Subconscious Ass-beating

I don't blog very often about my dreams. I don't blog very often about my dreams for a few reasons:

1. I don't recall my dreams that often,
2. I understand that most people don't like hearing about dreams of others, and
3. TM2000 has, like, a dozen dreams a week that he can relay at any given time and I don't want to open up that can of worms (because, although #2 doesn't really apply to me, I have a mild compulsion to analyze every dream that someone tells me about).

I'm going to make a blog about a dream here, though, so if you're strongly anti-dream (so racist!) leave. Get out. Go on. I've opened the door for you. Yeah? You don't wanna make it, go now, yeah? Save us all a bit of time, yeah, if you don't think you can cut it.

No? Good.

(Who's seen the BBC Office? Motivational speech? So good...)

A few bits and pieces about me to understand the dream.

First of all, my first job was one as a kid. I grew up on a small town (graduating class: 30) in Oregon and my paternal grandparents owned a "mom and pop" grocery store called, at the time, the Cedardale Store some miles away. For several years, I worked at the store from 9:00 to noon on Saturdays (until the other kids started stealing my shifts!) I would pump gas, sort bottles and cans, ring up Twinkies and other groceries, and listen to country music with my grandpa.

It was a nice way to make $5 and it was fun to spend time with my grandpa and grandma.

Secondly, the other night when I was hosting karaoke I saw a guy I worked with about seven years ago. A nice guy who was a Flash animator... I got along with him well, but he was almost always grumpy. We haven't really stayed in touch, but we've stayed at the "What's up?" level.

Finally, I got a negative comment on yelp.com about my karaoke hosting skillz. Or, rather, my attitude while hosting.

In my dream I was hosting karaoke... a Cedardale Store. I was running the karaoke system behind the counter, and an assistant was over to my right running the cash register.

Everything was going well, until someone requested a song that wasn't readily available in the system. For some reason, the karaoke system needed me to use MySpace, and go to my account to find the song. I knew the song was on another person's account, but it wasn't one of my friends. So I went from my page to a friend's page to the page with the song on it.

The thing is that the system put the pages up on the video screen, and my friend had 8,000 friends. The song went well, but for some reason people were getting upset at me.

My former co-worker was in attendance (sitting near where the magazine rack would have been back in the days I worked at Cedardale) and he was leading the clamor against me. I heard him yell, "Get a job!" and later he approached me and said, "I was on your side until I saw that you had 8,000 MySpace friends. That's ridiculous."

I tried to explain that I didn't have 8,000. I had about 150 (actually 125, in case you care). The words didn't come out, though, and he disgustedly took his leave.

The end of the dream was chaotic. All of the patrons were milling about unhappily. I felt put upon, but my unemployment was an undeniable fact, and I had no defense against the masses' accusations on that front even if it seemed to lack relevance to the job I was doing hosting karaoke.

I think that my subconscious is starting to mill about unhappily, too. Ugh.

Superfriends Inverted

OK. Sometimes I experience things that I can't just launch into straightaway. I mean, I could tell exactly what I experienced and what was said and how many people thought I may be homosexual, but that's only part of the fun. The fun for some stories is how I can spin them to be even more odd or more meaningful. At least that's fun for me. You need to make your own fun with my blog.

The danger, of course, is that a reader will lack context if I don't give a lengthy preface. And the spider that one swallows to catch the fly of that danger is that the explanation of the context might be so involved and/or longwinded (I like to call it "verbose"... you can look it up) that it dwarfs the actual point of the blog. Like learning Japanese to be able to read and understand a single haiku.

I'm going to ignore those risks and challenges because, to be honest, I think that many of you who bother to read this have one of the following attributes:

1. A long attention span
2. Some masochistic quality where you force yourself to read shit you don't want to, or
3. A strong ability to skim for entertaining bits and pieces

If this doesn't apply to you: tough beans. Here we go.

In order to tell this tale, you need to have some general awareness of two things. One of these things is about me and the second is a more general pop culture phenomenon.

So about me. I've participated in online dating. I've made profiles on several online dating sites over the past couple of years, including Match.com, Yahoo personals, and a few others. Although I rarely check them now, I'm sure that I've received all sorts of unsolicited messages from women I am not at all attracted to but feel compelled to respond to since they took the time to send me a message telling me I have nice teeth or that they like lawyers or that I'm funny.

