursuit of one of the real girls he’d already made some amount of progress with.
(This was during one of his multiple splits with his then-wife Sally, by the way)
Not wanting to be a third wheel, or to go the particular bar he was headed to, I went off on my own to my regular bar.
While I was sitting at the bar, in walked Tiff and pulled up a stool right next to me.
If I had been able to hook up with Tiff while Eric was off with his latest toothless conquest, it would have been, in my opinion, the Universe’s best practical joke ever.
It was, of course, not to be.
I did at least try to engage Tiff in conversation, though. I recall that it was a very slow night at the bar, and, largely unwatched, the movie “Philadelphia” was on the TV. Tiff was looking up at it during the scene when Tom Hanks, while deathly ill, is on the stand testifying. I tried to initiate a conversation with her by commenting on the skillful use of cinematography in the scene.
Suffice to say that Tiff was not exactly a film buff, so once again the Universe opted for the path of least resistance and got a chuckle at my expense.
Of course, it’s worth noting that I do give the Universe plenty of opportunities. If I weren’t the sad, pathetic loser that I was back during the Natalie thing, the random encounter wouldn’t have been the comedic gold that it turned out to be.
Or if I were more dynamic and less of a nerd, I might have had a shot with Tiff.
And finally, if I could find more things to look forward to in life, the cancellation of DLM would have been less of a blow.
Still, there’s not all that much I can do. After all, the Universe is a bully that you can’t possibly stand up to, and once it attaches that “Kick Me” sign to your back, it’s pretty much stuck for life.
And in closing, I should note that sometimes the Universe goes for the little jab whenever I give it the opportunity, as it just did when I discovered that garlic and banana are two great tastes that don’t taste great together when I ate a banana shortly after mincing some garlic.
Oh look, you got me again. Good one.

Different "Sin City" link

This trailer doesn't stutter:

"Sin City" Trailer

Knowing that the petition for bringing DLM back for a third season will undoubtedly fail, I'm forced to reallocate the the excitement and enthusiasm I had budgeted for the third season and give it all to "Sin City."
Of course, I do still have Season Two of DLM on DVD to look forward to, but knowing that nothing else is left taints that enthusiasm.
In any case, I hope that everyone out there will help ensure that "Sin City" is a huge success come April 1, 2005.
After all, "Sin City" has something for everyone. Action! Cars! Guns! Bullets! Babes! Bruce Willis! Romance! Cannibalism!
Like I said, something for everyone...

A show about death that gives me a reason to live

Showtime has announced that "Dead Like Me" will not be returning for a third season.
In related news, the people at Showtime are a bunch of idiots with their heads up their asses.
As I have mentioned many times before ,when DLM is on the air it is the ONLY thing in life that I have to look forward to.
Its cancellation, therefore, means that after I've seen "Sin City" I will have absolutely nothing to look forward to in life.
There is a petition available here:

http://www.petitiononline.com/dlm1218/petition.html

If you are a fan of the show, or if you think that it's unfair for a premium cable network, whose ratings for anything are always going to be low no matter what to take away the only thing that I have look forward to, please sign it.
Actually, sign it no matter what. I don't care if you've never seen it or never even heard of it. Just do me a favor and sign the petition.
If you have multiple e-mail accounts, sign it multiple times.
Get everyone you know to sign it.
With all of the trash on TV it is imperative that we save what few treasures can be found.

