(The following was written on Dec. 15 and my lazy ass is only now getting around to posting it)
As my good friend Parrish pointed out, it's been over a month since I posted anything. Don't I feel sheepish! Well, time does fly and all that. But, really. Sorry. SORRY!
I was actually looking through stuff on my computer literally yesterday to find an entry I had started when I was away from ye olde Intronet and never got around to finishing/uploading. It was mostly about my realization that Elmer's Glue is Ejaculate. So I don't think you were missing out on much.
Winter is cold. I love it. Though I wish I hadn't lost my hobo gloves. I lost my red hat too. I'd get sentimental, but the only thing that bugs me is shelling out another $15 bucks for a pair of gloves. They were such nice gloves...
Yesterday I discovered the greatest movie theatre in Portland: The St. Johns Theatre and Pub. It's right in downtown St. Johns and shows first-run movies for a mere $6. AND they serve beer. I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia (mediocre) with some friends and talked the shop keep into giving me the "Family Beer Combo" (which I invented on the spot) - basically consisting of me getting a jumbo popcorn for $2 with the purchase of two beers (that were going to be purchased anyway). My allegiance is firmly set and I will not be found going to another theatre to see any movie they are currently showing. Really, Portland is a treasure trove of independent theatres. I am now making it my goal to see a movie at ALL of them. Yes that's right. ALL OF THEM! I'll make you a list to monitor my progress and perhaps... join along?
My roommate and I are throwing our second party on Friday: Chrismukkah. I will only say this: Fuck YEAH! The O.C. is my church. I know I am crazy. I know this. I also know I don't care. Because I made a goddamn yamiclaus!
Writing "goddamn" just then keyed me into an odd hypocrisy: I think dammit should be spelled as I wrote it, rather than "damnit." Yet "goddamn" warrants an "n". Why?WHY?
I am making a slideshow/video/thing for the year-end meeting at work. Currently I'm in the "gathering" phase. I have rarely known such joy as when seeing pictures of these people in their youth completely disconnected from the age-worn individuals I know in context of George Morlan Plumbing. It preys on the worst of my voyeuristic impulses. Love. This project is a strange thing that has fallen in my lap, but I am trying to roll with it and learn the art of videography/editing. I'm a bit skittish about it, but it's also a lot of fun. Perhaps I could do this all the time rather than selling toilets...
-Thank you for reading.
12.18.2005
11.14.2005
Almost famous
Pardon me while I toot my horn for a minute.
While I didn't find out until Sunday, the above image of myself shooting stick at Berbati's was the lead in picture for last Friday's A&E cover story about Portland's latest late night scene. My identity was less of a give away in the paper because the photo was printed black and white (which looked HOT) and thus you wouldn't have noticed my signature red hat - which at the moment I fear I may have lost.
It was taken a week prior when I was out with friends on a completely unplanned Friday post-work bender that continued into the wee hours with me waiting some 40 minutes to get a Voodoo Doughnut. Seriously, what WAS that guy's problem? Anyway, the photographer approached me and asked my name - which having worked in "The Biz" I didn't think twice about and had forgotten it by the next morning. Though that may have had something to do with the bender part of the evening.
The funniest part about this episode is that I found out about the whole thing from a friend in New York, of all places. Apparently his Dad had told him about it and he mentioned it to me in passing when I had just called him to talk about anime and video games. So from now on I want all my news to be filtered by going coast to coast before it reaches my ears. That way all the unimportant stuff falls off somewhere around Nebraska.
But wait, there's more.
You ALL need to watch AM Northwest this Friday morning because I'll be getting my hair cut by Dayna Cakebread (best last name ever) of the Belle Epoque salon. I'm on their mailing list (dork) and she put out the call this morning for cool, scruffy guys. As I haven't had my hair cut since the last time she laid hands on it some three months ago - and she left it fairly long anyway - I'm prime for a new doo. I'm going to give her free reign, so who knows what the hell will happen.
But it's a whole makeover, not just the hair. So I get to wear hot clothes and possibly (and I don't know how I feel about this) get a facial. Anyway. That's worth working a little late this week so I can duck out early on Friday morning, right?
-Thank you for reading.
While I didn't find out until Sunday, the above image of myself shooting stick at Berbati's was the lead in picture for last Friday's A&E cover story about Portland's latest late night scene. My identity was less of a give away in the paper because the photo was printed black and white (which looked HOT) and thus you wouldn't have noticed my signature red hat - which at the moment I fear I may have lost.
It was taken a week prior when I was out with friends on a completely unplanned Friday post-work bender that continued into the wee hours with me waiting some 40 minutes to get a Voodoo Doughnut. Seriously, what WAS that guy's problem? Anyway, the photographer approached me and asked my name - which having worked in "The Biz" I didn't think twice about and had forgotten it by the next morning. Though that may have had something to do with the bender part of the evening.
The funniest part about this episode is that I found out about the whole thing from a friend in New York, of all places. Apparently his Dad had told him about it and he mentioned it to me in passing when I had just called him to talk about anime and video games. So from now on I want all my news to be filtered by going coast to coast before it reaches my ears. That way all the unimportant stuff falls off somewhere around Nebraska.
But wait, there's more.
You ALL need to watch AM Northwest this Friday morning because I'll be getting my hair cut by Dayna Cakebread (best last name ever) of the Belle Epoque salon. I'm on their mailing list (dork) and she put out the call this morning for cool, scruffy guys. As I haven't had my hair cut since the last time she laid hands on it some three months ago - and she left it fairly long anyway - I'm prime for a new doo. I'm going to give her free reign, so who knows what the hell will happen.