My online dating experiences have been generally positive, in spite of that last long-ass sentence, but I'm already on enough tangents and so it will have to suffice to say that I have participated in online dating. I've also done speed dating. It's not in my nature to look down at people for trying to meet others through unconventional means.

OK. So that's point one. The second thing that you need to be thinking about is superheroes.

Specifically, groups of superheroes. You know... the Avengers. The Fantastic Four. Power Pack.

And, of course, the Super Friends.

You know how each member of the group had his or her own powers? Batman was smart and had gadgets. Wonder Woman has the invisible jet and the bracelets. Aquaman had the relatively worthless powers of ability to breath underwater and telepathy (but only with aquatic creatures).

Then there's Superman. Let's face it, Superman has pretty much every power. He can fly in outer space. He can spin the Earth backwards to turn back time. He can breath cold AND has heat vision.

Why would he need someone that can turn into a bucket of ice?

So. Take all of this into consideration.

Now... the purpose of this blog.

Last weekend I worked as a karaoke host for a private party. Private parties can range from fund-raising events to birthday parties to coming out anniversaries.

When I hosted this past time, it was for a dating service. The service is to allow single people to meet other single people. It's great, in theory. If someone is past "bar age" (emotionally and/or biologically) it is difficult to meet other people. Friends/parties/grocery stores all offer some outlet, but ... there are few guarantees.

And where there are few guarantees, one is often best served to increase the options.

The dating service puts together social events for singles to mingle. I'm not going to mention it by name, because I'm not going to paint this particular social event in a positive light.

I was told there were supposed to be thirty people attending, with a few employees. That's fine. The space I work in can handle double or even triple that number. Lots of people is not a problem.

Very few people? That's a problem.

The event started at 7:00 and I was going to have two hours to host before I was relieved. At 7:20 there were five people there, including two employees.

I noticed a few things, as others started to roll in. First of all, before the event began I had thought there was a chance that it was going to be populated by people who are. Um. Ugly. Boring. Poor spellers. Whatever. I knew that this was ridiculous and judgmental and unfair to people that (a) I had not even met, and (b) who probably were much less "bad" than I was contemplating.

Since I had built up the doomsday scenario in my mind, the reality was markedly better. The people seemed nice and genuine and I appreciated their courage. I had attended speed dating with a pair of friends, and that was challenging enough... it would be tough to come to a singles event on my own and just ... get to know people.

They weren't beautiful. They weren't an underground society of supermodels who had trouble finding dates because people of the opposite sex were too intimidated. They just seemed to be ... normal.

The thing, though, and there is almost always a thing, is that they were like the Super Friends. But not in a good way.

Just like every member of the Super Friends had his/her superpower, each person attending the event seemed to have one or more things wrong with them.

I don't expect perfection by ANY means, and I know we all have our foibles. But these were, like, superfoibles.

One guy was old and tremendously overdressed. One woman had a thick Russian accent and although she kept dancing, she kept shooting down guys who tried to dance with her. Another chick took the time to complain to me that the lights were shining in her eyes from across the room, so I had to turn off some of the lights to get her to shut up.

I could go on and on... the one young-ish guy was really scrawny and was wearing a terrible t-shirt.

So they were like Hawkman. Apache Chief. Rima the Jungle Girl. (OK... I had to look that last one up.)

But... there was a Superman among them. Oh, was there.

This guy was what I feared they ALL were going to be like. I feel bad even relating this, but it's too late now. I'm on a deadline. (No it's not and no I am not, but whatever.)

He was the first to arrive. He was wearing very thick glasses that had unfashionable frames. The glasses were presumably to combat both the extreme nearsightedness (which he exhibited when he was unable to read the words from the computer screen) and the stigmatism in his left eye. He was also wearing sandals with socks underneath. He had a grating/screechy voice and talked on and on about how he's spent time in the OTHER part of the neighborhood, but hadn't been to this part in years. He had a bluetooth headset in his left ear that inexplicably never left that spot all night.

Dude had it all.