Good news

Apart from finishing the picture I posted earlier and re-organizing my novel blog, today was fairly uneventful.
I did venture out into the world briefly in order to pick up a few things and to gas up my car.
I wanted to be sure that I have a full tank for the upcoming weekend, as my gas gauge is broken, so I don’t want to run into any surprises before I go in to get it fixed.
As usual, the whole trip took less time than getting ready did, especially given that I finally got around to shaving.
And that was pretty much the extent of the excitement for today.
Yesterday I actually got some very good news: my niece Jourdan, who is currently a senior in high school, found out that she has been accepted into the Pre-Med program at Michigan Tech.
While I’m obviously very proud, I have to admit that I’m also a little surprised.
Not because I doubt Jourdan’s intelligence or ability. Far from it; if anything, most of her life I’ve had perhaps a little too much faith in her, resulting in some unrealistic expectations.
However, despite the fact that I knew that she had the ability, I also thought that her grades hadn’t been quite where they should be in relation to her abilities.
But apparently I was mistaken, and for once, I’m glad I was wrong.
Michigan Tech is a very good school and…it was difficult to say that, as I went to Northern Michigan University, which has a very strong rivalry with Tech.
Jourdan had actually been accepted into the Pre-Med program there, too, but the real prize was being accepted into Tech.
I have to agree that, in this particular case, Tech is the better choice.
It’s also very close to home for her, so that will make things a easier for her and my sister.
Jourdan had actually surprised me once before when she expressed a desire to become a doctor, as she had previously stated that she wanted to be a veterinarian.
No one really expected it when she filled out the Pre-Med applications.
That she wants to help people comes as no surprise, though; Jourdan has always had a big heart.
In any case, I don’t have too much more to say. I just wanted to publicly state how proud I am of my niece, and that I’m glad that she proved me wrong.

In case you're interested...

I've made some edits to my novel blog that make it considerably easier to navigate, and thereby read the actual novel. So if you're of a mind to read it, but haven't gotten around to it yet, be advised that doing so will now be easier.
Once again, it's located at:

http://www.15000years.blogspot.com

I welcome any comments on the story, but be advised that it is a very rough draft and was written with very little forethought, and the edits to the blog have not included any edits to the novel itself, so be gentle with me...

Wet

So last week I stumbled across this great picture of Rachel Weisz in a wet, clinging nightgown.
After staring at it for a while and thinking "Mmm...Rachel Weisz in a wet, clinging nightgown," I realized that besides just generally being a great picture of Rachel Weisz, it could be a source image for a great picture of my character Ren.
And that's what we have here.
Overall, I'm very pleased with how well the image turned out, though I have to say that it was a LOT of work.
I think I captured the "clinging" effect really well, and I absolutely love how her face turned out.
I am a little iffy on the look of the droplets in the foreground, but despite that, I think this is one of the best pictures I've ever done of this particular character. It's sexy, but with the darkness and the slightly crazed expression on her face there's also a vague air of menace about it, which suits Ren very well.

New "Sin City" trailer is online

See it here:
http://www.aintitcool.com/display.cgi?id=19015
Be forewarned that the .mov file stutters pretty badly. If you're an AOL member, the streaming version available through AOL apparently plays much more smoothly.
Even with the stuttering, though, the trailer is very cool, and I find myself anticipating April eagerly, even though April's arrival will mean putting another candle on the cake for me...

