Category: Glot

Dreams, agonies, joyful reminiscence, reflections, delightful fantasies horrifying truths. All just words.

Migrated from a blog, or “glot”, if you will, that I wrote from 2004-2016.

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Domestic Niceties

One of the nice things about working at a rather huge organization where you have little idea who the top boss is or who/what, exactly, you work for, is that the insurance benefits are awesome. That’s right. Medical, Dental, and Vision, at no pay deducion. One of the bad things about working from home and starting your own business endeavors is that it’s not easy to get decent insurance.

Hmm…

One of the nice things about living in San Francisco is that the Domestic partnership laws are very open. And easy. And one of the nice things about being in an “intimate committed relationship” is that you have a certain level of trust. Trust like you’d pay the other person’s rent if they couldn’t.

One of the nice things about entering into a domestic partnership is that it’s kinda like a marriage, so it’s cool to throw a reception party afterwards. I’m just saying. That’d be nice.

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How Embarrassing

Since the beginning of May, I have been continuously two months behind on uploading pictures to Flickr.

It just happened. See, we were looking for apartments. Every day, we’d go and see more apartments and take pictures to show the soon-to-be-roomies what the places looked like. ‘Course, we’d end up applying anyways toward the end. But some of the pictures were good. And a lot of the time, there was no more time. So I built up a backlog of decent, mostly story-telling pictures that sat around until I could find a place… and then find a job… and then find time.

I have myself experienced on a number of occassions the Red Queen. “It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.” I’ve uploaded pictures aplenty—all from around two months back. I make rent every month, yet somehow I have to keep working. And there’s so much upkeep in breathing, every day, every hour, every etc.

I want to complete them. I wanna be done. I’d like to come home and fling a whole buncha stuff on the internet and I don’t want to care about it. I have an unimpressive obsession. I know this. But I’m still obsessed.

Don’t you want to know what I did yesterday, and not last May?

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I Got Burned

You dummy.

It’s your own responsibility. You put yourself out there and you get burned without protection. Sizzle sizzle. Lobster Legs.

I was on a boat. I was in an amusement park. And then I was on a plane, and I had to wear pants cause my legs are so red that it would be dangerous otherwise. The aloe vera makes the hairs stick together and essentially shrinkwrap my skin. This sucks. Pictures to come soon.

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Missouri Holiday

Hello! I’m in Missouri. Why. Why? Because that’s where Lynae’s dad lives. And why does he live there? Is he from there? No.

But the place is nice. There’s a lake, and woods, a long gravel driveway, a pool, and cousins, and every other silly thing that makes it seem like a family retreat in the woods. And I’m here in the middle of it. The Boyfriend. An interesting role, and I don’t mind playing it.

There’s precious little time. Between Silver Dollar City (think giant Frontierland with more rollercosters,  Marvel Cave, Steak N’ Shake, Go-carts, and Predator World (the weirdest zoo I’ve ever been to), there is not a lot of time for… internet commitments. Off to dinner.

UPDATE: Now that it’s over, I have no problem with a little more sharing.

We came, we saw, we got really really sunburned. In somewhat sensible slideshow order: Springfield Airport, Tablerock Lake, The Butterfly Palace, Steak ‘n’ Shake, an a rock quarry next to an amusement park, Marvel Cave, Predator World, abandoned florist shop, late-night arcade/go-carts, Denny’s, way fancier than Denny’s, Tablerock Lake, Springfield Airport.

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Damn Kids

Damn kids.

You made me feel old. You made me feel old. Because I had to go outside my place of work and figure out what group of dummie-dum-dums was throwing tiny annoyinf firework poppers out the damn window, then march up to their room, 510, and confiscate their silly little fireworks, tell them this was their “last warning” and advise them that, yes, [poppers in Golden Gate Park = OK funny], [fireworks thrown from our hostel = OK you’re kicked to the kerb]. Anymore of that and they’re out. What’s worse is we don’t even know their names, don’t have their passport numbers because someone didn’t take them. They could be anybody’s dumb 18 year-old cousins. And guess what? Being an adult isn’t so bad. At least I’m not sitting around bored pestering strangers on a level not far above cow-tippin’ in one of the greatest cities this side of the Prime Meridian.