But it's a whole makeover, not just the hair. So I get to wear hot clothes and possibly (and I don't know how I feel about this) get a facial. Anyway. That's worth working a little late this week so I can duck out early on Friday morning, right?
-Thank you for reading.
10.31.2005
I want to have less meaning
Hmm. Where to begin.
It's been an odd month, which perhaps explains why I haven't written. I've meant to. I meant to say how I saw Neil Gaiman read from his latest novel and how magical hearing him speak was. He is man who exists to tell stories - captivating ones that, as he would like it said, "say true things." His charisma and ease in his own skin are the kinds of qualities that should be held by all great movers of men. It was a wonderful moment that would not be sullied by waiting an hour and a half for an autograph.
I meant to tell you of my trip to Bend - the second weekend of the month that I have given to my employer. I was there working a home show with poor attendance where I was only 60 percent needed. Had it been a four-night trip, it would have been better. Six-nights, as it was, stretched a little long. I compensated by eating some delicious and outrageously priced meals on the company dime. Yes, waiter, I'll have some of that scotch I see on the bar with "15" blaring out at me. Mmmm. Expensive scotch.
My excitement over halloween was high going into October, but now I find I haven't carved a pumpkin or planned any elaborate costume. Somewhere along the line, my resolve broke. I hope to do better by myself for New Years - and if Russ has anything to say about it, I will - but in general my mood is low for both reasons of season and emotion. I never thought myself too susceptible to dramatic mood swings that follow the cloud cover and moisture content of my atmosphere, but I have been bouncing rather from pole to pole as each day decides what exactly it will be. In that regard, there is no finer place than Bend for consistently gorgeous weather. I meant to tell you about the way the sun cradled between south and middle sister as it set punctually 6 marking the progression of 70 degree days into below freezing nights of crystal clarity.
I didn't mean to write this. But being in my head for too long is never a good idea and I don't want to have to continue and look back at things I meant to do.
Thank you for reading.
It's been an odd month, which perhaps explains why I haven't written. I've meant to. I meant to say how I saw Neil Gaiman read from his latest novel and how magical hearing him speak was. He is man who exists to tell stories - captivating ones that, as he would like it said, "say true things." His charisma and ease in his own skin are the kinds of qualities that should be held by all great movers of men. It was a wonderful moment that would not be sullied by waiting an hour and a half for an autograph.
I meant to tell you of my trip to Bend - the second weekend of the month that I have given to my employer. I was there working a home show with poor attendance where I was only 60 percent needed. Had it been a four-night trip, it would have been better. Six-nights, as it was, stretched a little long. I compensated by eating some delicious and outrageously priced meals on the company dime. Yes, waiter, I'll have some of that scotch I see on the bar with "15" blaring out at me. Mmmm. Expensive scotch.
My excitement over halloween was high going into October, but now I find I haven't carved a pumpkin or planned any elaborate costume. Somewhere along the line, my resolve broke. I hope to do better by myself for New Years - and if Russ has anything to say about it, I will - but in general my mood is low for both reasons of season and emotion. I never thought myself too susceptible to dramatic mood swings that follow the cloud cover and moisture content of my atmosphere, but I have been bouncing rather from pole to pole as each day decides what exactly it will be. In that regard, there is no finer place than Bend for consistently gorgeous weather. I meant to tell you about the way the sun cradled between south and middle sister as it set punctually 6 marking the progression of 70 degree days into below freezing nights of crystal clarity.
I didn't mean to write this. But being in my head for too long is never a good idea and I don't want to have to continue and look back at things I meant to do.
Thank you for reading.
9.20.2005
I am the host with the most
I love my roommate. She tapped the keg for our party because I've never done so and would most likely have fucked it up.
We cleaned the place up nice, complete with foofy foods like hummus and vegetables... OK, there were m&ms too, but they were GIANT and in strange pastel colors.
We keep him in our secret closet. He dances for nickels that people throw at him.
I am so happy with how the party turned out. The crowd was big enough, but not too big. Everyone was respectful of our stuff and drank responsibly while managing to kill the keg. I am heartened that our future entertainment endeavors will meet with success. Next up is likely Pumpkin Carv-nival Part II: The Carvening. I certainly learned my lesson from last year not to leave pumpkins out in rainy weather for two weeks. Ew. Though it was fun to push them all off the balcony.
9.15.2005
9.09.2005
Stretching out
I love my new apartment like I love puppies.
Each time I come home, I have a moment of awe that I live there. It’s beautiful, spacious and full of charm. AND it’s coming together nicely with our preexisting and newly purchased furniture. The living room looks so adult with Katie’s new couches and my awesome rug. The dining room will be good, but we just need more stuff for it, it’s so big. The kitchen was fantastic before we put anything in it and will only grow more incredible – though we did overlook the fact that none of the brand new drawers and cabinets have handles. Yeah. Got to get on that.
My bedroom remains a mess, mostly because after getting my new bed set up and my books put away, my motivation to do anything else dwindled. It’ll happen before next Friday, though, when we are hosting our housewarming bash. I am insisting, though here for the first time, that I purchase the keg as I’ve never done so and have wanted to ever since seeing “Teen Wolf” – which got an odd sort of props from The O.C.’s third season premier last night. I swear, they’re not even trying to make those characters believably 17-years-old, but if they did I probably wouldn’t love it.