The more things stay the same, the more things...stay the same

So we’re that much closer to finally getting the whole Christmas thing over with.
For my part, I’ll be working all day on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so I won’t be doing much to acknowledge their passing.
Not that I would anyway, but the fact that I’m working largely takes away the element of choice.
On the topic of work, going back to it after eleven days off was difficult, and I found that even though the time off was largely spent doing nothing in particular, it was preferable to having to go in to work and actually do something.
On Friday I brought in the Nisu and Pumpkin Bread I’d made as something of a Christmas present for everyone at work, since pretty much everyone but me will be off during Christmas. Bunch of pansies, spending time with their families for the holidays…
Today started out with me waking up a bit before 8 and getting out of bed, then realizing that I had absolutely no reason whatsoever to get up that early, so I went back to bed.
At about 9:40 my phone rang.
It was the branch manager from my bank.
Yesterday morning on my way to work I decided to go through the drive-through ATM at the bank across the street and get some money, as I wanted to stop at 7-11 and pick up some orange juice and also have change to use in the vending machines throughout the day.
I put my card in, punched in my PIN, selected the type and amount of withdrawal, and everything was proceeding normally.
Because it’s the kind of ATM that actually takes the card in rather than just having you swipe it, before it gives you your cash it ejects your card.
At least, in theory it does.
This particular ATM attempted to eject the card, but failed, making it impossible for me to grab it.
This had happened to me once before, but I had found that after the ATM beeped for a while it pulled the card back in and attempted, successfully, to eject it again.
However, this time the second attempt at ejecting the card also failed, and after beeping at me insistently, it pulled the card back in once more.
The screen said, “Transaction cancelled due to customer time-out. Your card has been retained for security. Please contact your branch.”
So not only did I not get my cash, I had, for the day at least, lost my check card.
I have to wonder if anyone watched the footage of me on the security camera leaning out my car window screaming “God dammit!” and gesturing wildly.
In any case, the branch manager called me this morning to inform me that I had until 3:30 this afternoon to pick up my card in person, otherwise they would send it back to the main branch and it would be mailed to me from there.
I had planned to go over there today anyway, but had wanted to sleep in just a little longer. Still, after I’d gotten the call I figured that I might as well get up.
After taking a shower and talking to my mother I decided to walk over to the bank.
Once I got outside, though, I decided to drive, as it was pretty chilly out.
Having recovered my check card, I put it to use at Safeway, picking up a few things that I needed, most notably some cartridges for my Mach 3. I last shaved, using my electric razor, on Thursday night before I went to bed. Typically I would also shave on Friday night, and then again on Saturday night. I shave before I go to bed in order to save some time in the morning and to allow my skin some time to recover from the irritation so that I don’t have to show up to work with my skin all red and splotchy.
Of course, my skin is generally sort of red and splotchy anyway, but immediately after I shave it looks even worse.
Anyway, having neglected to shave on Friday night, by Saturday night it was too late to use my electric razor, as once I get two days’ growth, shaving with an electric razor becomes too painful. And I didn’t have any cartridges for my Mach 3, so I basically had to go unshaven most of the weekend.
I doubt that anyone really noticed (or cared) though, but when I went out today I was looking pretty grizzled. Once again, though, I doubt that anyone noticed (or cared).
A while back I discovered that employees of the company I work for get a discount on Sprint PCS, which is the cell phone service I have.
Last week I finally got around to calling in to get the discount applied to my service. The girl I talked to did everything she needed to do and informed me that my existing account would be closed after I paid the remaining balance when it was due (December 27th), and I would begin a new billing cycle on January 13th.
I didn’t think much more about it until 4:30 the next morning when I woke up hearing what I later identified as Brahms Hungarian Dance No. 5.
Initially, in my sleepy state, I thought I’d imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time; for example, I remember once being awoken by the sound of “Whale and Wasp” by Alice In Chains playing at an extremely high volume...in my head. It was the damnedest thing.
In any case, as I got out of bed and stumbled sleepily to the bathroom, I realized that a bit of classical music that sounded suspiciously like a cell phone ring tone was a bit too esoteric for me to imagine, and so I went into the dining room, which is where I’d left my phone before going to bed.
I knew that the particular music I’d heard wasn’t my ring tone or the tone I had for notifying me of new voicemail, so I decided that it must be a text message.
I was right about that, but wrong in my assumption that it was just a notice (ill-timed, as all notices sent out from Sprint tend to be) about the change to my service.
In fact, it said that my service had been shut off for non-payment.
Sighing, I resolved to deal with it later, and went back to bed.
Once I got up for the day I logged on to the Sprint PCS Web site to see what was going on.
Or rather, I tried to log on, but it insisted that my password was invalid. I made the only call I could on my now nearly useless phone and was soon connected with someone at Sprint, though that was only after an automated voice gave me a statement of my account, which claimed that I owed $318.
The customer service person I spoke with didn’t really clarify exactly what had happened (though I would assume it probably was some sort of early termination fee), but did say that he knew what was going on. He said he had gotten rid of half of the charges, and was going to speak to someone else who would take care of the rest. He also explained that, by default, my password to the Web site had been reset to the last four digits of my SSN.
Ultimately, after leaving me on hold for a while, he came back and told me that everything was back to the way it was supposed to have been when I made the switch to the discounted service, though actually the credits that had been applied to my account, according to the guy from Sprint, had brought the remaining balance I owed to about $5 less than what it had been before this whole thing started.
However, when I signed back on to the Web site later, I found that my balance had been zeroed out, so I now owe nothing, which is pretty cool, all things considered.
I am at least somewhat concerned that there will be further snafus ahead, but for the time being at least, things are cool.
Still, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that they seldom stay that way for long…

