Indirect Deposit

I'm going to let you folks in on a well guarded secret no one cares about.

It's not easy being me.

I repeat, its not easy being me. In fact, even I at times have difficulty managing such a show. Take for instance today, my first payday at the new job. Here, I must admit that the actual payday was Wednesday but no one bothered to tell me. This entire post would be about what I've blown my first paycheck on if that sweet slice of information were disclosed to me earlier enough to be convenient. Anyhow, I thought today was payday and when I got to work and asked my co-worker, East Euro T (real name withheld) about who I was to see concerning my check, he mumbled through whatever he was eating at the time. After a clearing and an extra moment for me to climb over his accent I realized he said, "We got paid Wednesday." He showed me who to ask and repeated how bi-weekly paydays function. I politely nodded and after receiving my check became excited about cashing it.

Its been so long, the last 2 1/2 months were financially awful. I was eager to get to a check cash place and buy a metrocard, some lunch, and walk around some more with that paranoid feeling that someone's going to rob me. I hadn't felt that last one in years, I haven't cashed a check since 2005. The plan was to avoid the bank and the account currently blooming in overdraft. At lunch time, however, I figure let me walk into the bank and see what the damage has been, I make it a point to ignore my account when its in poor shape.

"We all are, act accordingly..."

At the bank I discover my account is -$192. Not bad, I thought to myself, so then I got to further thinking. The wheels in my head were turning despite LeFou's warning of such a dangerous pass time. It shouldn't be too bad if I deposit the check here after all. I'd be saving a walk and a lot of bulky paranoia. I walk in.

I walk out, account with its belly full you would think.

But not quite. No, not at all so very quite. If I'm to follow through with the dining analogy, it was as if the food was prepared and served but the account was not to have a single bite until tomorrow...Tomorrow? But I just deposited the check...Look! Its right there, the remainder is right there, under the overdraft that appears to be the only thing available. Do I really have to wait a day? I spent the last 10 minutes before leaving my apartment this morning, combing my shelves for $2.25 in quarters; to pay for the single ride to get to work.

Maybe it just takes some hours to go through...Lets ask Google...Not good. Why? Are you serious? I have to wait a day? Fuck that I won't except it, I'll just go back after work and ask somebody, what the fuck does a search engine know anyway? A search engine doesn't even have a posable thumb...Its not even a real engine, how the hell did I expect it could motor the comprehension necessary to understand this ordeal?!

There was this one time...I was younger...I thought it'd be cool to pretend I'm drunk. I'd walk around carrying a drowsy disposition, slurring words and walks, laughing through lips and half shut eyelids. I put on the act for a few minutes when Snap! I caught a fish! My "friend" Spaceman bought into it, at least he was willing to entertain the notion. I was working for my Oscar nomination that night. Immersed into character, I let Spaceman take me to the neighboring block. Bad idea...but whoa was I ever a good drunk...subtle, not a caricature...more like a drunk person trying to act sober. I didn't even take the time to notice the first rock hurled at me, or the second for that matter. It was probably the third or forth that kissed my eye. Sharp pain, a flash of red and the sense of sober fear gripped me like a girlfriend. I thought my eye was hanging out the socket, I kept asking what happened and specifically asking if my eye was still in the socket...I felt stupid, once the pain was set in place, once the assessment of damage had been made, I only felt stupid; drunk with stupidity.

Moments like those...all you do afterwards is imagine that one decision that could've voided the rest of the accident from happening. An abortion that never came. I don't like dwelling on these phantom parallels, instead I just sit and swear to myself never to let it happen again. To always trust the first instinct that says "I don't want to do this." The problem with that instinct is that his voice is so weak and boring. No one wants to listen to that guy, especially while Cunning Logic is scatting and doing voice impressions of all your heroes and they're all convincing you that Instinct is just scared and not taking into consideration the spoils of success. It shouldn't surprise you that I listen to Cunning Logic too often, always attempting to take advantage of spontaneous situations. Sometimes I win, fewer times I lose. Today, just as back when my eye literally got rocked, I lost.

I had to play that move where you stand by the turn style in the subway and ask someone with an unlimited metrocard to swipe you through. I was lucky to find that Samaritan after asking just twice. She was sweet about it, a true saint and on my way home I regretted not asking her name since I was already planning to write this post. Thank you Samaritan.

He Wanted to Make a Big Bang!

I Hope There's a Bar Where They'll Show V for Vendetta and Play British Rock All Night Long to Commemorate What I'm About to Try.

Remember, remember the 5th of November

the gunpowder treason and plot

I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason

should ever be forgot--

Apparently New York City in all its cultural diversity feels the need to appreciate British people on November 5 in the guise of Guy Fawkes Night. So what better way to celebrate an act of rebelling against one's government from the 17th century than by drinking british beer and listening to the Beatles. What's funny is that most of the people who go out and party in NYC for Guy Fawkes would be the same to call him a terrorist if Guy pulled that stunt tomorrow. In fact when was the last time we celebrated Ted Kacynski Night in NYC. Don't mistake me...I'm not against the Gun Powder Treason and Plot, but let us celebrate by attempting to take an example from Mr. Fawkes, if you are upset with the rules then you must take action against them.