Also in the good news department, my time-off request went through and I’m taking a long weekend in New York on the 23rd. I’ve done the NY thing enough times that I don’t need to act too touristy, though I’m always excited about real NY pizza, even if we have the next best thing right here in Portland.
What we also have in Portland is rain. I’m going to have to gear up if I want to attempt scooting to work from here on out. I’m thinking something like this:
![]()
Sexy.
-Thank you for reading.
Each time I come home, I have a moment of awe that I live there. It’s beautiful, spacious and full of charm. AND it’s coming together nicely with our preexisting and newly purchased furniture. The living room looks so adult with Katie’s new couches and my awesome rug. The dining room will be good, but we just need more stuff for it, it’s so big. The kitchen was fantastic before we put anything in it and will only grow more incredible – though we did overlook the fact that none of the brand new drawers and cabinets have handles. Yeah. Got to get on that.
My bedroom remains a mess, mostly because after getting my new bed set up and my books put away, my motivation to do anything else dwindled. It’ll happen before next Friday, though, when we are hosting our housewarming bash. I am insisting, though here for the first time, that I purchase the keg as I’ve never done so and have wanted to ever since seeing “Teen Wolf” – which got an odd sort of props from The O.C.’s third season premier last night. I swear, they’re not even trying to make those characters believably 17-years-old, but if they did I probably wouldn’t love it.
Also in the good news department, my time-off request went through and I’m taking a long weekend in New York on the 23rd. I’ve done the NY thing enough times that I don’t need to act too touristy, though I’m always excited about real NY pizza, even if we have the next best thing right here in Portland.
What we also have in Portland is rain. I’m going to have to gear up if I want to attempt scooting to work from here on out. I’m thinking something like this:
Sexy.
-Thank you for reading.
9.01.2005
The most outrageous shit ever
Am I that lowly of a person that I get excited when people leave comments on my blog? Yes I am. But what do I see there? BLOG SPAM!!! Scroll down a bit and check it out for yourself. Check your own blog, for that matter, if you have such a thing. Did you look? You’ve got to be fucking joking, right? Yes, because you comment on my blog, I will be very interested in your diabetes testing site. Why, to think, I’ve gone 24 years without considering the fact that I COULD HAVE DIABETES. What a horror!
Fucking blog spam and mattress ads on my Gmail. I think the path of cultural technology excess I’ve embarked on could just be an intermediary to a complete shutout of info tech.
Thank you for reading (and not spamming, fuckers!)
Fucking blog spam and mattress ads on my Gmail. I think the path of cultural technology excess I’ve embarked on could just be an intermediary to a complete shutout of info tech.
Thank you for reading (and not spamming, fuckers!)
I'm just a boy with a new haircut
I think I will instantly fall in love with any woman who washes my hair.
Of course, it helps that all the girls working at Belle Epoque are button-cute. They said just a wash would be $10, so I'm thinking if I can stretch out two washes a week, I will have beautiful women wash my hair forever.
I treated myself to a full-service wash/haircut/hand and scalp massage (all standard at B.E.) last night and couldn’t be happier about it. Well, actually, I’d be happier if it was a little cheaper, but I figure it’s all money that I won’t be spending when I go bald. Flaunt it while you got it, I always say.
I went under the shears of the owner herself, Dayna Cakebread (not sure if that’s a real name). She moves with speed and precision, at once deciding on her vision and carrying it out with excitement. It was fantastic, as I usually have few specific requests for my stylist. There are just general guidelines that usually include, but aren’t limited to, shorten the back and de-thick-ify the sides. She did that and oh such more… not that I was paying attention because her uber-cute new assistant was massaging my early-stage carple-tunneled hands. Ohhhh so nice. She tried to give me a little too much spike in the back, but I decided I didn’t want to look like this
(that part behind the “N” is still his hair.
Anyway, the move is still on. Apparently my Dad just got a truck that I can use. Sweet. He must be giddy like I was when I got my scooter. Seriously, he’s been talking about getting a truck for like 10 years. It fulfills his inner-putterer, though at this stage in life, I don’t know how much rugged use he’s going to get out of it. I mean, my folks just got a gardener for the love of Pete.
Thank you for reading.
Of course, it helps that all the girls working at Belle Epoque are button-cute. They said just a wash would be $10, so I'm thinking if I can stretch out two washes a week, I will have beautiful women wash my hair forever.
I treated myself to a full-service wash/haircut/hand and scalp massage (all standard at B.E.) last night and couldn’t be happier about it. Well, actually, I’d be happier if it was a little cheaper, but I figure it’s all money that I won’t be spending when I go bald. Flaunt it while you got it, I always say.
I went under the shears of the owner herself, Dayna Cakebread (not sure if that’s a real name). She moves with speed and precision, at once deciding on her vision and carrying it out with excitement. It was fantastic, as I usually have few specific requests for my stylist. There are just general guidelines that usually include, but aren’t limited to, shorten the back and de-thick-ify the sides. She did that and oh such more… not that I was paying attention because her uber-cute new assistant was massaging my early-stage carple-tunneled hands. Ohhhh so nice. She tried to give me a little too much spike in the back, but I decided I didn’t want to look like this
(that part behind the “N” is still his hair.
Anyway, the move is still on. Apparently my Dad just got a truck that I can use. Sweet. He must be giddy like I was when I got my scooter. Seriously, he’s been talking about getting a truck for like 10 years. It fulfills his inner-putterer, though at this stage in life, I don’t know how much rugged use he’s going to get out of it. I mean, my folks just got a gardener for the love of Pete.
Thank you for reading.
