I most certainly owe everyone a full, regular blog entry. Plenty has happened since the last full-on post: I blew out a tire on the 51, but managed to get it off the road before the thing shredded. That was exciting... and... um, other stuff. I don't know. I'm about to go to bed, but I wanted to log in to post this link to a Quizilla post I just completed:
Are You Using Performance-Enhancing Supplements?
I lifted this from this week's ESPN The Magazine, with a couple of minor tweaks to the responses and my own results added on. Anyway, so, I've officially crossed to the dark side... I've created my own Quizilla quiz.
Anyhow, more later... maybe... we'll see if I get in the mood.
Monday, July 26
Sunday, July 18
Tuesday, July 13
Sunday, July 11
Sunday, July 4
I paid one of Zach's friends $3.50 to eat one of the same cat treats Zach did, and he chewed and swallowed with no drama. Either Zach's weak, or his friend is exceedingly weird.
I've taken to referring to him as Xach whenever I get on the office computer at home and he's left AOLIM on, and his friends start sending IMs since it goes un-idle. *shrug* I like to make people stop and pause for thought.
I've taken to referring to him as Xach whenever I get on the office computer at home and he's left AOLIM on, and his friends start sending IMs since it goes un-idle. *shrug* I like to make people stop and pause for thought.
Saturday, July 3
I've set here for 5 minutes, staring at the slowly-blinking cursor on my blank New Post window, not sure of how to put into words just how I feel. And that's funny, because that's exactly my problem of late. I don't know how to put into words what I'm feeling.
Before I go all gloom-and-doom, let me say that Dodgeball is one of the funniest new movies I've seen in a long, long time. Shrek 2 was hilarious, yeah, but Dodgeball is a touch better. And it's smart humor, too... not everyone's going to get the gag. I don't want to spoil anything for anyone, but you'll have to let me know, once you've seen it, if you agree.
So, you know, as depressed as this post is bound to sound, I'm not really in the depths of it. You can tell, because I'm posting. Thursday, now, that was one for the ages. It had just been a crappy week... I was walking around just pissed at the world for no good reason all throughout Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and finally on Thursday, I just crashed. I was at my parents' house, and finally I gave in and let it take me. I sat at the desk in the office and stared at the ceiling for two hours, until finally I needed to use the restroom. The thing is... I know when I should be left alone, lest I do or say something I'll regret when I'm back in my head again. I just have to sit and let it run its course, and then everything'll be fine again, eventually. And usually, once I finally just sit and let go of it, I'll feel better than I've felt for days. By evening's end, I'd emailed the director of the Scottsdale Concert Band to see if they would be holding auditions for the upcoming season anytime soon. (I have yet to hear back.) By the way, if anyone has a friend (or a friend of a friend, or whatever) who knows if a local wind ensemble or concert band or symphony is looking for a tuba player with plenty of free time, let me know. I'd be happy to audition for any opening anyone might have here in the Valley.
What happens when I "go offline", such as it is? I can't really say. It's almost a form of meditation... I tune out everything around me and just do a run-through of everything I'm doing at the moment, and try and figure out what needs retooling. Er sumthin. I don't really pay attention to what's going on, since I'm not consciously involved in the reboot. I just wait it out, patiently, until I'm ready to go again. Then everything's good.
You know, I go back and read sometimes when I bitch and moan on here, and I wonder what gives me the right to feel like I do. I haven't been through a third of the shit most people I know have, and I sit here and whine because, essentially, I'm a nervous geek.
I guess what's weighing on me so much is that the future seems to be knocking on my door an awful lot lately. My dad will be coming home from West Virginia eventually, most likely whenever it gets too cold up there, and I'll have to figure out how I'm going to go back to working with him right there watching over my shoulder again. Hopefully, this whole prospect of our business finally actually being SUCCESSFUL might have helped him to loosen up a bit when it comes to how we handle things in his absence at the kennel. (We've gone into THAT topic before, so I won't dwell on it.)
Eh, that isn't it. That's a thing, but that's not what's got me down.
I need to start looking at more permanent living arrangements. My apartment's fantastic, yeah, but... it's an apartment. Were it a condo, I'd snatch it up in a heartbeat. Or would I? Someday, off in the future, I'd like to have a family, and then what am I going to do with a one-room condo? I know I could sell it, but I don't know if I want to go through all the rigamarole. I'd rather just find a decent house and start paying on that, as long as that's where I'm going to wind up. My lease is up at the end of April, so I've got a little while to weigh my options, perhaps start looking at where/what I'd like to be at/in. (Or is that "at/in where/what I'd like to be"? We're not supposed to end sentences with prepositions, according to that one scene in With Honors where Joe Pesci tells the professor, "Okay: Where's the door at, asshole?")
Eh, that isn't it, either. That's a thing, granted, a more pressing thing, but it's not what's really eating at me.
You see, though? I can't just come out and say it. And that's ever my problem. I sit on my hands, and then a golden opportunity passes me by because my silence is interpreted as indifference or disinterest, I guess.
