May Day & other commie devices...
One of my favourite lines in the classic film, Office Space, goes something like this:
Peter Gibbons (Ron Livingston, in the performance of his career): So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.
Dr. Swanson (Some guy I don't recognize from anything, ever.): What about today? Is today the worst day of your life?
Peter Gibbons: Yeah.
Dr. Swanson: Wow, that's messed up.
My life thus far this year is kind of like that, but at the other end of the spectrum. Every weekend you see me, that's the best weekend of my life. This past weekend was no exception, with the pathetic lack of posts over the last several days as my most readily visible proof. That and I'm still unemployed. And my taxes are still nowhere near completed. However, many heights were reached, limits were explored (!), and firsts were racked up, and ultimately, isn't that all that really matters? While I can't say that no animals were harmed in the making of this weekend, (rest in peace, little junior opossum) I can say that his (yes, I'm sure it was a he, thanks) demise was through no action on the part of any of our band of merry revelers.
Awoke at a leisurely hour on Saturday, made a call to confirm tentative afternoon plans, and headed out to enjoy the simply gorgeous weather and some very fine company. Spent the day alternating between basking in the glory of the day, preparing a leisurely meal, and discussing some of the life-altering events of the past fiscal quarter-and-a-third.
That evening found us at the club with the usual suspects, minus our brave and adventurous creative director, Skip, who was at the time taking his chances with battling the elements in a tube of aluminum some might call a private jet (bastard!), living it up (bastard!) like the proverbial rock star (and by that, I mean shouldering the terrible burden of being surrounded by scantily-clad, borderline anorexic women making out in largely unsuccessful (and transparent, but no less hot) attempts to curry favour with car-show judges...it's a rough life, non? (Bastard! But thanks for taking pictures, Skippy)) And I'm the one people think is the drug dealer. Please. But I digress. After several weeks of a somewhat "off" energy at said club, things seemed to be very much back in the full swing of things. Attendance was way up, the crowd was largely good-looking, friendly, and familiar, yet new at the same time. Met some new people, got reacquainted with others, vigorously probed (and with twice the normal concurrent diligence) the depths of certain relationships, with exceptionally copious and pleasing results, all aboveboard and without any shady backdoor shenanigans whatsoever.
At this point, I should probably also make note that my prior observations on the effectiveness and/or cross effects of the alc/E/V cocktail were perhaps a bit premature (at best, completely unscientifically derived at worst, and in either instance, should be immediately discarded,) and that more research will definitely be needed. Developments as they occur; procedures and control groups must be planned and organized...
A couple three new prospects were unearthed, and the coming weeks will tell which, if any should come to fruition. (Fingers crossed here)
Witnessed some drama among some other peripheral acquaintances, but being the friends we were, we jumped in after the fact to see what could be salvaged of the regrettable situation. This relates to some extent to the last paragraph.
6am came far too quickly though, and the drive back to the resort post-party was an excercise in multitasking, as one of our newfound friends was intent on testing the limits of Skip's and my navigational/focus-on-the-job-at-hand abilities, and my ability to drive with no hands, keep the rubber side down, not exchange paint with the 'hoe, and master the art of digital still/motion photography, all while maintaining some semblance of normalcy on a phone conversation, and not draw the attention of the boys in blue. I did pretty damn well, if I do say so myself: 'hoe and ghetto fabulous Lex made it away unscathed, phone and digicam didn't get chucked out the window, photos turned out pretty damn fine (again, by no one's determination but my own,) and I got a decent story out of the deal. While the story value in and of itself probably doesn't beat the time when I drove my 5-speed stick shift Datsun 280ZX while on the phone, eating an ice cream cone (soft serve), and approaching a toll booth without any change (and this is before the i-Pass or any sort of electronic collection device), the pictures and memories of this particular instance were MUCH more memorable. (I wish I could show you, really!)
This weekend also wins the dubious award for "Latest night out", with the last survivors of our Saturday night group (myself included) finally crashing at something like 12:45-1:00pm Sunday afternoon. However, being a recovery Sunday, being up again at around 3pm, however difficult and contraindicated, seemed to have little to no effect on the partygoers' collective staminas.
Sunday recovery efforts were well-received by all that I'm aware of, with stellar performances from J (of the J^2s, and miss strawberry (She needs a new moniker, that's too much of a pain to type) with her exceptionally cutely filled-out polka dots [shudder]. Really, I wish I could show you pictures.
Party to the wee hours, crash, head back early afternoon Monday, and the proceed to do absolutely and completely nothing. No blog entry, no late Sunday paper reading, no movie, no TV, nothing. Well, I did manage to rent a 16X dual-layer +- R/RW DVD burner from CompUSA, and went ahead and started moving some of this glut of internet-sourced TV programs to DVD (Sopranos S1-5, Scrubs S1-4, the full Futurama series S1-5, etc.)
Tuesday morning (just barely) finds me in good spirits, catching up on some e-mail, a couple phone calls, and a reconnection with the lovely Ms. T. She and I have barely spoken in a week, after a torrid and very prolific first couple of weeks, and she demonstrated admirable restraint in not having chased me down, despite my very insensitive lack of any calls or correspondences whatsoever. Fortunately for me, she's free for the evening, and we make plans to head out for an evening, and meet up with a friend/co-worker of hers at a bar in Downtown Rock Hill she frequents. So THIS is where all the Winthrop college hotties hang out. For a podunk dive bar in the middle of a deserted quasi-downtown area, this place was packed to the rafters with hotties.
Great time, very glad to see T after a considerable absence, here's to hoping that this month as the rest of the year is filled with balance and happiness. Lord knows I should be the absolute last one to hope for more and better luck, but eh...whatever works.
With that, I'm off to bed, kiddies...take care of one aonther, and we'll see y'all soon...