I'd even settle for fireworks or good old fashion fire, I heard in the UK they burn a figure of Fawkes. You'd get arrested for that in NYC, you can't do anything anymore too many rules, laws, prohibitions. The only fireworks are mainly for July 4th, ironically, Independence Day.

Pirates of the Caribbean

O brave new world that has such people in't!

In Junior High School, my 7th grade social studies teacher was a diabetic and a rather large man who had a hard time getting around. He sat behind his desk in front of the class and dictated the lesson. The blank blackboard would stare at us students, jealously curious as to how the teacher's word would look in written form. In that class, I saw Last of the Mohicans, and obediently covered my eyes during Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeleine Crowe's sex scene (later I would discover it was only a steamy kiss). Earlier however, in October, my classmates and I took our seats and Mr. T (as he had asked us to call him as a mercy to his ears from potential mispronunciations) had started the lesson about Christopher Columbus. .

It was the first time I ever heard anyone refer to Columbus as a pirate. It was the first time anything I had been previously taught was challenged by an alternative, logical version. He was the first but not the last of my teachers who dropped gems when The Board wasn't looking. So every Columbus Day reminds me of that discovery. I call it Tabachnikov Day!

You Call That Extortin'?!

So Letterman was scandalized by a CBS producer, who wanted to extort $2 million bold dollars from the late night host. Wow! Guts, without them Glory ain't as confident a follower. In this case, where there's Guts but no Glory you just walk around with your intestines swinging out your shirt.

David Letterman had to confess to his wife, his sexual affairs so she'd hear it from him. Otherwise, he'd have to pay up to a one, Robert "Joe" Halderman for a golden silence. Letterman had only married his wife a couple of months back but they had been together now for more than 20 years.

Usually I don't care about this kind of thing. Its just gossip to anyone who isn't personally involved. But upon reading an online article I came across the following:

"Shargel said it was unlikely that Halderman would have sought to extort Letterman by taking a $2 million check, because that is not how extortionists normally operate."

Gerald Shargel is Robert "Joe" Halderman's attorney. His statement is priceless, "...because that is not how extortionists normally operate." The fact that this man is questioning the credibility of Letterman's claim by indication of irregularity, by which the crime was executed, is borderline if not fully crossover-ridiculous!

"...How extortionists normally operate."

How they "normally" operate! How do they "normally" operate, Gerry? May I later apologize for Letterman's insensitivity? How dare he accuse your client of such novice and unprofessional styles of extortionism? But in the meantime, could you explain to us in what nature this specific extortion, was abnormal? Because clearly asking for money in exchange for information withheld, isn't enough. No, and of course what would I or Letterman know? We're obviously not extortionists, we're obviously crying wolf, when its just a dog. Will you bring forward for us, Gerry, qualified professionals who will demonstrate for us the correct, "normal" procedure for extorting an individual. Will you clear that for us, Gerry-boy?

I hope America's Next Top Extortionists (ANTE) pay close attention to these proceedings as they may discover that they too may be doing something wrong.

Put Your Channel Where Your Mouth Is

I want to be a magnetar flare. I want to place the Earth between two very jealous black holes. I want to have a voice made out of atom-splitting laser beams, and sing love songs with supernovas. If there were an Earth-massed black hole available, I'd drill a tunnel into Gaea's heart and there I'd build a nest for a "blow-job" of a different nature that would swallow us all. The thought of having my right hand made of matter, as it is, and the left, out of anti-matter makes me want to applaud such a situation. If you haven't guessed it yet, I'll confess it plainly, I would really enjoy the destruction of our planet. Or any planet, I don't want anyone surmising that my desire is one begot of malice towards Earth. On the contrary I love Earth, its beautiful, if anything I wouldn't mind human extinction. Humans aren't that relevant to earth. But despite this irrelevance, I'd have a problem with anyone or thing destroying the entire planet over hatred for any of the earthlings found under its skies. However, as dramatically beautiful as Earth may be, it is only well deserving of a beautiful, dramatic death. Rushing into the sun, life dying, terrain melting and boiling, oceans steaming into vapors, crust melting off until only a tubular core of iron remains to be quickly absorbed by the star, like a snack. Or a sudden halt, stopping the planet and everything on it, meeting a thousand mile per hour resistance to the extreme cease of motion. The resistance, like a thousand mile per hour hurricane sweeping the entire planet. Or maybe gravity can disappear and everything held together by such a force will disband. Or a head-on collision with another planet will do the trick.

The History Channel is ridiculous! There is an obsession on that channel to program shows about end-of-the-world scenarios. Whether these apocalypses are scientific or superstitious, they both carry a precautionary "thou-shalt-beware" tone that implies we, the viewers, should worry. What have these scenarios really to do with history? All these programs about hypothetically destroying or creating worlds should fit farther properly on the Syfy channel. As science fiction tends to be a study of facts and then a logical theorizing on hypothetical situations or circumstances based on those facts, countdown shows such as "10 Ways to Destroy the Earth" would deem more than suitable for a channel dedicated to the genre of science fiction; as oppose to one dedicated to the subject of history. And besides, Syfy needs it. Seriously folks, Malibu Shark Attack! This original Syfy production frightens me by existing more than the horrible CAD abortions that were meant to be "goblin sharks" in the film itself.