They come to check out tomorrow, ask for their ID.
They act smug or smirk too much, mention the cow-tipping
And if they make you feel like a lame grownup, just remember that you pay your own rent and live in an awesome town and hey, you can drink beer… legally!

♥Orin

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Walking Outside on 4th of July

Creative Commons photo by Flickr user WhatNot

I had no idea what to do this fourth. Maybe I was gonna dress up like a salmon and bother tourists (it seemed only fair). But instead, I just walked outside. I walked outside. And my neighborhood took care of it for me. You have no idea how much I love this town.

Directly outside there were people setting off the screamy ones that don’t leave a lot of smoke. Down the street I could see big ones. We got in the car and drove southwards, toward Bernal Hill. We figured we could get a nice wide view of the entire Mission (which, apparently, is a “hotbed” of illegal fireworks). Unfortunately some other damn fool had the bright idea to light off some of the same from that dry, grassy park at the top of a windy hill, and… well, we drove outta there pretty fast once we figured that out. Precita Park was cool. The little lady’s new camera got such a workout her batteries died. Someone blew up a garbage can. The SFFD showed up with a big spotlight but didn’t say anything to anyone, and all was understood. The projects down about Cesar Chavez and Harrison were lit up, streets closed off with stolen (borrowed) traffic cones, its intersection packed with people standing 200-300 feet directly below the wink-and-a-nod explosions, each family who wanted to celebrate taking turns which meant at least three separate finales… that I saw.

Did I mention I barbecued burgers on our backyard balcony? Cause I did and they were delicious. Just wanted to mention. Happy Fourth, San Francisco.

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Wallcrashing

I am the worst blogger from bed ever.

“This week is like… can… it’s weird you’re not looking at me… I work now.”

Sometimes people work too hard. It’s not just an overachiever thing. It’s an “I need to be financially independant and I’m sorta working two jobs and planning on starting my own business too” kinda thing. Or maybe a little “I do everything I can for everyone I see all day long and never complain and by the end I’m just so through that I crash.” I take it back It might be an overacheiver thing. It’s easy to get carried away once you realize what you want and realize that it’s only the amount of effort you’re willing to put in that determines how successful you are. And then you hit a wall and realize your human.

Yesterday, yesterday was a hard day. I fell asleep before 12, on the bed, with my clothes on, while my woman sat right beside me trying to work. She couldn’t wake me up. Or, rather, she could wake me up but I was still dreaming and couldn’t muster the force of mind to move. So she slept on the couch. As my lady crept into bed at 6:30 this morning I woke up confused (not to mention a little sorry).

We’re not hitting a wall. We’re just grinding our gears. We’re ruffling our feathers. We’re harshing our buzz. I’m not worried; I’m frazzled, and so is she. Hella frazzled (yes, we live in Northern California; no, we don’t live in NorCal). We deseperately need a vacation from the busy lives we’ve chosen… and we’re getting one! Soon! Ironically enough that’s causing us to spin our wheels. I got off time from work, and then I was told I couldn’t. My lady was told she could park somewhere and then somehow she couldn’t, and her truck was towed . So she’s out $280. We come home tired then go out and do cool stuff and come back exhausted. And we’re planning a party, and soon, and before the vacation. It would be quite reasonable for a suburban, homebody, happy-to-eat-at-Chili’s sort of folk to call us insane.

I don’t want to be insane. I’d like to have awesome, intense, busy, produtive, happy sanity. Work in progress.