Quick lesson on regional dialects and foods or "Back to the Salt Mines"

Back home in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the term “bakery” has two meanings.
In its more universal usage, the word refers to a place where baked goods are made.
However, in the regional dialect, it can also be used as a general term for baked goods themselves.
As an example, it wouldn’t be uncommon to hear a Yooper (Someone from the Upper Peninsula, or “U.P.”) to say something along the lines of “I’m going to head to the bakery to pick up some bakery.”
Some people might find it confusing, I suppose, but when you’re accustomed to it, it makes perfect sense, and it’s more efficient than saying “baked goods” when you aren’t talking about any specific kinds of “baked goods” (donuts, cinnamon rolls, etc.).
Anyway, I spent much of today making some bakery. The term “bakery” seems most appropriate since the kind of baked good I made is fairly common back home.
It’s a Finnish baked good referred to as Nisu.
In overall flavor, Nisu is rather like cinnamon rolls, minus the cinnamon.
You make your dough, let it rise, divide it into three loaves, then divide those loaves into three, which are then braided together and baked (It yields three separate loaves or braids of Nisu).
After they cool, you brush them with a sugary glaze.
Et voila.
It was my first attempt at making Nisu (or anything even remotely similar, for that matter), and as such involved a lot of trial and error (mostly error). The end result, though, was three tasty pieces of baker-I mean, “baked goods.”
I realized two things while making the Nisu today.
One, I hate flour, as it gets everywhere. It's worse than sand.
Two, whenever I have to mix anything that’s even slightly liquid, no matter what it is, it will invariably perform its best impression of Peter North (If you don’t get that reference, I’m not going to explain it to you, other than to say that, as far as metaphors go, it’s pretty gross.).
Beyond the baking, I’ve been working on a picture, which I had hoped to finish in time to post, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.
So my time off is now at an end, and I have to get back into the swing of things.
Including (ugh) getting up really, really damned early in order to get in a workout before I officially start my day.
In any case, I just thought I’d post a quick update. To those of you who are not working this weekend, I hate you all. Umm, I mean, have a great weekend!

Sisyphean Efforts or Pretentious English Majors Like to Use Fancy Words

10:45 – Decide to finally get up. I don’t recall having any especially noteworthy dreams. Yesterday morning I woke from a dream in which I was at my sister’s house for a brief visit before heading off for a trip the UK. In the dream I had stayed up virtually all night, and had then overslept, missing my flight. I was in the middle of trying to figure out the best way to book a new flight when I realized that I don’t actually have a passport, so taking a trip to another country was pretty much out of the question. This led me to wonder why, exactly, I hadn’t considered the passport issue before buying my ticket. In any case, this morning I didn’t have any memorable dreams this morning.

10:46 – 12:00 – Spend a significant amount of time debating whether or not I should venture out into the world to get a few things, such as possible side dishes/dessert materials for dinner. Check to see what I took out of the freezer yesterday; find that I have three skinless, boneless, split chicken breasts thawing. Consider looking up a new chicken recipe. Decide against it. Check my account balance online; spend fifteen minutes trying to make sure there aren’t any additional charges that are going to take me by surprise, determine that there are none, and that the balance I’ve calculated is correct. I’m now certain that I have enough money remaining to pick up a few things today, spend some money at work over the weekend, and pick up any additional miscellaneous items I may need next week before payday. I put in a half-hearted effort at working out without actually going to the weight room. I do some ab exercises and some lifting with my dumbbells.

