Friday, July 20, 2007

I miss Chad.

As some of you may know, Chad and I had a break-up, and it was fucking nasty. Basically it boils down, on my side of it, wanting to move to Chicago with my girlfriend, and the fact that he had broken up with his girl and was going through, what I felt, was an extremely angry phase. Chad ended up changing the locks, but still wanted me to pay for 2 months of rent while locked out. I could understand one month, but after the lock changing, everything fell apart.

For his part, I understand where he is coming from to an extent, but the lock change really altered my ability to see things rationally. After we had a blow up, he started calling my girlfriend's friends, attempting to damage the relationship. That was so far beyond the pale in my mind that the friendship had to end.

I still love the guy, probably more than almost every other person I know. He's fun beyond description, a super communicator, and has a heart of gold. There are some aspects to Chad that are so amazing, it's hard to put into words. On the flip side, he is often completely selfish to the point that he has left me downtown by my lonesome, without so much as a goodbye, though he was my ride.

It was hard to reconcile in my mind.

However, the older you get, the more you realize just how petty and insignificant these disputes are, and yet they so often rule our every decision.

But with age, I realize just how foolish we all are, and that the concept Jesus introduced, extending forgiveness and asking for it, are so vital to the evolution of man and our own happiness. So in this spirit, I extend my forgiveness to Chad, and humbly ask for his in return. The financial matters can always be hashed out, but the pain needs to dissipate 1st.

The point being, I love Chad like a brother. The ability to truly commiserate with someone on this fucked up world is something so rare that it shouldn't be tossed away like so much refuse. It should be respected by all.

So, in that spirit, Chad, I am sorry for all the pain and problems I caused you. In turn, I extend my forgiveness for all transgressions, real or imagined, that I felt from you.

Life is a 2 lane street, so let's work it out. Our times together should be cherished, not dismissed.



Thursday, April 20, 2006

Hello 4-20! Do I have Balls or what?!

Here is the email I sent to my Direct Boss, as well as a Blind Carbon Copy (BCC:) to my VP, as he and I are tight:

Greetings, I have to have today and tomorrow off for an extremely necessary decompression. If I have to come in, it will be to no one's benefit, in fact quite the opposite. I feel as though, if I try to work through any problem we have, it either is ignored and subsequently blamed on me, becomes a giant political fiasco, involves a lengthy explanation that is without purpose (Brad, none of this is pointed at you. You either Mwokozi), or even worse, a report on, quite literally, nothing while I am still working on said problem. I just want to fix the problem. As Kieth is the project manager now for wireless now, and Mike is much more technically proficient, this should not be a problem, especially since the major software issues have been addressed. If this is a problem, I can turn in my equipment and final expense report the following week. I really do love everyone there, but we will miss the once in a lifetime 1-3 year window that will never return in this industry if we spend so much energy in a circular fashion. Life is a gamble.

Afterwards, I realize it was 4-20, and then smoked a bowl.

And, who knows, sometimes all you have to do in life is ask for what you want.

Love reeder

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

"The Leash"

These days, no matter WTF you do, your boss (or, possibly, 17 bosses with undetermined responsibilities) is always right there with you, like a boil on your taint that just keeps coming back, over and over again.

And really, we can all blame Alexander Graham Bell, or perhaps James Clerk Maxwell, for providing us with the capability to be hassled by the fucking man 24-7, and possibly get brain tumors. Neural Oncology, I predict, will be an ever growing field from here on in.

The Leash=The Cell Phone=centralized control

People crave power, sadly enough, and this desire has lead us to become a nation of yes men (and the new and modern "Yes Woman!" with her stylish business suit)), who either work ridiculously inefficient hours, or pretend to, due to the leash. Your boss (or bosses), who says he isn't a micro-manager but really is, likes to keep tabs on you as much as is humanly possible. Guess what, we decided the old test plan isn't good enough, so we want it changed, and you have to do it. Didn't fill out your service ticket? Where's the weekly report? Where's the individual problem report? Bug report? Monthly report? Expense report? Where's the equipment requisition form? How about the project report? Or the project scope? How about the Executive summary? How about the 90 page report for the board, due while you are out in the field working on the very project on which you have your 47 forms?

