I’m going to tell the world a little about my vacation.  Something tells me I should.  And while I’m not certain that I should, I’m fully aware that I can.

I haven’t been on a vacation that I’m aware of for quite some time.  This particular vacation took me to the Orlando, Florida, area from the 7th to the 17th with an initial stay over in Philadelphia where I joined up with my sister for the drive down to Florida.

That is a long drive.  Not including our stops it was about 18 hours of driving (we split it over two days).  I took the train to Philadelphia and she met me at the station.  To glaze over, we had dinner and went to the grocery store and her five dogs pooped and peed everywhere and I did the dishes because I’m that kind of guy and I practiced psychiatry without a license and prescribed over the counter treatments for her significant other.

I think it worked out pretty well. Continue reading →

First of all, I’ll get out of the way that as of this post, welcome to a pretty but unimaginative new look for the site. This is the attractive styling of the newly instated default theme for WordPress installations: Twenty Ten. I like it. It’s pretty. I haven’t even bothered to change the header image just yet.

With that said, moving onward: I am totally Doomed.

I made shrimpy pasta two days ago (I know, I checked my tweets.) I saved some, as I was not hungry enough or endowed with a large enough stomach to eat all that I had prepared. A mere two days later I find myself scarfing down the remainder, heated from its chill in the fridge.

And it looks like that was a bad idea.

I’m sitting here, blogging, a ticking time bomb. I can feel inside me that something went wrong and I’m totally going to be so sick. The food didn’t smell bad, it didn’t look bad, and I heated it up in a perfectly acceptable manner (fry pan and extra virgin olive oil) but I know. I know it’s all down hill from here.

I’ve taken my pepto bismol. I’ve brought the ginger ale out of the basement to the main fridge. I know where the chicken soup is.

But it’s the waiting.

And! And and and! Even if I’m not going to be sick I’m going to be sick anyway! Because the mind is a powerful thing and if I truly believe I’m going to be sick and I’m wrong, it won’t matter. Because I wasn’t going to be sick but I believe so fervently that I am that I’ll probably make myself sick.

Double screwed.

And now we wait.

Someone someday will have the solid brass balls to tell our story. And when that day comes it will have a name. The Eggs and the Giraffe.

I do enjoy considering myself Termination Zero. The epicenter of the entire downfall. The sign of the worsening. The precursor to the age of whatever the exact opposite of enlightenment is. I’m Termination Zero, Patient Zero, because it’s amusing in a grim sort of way and because it’s awfully coincidental.

And it’s not a disease so I have the ‘pleasure’ of watching the survivors suffer. But there’s no pleasure there. Not in the least. The grim amusement comes from the obvious failings of the powers that be, so much higher up in the corporation, who have no idea at all of what they’re doing. They’ve never spent a minute in the trenches of the war zone that is the sales floor. They’ve never had it out with one of the machines.

That, I believe, is a fact.

And it’s amusing and interesting because while OF COURSE it does not hold a candle to a battle or a war, it IS easy and is that kind of darkly, grim half-smilingly comparable to a war.

One that you’re on the front lines of. One that you’re losing.

Or one where you’ve received a dishonorable discharge.

The story is about eggs. It’s about giraffes. It’s about the place where I felt I belonged. The place where I was awesome. The place where I knew everything and everyone knew me and I knew everyone.

The place where we were united.

And the place where I got myself fired from due to curiosity and hubris.

Hubris is my new word. I find it applies often.

There are a lot of people who would be entertained to see our story written. There are a lot of people who would read it.

And there are a few people who would probably stop just short of having us killed if we told it.

If that’s not amusing, I don’t know what is.