Allusive.org

Last night was a particularly strange mix of dreams.  The two don’t connect at all, but they amused me anyway.

First one had my workplace re-located to San Francisco.  While we were moving in, I realized the next day was Christmas.  I immediately decided I had to go pick up treats for the guys I work with.

This reference is based on my yearly Valentine’s day “candy bombing” of the IT side of the office where I work.  I generally go out and buy varied types of treats, sneak in early, then leave a few on each developer’s desk. If they have space on it I’ll write “from a secret admirer”.  Then plant some on my desk and watch comedy ensue.

So I find myself in this super-compact version of Wal-mart (I despise going to Wal-mart, by the way, avoid it as a rule) sifting through bins of all kinds of weird shit with Christmas labels on it. Like “Christmas Cinnamon Rolls” or “Holiday water guns”.  I eventually give up when I see Brian, Will, and Richard are there too and Will is steadily working his way through the bins, taking a bite out of everything.

Woke up.

The next dream found me in LA, where I was in an office building that turned into a museum at night.  The lights were very low and the conversation was quiet.  I start poking my head in all of the office areas roped off, and I find fancy water fountains, cars, and this giant clock.  The clock was solid gold with silver chains, and it had a giant pearl face about the size of a small dining table.  The gears were the size of plates.  It was off, so I turned it on, making this tremendous ticking and grinding noise.

Immediately the curator comes racing into the secret room and chases me out.  I realize I’m towing luggage, it’s almost 6pm, and I have to be to the airport in an hour.  I race outside and catch a cab.  Two other people with a little black yappy dog wearing a bandana jump in and we take off.

When we get there the couple races out of the cab, throws their luggage on the conveyor belt, then head to the gate.  The little yappy dog tries to follow the luggage, gets stuck on the belt, and starts barking at the ceiling.  The cab drives off and takes me to a private terminal.

Upon checkin the lady at the counter says my plane is ready.  I suddenly realize *I* am the pilot and have to fly myself back to Vegas.

Another side note, I have a mild-to-medium fear of flying.  Once upon a time in an attempt to get over it I bought MS Flight Simulator, but succeeded only in crashing all of my planes.  To be fair it was a WWII version and I was getting shot at by the Japanese, but still.  Don’t ever come look at me if the pilot becomes incapacitated on a flight and they need a backup.

I immediately begin recalling all of my tutoring from my previous experience of Flight Simulator, and realize I’m going to crash and burn, hard.  Do I just go in and do it?  Or do I swallow my (considerable) pride and find another way home?  The latter won.  I admit to the attendant that I don’t know how to fly and I need another way home.

Not missing a beat, she books me on Hula Airlines (I made this up in my head, apparently).  It’s  a private plane for tourists heading to Hawaii.  I find myself in line with tons of people wearing leis and grass skirts.

Woke up.

Decided to get up for the day after that.  Can’t top that dream.

Larry - Repairman: Sy, are you kiddin’ me?
[slams door shut on mini-lab machine]
Sy Parrish: What?
Larry - Repairman: I got three of these fuckin’ machines down today. I’ve got to be in Heber Springs by 3:00.
[prepares to leave]
Sy Parrish: Larry, all I’m asking you to do is look at these prints!
[shows photos]
Larry - Repairman: Plus point three? Sy, are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Point three? Nobody gives a shit until those shifts are in the double digits.
Sy Parrish: It’s blue, Larry!
[Larry heads for the door]
Sy Parrish: Well, I bet Brandt cares about a plus point three!
Larry - Repairman: Are you fuckin’ threatening me? You’re breakin’ my balls over a plus three blue shift.
[turns away]
Larry - Repairman: Fuckin’ asshole.
[to Sy again]
Larry - Repairman: Next time you call me out here, that thing better be belching fire.
Sy Parrish: [shouting facetiously behind him on the sales floor] That’s a great attitude, Larry! Thanks for your precision work!

Hi Todd!

I am terrible at social interaction.  It’s not that I don’t like people.  I really do.  I love a lot of the people I know, even if I’m terrible at showing it.  I’m not a jerk, I just get very standoffish when I’m uncertain.  And nothing explodes that situation more than having to talk to people I don’t know.

I’m sure this has been woefully obvious to even those I do know.  I am terrible at parties.  I want to be gregarious and join in the fun, but some stupid inner voice has told me for my entire life that I look and sound like an idiot.  So I keep quiet or avoid altogether.  This is my modus operandi.  It’s killed my social life in more ways than one, and generally ends with me being ostracized to some degree by those I would deem friends.  Either that or they’re jerks.  I am not mean, so I settle on the former.

So why the self-criticism?  Well, I’m trying to sell crap on Craigslist.  This involves one of my least favorite activities:  interacting with people I don’t know.  I actually have toyed with the idea of leaving my stuff on a sidewalk with post-it notes that say “Free” just to avoid the interaction.  I fail.