-Gene
Peter Gibbons (Ron Livingston, in the performance of his career): So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.
Dr. Swanson (Some guy I don't recognize from anything, ever.): What about today? Is today the worst day of your life?
Peter Gibbons: Yeah.
Dr. Swanson: Wow, that's messed up.
My life thus far this year is kind of like that, but at the other end of the spectrum. Every weekend you see me, that's the best weekend of my life. This past weekend was no exception, with the pathetic lack of posts over the last several days as my most readily visible proof. That and I'm still unemployed. And my taxes are still nowhere near completed. However, many heights were reached, limits were explored (!), and firsts were racked up, and ultimately, isn't that all that really matters? While I can't say that no animals were harmed in the making of this weekend, (rest in peace, little junior opossum) I can say that his (yes, I'm sure it was a he, thanks) demise was through no action on the part of any of our band of merry revelers.
Awoke at a leisurely hour on Saturday, made a call to confirm tentative afternoon plans, and headed out to enjoy the simply gorgeous weather and some very fine company. Spent the day alternating between basking in the glory of the day, preparing a leisurely meal, and discussing some of the life-altering events of the past fiscal quarter-and-a-third.
That evening found us at the club with the usual suspects, minus our brave and adventurous creative director, Skip, who was at the time taking his chances with battling the elements in a tube of aluminum some might call a private jet (bastard!), living it up (bastard!) like the proverbial rock star (and by that, I mean shouldering the terrible burden of being surrounded by scantily-clad, borderline anorexic women making out in largely unsuccessful (and transparent, but no less hot) attempts to curry favour with car-show judges...it's a rough life, non? (Bastard! But thanks for taking pictures, Skippy)) And I'm the one people think is the drug dealer. Please. But I digress. After several weeks of a somewhat "off" energy at said club, things seemed to be very much back in the full swing of things. Attendance was way up, the crowd was largely good-looking, friendly, and familiar, yet new at the same time. Met some new people, got reacquainted with others, vigorously probed (and with twice the normal concurrent diligence) the depths of certain relationships, with exceptionally copious and pleasing results, all aboveboard and without any shady backdoor shenanigans whatsoever.
At this point, I should probably also make note that my prior observations on the effectiveness and/or cross effects of the alc/E/V cocktail were perhaps a bit premature (at best, completely unscientifically derived at worst, and in either instance, should be immediately discarded,) and that more research will definitely be needed. Developments as they occur; procedures and control groups must be planned and organized...
A couple three new prospects were unearthed, and the coming weeks will tell which, if any should come to fruition. (Fingers crossed here)
Witnessed some drama among some other peripheral acquaintances, but being the friends we were, we jumped in after the fact to see what could be salvaged of the regrettable situation. This relates to some extent to the last paragraph.
6am came far too quickly though, and the drive back to the resort post-party was an excercise in multitasking, as one of our newfound friends was intent on testing the limits of Skip's and my navigational/focus-on-the-job-at-hand abilities, and my ability to drive with no hands, keep the rubber side down, not exchange paint with the 'hoe, and master the art of digital still/motion photography, all while maintaining some semblance of normalcy on a phone conversation, and not draw the attention of the boys in blue. I did pretty damn well, if I do say so myself: 'hoe and ghetto fabulous Lex made it away unscathed, phone and digicam didn't get chucked out the window, photos turned out pretty damn fine (again, by no one's determination but my own,) and I got a decent story out of the deal. While the story value in and of itself probably doesn't beat the time when I drove my 5-speed stick shift Datsun 280ZX while on the phone, eating an ice cream cone (soft serve), and approaching a toll booth without any change (and this is before the i-Pass or any sort of electronic collection device), the pictures and memories of this particular instance were MUCH more memorable. (I wish I could show you, really!)
This weekend also wins the dubious award for "Latest night out", with the last survivors of our Saturday night group (myself included) finally crashing at something like 12:45-1:00pm Sunday afternoon. However, being a recovery Sunday, being up again at around 3pm, however difficult and contraindicated, seemed to have little to no effect on the partygoers' collective staminas.
Sunday recovery efforts were well-received by all that I'm aware of, with stellar performances from J (of the J^2s, and miss strawberry (She needs a new moniker, that's too much of a pain to type) with her exceptionally cutely filled-out polka dots [shudder]. Really, I wish I could show you pictures.
Party to the wee hours, crash, head back early afternoon Monday, and the proceed to do absolutely and completely nothing. No blog entry, no late Sunday paper reading, no movie, no TV, nothing. Well, I did manage to rent a 16X dual-layer +- R/RW DVD burner from CompUSA, and went ahead and started moving some of this glut of internet-sourced TV programs to DVD (Sopranos S1-5, Scrubs S1-4, the full Futurama series S1-5, etc.)
Tuesday morning (just barely) finds me in good spirits, catching up on some e-mail, a couple phone calls, and a reconnection with the lovely Ms. T. She and I have barely spoken in a week, after a torrid and very prolific first couple of weeks, and she demonstrated admirable restraint in not having chased me down, despite my very insensitive lack of any calls or correspondences whatsoever. Fortunately for me, she's free for the evening, and we make plans to head out for an evening, and meet up with a friend/co-worker of hers at a bar in Downtown Rock Hill she frequents. So THIS is where all the Winthrop college hotties hang out. For a podunk dive bar in the middle of a deserted quasi-downtown area, this place was packed to the rafters with hotties.
Great time, very glad to see T after a considerable absence, here's to hoping that this month as the rest of the year is filled with balance and happiness. Lord knows I should be the absolute last one to hope for more and better luck, but eh...whatever works.
With that, I'm off to bed, kiddies...take care of one aonther, and we'll see y'all soon...
-Gene
posted by Gene at 3:50 AM
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