Dangit, Dang It

You might be wondering what happens when you start writing a story and then you stop and delete what you've written and then you start over and then you start over again and then you start over again and then you log onto Facebook and then you comment on a picture of a pumpkin and then you start the story again and then you look up the lyrics to the song you're listening to and then you start into your story again but from a wildly different angle this time and then you delete that too and then you look at the time and then, [insert all the real cusses here], you find yourself writing this nonsense [arrows pointing every which way] and you decide this is how it has to be, that something is going to go down, something is going to get posted and that's what's up, and I'm done with this for the night and I'm not even going to work this out to a resolution more substantial than .

Oh and work sucked today, is what I'm getting at.

Build A Rocket Boys!

Dear Guy Garvey,

I don't always know what you're saying, but I always agree with how you say it. So, thanks for that.

P.S. You're welcome for buying your CDs. We're even now.

So Yeah, Friday Works

My boss called today. I almost didn't answer because I thought I knew why she was calling. I figured she must be calling in response to an email I'd sent before the weekend in which I outlined why I and my fellow employees were not being fairly compensated in accordance with existing company policy, what I thought needed to be done about it, and how I was willing to be a part of the solution. I almost didn't answer because I wanted the buffer of a voicemail to gauge her mood before putting myself in a situation where she could, you know, hear me. Then I thought that the brave thing to do would be to answer the phone like a man, or like a woman dressed as a man, or, since I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, like a woman with a beard. Then I remembered that her voicemail messages all go something like, "Hi this is ______. I need you to call me as soon as you get a chance." They are, in a word, either terrifyingly vague (when I think I know why she's calling) or vaguely terrifying (when I have no idea why she's calling), except, like I said, in one, mysterious word. I answered the phone, therefore, in the standard fashion of a man or a woman with arms and hands, but completely out of cowardice, a word which sounds like it means "female coward," and thus does not apply to me save at a great distance, but instead does not and, therefore, does, respectively.

She was not calling about the email. She was instead calling to perpetuate my growing hatred for my employers. Her method for doing so was twofold—one: by calling to talk about anything other than the email and, two: by calling to talk about what she was calling to talk about.

"We're having to move some things around," she said. "And I wanted to see if it was okay if we had you start your route on Friday instead of tomorrow."

She said this, as much as I could tell over the phone, with a straight face. The opportunity for the joke was the part about "instead of tomorrow," since it implied that I was currently scheduled to start my route tomorrow, something that someone probably ought to have told me before today, but that didn't seem to be her angle at all.

The thing about my job is that I'm supposed to be on the road for 14 days and then have 14 days off. What they're doing now is trying this new thing where I'm on the road for 17 days, paid for 14, and off for six or, if it's not too big an inconvenience, eight. Only they waited until today to reveal the master plan, so what I basically heard her asking was, "would you prefer zero days to look for another job, or two?"

S.D., S.F., L.A. not so much—game face time.

Oregon, The We're Friends Because We Grew Up Together State

First Sign:
No Littering
Maximum
Fine:
$6,250

Second Sign:
Speed
Enforced
By
Aircraft

Proposed Third Sign:
So...
Go Ahead
And Litter