The two hours I spent with these folks was actually fun once I acclimated to the overall awkwardness of the group and the situation. A lot of people sang, some people danced, and I was only asked once, "I thought there were supposed to be more people here...?"

Thank goodness.

Odd Conversations

At what point does one's perception of oneself have to give way to the reality one seems to be confronted with?

I've thought for some time that I am an agreeable person. I'm not terribly outgoing and convivial most of the time, but I'd like to think that most people, when they meet me, will think I'm a nice guy. Weird but nice.

I can live with weird but nice.

Through a few blogs in the past couple of years I've posted "Odd Conversations" kind of blogs... where I relate (as the name implies) odd conversations I've had with people. This is another one. This is more of an "Angry Conversations" one, though, which is kinda consistent with the previous "Odd Conversations" blog where I related how I was able to piss off three people within 20 minutes while entirely sober and entirely accidentally.

So... I keep talking to people. I keep making some of them mad. How can I reconcile that with my self-image? I mean. I can, because I'm an extremely creative rationalizer. But ought I?

In any case. Onto the close approximations of a pair of conversations.

The first one happened a recent Friday at Ozzie's. I was drinking and singing with a few buddies and the night was winding down upstairs. As is normal, the dance floor is hopping with people dancing and/or just moving around, talking.

I was standing on the edge of the dance floor, listening to someone sing and just kind of... waiting. For death. Or last call. Whichever came first.

No matter how busy the dance floor is, there's a constant shifting of people on and off. Dudes pushing their way on or couples wandering off to get a drink.

When a tall blond woman and a guy came within talking distance of me, I wasn't surprised. She looked at me for a minute and I don't remember what I said initially, but the first thing a guy says is almost never the most important and it's rarely the most memorable. The other guy retreated quickly and our conversation was rocky. To wit:

Me: So you having a good night?
Her: *shrug* Yeah, pretty good. (Looks over at a friend.)
Me: That's Thor. You wanna meet him?
Her: No.
Me: You sure?
Her: (Rolls her eyes.) Uh... yeah.
Me: OK. Whatever.
Her: I'm Maggie. Who are you?
Me: I'm Ed. Good to meet you.
Her: Yep.
Me: So did you sing tonight?
Her: No.
Me: Did your boyfriend?
Her: (Looking bored) ...
Me: Yes. That was lame.
Her: Yeah. Just ask me if I have a boyfriend.
Me: (Shifting my body away from her) ...

At that point, she turned away, as well, taking a step away. I thought it was over. It's rarely over.

Two minutes later, she turned back towards me and took a step to get back within talking distance. And our conversation picked back up.

Me: So, do you have a boyfriend?
Her: I'm between boyfriends.
Me: Ah... like I'm "between jobs". Whatever.
Her: What?
Me: I was just saying...
Her: You need to take it down a notch.
Me: What?

At this point, we were interrupted and it gave me a moment to think. Take "it" down a notch? I hadn't touched her, and while I was being a BIT of a jerk, I wasn't being over the top.

We were interrupted by a guy who was coming up to say "goodbye" to her. I got the sense that he had some expectations, like he was in her group or something. Whatever he expected, he didn't like the cold shoulder he got. I think she said two words to him before he kinda nodded at me and left.

And our conversation resumed.

Me: "Take it down a notch?"
Her: Yeah. Like your attitude.
Me: I'm being a jerk? Really?
Her: Totally.
Me: The funny thing is that I actually am a pretty nice guy. Maybe TOO nice.
Her: Hmm. (Looking around, towards my OTHER buddy this time.)
Me: That's TM2000.
Her: He's a good singer.
Me: Yes. He's great. So's Thor. Did you want to meet one of them?
Her: *sighing discontentedly* No.
Me: What are you looking at, then?
Her: Someone interesting.
Me: Ouch.
Her: What?
Me: That's a shot at me, huh?
Her: *shrug*

And at that, I turned away again and took a couple steps away from her. I think I saw her briefly downstairs on the way out but haven't talked to her since.

It struck me as odd because we both seemed to be going out of our way to talk to one another even though neither of us were enjoying the conversation at all. TM2000 later told me she wasn't even that cute, but that was before he knew she thought he was a good singer...

