1. Not that I have the energy to approach her, but I recognize a girl in the coffee bar as having gone to my college. This is not someone I know, this is someone I recognize. I would approach her, but I'm not even a little interested in what she's been up to, and that's the only conversation we could have.
2. I also recognize the girl behind the counter of the coffee bar as having been at the first of two parties I cordially attended last night. This is the party where I chased stolen Whiskey with Altoids. I mentioned to the girl--while she rung up my breakfast--that I saw her last night, and she seemed entirely uninterested. Other people must realize--more than I see to, anyways--that the world is very small and that we'll all be constantly crashing into each other for all time.
3. Which brings me to my best example. Last night, drunk at the second party, spilling my way out of a bathroom and onto a porch, I was stopped by a guy I didn't recognize who greeted me using my full name. It was odd for me not to recognize him at all, because I normally have an excellent memory for faces. It turns out that I ended up at the same party as Eric Lee, who went to the same high school as Brendan and I, and graduated a couple years before us. Speaking of Brendan, I also ran into him at this party. He and I managed to end up at the same Chicago party by entirely different means without talking to each at any point. So there we were--Brendan and I and Eric Lee--three people with a shared past a thousand miles away, running into each other at a dark party in Chicago at two-thirty in the morning.
7.14.2004 1. My internal clock is fucked. 2. Six hours ago, Dave and I began a 48 hour film project. However, it's not that contestants only have 48 hours, it's that we only have 48 hours. Everyone else has presumably been working for almost three weeks. The film is due in roughly 42 hours. It has yet to be written, filmed, or edited. This scenario echoes our last attempt at a 48 hour film project--though that time we had a crew.
This is the song I hear in my head while I'm waiting tables. Despite what Itunes says, it is the song I hear most. I need songs like this to be able to carry myself correctly. When another, less upbeat song leaks its way into my subconscious, I start spilling soup all over the place, I stop smiling at screaming children, I start tripping over my own feet.
Because if you are, I'd like to tell you: <-- this is not a tip. This is a photograph ...of you. And while I appreciate both your originality and your sacrificing a picture that you've carried around in your wallet for eight years, I am working to gain financial freedom, not a scrapbook.
Also, if I remember correctly--and I think I do, having a photo reminder of who you are--you made me put four noodles in a to-go box. Four noodles? Are you serious? That's the kind of shit that makes me hate the paying customers--not to mention the ones that tip me with their high school graduation photos.
7.09.2004 My outgoing answering message is currently: "As you may have heard, my car was broken into and my ipod was stolen. So, if you see anyone with an ipod that looks like mine--you know, it's got a silver back, a white front, those little white earbud headphones--just stop them and question them, I'd really appreciate it."
That's about all the backstory I need to explain why I was so happy to receive a message from one of my coworkers, saying something to the extent of, "Hey man, it's [Brian]. Uhh...somehow I ended up with your ipod, so give me a call and I'll get it back to you."
I. was. over. joyed. I've been without choice music just long enough to really, really miss it.
Also, I wasn't really curious as to why one of the other waiters had my ipod. For some reason it made perfect sense to me. I could remember at least two instances where I brought my ipod in to work because I couldn't endure the agonizing four minutes of silence I experience on my walk to work. Each time I put it on the shelf where everyone keeps their cell phones, and it was perfectly feasible that I forgot it there, as I often do with my cell phone. Then, in my justification story, Brian--who also opens an ipod, and probably has a similar gay-ass neoprene case--mistook my ipod for his ipod, and took it home with him. All of which was fine with me, because it meant I would be getting my music back.
I called him back immediately after hearing the message. This is the fastest I have ever called a coworker back. Normally I don't call my coworkers back at all, because normally they're just looking for someone to cover one of their shifts.
He picked up his phone after a single ring, which in itself felt like a triumph.
"Hey, Brian. It's Ben from work."
"Oh, hey man, what's up?"
"Oh, not much," I said, casually. "You know--I gotta work tonight, I've got some stuff to do before then--say, how did you end up with my ipod?"
"Huh?"
"You said in your message that--"
"Oh, that!"he said, "I was being facetious!"
"Huh?"
"That was a joke! I thought your outgoing message was a joke too!"
I died a little inside.
"Jesus, man," he said caringly. "So somebody took your ipod?"
"Yeah..."
"Jesus, man. Wow.... That's fuckin'--wow...."
I did appreciate that he responded this way, because it meant he understood the situation well enough to shower me with sympathy.
He continued, "Man, I have an ipod too, and I bring it with me everywhere. It's amazing--I love it! I don't know what I'd do without it!" He paused, before adding, "Probably just kill myself!"
Crying quietly so that he couldn't hear me, I wiped the tears from my face with the now-useless ipod tape player adapter.
"Geez, I'm really sorry to hear that, man." He added, "but I'm really glad you called me back because I was wondering if maybe you could cover a shift for me?"
7.07.2004 While at dinner one May evening, (I believe it was Puerto Rican food with Dave and Raizin), I was rooting through my wallet, looking for interesting things to talk about. I like to keep a collection of interesting conversations in my wallet, just in case I end up at dinner with Dave and Raizin. (That wallet has since been stolen--along with my Ipod--in an incident that, according to one of my housemates, "just plain sucks." Anyway.)
So we were sitting there, Raizin no doubt complaining about Puerto Ricans, myself exploring the deepest depths of my wallet in search of my upside-down sugar packet that looks like it says "Jesus" (or, rather, "Jebus"), when I found a note detailing a bet I had long since forgotten. I was overjoyed with the find. I make a lot of bets, being a betting man, though very few of them are remembered long enough to endure any sort of resolution. What was best about this note, as opposed to some of the others I've collected, is that this note came complete with witness signatures! You can imagine my natural reaction, though if you can't, it's illustrated below.
"Excuse me, miss? Miss? I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice that you were crying, and I was wondering...could you...uhh...stop?"
Drew and I went to see Iron and Wine a few days ago, and everyone was there: there was Tall Skinny Guy Who Sings Along With Everything; Girl So Full of Emotion She Can't Open Her Eyes--even Middle-Aged Nodding Head Guy. But despite the fact that all those wonderful people were there, I had the misfortune of standing next to Sobbing Woman. It was very annoying--not only because her depression was obviously outdoing my own, but because there didn't seem to be any appropriate way to respond. I couldn't ask her to stop. I couldn't scowl when she was looking in my direction. Nodding Head Guy was even more furious than I was, and secretly I was relying on him to do something. Instead, because I was standing next to her, he kept looking at me and frowning, as if I was in some way responsible.
(Click the photograph for a video from the show(QT, 21MB). I chose to post one of the sadder songs in order to provide a proper emotional context for the setting in which I scowled at a crying woman I didn't know.
7.03.2004 This interview was fantastic. It really put my mind at ease in a lot of ways--learning that the creative process of our successful successors was similar to our own, however flawed and competitive that process may be. I can pretty safely say that I probably found the interview more interesting than you will, what with my being in a sketch comedy troupe that can't seem to hold on to its women and fights a lot, but still, it's absolutely worth reading.
Are you this asshole?
