Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Whatever the Opposite of Nostalgia Is
Last night I had a nightmare I was back at my old theme park job, where I worked in the box office. It was during their month-long Halloween event, which I’m sure is all set to start this week or next.
Halloween was a weird time at the park. You worked late hours. Park guests were drunk. A deafening half-hour long loop of industrial music was playing in the entrance plaza. It was the only time you’d see celebrities. Your managers’ expectations of politeness were lowered. People would try to bribe you. You would be accosted by ghoulish clowns with chainsaws on your way to your lunch breaks.
The thing about working in a theme park is that it’s already like living in a horror movie. And then they add scary clowns.
The clowns were supposed to leave anyone in a park uniform alone, but park veterans would tell you that every year the same pattern emerged. The first week, the clowns played by the rules. The second week they started testing boundaries. The third week you couldn’t walk from your ticket booth, where you had just endured hours worth of non-stop work coupled with near-endless abuse by park guests, to the break room without getting a chainsaw pulled in your face.
I am perhaps too apt to complain about my life, so last night’s dream was a good reminder that this time last year I was in a long-distance relationship, I lived with my parents, and complaining to HR about the “boundary problems” of clowns with chainsaws seemed like a completely normal part of my work environment.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
(the latter two via NVC & AY, respectively)
We did it, guys! We did it.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The reputation of Los Angeles as whipping boy for New York and San Francisco, America’s more European cities, is branded as a blood feud in which the sides are equal in antipathy. It’s really more one-sided than that. New Yorkers and San Franciscans hurl insults drafted in sub-committee and ratified by full houses. Los Angeles signs them into law without so much as reading a line, and then heads back to the beach or golf course or whatever.
Hearing Carry Over: Everything Was Never The Deal
Friday, August 3, 2012
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
No, dudes, call me Ishmael, because this is the single most relatable sentence I’ve read in months.
Moby Dick, man! Who knew? (Everybody. Everybody knew.)
Thursday, August 2, 2012
“No, you’re not thinkin’. You’re too busy being a smart aleck to be thinkin’. Now I want ya to “think” and stop bein’ a smart aleck. Can ya try that for me?”
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Rooftop Sparkler (Taken with Instagram)
A dubious choice (if you can call it that, given that the timing was governed by finances and expedience more than anything else because having someone waiting for you means the right time to get there is yesterday) moving to New York so far in the year from my favorite seasons, the miserable steeplechase of summer standing between me and the New York I had in mind when I got on the plane.
Anyway, rooftop parties are pretty great.
Dylan never met anyone who wasn’t about to change immediately into someone else. his was a special talent for encountering persons about to shed one identity or disguise for another. He took it in stride by now.
The Fortress of Solitude, Jonathan Lethem
There should be a word for this, the sensation of always arriving at a party just as everyone is about to leave, the fear that you’ll never be in the right place at the right time, that you’re always playing catch-up and losing.