Old, New, Borrowed and Blue

Something Old

In the last few weeks I’ve had the strangest dreams. In one, some sort of demon was holding me down, by gripping my arms with hands that looked like that the black, cracked, skin of a lava flow. The glow from the molten lava was shining through the cracks. I couldn’t move. I was done for, and there was nothing I could do yet I woke up yelling,

“Yea you motherfucker! That all you got? You want a piece of me?”

Even against demons, I try to be a tough guy. I really was screwed, though.

Then last night I had this dream that my Indian friend gave me his tickets to the local sporting event because he couldn’t make it. All I had to do was pick them up at the gate. First two indicators: I don’t have an Indian friend, and sporting events aren’t really my thing unless it’s something like the Tony Hawk Skateboarding Motocross and Electronics show. Or something. Well, anyway, I try to get in, and the ticket taker won’t give me my tickets because I’m not Mr. Pujabi. Then I tried to explain that he gave me the tickets, but the guy walks off. So, I figure “what the hell,” and start getting money ready to pay for tickets if he won’t give me my friend’s tickets because I had gone all the way down to the stadium, and I was going in one way or another . So, I start pulling out dirty socks to pay the guy at the counter. I think I got up to around twelve before I realized that socks were not the same as dollar bills. Embarrassed, I swept the socks off of the counter before the ticket taker came back and saw them. I thought that he would surely think that I was nuts and never give me the tickets. I then pulled out my cash, and realized that there was no way that I had enough for tickets for both me and whoever was on the periphery of this dream (I couldn’t see them, but I knew that they were there because who goes to a sporting event alone?). So the ticket taker tells me that I can’t have the tickets, and I get the manager who reiterates the same thing because the owner of the company won’t give them to me.

“Get me the owner then.”

I’m told to go talk with the owner, and he’s this tall mean looking Indian guy in a nice suit, who’s pulling this power trip attitude with me. Then, all of a sudden as dreams go, the guy is my boss. The manager’s there, and I work for him, too. So the owner starts in with some power tripping garbage about “How dare you” this and “How dare you that”: and starts pointing a finger in my face and talking real close. Then I leaned in closer and a very even, and very menacing tone said,

“Listen, motherfucker. I don’t need this job. I don’t need you. I can live off the money from the sale of my house and you, you petty cheap suit wearing asshole, can go fuck yourself. I don’t need these tickets, and I really don’t need any more of your shit.” Then he stammered a little and tried to back away. I stepped on his foot before he could get very far and leaned in closer and said,

“And if you ever even think about putting your fucking finger in my face again, you will live to regret it. Am I making myself clear?”

Then, the owner scurried out while my manager was smiling ear to ear and giving me an emphatic thumbs up.

From these, I think that we can conclude with reasonable certainty that I may have a problem with authority, both corporate and divine, and I may have a demon following me. Or…I shouldn’t be eating Concession Obsession, The Big Dig, or any other gooey ice cream before bed.

Something New

I was exploring the web, and came across corporatemofo.com. I found the articles mildly entertaining, and I thought I’d bookmark it for later. So, I did.

Something Borrowed

I stole this right out of Lockergnome’s newsletter: Digital experiences

Something Blue
It’s so cold here that the time to frostbite on exposed skin is reportedly ten minutes. It’s been in the teens and single digits with the wind chill, and it’s getting colder. Most are excited that it’s going to get into the 20’s at the end of the week. The landlord asked that I leave my faucets dripping and the sink cabinets open to avoid extreme pipe bursting action (I wish I had reverb. Suuuunnnndayyyyy! Extreme treme treme Piiiiipe BURSTING action action action…). So, I did.

Typing this with the thermostat set at sixty is making my hands sore. Outside without gloves and my hands actually hurt. The real issue is that anyone left on the street faces a life or death situation on nights like this. From what I’ve heard from the media, the shelters are overcrowded. And I don’t know what to do about it.

Hopefully I’ll call a shelter tomorrow and see if there is anything that they need. I hope that I don’t forget and leave it up to someone else. Damn this memory.

Note

If some of those lazy bloggers that I know don’t get blogging, I might actually have to pick up a phone and find out how they’re doing. Damn them.

American Idol

Today, on Howard Stern they interviewed the pin head judges from American Idol. They were tearing apart singers that Howard brought in to be judged on their singing ability. It was a laugh out loud funny moment when the judges, who supposedly are America’s keenest eyes (and ears) for talent panned a guy who auditioned by singing “Hero” from the latest Spiderman movie. They said he was too old, his voice was weak, and he really needed to project more. They also said that he would never make it because he sang with his eyes closed and didn’t interact with the judges very well.

The singer was Chad Kroeger, the actual singer of “Hero,” which has, at the time of this writing, sold over eight million copies.

I do give them credit for taking it in stride and laughing at themselves afterwards. Howard Stern, 1. American Idol, 0.