I'm wondering if I should officially toss in the towel and register as a lifelong bachelor. THAT's what's got me down. Again. As usual. Just like every other time, you can trace it back to something going askew before what I hope is becoming a relationship becomes a relationship. I've got dinner and/or a movie two or three times down to a science, and then... there's "NOW WHAT?". And "NOW WHAT?" is where I reach the place in my brain where it says, "Caution! Synapse out! Road closed." I simply, flat out DON'T KNOW what to do. How do I say, "You know, I sure do like you a whole lot. I'd love to see where a relationship might go," without actually, you know, phrasing it like that? It's got to be almost comical to watch. I'll try and broach the subject, and my tongue will suddenly become paralyzed, and I'll choke on the words... my hands will twitch, and I'll break a sweat... I'll try and kick-start sentences with, "I, um... you know... ah... I... uh..." but nothing productive comes out... and so I finally abort the attempt. And later I'll just sit and stare at my shoes and wonder why. Well, that isn't completely true... I know "why." It involves never leaving the house for anything but school from 7th grade until the Austria trip (the reason for that being not quite making it from Orangedale to Tonalea soon enough for the formation of cliques, which seems to occur at some point in 1st grade, and the hi-jinks that ensued), but that's a reason, not an excuse. I have no excuse for not being able to overcome it... for Pete's sake, I'm 23 now. It's like I described it, though... I get to a certain point, and that piece is just... missing.
I wish I could go back in time to when I was in 8th grade or so and just kick the shit out of myself, and yell, "Get a fucking life already! You avoiding lunch recess by grading tests for the English teacher is not going to help you 10 years down the road!" (Then, after I calmly explain how I traveled back in time, I'd tell me, "Yeah, in the future, you don't have that juvenile aversion to saying 'fuck'. Though you know you wanted to, but you'd say 'What the fudge?' and think you were all bad-ass." Then I'd probably punch me again for future embarrassment at the hands of those who say, "Whooah! Don't swear around Cliffy, he finds it offensive!" Yeah. Surprise! That really hurt.)
I can say, though, that I'm very happy to see my brother is not thus afflicted. While I was housesitting last week, he came in one day and said he was going to ride over to Ricky's house... which was fine, until Ricky called from the hospital and wanted to know if Zach was home. So I called his cell, and it turns out he rode over to another friend's house, a friend who is a girl, whom he often asks me to get off the office computer for (AOLIM is free, compared to him going over on his cell minutes, and AOLIM is private, compared to having to use the office phone since I have yet to get around to buying a $5 cordless phone like he's asked for).
*sigh* The bad thing about my blog is, I want to pour out my soul like this more often, and I hesitate, because EVERYone I know has access to it now. Even my dad; I gave him the link to the photo album, and all he has to do is backtrack to the main page and he'll find the link to here. (Though I doubt he's that curious... though saying that is solely intended to elicit a response from him if he's reading this.) But this is my weak form of living on the edge. Risk-taking for me, in my little insulated environment, is expressing my true feelings. (Which, I'll note, I'm feeling like doing tonight. If I don't ask, I'll never know. So what if it's practically cut-'n-pasted from the paragraph above?)
I look at my possessions, and I feel like I'm holding a golden box in my hands that, when the lid is opened, is revealed to have nothing inside of it. I have no substance in my non-work life. If I could just clip a piece of my swagger from my at-the-track persona and apply it to my at-home life, I might be on to something.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat cherry tomatoes and watch Iron Chef.
Before I go all gloom-and-doom, let me say that Dodgeball is one of the funniest new movies I've seen in a long, long time. Shrek 2 was hilarious, yeah, but Dodgeball is a touch better. And it's smart humor, too... not everyone's going to get the gag. I don't want to spoil anything for anyone, but you'll have to let me know, once you've seen it, if you agree.
So, you know, as depressed as this post is bound to sound, I'm not really in the depths of it. You can tell, because I'm posting. Thursday, now, that was one for the ages. It had just been a crappy week... I was walking around just pissed at the world for no good reason all throughout Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and finally on Thursday, I just crashed. I was at my parents' house, and finally I gave in and let it take me. I sat at the desk in the office and stared at the ceiling for two hours, until finally I needed to use the restroom. The thing is... I know when I should be left alone, lest I do or say something I'll regret when I'm back in my head again. I just have to sit and let it run its course, and then everything'll be fine again, eventually. And usually, once I finally just sit and let go of it, I'll feel better than I've felt for days. By evening's end, I'd emailed the director of the Scottsdale Concert Band to see if they would be holding auditions for the upcoming season anytime soon. (I have yet to hear back.) By the way, if anyone has a friend (or a friend of a friend, or whatever) who knows if a local wind ensemble or concert band or symphony is looking for a tuba player with plenty of free time, let me know. I'd be happy to audition for any opening anyone might have here in the Valley.
What happens when I "go offline", such as it is? I can't really say. It's almost a form of meditation... I tune out everything around me and just do a run-through of everything I'm doing at the moment, and try and figure out what needs retooling. Er sumthin. I don't really pay attention to what's going on, since I'm not consciously involved in the reboot. I just wait it out, patiently, until I'm ready to go again. Then everything's good.