8.24.2005
Go see what I saw
Oh Dog, You Sleuth! posted a fantastic picture of Aqua Boy from the soapbox derby. How fucking cool is that kid! I wish my parents would have made me a cape. For Halloween, I'm gonna be fucking Aqua Boy.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for reading.
8.23.2005
All I'm selling are false promises
Last week on the sales floor was, in ways, less frustrating than my first go-round because I’ve eased my internal pressures (mostly by farting) and am generally more assured in the fact that by simply speaking kindly and honestly with people, they will tolerate your complete incompetence. What I remain skittish about is the fact that I am not giving these people anything when I make a sale. I am selling them a piece of pink paper that says at some point before the magnetic poles reverse, they will receive the items listed therein. How that is supposed to happen is almost entirely beyond my control. So when they inevitably call me two months from now asking where their sink is, I will be just as bewildered as they.
As Katie has mentioned on her blog, she and I are moving at the end of the month. Our place is gorgeous. I bought a rug for it the other day. I never imagined myself buying a rug, but I seem to have gotten quite a deal. We are already planning a bash to christen the dwelling. Katie wants to call the apartment “Versailles,” which I’m not opposed to in theory, but in practice it doesn’t really roll off the tongue. We’re working on it. But the party will be excellent. You should come.
Thank God for Jezebel (the name stuck on my scooter like squashed bugs on her angular hood). I’ve taken to scooting around just to relieve the tension. Today, for instance, a brief jaunt to Cha Cha Cha! for lunch has refreshed me. Unfortunately, the minutes are scraping by, each clinging to the one after it, willing to drag them down but not succeeding and making the following minutes cling harder for their knowing that they will fall just like the ones who are lost.
I’ve endeavored to go to New York this September for two reasons, who happen to be people. The first is Greta, one of my closest friends whom I love dearly. She will be appearing in her first non-student lead role and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss it. I had the pleasure of seeing her as Juliet in the premier Portland Shakespeare troupe’s production when she was still in high school. Basically, the girl has the stuff. I’ve always known it. I’ve always told her so. And it’s basically just nice to be right.
The second is Alisa, an ex and extraordinary individual that anyone would be a fool to cast from their life just because she doesn’t want to smooch you anymore. So I didn’t, and I’m better off for it. I mean, she gave me a microwave for crying out loud. And I plan to have a thrilling ride on the back of her scooter for my trek back east.
There are others to see, but those are the important ones. The REALLY important ones, anyway. Nobody offended? Ok? Ok. So yes, it will be a lovely trip. I’ve not breathed the NY air for a few years. Hopefully it won’t be too full of poop.
Thank you for reading.
As Katie has mentioned on her blog, she and I are moving at the end of the month. Our place is gorgeous. I bought a rug for it the other day. I never imagined myself buying a rug, but I seem to have gotten quite a deal. We are already planning a bash to christen the dwelling. Katie wants to call the apartment “Versailles,” which I’m not opposed to in theory, but in practice it doesn’t really roll off the tongue. We’re working on it. But the party will be excellent. You should come.
Thank God for Jezebel (the name stuck on my scooter like squashed bugs on her angular hood). I’ve taken to scooting around just to relieve the tension. Today, for instance, a brief jaunt to Cha Cha Cha! for lunch has refreshed me. Unfortunately, the minutes are scraping by, each clinging to the one after it, willing to drag them down but not succeeding and making the following minutes cling harder for their knowing that they will fall just like the ones who are lost.
I’ve endeavored to go to New York this September for two reasons, who happen to be people. The first is Greta, one of my closest friends whom I love dearly. She will be appearing in her first non-student lead role and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss it. I had the pleasure of seeing her as Juliet in the premier Portland Shakespeare troupe’s production when she was still in high school. Basically, the girl has the stuff. I’ve always known it. I’ve always told her so. And it’s basically just nice to be right.
The second is Alisa, an ex and extraordinary individual that anyone would be a fool to cast from their life just because she doesn’t want to smooch you anymore. So I didn’t, and I’m better off for it. I mean, she gave me a microwave for crying out loud. And I plan to have a thrilling ride on the back of her scooter for my trek back east.
There are others to see, but those are the important ones. The REALLY important ones, anyway. Nobody offended? Ok? Ok. So yes, it will be a lovely trip. I’ve not breathed the NY air for a few years. Hopefully it won’t be too full of poop.
Thank you for reading.
8.09.2005
Look what I got
Unless there are strong objections, I think her name is Jezebel. It's the first thing that ever came out of my mouth, but it's grown on me. And I love the dictionary definition that she was a queen who encouraged idolatry, because I do fucking worship her. She's beat up and rattles like a maraca, but I have never experienced such joys as I have in the last few days scooting the streets of Portland.
So now I want to make a sub chapter of some existing scooter club. If Jezebel really sticks, maybe I'll name my chapter something to do with the 10 commandments. Banning false idols and other gods was #2 on the list, so that might give me some ideas.
Otherwise, I've been swamped with work and looking for a new apartment with Katie. And I've got more books, CDs, video games and anime to get through than I can possibly hope to consume in any efficient time frame. Ah, such troubles.
7.26.2005
The working world
Does everyone have this much trouble with new jobs? Here I am, three weeks in and I haven’t truly done anything I was hired to do. The closest was yesterday wherein I learned to use the super-fancy poster printer and produced and mounted 18 large posters for display at the Street of Dreams. The furthest from my purpose was when I spent two rather sweltering days in the warehouse last week. But as far as this “catalogue” goes… Well, I’m becoming of a mind that it will never really happen.