12:01 – 12:40 – Place chicken breasts in a bowl with a store-bought chipotle marinade. Scratch my head in puzzlement when my phone rings, as that marks four days in a row of phone calls, which is a new record. On Sunday, my brother-in-law Dean called to say goodbye, as he deployed on Monday. He will be gone for two years, though hopefully, since he will apparently be in an area secured by 15,000 troops, he will be safe, or at least as safe as anyone can be in Iraq. On Monday my mother and Kathleen called. Yesterday “The Men’s Wearhouse” called to inform me that their winter sale is now underway. Later in the day I received a promotional mailer informing me of the same thing. A year ago I bought a suit there, and have apparently ended up on their mailing/phone list. It’s unlikely that I’ll buy anything else from there anytime soon; I've only worn the suit once. Today’s phone call is once again my mother. While on the phone I try to accomplish as many of the remaining tasks that need to be accomplished before venturing out, such as getting the recalcitrant lid on the bowl containing the chicken, and cleaning my contacts. My mother, however, has already accomplished everything she needs to for the day, and so she has time to kill before my dad gets home for lunch, which is why she called.

12:41 – 1:05 – I put my contacts in, shave, and take a quick shower. I always shave before showering, as it seems to be a little easier on my face that way. I first shaved in 1985, and began shaving on a regular basis (at least 2 times a week) in late 1986. In the intervening time, my skin has not become any more accustomed to it than it was in 1985. Every time I drag a razor across my face my skin becomes just as irritated as it did the first time. Often I find that shaving irritates the skin on my face in places that I didn’t even shave. For example, what’s up with my forehead getting irritated? I never bring the razor anywhere near there. I get out of the shower, towel off and put some gel in my hair. I head to my dresser to decide what to wear. As I usually do whenever I go out into the world, I consider wearing some of my nicer clothing, but today I decide that it’s pointless, so I simply grab a dark gray T-shirt and the pair of jeans lying on the floor.

1:06 – 1:10 – Finish dressing, spray on some Axe (Just in case, even though, like wearing something nice, it’s fairly pointless), do what I can to shape my heavily-gelled hair into an approximation of how I’d like for it to look, and head out the door.

1:11 – 1:26 – I decide to head to Giant to pick up what I need. While I’m there I see exactly one attractive woman. She is married and has three kids. She looks in my direction once, but looks away quickly in order to avoid making eye contact with me. For a change, I manage to avoid having to stand in line. The cashier is a middle-aged, heavyset Hispanic woman. I pay for my things, walk out to my car, and head home.

1:27 – 1:32 – I arrive home and see that, amazingly, my parking space in front of my building is still open. Notice also that the mail has arrived early.

1:33 – And just like that I'm home again. I grabbed the mail on the way in, so I'm unlikely to have any reason to leave my apartment again until I get the mail tomorrow. It’s fairly likely that I will not encounter another human being again until Friday morning at work.

Now, if you look at the above timeline you can start to see why I really hate having to bother venturing out into the world. I mean consider all of the wasted effort. I had to clean my contacts and put them in, shave, take a shower, and get dressed. I actually spent more time getting ready to go out into the world than I did doing the things that I went out to do.As mentioned, I toyed with the notion of making some additional effort to look nice, or at least what passes for “nice” for me, though this time I decided against it. Sometimes, though, I decide in favor of it, and usually it changes nothing, since the actual trip into the world invariably goes exactly the same as today’s did.
So it’s not like I’m going to bump into some attractive woman, and even if I did it wouldn’t make any difference how I’m dressed or whether or not I’ve shaved. After all, any attractive woman I do see will undoubtedly be married and/or will simply avoid contact with me anyway, just as the married mom I saw today did, regardless of how I look.
So, who am I trying to impress? The middle-aged, overweight Hispanic lady, or, more typically, the Middle Eastern man whose line I go through?
Every day that I go out into the world it's essentially the same thing, though I keep thinking "Maybe this time will be different." It never is.
How does that definition of insanity go? Something like "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results each time." Sounds about right.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to go out into the world unshaven and unwashed either, so at least a certain amount of bother is required no matter what, even if I don't bother getting my hopes up (though I always do).
So, since ultimately the metaphorical rock is going to roll back down the hill again, I'm really not sure why I bother pushing it up in the first place.
But hey, at least it passes the time...