it was a fancy furniture store. the kind of place where i always had to be aware of all my extremities. don’t want to turn around and knock over a vase that costs as much as my car.
he was on the phone. i made eye contact and tried to look like i was here for a job interview. i think he knew. once he got off the phone, he asked me to sit down, and gestured toward a glass dining table, comletely decorated with place mats, salad bowls–everything except actual food. I tried to act professional and pretend it was a desk, but still found myself picking things up and looking at them, or reading the tags. it took him a few minutes to get to me. he was alone, and it was busy.
not my kind of place, ordinarily. but whatever. stuff was cool, even if i would never buy it.
he asked me some questions about my resume. i’d had a red bull to be sure that i wasn’t boring, and i made a lot of weird jokes throughout. but he never smiled.
no, he never smiled. he never laughed. he never made a joke. he just looked at me and waited for me to finish speaking. i could see a future of extremely awkward conversations in my future with this guy.
there was more than just writing involved. he wanted to know about my photoshop skills. i told him. seemed good. then he told me sometimes there would be filing, or working the floor when they were busy. oh. really. um….ok. i guess…
i asked him, so it would all be work that had to be done here, at the store, as opposed to writing from home? he said yeah, a lot of it could be done at home, but he preferred…he trailed off.
(to make sure he’s getting his money’s worth, that i’m working. i got it. he didn’t have to say it.)
i was thinking, hmm, i don’t know.
then he mentioned thathere was a dress code. i asked him what kind of dress code. he gestured to what i was wearing: just…like that. you just have to look nice.
ouch. deal breaker.
i was wearing the only collared shirt i own that doesn’t have a crazy pattern or cut off sleeves.
me? dressing up every day? uh…yeah. probably NOT.
he said he would let me know his answer. but it doesn’t really matter. i think i already know mine.
the clicking of little feet on mom’s hardwoods means truck is sneaking up behind me. i am thankful for him.
i am warm in my mom’s house, looking out at a big yard for all eight (eight!) dogs here to run and play in. i’m thankful for my my mom’s house. and especially for my mom.
walter lays about six inches from my feet. He breathes deeply. Sometimes he snores. I am thankful for him.
This could turn into a long post if i’m just going to name everything i’n thankful for. got two more dogs to do, and that’s just to complete MY dogs. so big picture it:
i am thankful for my family. for my house. for my life in austin. that i’m doing well ok in school, learning, progressing, evolving. for b. and b’s mom, who came here to spend this special holiday with me and my family. for they are my family too.
and b. can’t be big pictured. she is such a large part of my life–she is my life now; we share it together. I am thankful that she came along, that she encouraged me to move to austin, and that we are doing all this together.
i am thankful that i have faith, and believe in god, and that he and i have a realtionship. i am thankful that in this crazy world, i have somewhere to turn that is not a part of this crazy world.
i’m just thankful to be here. living life. having fun.
here’s to keeping it up for a long, long time.
in this novel we’re reading in one of my classes (college!), this computer chick is really good at pool, and when complimented, she shrugs it off: “it’s only math.”
i was thinking about that as i crossed campus from the bus stop, suddenly very aware of all the math i was doing. calculating at what speed other people are approaching, where we would intersect, how much to alter my speed to avoid a collision, measuring oncoming vectors in order to know on which side they are anticipating passing me, and altering my vector to accomodate them…
then i saw the fat bearded guy with the blue short-sleeve button up, brown slacks, with hairy feet/birkenstocks sticking out below, and i lost my train of thought.
crying in the shower is the best, because then even you don’t know.
if denial truly exists, then how can we know anything about ourselves?
i hurt my foot.
famous for ALMOST falling a lot, but ACTUALLY falling almost never, friday i didn’t make it down the last four steps on campus, and i did a bit of a split. it actually came off as rather graceful, except fot eh ankle turning in a way it shouldn’t.
it happened near the gym, so i hoibbled over, thinking that there had to be someone to handle things like twisted ankles there, of all places.
when asked, i was told that i should head to the healthcare center. across campus.
i find this odd and rather impractical. those that might hurt their ankles or otherwise injure themselves in the gym must then walk on their injury across campus.
i made it through the day, and the doctr has now seen my horribly black and blue leg. maybe, if you’re lucky, soon so will you. cause it’s worth documenting, i think.
i am sad, though, that my most intense and gruesome injury (i wear a brace and limp, and could basically get away with a pimp cane if they weren’t so darn expensive) isn’t sports related at all.
“i fell down the stairs,” i tell people, and wait for them to accuse b. of awful things.
Q. you know what’s the best?
A. when someone visits your town, but they’re not here specifically to visit you. You get all the fun with none of the pressure.