And all I want to be doing right now is reading Harry Potter and then playing videogames. These desires haunt my thoughts even as I pound this keyboard. Scooters, too, are much in mind as I have contacted a fellow selling a 1985 Honda Aero and we should meet this afternoon. I’ve learned not to get my hopes up, but I believe I beat others to the punch and if this man has any sense of loyalty, he will give me first priority and option to purchase. The scooter is more practical than charming, but I would never call it an eyesore. A few well-placed stickers and possible a basket or two and I dare say it would look rather fetching. Obviously, if anything happens, it will posted here promptly.
Last night was spent making merry with an old friend who has abandoned us for New York many years past. Seeing him reminded me of just what a good man he is – quite the life of the party with his wit and character. Even though he manages a video game store, I have no idea how he plays as many games and consumes as much anime as he does. Though I was slightly clued in by his demonstration that a PSP can play compressed video files. My interest in the machine is now piqued, but I’ve mostly forsworn portable game systems for the horrendous temptation they represent.
But presently, I am tempted by the promise of lunch.
Thank you for reading.
And all I want to be doing right now is reading Harry Potter and then playing videogames. These desires haunt my thoughts even as I pound this keyboard. Scooters, too, are much in mind as I have contacted a fellow selling a 1985 Honda Aero and we should meet this afternoon. I’ve learned not to get my hopes up, but I believe I beat others to the punch and if this man has any sense of loyalty, he will give me first priority and option to purchase. The scooter is more practical than charming, but I would never call it an eyesore. A few well-placed stickers and possible a basket or two and I dare say it would look rather fetching. Obviously, if anything happens, it will posted here promptly.
Last night was spent making merry with an old friend who has abandoned us for New York many years past. Seeing him reminded me of just what a good man he is – quite the life of the party with his wit and character. Even though he manages a video game store, I have no idea how he plays as many games and consumes as much anime as he does. Though I was slightly clued in by his demonstration that a PSP can play compressed video files. My interest in the machine is now piqued, but I’ve mostly forsworn portable game systems for the horrendous temptation they represent.
But presently, I am tempted by the promise of lunch.
Thank you for reading.
7.10.2005
Down the drain
That's where my weekend went because it was all spent at the George Morlan Tent Sale. The last three days have been utterly insane. I wish I'd been keeping track of personal numbers the way they tracked all the sales figures. If I could do so, I would love to tell you things like how many miles I walked (all within a one block radius), how many hours I talked and how many names I forgot.
The world of sales is strange. Through one lens, "salesman" is another word for "vulture." I pounced on so many people this way with the "are you being helped" line, or "can I answer any questions for you." It's funny how these phrases are ingrained in my vocal memory from all the salesmen I have been irritated by in the past. Now I am one of them. But on the other hand, I learned that if you are willing to do what you can to help people and be sincere and considerate of their situation, you can sell even if you don't know fuck all about what you're selling. Of course, it involves a lot of frantic shoulder taps for help and I made a point to personally thank everyone I pestered during the weekend.
I don't know for sure, but I averaged 4-6 thousand dollars a day. For a novice, I'm pretty happy. The new girl who actually got the job I originally applied for went at it with a fucking conviction. I don't think I ever saw her without a customer. And after working the 13 hour days, she would go home and research the products Online so as to have more knowledge the next day. I am dumbstruck by her effort.
My trial was entirely intended to give me the crash course primer of the company. I have a sense of the culture and environment at the company. But most importantly, I know what the customer wants to know and what the salesman has to do to move the product. Now over the next few months I get to take all that and build a catalogue custom tailored for George Morlan, and I hope unlike any catalogue that exists. I've got lots of ideas I want to put to use somehow, though any one of them is going to take a lot of work.
What I've been most impressed by is the way this company supports its employees, who in turn support each other. As I said, the help people offered me was invaluable. I can't imagine what I looked like when in a panic, I realized I'd charged someone the wrong price or needed to find some antique replacement part or forgotten how to describe simple aparati like shower faucets. No joke. There came a time I was looking inside my head for words and just found a gaping whole where knowledge and communication used to be. Actually, that's kind of how I feel now. Time for some beers.
Thank you for reading.
The world of sales is strange. Through one lens, "salesman" is another word for "vulture." I pounced on so many people this way with the "are you being helped" line, or "can I answer any questions for you." It's funny how these phrases are ingrained in my vocal memory from all the salesmen I have been irritated by in the past. Now I am one of them. But on the other hand, I learned that if you are willing to do what you can to help people and be sincere and considerate of their situation, you can sell even if you don't know fuck all about what you're selling. Of course, it involves a lot of frantic shoulder taps for help and I made a point to personally thank everyone I pestered during the weekend.
I don't know for sure, but I averaged 4-6 thousand dollars a day. For a novice, I'm pretty happy. The new girl who actually got the job I originally applied for went at it with a fucking conviction. I don't think I ever saw her without a customer. And after working the 13 hour days, she would go home and research the products Online so as to have more knowledge the next day. I am dumbstruck by her effort.
My trial was entirely intended to give me the crash course primer of the company. I have a sense of the culture and environment at the company. But most importantly, I know what the customer wants to know and what the salesman has to do to move the product. Now over the next few months I get to take all that and build a catalogue custom tailored for George Morlan, and I hope unlike any catalogue that exists. I've got lots of ideas I want to put to use somehow, though any one of them is going to take a lot of work.
