Author: Brian

Time off for good behavior

General

In checking my timesheet today, I discovered that I have already saved up enough paid vacation time to cover my Christmas trip to Cancún – which means I’ll still have some left over when I get back. Or I can take a day off between now and then.

Also, I remembered that I get next Monday off for Veterans Day! Yay! A day off is always a good thing. I’ll spend mine… um… writing.

Off the sidewalk

General

Last night I dreamed. I was walking down the sidewalk, a familiar sidewalk, maybe in my neighborhood or near where I work. Half-familiar.

I looked down and, laying on the cement, I saw a turd. A human turd. Actually, technically, two of them, or one that had been broken in half.

I stepped over it, bouncing a little bit on my feet because I saw it almost too late to avoid it…

…and I bounced much higher than I expected. In fact, I felt lighter than air. When I touched down again, I pushed harder, and I launched myself into space.

I was flying!

I looked down and I saw the buildings and sidewalk where I had just been bound to the earth. I flew away and I saw a green field and a large stand of trees. I enjoyed the feeling of freedom.

I was flying at a right angle to a road, a winding country road, a single stripe of asphalt that followed the rolling hills. I turned to follow the road, staying above the power lines. A lot of times, when I dream of flying, I get tangled in the power lines. Not this time. I was above them.

It grew dark. I looked back along the road and I saw a car, a big black American sedan from an earlier era. A dark shape through the tinted windshield leaned out the side window, and pointed at me.

He was pointing a gun, a handgun. At me.

I started twisting and diving and changing directions, to avoid his shot. I knew that there was no way he could hit me as long as I could get to cover. Not with his handgun. Not while he was driving.

I looked back and he’d pulled over. Exited the vehicle. And he reached inside and pulled out a large rifle with a scope on it. The scope glowed bright in the darkness.

With the scope, he might be able to hit me. I started to get scared. I turned and dove and rose high. I was pushing myself to my limit.

I looked back. He fired. I could see the white-hot bullet tracing a trajectory towards me. I pulled back, stopping in mid-air briefly, then changing direction once again.

The bullet sped past me.

I flew as fast as I could go towards the woods. I knew I could lose this guy in the trees, if only I could reach it in time.

He fired several more shots. I could see their path through the sky. He was getting better aim, guessing my pattern, getting used to how I was choosing to escape. I poured on the speed, dove in among the branches, stopped, hid behind a thick trunk, looked back.

He was strolling through the woods, rifle in hand. He was close.

…and then I woke up. I’d like to think I escaped.

So this morning, on my way to work, I was walking along the sidewalk, the familiar sidewalk, and I looked down, and I saw a turd. Just like my dream.

Just like my dream, I skipped over it. Bounced a little.

And I stayed stuck on the ground.

Gravity always wins.

Tweaking the site

General

If you notice things looking slightly different around here, or you didn’t notice until just now and you thought you might be going crazy, you were right, and you were not crazy. Not about how my site looks, anyway. You might be crazy in other ways; I just don’t know.

I’m tweaking the CSS for the site to make it a little more readable. Nothing drastic. Just small changes here and there.

If I break something, let me know in the comments for this thread or send me an email. If you do, please let me know which kind of computer you’re running, and what browser you’re using, and send me as much detail as you can on versions and settings. And send me your credit card numbers.

OK, maybe not that last one. But that would be fun, wouldn’t it? For me, I mean.

Rick Emerson, sans mackerel

stripclub

“What’s the most random thing anyone has ever asked you?” I asked Rick Emerson, local disk jockey. We were both standing on the sidewalk in front of the Mt. Tabor Legacy Theater in southeast Portland, late on Sunday night. From inside the theater, past the burly bouncers, an invitation-only party was raging, the theater filled with a rock & roll crowd: lots of black – black leather, black jeans, dyed black hair; lots of tattoos and piercings; hair of all lengths, from bald to past their ass (men AND women).

“Tonight? Or ever?” Emerson shot back at me.

I stepped closer, smiling. I should have known he’d be quick on his feet. “Uh… ever.”

He considered a moment, then said, “Well, there was this one time a guy asked me if I had a mackerel.”

“That’s pretty random,” I agreed. I had expected him to say that my question was the most random thing. But this reply was better.

“Not really,” he said, “because if you think about it, if I had had a mackerel, it would have been pretty obvious.”

“Sure,” I said, “the smell alone…”

We were both here, attending the 2007 Barfly Awards Gala; Emerson as a nominee for “Person most likely to be famous”, and myself as a fan of Stormy. Stormy had asked me to be here to help her in her quest to become Portland’s Sexiest Stripper. She was stacking the ballot.