The other conversation occurred late Saturday night. I was hosting at Ozzie's downstairs and the wait was about two hours. People who turned in a song with the hour or so that was left were not going to get in unless (a) a lot of people left early and/or (b) they tipped me.

Tipping gets you bumped in line. That's just the way it works when I host.

A party of people had put in like four slips. I let them know they might not get in, and I gave them an overview of the rules, ensuring they knew that tipping was NOT required... and that even if no one else tipped me, they might not get to sing. The person who turned in the slips looked a bit disappointed, but not upset.

Ten minutes later, a drunk guy from that party wandered up to my area. He looked over my shoulder at the slips, all lined up in order. There were about 20 songs in the queue, and he saw that the four people he knew were right at the end.

He got a bit too close to me, and I had to start another song so I asked him to wait. Once I got the other one rolling, I stood back up and talked to him. The guy was quite inebriated. He had a crappy goatee, blurry eyes, some sort of crappy cheap necklace and overall a bad attitude.

Me: Heya. What can I do for you?
Him: How does the system work?
Me: (Overviews the signup; I had no idea who he was.)
Him: Why are some people last?
Me: Who?
Him: (Points to the slips in question.)
Me: Well, they just turned in the slips like 5 or 10 minutes ago. No one has turned in any since they did. So they're last.
Him: How do slips move up?
Me: Well, they move up over time or if people tip me.
Him: I don't think that's fair.
Me: What?
Him: Treat people the same!
Me: What?
Him: Those people (touches a couple of slips in the middle of the line, getting a bit closer to me in the process)...
Me: First of all, those people have been waiting for a while. Secondly, don't touch the slips, please.
Him: I don't think that's fair.
Me: Listen. I'm sorry. Do you have a question?
Him: How does this work?
Me: Um. I told you that about 30 seconds ago.
Him: (edging even CLOSER to me) I don't think it's fair.
Me: I'm sorry. Listen. Everyone has the opportunity to tip, or wait. It's entirely up to you. I will try to get everyone in the list up and singing. Do you have a question?

At this point, he was REALLY close to me. Like within 5 inches of my face. Without taking a step back behind my podium, there was really nowhere I could go. He was just staring into my eyes, kinda wobbly-like, and I could tell he was very, very angry.

I guarantee you if I would have nudged him to give myself some space, he would have taken a swing at me.

I redoubled my efforts to keep my calm and, after all, he WAS the customer. I worked for him, although I drew the line somewhere this side of letting him clobber me.

Me: I'm sorry if this is unclear or if you don't like the process. You can speak to the manager about it. Please, though, I need you to step off of the singing platform. I need to change the song in like 10 seconds and I need to keep this space clear.
Him: *stare* *stare*
Me: Please, I don't want to call security. You will get kicked out.
Him: *stare*

And then he backed down. Literally.

I don't know how I would have called security. The place was packed and the music was loud and if he had tackled me he would have had every opportunity to pummel me before my security amigos made it over.

It's a good thing that I am not allowed to (and do not) drink while I work there. And it's a good thing that I didn't still have my longer hair. He probably would have headbutted me on general principle.

Zero Percent Funny

The conversation occurred some time ago. It started out, as so many things do, after I cracked a joke. I ran some quick math on the odds of our offspring having blue eyes, and I told the woman I barely knew about how gorgeous our babies were going to be.

Silly and ironic because I knew she didn’t like children and certainly didn’t want any of her own.

I didn’t know, though, that she’d been pregnant before. I didn’t know that years before, at age 19, she had finally visited the doctor after weeks of feeling sick. I didn’t know that the doctor had told her that she was 24 weeks along but that the fetus was tremendously underdeveloped and would never make it. I didn’t know that she believes that she’ll never be able to carry a child to term.

She told me all of this in the span of about 45 seconds. She was detached and almost clinical about it and I felt a nearly overwhelming wave of sympathy for her and was rendered nearly speechless that she would open up like that.

Of course, I’m never really rendered speechless. I said a word or two and let her change the subject.

I sometimes forget how much baggage people have… how many obstacles have been put in their way and challenges they’ve had to overcome. I forget until they tell me.