But I’m doing my best to suck up and deal.  I need to clear that room and I hate throwing good stuff away.  Worst case scenario, I’ll donate.  Stranger interactivity: minimal.

So if you want a bed, futon, or 27″ Sharp CRT TV and live in Vegas, give me a buzz.  The stuff is cheap and I’ll give you a deal as long as it doesn’t require meeting strangers.  I charge a 20% stranger-meeting-fee.

Barf.  I need a category for “I hate my life sometimes”.

I’ve not done a whole hell of a lot lately except my notable trip to Mammoth and a horrid 3 day training trip to El Segundo, CA.  And by horrid I mean: no car, nothing nearby, and material as dry as the Gobi Desert.

A few months ago work had Corporate Challenge sign ups, so I jumped onto four events:  flag football (never played it before), 5k (yeah, can do that), kickball (in school my head was a fair nerd target), and 3-D dodge ball (don’t ask, don’t know WTF it is yet).

Prior to corporate challenge, my experience with football was limited to doing halftime in a polyester (and ridiculously hot) band uniform.  After a few evening practices I learned some moves and how to actually catch a football.  By the time the game date rolled around, one of our female players was felled by illness, so (according to rules) the remaining four of us were required to play each game.  So we four sucked it up and played.

Our team eventually fought our way to the bronze medal.  Flag football my ass.  I took enough tackles to make walking a misery the next day.   It was a lot of fun, but boy was I bruised and beaten.  Then I realized I had to drag said bruised, beaten body 5k three days later.  Once again I sucked it up, strapped on the running shoes, and did the 5k with the rest of my team.  Considering the pain factor, I actually made it in record time:  33:40.  Probably wouldn’t have been so bad except Chris and Matt beat me in, and in true Boot Camp fashion they sprinted with me to the end of the race.  Puke factor: 7.  It was close.

We finished up kickball this weekend.  Won by forfeit our first game, and got creamed on our second.  Still a lot of fun.

The reason I bring this up is I have once again fucked up my legs.  Between football and kickball, they’re toast right now.  They hurt so bad on Saturday I wanted to crawl back to my car.  I’m taking a day off today.  Tomorrow I’m going to attempt a medium distance run of 4 miles to see if anything is salvageable.   I’m cutting it close on the Napa to Sonoma half marathon.  I should have been at 8 miles today, but the longest I’ve gone so far is 6.  I figure if I can get back in the game in the next two weeks I should recover my lost time.  I need to finish this half marathon on principle.  After that I’m taking up something low-impact, like biking.  Or couch potato-ing.  I think my body is trying to tell me something.

Another one of my big activities has been Quake Live.  It’s now open beta so the player pool has grown considerably.  Some bonuses compared to Q3:  Skill matching, great server find utility, and some really nice stat pages to give you an idea of how you’re doing.  There’s also awards you can earn based on skill, time played, medal counts, and teamwork.  Yeah, I’m the biggest dork in the universe.  Don’t care.  Like my games.

Things I Learned Recently:

Time is not on my side.  No it’s not.  Never enough time to get everything done.

Shopping is always a bonus when you can a) find all kinds of cool stuff in one trip b) said trip takes less than an hour and c) the nice lady gives you an extra discount if you’re willing to wait a couple of days to pick your stuff up.

I surprise myself with how good I still am at retaining a huge portion of what I learn in class.

Friends come and go.  The best ones are there for a long time.

It’s no secret I used to be a big ole Goth and was a huge fan of all things dark and morbid.

During that phase a friend of mine, Tracy, introduced me to what has become one of my favorite all-time bands:  Type O Negative.

I had lived almost my entire life having never been to a rock concert.  New York Phil?  Yes.  Pavarotti?  Hell yeah.  Operas?  All over it!  Electric guitars and sweaty people?  No.

In rolls 2007.  New job.  New friends.  Type O Negative coming into town.  I roped Rob V and Todd (known then as Stalker T) into going with me.  I’ll tell you I enjoyed the hell out of the concert.  It was an hour of morbid dirges and awesome gothness.  They sounded great.  They did not, however, look so great.

I used to obsess over the hotness that was Peter Steele.  He was buff and scary and I loved him.  Of course, I forgot the one constant of the universe:  time marches on.  The same guy who was super hot 10 years ago?  Not so much today.  That and he had numerous health problems prior to the concert.  The man that came out on that stage was much older looking and far thinner than the man in all of my previous Win95 desktop pictures.

Rob and Todd, of course, have had a continual field day over this concert during the ensuing years.  Below are some of the more favorite descriptions they have used to describe poor Peter’s appearance:

“Out comes this old guy, who then hunched over his guitar and sang at us for an hour”

“Next thing I know, this old guy hobbles out on stage and starts playing.”

“He rolled out onto stage using a walker with those tennis balls on the front of it”

I, of course, couldn’t be outdone.  When I proposed our latest concert, The Airborne Toxic Event, I told them there would be no old guys being wheeled out on stage that required nurses to change their colostomy bags halfway through the gig.

Take that, disbelievers.