“Right. And so he was pretty safe in asking me that question.” He looked at the door, where a skinny kid with long black hair barely contained by a stocking cap and carrying a skateboard was toe-to-toe with the bouncer, in spite of the bouncer having a full head of height and at least another 100 lb. of advantage over him. “I think we’re about to see a beat-down” Rick said.

The night before I had been at Devil’s Point, making the most of the extra hour provided by the end of Daylight Savings Time. Because the Oregon Liquor Control Commission forbids the selling of alcohol between 2:30 AM and 7:00 AM, the end of DST means that bars – and drinkers – get another hour to drink. For someone like myself, it’s almost like Christmas.

Stormy had been putting myself and others off for a private dance, though, and when she had offered me the chance to go to this event as a consolation, I had accepted.

“But if you’d had a mackerel, that would have been random” I said to the disk jockey, pursuing my original line of thought.

“Sure, OK,” Emerson said. Still watching the bouncer argue with the skateboard kid, Emerson started chanting “Tas-er, tas-er, tas-er…” softly but increasing in volume.

A pretty brunette approached Rick, and started chanting along with him. I’d seen her with him inside and assumed she was Mrs. Emerson. The combined effort of the bouncer’s intimidation and the chanting crowd finally penetrated the skateboard kid’s booze or drug fogged mind and he left, literally shaking his fist at the bouncer.

I had showed up tonight with the hope that I could hang out with Stormy, even for a bit. Maybe sit with her entourage, meet some of her friends. But when I had seen her earlier, she had hugged me, thanked me for showing up, then walked off through the crowd with her trademark click-click-click walk, dragging a tiny little emo boy behind her.

After the disappointment of Stormy’s brush-off had worn off, minutes later, I had realized that the party was fun for multiple reasons. Like exchanging jokes with Rick Emerson. Like seeing the petite Bud Light girls in their next-to-nothing short-shorts and halter tops, and turning them down for the free beers because I was already drinking vodka-crans.

Oh, and did I mention that the booze was free? Nothing soothes a broken heart like an open bar. I only drank three of them. If I hadn’t been driving, I would have tried to make sure that they lost money on me. That’s how my I roll.

Emerson shouted at the bouncer, “I would totally have backed you up, man. I would have said that he’d pulled a knife on you.”

The bouncer replied, almost bored, “Dude. I don’t even carry a taser.”

“He didn’t know that!” Emerson bounced back.

I realized that my question about random questions made a pretty good conversational opener. Maybe I’ll go back inside and try it out on people who aren’t famous and used to being asked random questions…

Emerson and the brunette walked off. As she dragged him away, he turned back to me, and pointed. “I did not have a mackerel!” He emphasized every word.

I laughed, and shouted back, “Thanks! That’s my new slogan for the night!” I went back inside, squeezing past the people trying to get in, flashing my wrist band at the bouncer.

Postscript: I did not actually use my new opener on anyone else. I did not stay long enough to see the awards given out. And I did not see Stormy again for the rest of the night. Emerson and the lady accompanying him did return, however.

And did I mention the open bar?

Update: Fixed the link to Stormy’s MySpace page. – 3:56 PM 6 November 2007

Yes, but

General

Sure, sure.

All is well. All will be well.

I just want (hope, desire, hunger, lust) for all to be better.

Why I’m lonely

General

“Blame it on the television, blame it on the company
don’t blame it on the fundamental fact that no one owes you somethin’

“I’ve come about my share, I only want what’s fair.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not greedy.
Like everybody else, I want to pay my dues.
I only want someone to tell me who to make the check out to.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparable Sean Nelson. From “Pike St./Park Slope” on “King James Version”.

Stories

General

Why is it that stories in real life don’t often turn out right?

Fictional stories have rhythms and hooks and beginnings, middles and ends. They have protagonists, antagonists, major and minor characters. Sure, they have red herrings and wild goose chases, but eventually things get back on track and reach a satisfactory conclusion.

Stories in real life? No. Let’s just say I’m still waiting for mine.

NaNoWriMo update

General

The book is tentatively titled “Campaign” and it’s proceeding apace. I’m about where I thought I’d be, and basically caught up. I hope to pull ahead this weekend.

The last four words I wrote, which will likely make no sense out of context, are:

“An elephant named heroin.”

Those bring me to 4,864 words.

Back to writing.

Did you see…?

General

While I’m working on writing a 50,000 word novel in November (I’m currently at 3,046 words and counting), here’s some cool stuff from around the internet from the past week. Did you see these?

Sorry… that’s all I got this week. Back to writing. Is “comradeship” a word? Google says yes, but it just doesn’t sit right with me…