Q. have you been to austin?
have you hung out at la luna, having chilaquiles and beers too early on a saturday? have you wandered through a crazy vintage store called uncommon objects, going through old photos of strangers, on sale for only a buck? it’s cool.
have you tried to sit in a bar called thte fox and hound while UT tries to rally for something like 26 pooints down in the third quarter? surrounded by people that only care about that, and you don’t at all? it’s weird.
have you walked sixth street too early, when the streets aren’t closed and there’s no one to people watch (translation: no girls, when you’re with a visiting out-of-town friend and his friend, both of whom are single) yet? tried to tell them they’re out too early, all the while staring at the fifteen foot television screen showing UT not quite coming back enough (even though you don’t really care)? have you wandered from bar to bar with two girl crazy boys looking for the crazy sixth street they’ve heard so much abou, but three ohurs too early? it’s kind of depressing.
have you gone to the mohawk and had a couple of drinks while your friends took so many pictures there almost was no time to talk? even though there was nothing else to do (band inside too loud, so you sit by the heaters on the unusually empty porch)? until it seems weird, even looking at a picture of yourself? it’s surreal.
but in the end, have you ever wandered into beauty bar (far different from the one in l.a., hip in kind of a cool new york way, wstill with the see-and-be-seen crowd, but with breakdancers trying to “serve” each other, and german photograpers trying to score with your girlfriend by talking aobut all the skateboarders they know?
i have. it’s fun.
there are too many orange shirts in this town. too many orange hats, orange sweatshirts, orange pants, and orange flip-flops.
sometimes i feel like i’m drowning.
Filed under: historical
It was freshman year. Ninth grade. I had just changed schools, hoping that a private school might be more my “style,” as I was not making the kinds of friends I could take home to mom. (The truth is, I was making no friends, but see how much better it sounds the way I wrote it!)
Things were going well. I had resolved to become “funny guy,” and was doing all right. Making a joke here and there. No one was really talking to me per se, but no one was avoiding me either. And my jokes were being laughed at. So I was feeling good.
There was a senior by the name of Scott. He was a big fella; mean-looking. Tough. I mean, he would have looked mean even in public school. (The gray pleated slacks and plaid tie make everyone look a little less threatening. but that should tell you just how mean this guy looked!) He saw through me. He didn’t laugh at my jokes. He didn’t smile. And when we had P.E. together, final period, things were a little unpleasant.
He had a friend–a lackey?–named Shea–tall guy, especially for high school. Not athletic or anything, but tall. And meaner than Scott by far. Scott looked mean, but Shea was the mean one.
I can’t remember exactly what Shea did to me that day in P.E., just a couple of weeks after school had started. There was pushing. And name calling, I think. Details are hazy. I just remember that once school was over, I put my uniform back on and walked around to the back of the school. I made sure no one was around, then I sat down on the sidewalk, and cried. Big, sobbing convulsions of tears.
What a baby I was!
And now, from out of nowhere (thans Myspace), having never thought of this incident again, I get a random email “updating” me on a couple of alumni.
Shea died two months ago. Something about his kidneys.
…
My head makes my heart hurt sometimes.
Filed under: fun
went to houston. watched the mavericks lose.
before the game, it was pretty.
glow sticks are rad.
Filed under: reviews
having messed up my foot pretty well, i find the three to four hours of between-class time that i used to use for exercising remarkably free of anything worthwhile to do.
i have reading to do, as always, and have been sitting here in the library doing just that like a good student. but as my eyes begin to droop, i realize that it’s time for a break. and however faint, there is internet floating around. so i will tell you about a movie you have to see.
we saw the prestige the other night, and i gotta tell ya, christopher nolan doesn’t disappoint. seriously, is there anyone with as solid a track record as he has had these past few years? memento, insomnia, batman begins–call me a nerd, but it just so happens i have his first movie, that you never saw in theaters, and it’s good too. that’s five in a row. all excellent films. take that scorsese, spielberg, soderberg, and other ethnic leaders of film!
but i digress.
the prestige is about magicians at the end of the nineteenth century, basically feuding their whole lives. the quest for the best trick ever as proof of who is the greater magician becomes very important to each, for many complicated reasons that i won’t reveal here. rest assured, there is much under the surface, much to be learned (or guessed), and a LOT of awesome things happen. christian bale does a great job of playing a brit, and hugh jackman is a good american (weird reversal, huh?).
but the star of this movie is the story itself. there’s excitement, intrigue, twists, turns, “how did they do that?” suspense, and a whole lot of magic. in fact, there’s so much to digest here, you’ll want to see it again.
in which case, take me i want to see it again too.
in other news, you know how you put the ipod on random, and once in a while yoiu hear a song and go, “that’s really good, who is this?” i’ve been doing that a lot lately, and its always the same band–
rogue wave.
i think i am going to go get all their music and become their biggest fan.