You know, I go back and read sometimes when I bitch and moan on here, and I wonder what gives me the right to feel like I do. I haven't been through a third of the shit most people I know have, and I sit here and whine because, essentially, I'm a nervous geek.
I guess what's weighing on me so much is that the future seems to be knocking on my door an awful lot lately. My dad will be coming home from West Virginia eventually, most likely whenever it gets too cold up there, and I'll have to figure out how I'm going to go back to working with him right there watching over my shoulder again. Hopefully, this whole prospect of our business finally actually being SUCCESSFUL might have helped him to loosen up a bit when it comes to how we handle things in his absence at the kennel. (We've gone into THAT topic before, so I won't dwell on it.)
Eh, that isn't it. That's a thing, but that's not what's got me down.
I need to start looking at more permanent living arrangements. My apartment's fantastic, yeah, but... it's an apartment. Were it a condo, I'd snatch it up in a heartbeat. Or would I? Someday, off in the future, I'd like to have a family, and then what am I going to do with a one-room condo? I know I could sell it, but I don't know if I want to go through all the rigamarole. I'd rather just find a decent house and start paying on that, as long as that's where I'm going to wind up. My lease is up at the end of April, so I've got a little while to weigh my options, perhaps start looking at where/what I'd like to be at/in. (Or is that "at/in where/what I'd like to be"? We're not supposed to end sentences with prepositions, according to that one scene in With Honors where Joe Pesci tells the professor, "Okay: Where's the door at, asshole?")
Eh, that isn't it, either. That's a thing, granted, a more pressing thing, but it's not what's really eating at me.
You see, though? I can't just come out and say it. And that's ever my problem. I sit on my hands, and then a golden opportunity passes me by because my silence is interpreted as indifference or disinterest, I guess.
I'm wondering if I should officially toss in the towel and register as a lifelong bachelor. THAT's what's got me down. Again. As usual. Just like every other time, you can trace it back to something going askew before what I hope is becoming a relationship becomes a relationship. I've got dinner and/or a movie two or three times down to a science, and then... there's "NOW WHAT?". And "NOW WHAT?" is where I reach the place in my brain where it says, "Caution! Synapse out! Road closed." I simply, flat out DON'T KNOW what to do. How do I say, "You know, I sure do like you a whole lot. I'd love to see where a relationship might go," without actually, you know, phrasing it like that? It's got to be almost comical to watch. I'll try and broach the subject, and my tongue will suddenly become paralyzed, and I'll choke on the words... my hands will twitch, and I'll break a sweat... I'll try and kick-start sentences with, "I, um... you know... ah... I... uh..." but nothing productive comes out... and so I finally abort the attempt. And later I'll just sit and stare at my shoes and wonder why. Well, that isn't completely true... I know "why." It involves never leaving the house for anything but school from 7th grade until the Austria trip (the reason for that being not quite making it from Orangedale to Tonalea soon enough for the formation of cliques, which seems to occur at some point in 1st grade, and the hi-jinks that ensued), but that's a reason, not an excuse. I have no excuse for not being able to overcome it... for Pete's sake, I'm 23 now. It's like I described it, though... I get to a certain point, and that piece is just... missing.
I wish I could go back in time to when I was in 8th grade or so and just kick the shit out of myself, and yell, "Get a fucking life already! You avoiding lunch recess by grading tests for the English teacher is not going to help you 10 years down the road!" (Then, after I calmly explain how I traveled back in time, I'd tell me, "Yeah, in the future, you don't have that juvenile aversion to saying 'fuck'. Though you know you wanted to, but you'd say 'What the fudge?' and think you were all bad-ass." Then I'd probably punch me again for future embarrassment at the hands of those who say, "Whooah! Don't swear around Cliffy, he finds it offensive!" Yeah. Surprise! That really hurt.)
I can say, though, that I'm very happy to see my brother is not thus afflicted. While I was housesitting last week, he came in one day and said he was going to ride over to Ricky's house... which was fine, until Ricky called from the hospital and wanted to know if Zach was home. So I called his cell, and it turns out he rode over to another friend's house, a friend who is a girl, whom he often asks me to get off the office computer for (AOLIM is free, compared to him going over on his cell minutes, and AOLIM is private, compared to having to use the office phone since I have yet to get around to buying a $5 cordless phone like he's asked for).
*sigh* The bad thing about my blog is, I want to pour out my soul like this more often, and I hesitate, because EVERYone I know has access to it now. Even my dad; I gave him the link to the photo album, and all he has to do is backtrack to the main page and he'll find the link to here. (Though I doubt he's that curious... though saying that is solely intended to elicit a response from him if he's reading this.) But this is my weak form of living on the edge. Risk-taking for me, in my little insulated environment, is expressing my true feelings. (Which, I'll note, I'm feeling like doing tonight. If I don't ask, I'll never know. So what if it's practically cut-'n-pasted from the paragraph above?)
I look at my possessions, and I feel like I'm holding a golden box in my hands that, when the lid is opened, is revealed to have nothing inside of it. I have no substance in my non-work life. If I could just clip a piece of my swagger from my at-the-track persona and apply it to my at-home life, I might be on to something.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat cherry tomatoes and watch Iron Chef.