Gambling and drug addictions. Deaths of close relatives. Years of tension and even abuse from family members.

Life throws so many things at us, and we are all changed and shaped by those things. I respect and even love the people that have shared things with me and I hope that I have the same strength that you all have when push comes to shove.

Activity Pyramids: Ideal and Actual

If you have had a chance to talk to me or read my blog or tap my cell phone, you know that I am unemployed. I left my former employer in October and I was both eager for new challenges and eager to decompress a bit. I knew the economy was struggling and was only gonna get worse, but I also knew that I've got, like, a million letters after my name and that I don't have too many restrictions on where I'd work or what I'd be willing to do.

Further, I don't let my work define me. I want a job that I enjoy and that pays me well enough to chip away at my debt (see: letters after my name, mentioned above) and pay for my kitties to continue to be fat and relatively happy.

I had a near-miss on a job opp right after quitting, and I decided to just kick back and enjoy funemployment for a while. I knew that I'd have to get (relatively) serious eventually, and when that time came I sort of put together a plan in terms of how I was going to manage my days.

(And by "sort of", I mean, "should have totally".)

Since a logical follow-up question to "why aren't you working?" is "what do you do with your time?", I thought I would lay out my ideal time/activity distribution, and then compare it to my actual time/activity distribution.

Warning. The comparison is not pretty.

I've always been fascinated by the old "Nutrition Pyramid", because it said to eat lots of breads and stuff and not very many sweets and oils. It was pretty bassackwards at the time, and I'm not sure it's any more representative of an ideal or an actual healthy consumption pattern.But there is great power in pyramids, yes? The shape has been used from the time of the Pharoahs to the Freemasons to, at long last, its grandest use of all: within my blog.

I don't want to place every possible activity within the pyramids, so I'll keep the potential use of my time to six areas:

Look for work. This can be looking online, emailing people I know or almost-know, hitting the pavement looking for gigs, etc.

Go to gym. Like almost everyone, my self-image could be better. I have been amazed at how I can feel both chubby and skinny simultaneously for years now. While I can appreciate, at an intellectual level, the dissonance, I figured since I have some free time I should try to get into slightly better shape.

Self-improvement. Reading history. Learning to play my mandolin and/or TM2000's digital piano. Shooting baskets, even, might go under this category.

Going out. Whether it's with buddies or chicks or by myself. Going out may include, but is not limited to, karaoke and alcohol.

Doing chores. The best thing about owning three plates is that I haveto do dishes. The best thing about owning my Dyson is that I want to vacuum. Also, cat litter doesn't clean itself... yet.

CPU fun. "CPU" means"central processing unit"... just to clear that up. I like blogging. I like social networking sites. I like arguing about the Portland Trail Blazers. I've even been known to look at some pr0n occasionally.

The non-color blind people reading this might notice that I color-coded the different activities... adding a value judgment (given that I'm unemployed and my parents were not kind enough to provide me with a steady and perpetual source of income whilst I sit on my ass).

Putting the activities into the Activity Pyramid, we get something like this:



For those of you with horrible spatial awareness, the "Look for Work" section is the largest... meaning I plan to/ought to spend more of my time doing that than anything else. The Gym and Self-Improvement, both noble endeavors, are next in terms of both acceptability and time allocation, with Going Out and Chores next.

And CPU Fun last. Because it's evil. Fun (as the "CPU fun" name implies). But evil.

So how am I doing?

How do you think I'm doing? It's me. C'mon.

Let's see...



It's almost entirely "wrong". I have somehow managed not to go out as much as one might fear I would (I tend to go out the same amount I did when I was working full time) and I somehow manage to drag myself to the gym.

Chores, though, have been a consistent way of avoiding having to do "real" work... which, given that I'm unemployed, is really only Looking for Work.

I'm starting to get a bit scared about the whole "no income" thing, and that will, I believe, drive me to look harder for work. Which is good.

The computer still calls to me. But I can resist it. I can avoid arguing about the Blazers quite so much (at least after the trade deadline, tomorrow at noon Pacific (and until the playoffs start)). I can try to go for hours at a time without remembering there are pics of naked women on the Interwebz. I can not play quite so much Civ IV. And I can stop blogging quite so much.