What I've been most impressed by is the way this company supports its employees, who in turn support each other. As I said, the help people offered me was invaluable. I can't imagine what I looked like when in a panic, I realized I'd charged someone the wrong price or needed to find some antique replacement part or forgotten how to describe simple aparati like shower faucets. No joke. There came a time I was looking inside my head for words and just found a gaping whole where knowledge and communication used to be. Actually, that's kind of how I feel now. Time for some beers.
Thank you for reading.
7.01.2005
God made me a job
Well, actually it was Rick Kramien - President of George Morlan Plumbing - who made me the job. I'll warn you now if it's not too late, there is a HIDEOUS audio clip that plays when you click that link. I'm putting it on my list of things to shake up once I'm comfortable.
You may wonder what the hell I'm doing working for a plumbing company. After looking at the plumbing knowledge test I have to take, I'm kinda wondering the same thing. But appearances aside, this is an incredible opportunity. Basically, I went in to interview for an Admin Asst position with the small hope that I would gradually learn some skills in marketing. Well, when Rick saw my resume, he got all excited about my communication skills and basically created a position for me to spearhead all content production for a catalogue spanning their entire product inventory. To make a metaphor, it would be like asking Santa for a vest and him getting you a 3-piece tailored suit. Sure, the job won't be all glitz and glamour, but it's putting my communication skills to work exactly like I wanted to. AND I still get to walk to work!
Thank you for reading
You may wonder what the hell I'm doing working for a plumbing company. After looking at the plumbing knowledge test I have to take, I'm kinda wondering the same thing. But appearances aside, this is an incredible opportunity. Basically, I went in to interview for an Admin Asst position with the small hope that I would gradually learn some skills in marketing. Well, when Rick saw my resume, he got all excited about my communication skills and basically created a position for me to spearhead all content production for a catalogue spanning their entire product inventory. To make a metaphor, it would be like asking Santa for a vest and him getting you a 3-piece tailored suit. Sure, the job won't be all glitz and glamour, but it's putting my communication skills to work exactly like I wanted to. AND I still get to walk to work!
Thank you for reading
6.18.2005
More death
This is Precious. She was my dog. Now she is dead.
My parents finally decided to put Precious down on Friday because of numerous health problems that, I am convinced, had actually turned her into a zombie dog. I'll spare you the gory details, but she was literally falling apart. She had numerous infections and open sores that were just not healing and, at 15 years old, not really worth fixing. I know that's a little callous. I'm ok with that. My Dad got really emotional about it, which is a little surprising considering the love/hate relationship he built with her. As she aged and went deaf, I think she lost any sense of "the rules," that or she just flauted them knowing she had nothing to lose. She really wasn't living much of a life for the last year. And so we say, "It's for the best." But really, all we know for sure is that it was for our best.
Precious came into my life 10 years ago. My sister inherited her from her horse trainer at the time. Unfortunately, we all inherited the name "Precious" too. It took Dad and I a few years before we were comfortable saying that in public. On walks she was referred to as "you," "dog," and "girl." She was a well-bred dog - fuckin' papers and everything. I think she might have showed briefly. Horse trainers like to train other things and in her younger years, Precious had an impressive arsenal of tricks to display for guests. The one where she went on hind legs and after you point a finger-gun at her and say "BANG BANG!" she flopped over dead... that was a crowd favorite.
I always considered her to be part cat, because she was never an overly affectionate dog. She wouldn't want to sit in your lap or beg for attention. No, she was a whore for the treats and scraps. If you had food, she was your best friend. If not, maybe she'd let you rub her belly for a while. A bit of a diva, really. That's part of the reason her loss hasn't hit me that hard. She was never really my dog in the Old Yeller sense of the word. She was just Precious. And I will miss her.
Thank you for reading.
6.16.2005
Kara-OK!
The fine art of good karaoke is practiced seven nights a week at the Alibi, but last night I was witness to a slew of songsters like I've never seen. I suppose that's what happens when you start waving money in people's faces. Every Wednesday this month, some ellusive judges are picking people to compete in a final competition for the monetary sum of $1,000. Maybe that doesn't sound like a lot to you. But then I would remind you that this is for getting on a microphone and singing two, maybe three songs by artists whom you probably mimic on your own time (say, in the shower or car) free fuckin' gratis.
I'm not one to brag, but I put on a fair show on the mic. I'm no Freddy Mercury, but I can carry a tune. Likewise, I'm no dance machine, but I acknowledge good karaoke doesn't constrain itself to a mic stand. Stil, I have never seen the room more packed with people - 80 percent of which were formidable contenders. The crowd has two harmful effects from the get go: Cigarette smoke lingers in the Alibi like fog over a Scottish meadow and the chatter of people over already high decible levels of singing both strain the voice something fierce. Luckly, I got my songs in before 10:30 because by 1 am, I couldn't have sang "Footloose" if Kevin Bacon had given me his blessing. What I did sing was "It's now or never" by Elvis and "Man of Constant Sorrow" by The Soggy Bottom Boys. Good songs to be sure, but they don't move the crowd the way I'd like.
All the while I was cheered on by my friend Stacey, from whom I stole the excellent title to this post. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have had in my corner and her being there was wonderful on levels and for reasons I don't want to get into just now.
Someone I wish wasn't there was this large black man who is just too damn good for karakoe. There comes a point where you should just be in a band or work as a studio musician singing theme songs for cartoons. He gets up there and sings "Kiss" by Prince - and he fucking nails it. NOBODY can sing Prince except Prince. Sigh. I'd seen him at a few other karaoke places around town and hated him for basically nullifying any chance I had at the finals. Stacey and I took off shortly after 1, not waiting to hear who made it. But there's good odds I'll be there next week, if y'all want to come represent!