As for superstitious apocalypses, doomsday theories, judgement days, and all other biblical disasters to come; these have in my opinion, even less to do with history, besides document how idiotic man can be or become. These programs would be more appropriately placed on Discovery or some religious network.

Let me just say, I love seeing the Earth's atmosphere blown off by a hypothetical gamma burst, in fact it sort of turns me on. Like the tidal wave in Day After Tomorrow, such destruction is like the destruction of blank canvas into a masterpiece painting. I hold my breath and goosebumps peek from out my arms. So what should be terrifying and precautionary, becomes for me, sweet promises and playfully tender teases. Sure its on the wrong channel, possibly on purpose. 2012 is just around the corner, after all. Why not whistle a little fear into the majority who've no idea what 2012 is. We need a new Y2K, most weren't sure what Y2K even was, just that it was a possible threat on a considerable scale and eventually it was spread to armageddon proportions. Likewise has 2012 become a new armageddon built from the ideas of conscious elevation and civilizations' fall and restructuring. I could see why some would fear such a change, especially if such "some" stand to lose power due to this reorganization. Yet, truth is, "some" most likely don't worry about such superstitions; perhaps even, "some" are profiting from the hype. I on the other hand, root for the possibility of a beautiful and dramatic finale. One that no one can see coming or prepare for.

These Venes Really Love Soap!

YES!!! The girl at the end is a maniac. I'm starting to like the 80s.

Career: Looking "A-Head"

DYH is a "Professional Shampoo" it says so on the bottle. This means you're not dealing with any amateur when you squeeze out that ooze and entrust your hair over to it. For DYH, which is an acronym for Designing Your Hair, has long since hurdled over the initial occupation of part-time spectator and part-time participant and is now fully dedicated within a career as a shampoo. DYH is making a steady and quite comfortable income as a shampoo. I mean, it says so on the bottle, "Professional Shampoo!" Now if you want to go and continue using Head & Shoulders, Pantene Pro-V, Herbal Essence, Fructis, or whatever, be my guess. All I know is I'd think twice before handing my hair over to second-rate thugs like those, who dilly-dally without any professional training or professional degree. I mean, I'd like to fancy I have a little more respect for myself than that, I'd like to believe that so would you.

I Don't Think We Can Really Be Friends

I just got into a fight with a Now or Later. Human vs. Taffy. Seriously I was under the impression I could enjoy a Now or Later under two circumstances of time, those being "now" or "later." The choice would always be mine and I wouldn't be punished for choosing one over the other.

But it would appear that there is a limit to how late "later" can be. It would appear that after being on hold for a variable amount of time, a certain quadrangular piece of stubborn, green taffy has practiced enough patience, has experienced enough neglect, that she shall not go slighted a single, solitary, second longer. She decides there and then that I am not serious. She decides to make a run for it and to leave me for someone with a sweeter tooth through which sweeter words could be influenced and spoken. Someone who will act on an earlier "now" or on a just as early "later;" she wants to be taken "then" and "there." She should surely consider changing her name to Then and There, it would prove more authentic to her actions and desires.

The Taffy jumped off my bedroom table and onto the floor. With the help of some of the hottest days and nights August has exhibited, she melts. Good riddance, right? Yes, I suppose, only its on my floor that she melts. Right through her little green paper-wrap dress, she poured out as if trying to nake her body, perhaps find a hold of the nearest piece of paper to disguise herself from me. Of course, she doesn't. She doesn't move from where she fell, Now or Later won't alter her position by her power or control, for at that point she has none. It is only when I accidentally step on her that I later notice my sandals making a sticky sound. Funny enough, its a similar enough sound to that a mouth plays when sucking on a Now or Later.

She gives me a big "fuck you" and I half or whole deserve it. I scrape her body off the floor with a painting blade, saying goodbye as the open mouth of the trash bin swallows her down.

To my credit, I am not as bad as all that. I did intend to eventually eat her, but at the moment we met I felt I had enough candy. As much as I did neglect her, I never slighted her, I never meant to intentionally play any ill or malice towards either her, her ego or integrity. Taffy, I have learned can become a regretful subject to neglect. If done over, would I do anything different? Perhaps no. I would never know whether I would want some candy, one can never tell. I am only sorry that she ended up in the trash and not in another mouth, one with appreciative salivary glands in which she could truly come alive. If anything, this fight has left me with sticky sandals and a second thought that is set to go off whenever I desire a Now or Later that leans more for Later than Now.

(I just looked up a picture to use for this blog and realized the candy is not called Now or Later but actually Now and Later, which changes everything. I don't think I'm fond of a candy that demands such an attention. I don't take anything back.)