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Conversational Snippets

I’ve been using Trillian Portable less than a month. Just to give some idea what I’ve been talking about, here are some random, mechanically selected excerpts:

  • trust me, its not true, if its true, then my weight is not 250 pounds
  • $5 for the Charlie McCarthy grass-skirted weirdo
  • i am teh pwnzores 4 lyfe
  • so I’m watching the GET video of last year, some of the way through, I post the entry regarding all the kite-killings there last march and link to the Al Jazeera…
  • have you considered a moustache?
  • hey there Mom
  • which is pay for my flight, and once ive finished my contract with the agency in 2 months, they will up my wages from £5.60 to £7 an hour
  • cool! I thought I was the only one who carries their life in their iPod

That last one’s really appropriate, since I actually do carry my instant messenger in my pocket, on the iPod hard-drive… as well as my browser, my image editor, my bittorrent client, and of course my bad-file destroyer.

I expect educated guesses as to the identities of those messenging/messenged. Messenged is not a word.

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Way of Life

It’s occurred to me. I finished what I set out to do.

I was having dinner, conversing with a friend newly returned from Cambodia, and then I was washing the dishes and I realized I’d finished it. What I set out to do a year ago.

My Life's PossessionsAllow me to be the first to admit that I went traveling with a lot of false hopes. Although there’s no such thing, sure, they were a little high. I wanted an apartment, a steady job that lasted 3-4 months, paid $3000+living expenses so I could travel another 3 months, plus a girlfriend. These are all nice, dumb things to want when traveling overseas for the first time. Nobody gets a decent apartment in a major suburban center (which is where I wanted it) for that long. Employers don’t wanna train you and then see you drive off into the sunset of Uluru, or the GBR, or lord knows where else. And I could hardly talk to girls enough to con them into a funny travel photo. All in all, unreasonable expectations at best. I came back from my trip having had the experience of a lifetime, humbled.

Fast forward three months. Those three months aren’t important. I started living in a hostel called Pacific Tradewinds in September, looking for work or an apartment, but admittedly half-assed-ly. But I didn’t half-ass cleaning the dishes, I didn’t half-ass the stairs when I was asked to clean them for a free night, and I was hired there in a matter of six weeks. I had fun. I lived mostly on free stuff, spending very little. I hung out with different people and different girls. I got into Consumating. My life changed, becoming less solipsistic, while more hedonistic, more community-driven, but more selfishly goal-oriented. I enjoyed my life.

OUR Bedroom MessI had to move on, eventually. Come February it was time to move out of the hostel. It took me and my girlfriend and my roommates until April to find it. Those were weird months. It wasn’t until late May that I found another job, another hostel. It pays, it’s a commute, and I still get to meet and interact with travelers. I feel cool. I live in the city I love, in my favorite neighborhood, and go to loads of events pretty easy. I get to go to Burning Man. I get to maybe buy a Vespa, a new camera, and cover my student loans. I’m a real citizen and so it feels.

It’s an odd, fulfilling, scary, nostalgic, lovely feeling. I’m done—for the moment. I’ve still got lots of stuff on the list. But for now, I think, I get to say I’m done.

See more progress on: Have a totally different life by this time next year
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14,000 and Counting

Saw a good movie yesterday, three days after its world premiere: The Man from Earth (imdb entry here). Imagine if you will… the movie’s premise: “What if a man from the Upper Paleolithic had survived until the present day?” Take six professors plus one lecher’d coed following that to the bottom of the rabbit hole, you’ve got the whole movie. It’s a simple, elegant concept, and the execution was good. Acting was excellent. Music coulda been better. The popcorn was awful, but I won’t blame the director for that.

Like any good movie… like any good intellectual movie, it makes you consider ideas presented long after the presentation’s over. Like what you’d do with 14,000 years of life. Education. Religion. Travel. Love. It’s the same forever-change-yer-life choices we all meet, but on a scale that opens them up for just about anything. Who would you meet? How would you affect history? It’s refreshing to reconsider all of them, and see the story play around unexpectedly with each. Not to mention the big, obvious, elephant-in-room question: would you want to live that long, given the choice? Never dying, unless by intentional means? I’m not gonna answer that. Certainly not here.

See the movie and have a good conversation afterwards. If you have to see if in an art theater, bring your own popcorn. The things you eat now will stay with you for the rest of your life.