I finally know where all the trees go to die. Their deaths become ours, as we wipe away any hope or happiness you may have had left with the terrible monotony of repeated, and repetitive, paper work. In the end, I think they have won this war, just so the modes of control remain in place to keep the seating chart of those in power.

And I have had it.

No one likes to wake up with a strange cock in their mouth, but we all seem to just accept it. Your professionalism hides the reality of our frailty, as though the social power you have gained through work has somehow redefined your mortality. Guess what, mutha' fucker, somewhere there is either a bus or a cardiac bullet with your name on it.

But hey, we all like to grow that fucking pile of electrons. Once you understand that all we are is chaotic yet measured changes within the ether, you see the futility of the chase.

Drop the Leash.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Little Dog Syndrome

Reeder and myself have both noticed an increase in the amount of women that tote around medium to small size dogs. Sometimes these animals will be in a tee shirt or perhaps sport a ribbon in their hair. Rest assured that none of these dogs have testicles.

Reed an I differ in opinion about the usefulness of dogs. If a $1000 vet bill comes between me and my little friend, little friend will be wearing a new wooden coat. Mr. Becker tends love and care for these furry friends more than myself. It's not our opinion of dogs that upsets us, it's the unspoken trueism that LDS (Little Dog Syndrome) represents. The real corn in the turd is the underlying sickness that hides in the dark hearts of women everywhere.

Are we being a bit harsh here? I don't think so. Let's investigate what these little animals truly represent. Women do have a lot of love to give, but are to afraid now a days to give it out to the masculine sex. Afraid because it means to them a sense of old school Donna Reed type submission.

No woman in the history of history has ever experienced this type of freedom and independence. It's gotten to a point where even a matrimonious relationship or any type of relationship with a man is a compromise of this new found freedom. A relationship with a man not only means changing to live with another human being but bearing their children and being bound by them as well. Here's where the dog comes in.

The little dog doesn't really cramp your social life. For the most part you don't have to change for it. It makes a cute little attache. It's easy to love. It doesn't talk back. Just feed it and take it outside to poop, but for the love of Christ pick up the GD shit off the ground. Anyway, it doesn't matter if it gets fat because you don't have to fuck it all the time. In fact you can still fuck whatever the hell you want. By wearing the mutt on your arm it's like walking around with a little flag of independence and saying to those in view, 'Daddy didn't love me enough!'

Reed and myself are decidedly against LDS. Not only is a little dog annoying in of itself, but this independence which it represents is tearing people apart. It's represents a barrier separating women from REAL love. I say take the little fucker out back and put a 9mm in it's skull. Cat's are cool though.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Lake Havasu - Never Go!/20 Year Old Punk Gets Suprising Reprieve!

I dunno what it was that clued me in that the vacation was filled with bad mojo, maybe it was when my lifelong buddy was rolling his wang off while the Coast Guard was searching the boat for drugs. Really bad. Were it not for a quick slight of hand, and a charming conversation about the national championship, I have a feeling many, many people would have gone to jail. A gaggle of Jewish lawyers would have been making their way to Arizona.

My buddy, Cyrus the fucking idiot, tried to light a cigarette with a lollipop in his fuckin mouth. A fucking lollipop. Then he got up and started stumbling and spilling his beer, THEN refilled it and spilled and stumbled a-fuckin-gain!! Right in from of men with scoped out assault rifles. I mean, what the fuck do you say to that. Reminds me of Reservoir Dogs: "Only one thing to do in that case: shit in yer pants an' dive in and swim!" God and Baby Jesus alone saved us from a federal PMITAP.

Whadya gonna do....