Thank you for reading.
I'm not one to brag, but I put on a fair show on the mic. I'm no Freddy Mercury, but I can carry a tune. Likewise, I'm no dance machine, but I acknowledge good karaoke doesn't constrain itself to a mic stand. Stil, I have never seen the room more packed with people - 80 percent of which were formidable contenders. The crowd has two harmful effects from the get go: Cigarette smoke lingers in the Alibi like fog over a Scottish meadow and the chatter of people over already high decible levels of singing both strain the voice something fierce. Luckly, I got my songs in before 10:30 because by 1 am, I couldn't have sang "Footloose" if Kevin Bacon had given me his blessing. What I did sing was "It's now or never" by Elvis and "Man of Constant Sorrow" by The Soggy Bottom Boys. Good songs to be sure, but they don't move the crowd the way I'd like.
All the while I was cheered on by my friend Stacey, from whom I stole the excellent title to this post. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have had in my corner and her being there was wonderful on levels and for reasons I don't want to get into just now.
Someone I wish wasn't there was this large black man who is just too damn good for karakoe. There comes a point where you should just be in a band or work as a studio musician singing theme songs for cartoons. He gets up there and sings "Kiss" by Prince - and he fucking nails it. NOBODY can sing Prince except Prince. Sigh. I'd seen him at a few other karaoke places around town and hated him for basically nullifying any chance I had at the finals. Stacey and I took off shortly after 1, not waiting to hear who made it. But there's good odds I'll be there next week, if y'all want to come represent!
Thank you for reading.
6.09.2005
The Departed
I have a dead woman's furniture in my house.
It's not something I'm particularly weirded out by, as the furniture does not somehow warp into Tim Burton set props once its owner leaves this world, but it is bizarre to consider. The furniture I have was either gifted to me by friends, relatives or street corners. These are the scraps of an estate - and one which I don't think Vanessa even had strong ties to. I told Vanessa if light bulbs start to mysteriously not work or my firstborn only has one arm, we're getting rid of the shit.
As it turns out, I knew who this woman was as she would come to Vivace from time to time. She was a Suicide Girl, as was obivous to anyone who saw her. She carried a vinyl bag with large spikes on it, and often met men there who were obviously not friends getting together for coffee. Nonetheless, she seemed nice enough and I have no cause to complain. But now she is dead from a heroin overdose. And don't think of making any suicide/Suicide Girl joke. I can't believe you'd even say that. You people make me sick. It's like nothing is sacred anymore...
Sadly, this isn't the only death in my life as another Vivace customer recently passed away. His name was Kurt and he would come in mornings and order a morning latte in a mug. That was it. He was very soft spoken and kind. He worked at Pioneer Music, and excellent fine instrument store downtown. One of my fellow baristas really took to him and they would play guitar together from time to time. I can't claim any strong ties to the man, but he was a good person and I'm sure many people will miss him.
Death isn't something I'm equipt to deal with. I don't know if anybody is. There still hasn't been a close death in my life, so that'll really shake me down. My gradpa died when I was six, but I couldn't begin to process that. My parents actually had me see a counselor because I didn't cry. I remember my Dad taking me on a walk to break the news and he cried saying it. Seeing your Dad cry at that young age is a strange thing. He is still flawless and my unfailing support and protection. But there he is crying. All I could do was say, "It's ok, Dad." and the like, trying to console him, because this thing happening right in front of me was more real and more pressing than the news that someone I didn't see daily would never be seen again. I'm almost afraid that I'll have the same reaction for all deaths - just to pause, consider and change the files in my head about that person from the "alive" category to "deceased." I tell people I'm dead on the inside, but I don't want to prove myself right.
Thank you for reading.
It's not something I'm particularly weirded out by, as the furniture does not somehow warp into Tim Burton set props once its owner leaves this world, but it is bizarre to consider. The furniture I have was either gifted to me by friends, relatives or street corners. These are the scraps of an estate - and one which I don't think Vanessa even had strong ties to. I told Vanessa if light bulbs start to mysteriously not work or my firstborn only has one arm, we're getting rid of the shit.
As it turns out, I knew who this woman was as she would come to Vivace from time to time. She was a Suicide Girl, as was obivous to anyone who saw her. She carried a vinyl bag with large spikes on it, and often met men there who were obviously not friends getting together for coffee. Nonetheless, she seemed nice enough and I have no cause to complain. But now she is dead from a heroin overdose. And don't think of making any suicide/Suicide Girl joke. I can't believe you'd even say that. You people make me sick. It's like nothing is sacred anymore...
Sadly, this isn't the only death in my life as another Vivace customer recently passed away. His name was Kurt and he would come in mornings and order a morning latte in a mug. That was it. He was very soft spoken and kind. He worked at Pioneer Music, and excellent fine instrument store downtown. One of my fellow baristas really took to him and they would play guitar together from time to time. I can't claim any strong ties to the man, but he was a good person and I'm sure many people will miss him.
Death isn't something I'm equipt to deal with. I don't know if anybody is. There still hasn't been a close death in my life, so that'll really shake me down. My gradpa died when I was six, but I couldn't begin to process that. My parents actually had me see a counselor because I didn't cry. I remember my Dad taking me on a walk to break the news and he cried saying it. Seeing your Dad cry at that young age is a strange thing. He is still flawless and my unfailing support and protection. But there he is crying. All I could do was say, "It's ok, Dad." and the like, trying to console him, because this thing happening right in front of me was more real and more pressing than the news that someone I didn't see daily would never be seen again. I'm almost afraid that I'll have the same reaction for all deaths - just to pause, consider and change the files in my head about that person from the "alive" category to "deceased." I tell people I'm dead on the inside, but I don't want to prove myself right.