But where's the fun in that? I mean... they're naked!

Ten Things I'd Like to Say

Most of the time in my life, when I really want to say something I say it. Whether it's with my friends or my family, I trust that they can handle what I have on my mind. If I can deal with consequences of what I say to them, then acquaintances and coworkers (yes, once upon a time I had some of those on a daily basis) and potential dates and actual dates and homeless people... none of them matter as much because they will either accept what I say or not be able to handle it.Or, I suppose, they will disagree with me about it and we'll work it out and/or fight until one of us puts the other in the ER.
In any case, one place where I consistently hold my tongue (not literally; it's not sanitary) is working as a karaoke host. For those of you who've never been to karaoke, here's the basic template for what a host does:

1. "Hey everybody, thanks for coming out. My name's Ed and I'm your karaoke host tonight. We've got the lovely and talented Brandy behind the bar. Make sure you take care of her because you know she's taking care of you."
   
2. "The way this works is you get a slip of paper and a pen and find the song you want to sing. Write down your name, the name of the song, and the number for the song and I'll put you in line."
   
3. "Next up we have Katie and John. Katie and John, come on up to the karaoke podium."
   
4. "That was fantastic. Give it up for Katie and John, everyone. All right!"

There are different ways of putting each of these four main points, but the one I'd like to focus on is the fourth one: the aftermath of the songs. I am allowed, as the host, to make jokes. I am allowed to make jokes, as far as I know, at the expense of other people. I try to keep that under wraps, though, because even as most singers and listeners are drunk, it's often the case that people might not appreciate me eviscerating their singing prowess, their clothes, or their lack of coordination as they spilled 2/3 of their beer over themselves during their songs.The mere fact that I control myself in my comments, though, does not mean that I don't have inappropriate comments pop into my head. As I was hosting tonight (Valentine's Day, Schmalentine's Day.. it was just an excuse for me to make lasagna from scratch and wear my red silk boxers with a heart design on them) I had a few pop into my head.These are things that I might be tempted to say, but that I never would. I can be tempted either because I actually think it or because it would be funny.

1. "That was the longest 3:47 of my life."
   
   
2. "Stop clapping, people. That was horrible."
   
   
3. "Hey, Janet! If you are going to wear that, you need to lose some pounds. Seriously. Your face is OK but you need to hide that shit."
   
   
4. "Bravo! John just sang his third song in the last hour and hasn't tipped me. Will some of you in the audience please sign up for a song so this guy stops getting a free ride?"
   
   
5. "That was Lisa. She is not much of a singer, but me gusta las boobies."
   
   
6. "If I ever see you try to dance again, I will personally kick the living shit out of you."
   
   
7. "I know you can't sing, but are you unable to read the words on the television screen? Are you incapable of hearing the music that is being played? Is it too much to ask that you sign up for a song that maybe you've heard once before in your entire fucking life?"
   
   
8. "Wow. That was reasonably well sung, but I have no idea how you have snagged such an attractive lady friend. Good work. Asshole."
   
   
9. "That was Teresa. Next up we have Arjun. I know that 'Diddy and Tyler' have been waiting for 90 minutes, and they should be next, but they are such major douchbags that I will make them wait until closing, if I have to, just to keep them from prancing around with their backwards baseball caps." (Special note: I do not actually bump people back merely because I don't like how they look. Well, except for lepers, and they rarely come into the bar.)
   
   
10. "Wow! That song selection makes me want to set myself on fire."

I may seem like an angry person with this little list. I'm not usually an angry person. People just sometimes have the effect of making me that way.

Thursday Fiction

What do you call a day where your smoke detector starts beeping for the third day in a row? What do you call a day where you spend much of the early afternoon Photoshopping a picture of you and your friend's dog? What do you call a day where you find yourself plucking a nose hair not because it's obtrusive but because it's white?

I don't know what you call it. I call it "Thursday".

Normally I try to be humorous with things that happen to me. It's uncommon that I write something from scratch. While the following is not horribly inconsistent with what I might do, if I had suffered severe head trauma and hadn't been on a date in a while, it's still definitely in the realm of fiction. Here goes...