So, work is becoming annoying. I am starting to feel constrained, realizing that these projects take a very, very long time to complete, and have evolving agendas. Not unlike women.

The structure of the company takes some time to understand, and I have very little comprehension of the communication lines between Nabors and Epoch. Enough bullshit.

Brian Fucking Rhodes dun good, and life ain't so bad, regardless of the details.

Night kids.


Monday, March 27, 2006

Fuck You, War of the Worlds Rocks!!

To those of you think War of the Worlds was a waste of time and money I say to you this, “BULLY!” This movie has gone through the ringer this year. Look, I don’t care if Tom Cruise worships bagel-dogs and prays to his own stool. People wanted to see him fuck up and they ended up finding flaws that weren’t even there. Tom shows us that even in the role of the common shit on blue collar worker he can find levels of complexity. Like when his ex-wife is making herself at home in his house. He closes the door to his room as she goes by. I thought that was subtle and awesome.

“The Beard” is viewed through the Hubble telescope now-a-days since he’s an uber-director. He’s been a master of special effects since “The Adventures of Young Sherlock Holmes.” This film is no exception. These things were fucking scary. They way they moved, the way they looked, and the way they brutally killed thousands of people at a time made them the most frightening things I’ve seen since the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.

The people who hate this movie always say the same thing, “That little fuck Robbie should have died, hell the whole family should have died. Chad, this movie sucks and you suck!” Yes, Robbie goes over the hill and it looks like he’s a crispy critter, but he joins his family in Boston that has also miraculously survived. Yes, they survive. That’s the point, they survived! It makes this story that much more amazing. If you’ve ever seen a Spielberg picture, you know he loves to pull the sappy heartstrings. I liken this movie to Saving Private Ryan. When I first saw SPR I thought that it was ridiculous because why sacrifice all these men to save one fucking douche behind enemy lines? “Fuck that guy!” I said to myself. After watching it a second and third time I realized that it was the ridiculousness of the order that was the point of the movie. Genius!!!! Same thing with War of the Worlds, it’s about the life. Tom's story is worth telling because his whole family lived. Sure it might seem ridiculous that everyone lived, but it’s possible. In a post ‘K’ world the idea of an entire family surviving a disaster of this magnitude is something that should be embraced. What I’m really trying to say is, have a little compassion you dark assholes!!!

To sum things up, if you think War of the Worlds sucks, then you’re a hate filled anti-Semite with a heart of coal. Thank you.

White Guy in Chocholate City 2

The prodigal friend has returned to the Crescent City. This time I didn’t drive anywhere. The plan was to simply get pick up my vehicle and get wasted. Mission accomplished.

It’s a week before St. Patrick’s Day but these assholes are having a parade. They’re so drunk they don’t even know what day it is. They ride these decommissioned Marti Gras floats where they throw beads, stuffed animals, cabbages, onions, potatoes, and cucumbers. The idea is that you collect all the veggies and make a pot of stew to eat the next day. My friend Russ, his med school buddies, and myself are drinking in front of The Bulldog. This float full of liquor filled banana heads stops in front of us and is surgically picking off people with vegetables. It was all pretty funny and we’re avoiding the carnage pretty well until it happened. I looked down to watch some hot chick slip on a storm drain cover and when I looked up a GIANT cucumber nailed me in the face. The cucumber exploded and knocked me stupid. This guy with a hollowed out cabbage stuffed with a beer bottle looked at me and said, “Hey man, are you ok?” I just looked at him and then his cabbage, back at him… “Uh… uh… I’m a little… Uh… Hey, that’s pretty cool.” I said pointing at the cabbage. “Thanks man!”, he responded. I stood there for about five minutes in silence sorting through my emotions. Am I embarrassed? Angry? What IS humus made of? Who is this St. Patrick anyway?

The party continued at Parasol’s and then at this Jew-face guy’s house. With another successful trip to New Orleans under my belt I return to my new home in Houston wishing I had a shitload of cash to buy a house in Chocolate City.