Thank you for reading.
6.07.2005
6.02.2005
Blogs in the 'Hood
I just made a weekly check-in to a blog I stumbled upon some time ago about the Sellwood neighborhood, only to find it has now moved to OregonLive. Turns out, the site (which is the online presence of The Oregonian, among other things) has a whole section of blogs devoted to various areas around Portland. And you know what's missing... MY neighborhood! SO, I am now officially starting my campaign to be Northwest Portland's blogger. My first post subject: Wacky Willy's.
This emporium of... stuff is closing after many years of operation just a block from my house. It's a sad state of affairs, to be sure. The store reminds me of the song "Portobello Road" from the Disney film Bedknobs and Broomsticks. "Anything and everything a chap can unload, is sold by the barrel at Portobello Road." For the record, I've since been to the real Portobello Road in London and can vouch that the song speaks true. Wacky Willy's is the greatest of junk stores, where you have no idea what will ever be there or how it came to be there. There is a standing trashcan full of the early "brick" style cell phones. Around Christmas, they had a huge shipment of Teddy Ruxpin dolls and tapes. But what's most amusing are the signs the employees make for various doodads. There's no way to explain with words, so I'm going to go snag some pictures to post later.
In the meantime, everyone send OregonLive emails about how wonderful my blog is and that they should pay me millions of dollars to write about NWPDX!
UPDATE!!!
As it turns out, Wacky Williy's already has secured a new home and it remains mere blocks from my house. Yey! Sadly for them, the street visibility is much poorer, but I've a feeling that the kind of people who go there will seek it out. Still, as I promised, here are pictures.
Thank you for reading.
This emporium of... stuff is closing after many years of operation just a block from my house. It's a sad state of affairs, to be sure. The store reminds me of the song "Portobello Road" from the Disney film Bedknobs and Broomsticks. "Anything and everything a chap can unload, is sold by the barrel at Portobello Road." For the record, I've since been to the real Portobello Road in London and can vouch that the song speaks true. Wacky Willy's is the greatest of junk stores, where you have no idea what will ever be there or how it came to be there. There is a standing trashcan full of the early "brick" style cell phones. Around Christmas, they had a huge shipment of Teddy Ruxpin dolls and tapes. But what's most amusing are the signs the employees make for various doodads. There's no way to explain with words, so I'm going to go snag some pictures to post later.
In the meantime, everyone send OregonLive emails about how wonderful my blog is and that they should pay me millions of dollars to write about NWPDX!
UPDATE!!!
As it turns out, Wacky Williy's already has secured a new home and it remains mere blocks from my house. Yey! Sadly for them, the street visibility is much poorer, but I've a feeling that the kind of people who go there will seek it out. Still, as I promised, here are pictures.
Thank you for reading.
5.30.2005
Out with a bang and a beer
This Memorial Day was less about remembering heros and more about remembering my friend Ryan. I was out at the coast for his bachelor party before he ties the knot this Friday. Rather than a raucous, debauched weekend, it was just five guys united by their bonds of friendship to Ryan... and a keg of beer.
I've had friends get married already, but this is the first REALLY close friend to go. His bride-to-be has basically been that for the past 2.5 years, though it's only been official for the last six months. Still, it's going to be quite the affair. I'm an usher (I didn't make groomsman because I won't wear a tuxedo. It's a longstanding vow of mine and Ryan knew me well enough not to even ask) and will be taking Ryan's parents down the aisle. But what I realized also sets this wedding apart is that Ryan comes so much from where I come from, and was so cared for by just about everybody, that EVERYONE will be at this wedding.
Let me just give you some context on Ryan: All through junior high and high school, he would go around to every table at lunch and ask for people's scraps. It wasn't because he was poor, it's just who Ryan is. And people would give him everything from a roll to some tater tots to hamburgers because he was so unapologetically genuine about what he was doing. I think he was the best fed kid at school. Ryan's peddling became so commonplace that people (myself included) would actually seek him out to give him food they weren't going to finish.
So myself and the people who care about him sent him off in style this weekend. Nothing special. Just good times, good smokes, good beach and good beer. We all love you, Ryan.
Thank you for reading.
I've had friends get married already, but this is the first REALLY close friend to go. His bride-to-be has basically been that for the past 2.5 years, though it's only been official for the last six months. Still, it's going to be quite the affair. I'm an usher (I didn't make groomsman because I won't wear a tuxedo. It's a longstanding vow of mine and Ryan knew me well enough not to even ask) and will be taking Ryan's parents down the aisle. But what I realized also sets this wedding apart is that Ryan comes so much from where I come from, and was so cared for by just about everybody, that EVERYONE will be at this wedding.
Let me just give you some context on Ryan: All through junior high and high school, he would go around to every table at lunch and ask for people's scraps. It wasn't because he was poor, it's just who Ryan is. And people would give him everything from a roll to some tater tots to hamburgers because he was so unapologetically genuine about what he was doing. I think he was the best fed kid at school. Ryan's peddling became so commonplace that people (myself included) would actually seek him out to give him food they weren't going to finish.
So myself and the people who care about him sent him off in style this weekend. Nothing special. Just good times, good smokes, good beach and good beer. We all love you, Ryan.
Thank you for reading.
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