Ah, nothing like reading the news to make you quickly want to spit out your yummy cinnamon bran muffin.

So you know this wonderful tax bill that got passed? The one that's going to increase our deficit by God knows how much (and we won't know how much either because the Bushies put the kiabosh on a report detailing just how big of a deficit we're talking about). I think I mentioned earlier how, somehow, the tax credit for low-income children somehow got left off (ooops)? What did get on, however, was a super-huge tax credit for buying SUV's

Good that we got our priorities right.

Of course, it would be oh too obvious to point out that all of the recent unpleasantness of the past several years has been in the Middle East where we get all of our oil. I mean, didn't we just fight a war to rid a nation of Weapons of Mass Destruction?

Well, at least we were able to kick-some butt and take names later. Plus, we had that super-heroic rescue mission of Sgt. Private Lynch. Oh wait, turns out we rescued her from a bunch of Iraqi doctors and nurses who were trying to hand her over to us. Or what about the cool-ass attack against Saddam's bunker the first night of the war? Oops, turns out the bunker didn't exist. Or the great shot of the statue of Saddam being toppled? Crazy that, nothing much more than a staged photo-op.

Oh well, whatever. Nevermind.

So my birthday's coming up in a couple of weeks and I'm already filled with dread over it. Have been for weeks. I'm not particularly freaked out because according to my driver's license I'll be 35 (if anyone asks, I'm actually 27), it's just that I always hate the having to figure out what to do part of it all.

Should I go out to dinner with friends? Should I go out for drinks? And if so, with who and where? Since it's on a Tuesday, should I celebrate it over the weekend or turn it into a four-day Celebration of Me? Should I take the day off or the day afterwards in preparation for a Black Hole hangover? Or should I not do a damn thing and just not deal with it?

Ideally, I'd like to crawl myself into a bottle for a few days and stay there, but sadly there's less and less people around who can crawl into the bottle with me, or more like they can crawl into it just as long as they get back in enough time to relieve the baby-sitter. I actually have the option of doing something that night, something completely non-Birthday-y and I'm having trouble pulling the trigger because something might come up. On the other hand, pulling the trigger on it would ensure that I actually have something to do that night other than watching "Buffy" reruns.

I know I should do something because, damnit, it's my birthday and you're supposed to do something on your birthday (that's what the rules are), but I really don't have the time or energy to deal with it right now. I always do this too- dither about what to do and then get pissed when I find myself not having anything to do.

The only good thing I have to say about my birthday coming up is that my new job isn't the birthday cake, everyone gather around and sing "Happy Birthday" type of place (more like the let's go out and do tequilla shots kind of place, but that's another story). At least I got that going for me.

But you know, when I think about it, one thought does come back to me more and more- 35 years old. 35! How the hell did that happen?

Played my second game of kickball of the season. It was, well, whatever. The key thing, though is that I got myself the cool, kick-ass league t-shirt. And that's whats really important because what is life about anyways other than doing cool things and getting t-shirts to commerate it?

Interesting story in yesterday's NY Times (one that actually is true too). Apparently, our President (well, actually, the President as I sure as hell take no responsibility for him) likes to only invite "like-minded" leaders to his Crawford ranch. As a reward then for agreeing with everything Bush wants to do and kissing his butt all over the place, you get to visit the President's ranch (although I'm not exactly sure this should be considered a reward). So, Tony Blair can come visit anytime he wants. Same with the Prime Minister of Australia or Spain. Not to mention the leader of our erstwhile ally Saudi Arabia. Foreign leaders who are not invited to the ranch include those who currently run France and Germany.

It is also true (and sadly, I can't find a link to validate this) that the President hasn't even really talked to Jaques Chirac for months, even way before the whole U.N. spat, a fate also held by one Gerhard Schroeder. In the upcoming G8 summit, to be held in Evian France, it is expected that the President will spend "as little face to face time" as possible with those dastardly French and German leaders. In fact I heard somewhere (well, actually The Daily Show) that Bush was even considering spending most of the time in Geneva Switzerland, conveniently located right across the way from Evian and not in France.

All of this is coming at a time when our Congress (who, by the way, forget to add a tax credit for low-income children in the latest tax bill- ooops) is seriously talking about having sanctions against France. And Colin Powell has been out threatening France with "serious consequences" for having the gall (get it, gall? Gaul? Oh, nevermind) to stand against us.

In other words, we don't really have a foriegn policy anymore. We have Heathers

How do you fail to get a run in when you runners on 1st and 3rd with no out in the bottom of the 12th?

Acccckkk. The Giants are killing me....killing me....

In case anyone out there is the kind of person who can do such things, here's another genius idea I came up with over the weekend- Barcatoilets.

Yep, nothing helps taking a dump like being able to recline in luxury at the same time. Want more things to add? How about a little nook where you can store your magazines? Or beer? Maybe even add one of those chair warmer type things or those little rolly things on the back part that help massage your back while your sitting down. Or speakers.

Just let your imagination run wild, people.....

Driving back from a Memorial Day BBQ (and I'd like to give thanks to all the veterans out there who gave up their lives so we could have a day off from work to drink massive amounts of beer and eat way too much food) we actually saw a cop ticket a homeless guy for panhandling by a highway exit. The ticket given, the cop turned his back to report the ticket. Just as he turned around, the homeless guy jaywalked through the street, dodging traffic along the way.

Just in case anyone was wondering, I didn't shoot the sheriff, but I did shoot the deputy.

Got kind of hemmed in my apartment today because this weekend in San Francisco is Carnaval. Now, I know what you're thinking: Carnaval- debauchery, all-nighty partying, women in skimpy bikini's, beads, and breasts. But no, this is San Francisco and we don't have anything like that. Instead, we have "... a broad cultural pageantry that fosters a spirit of universal inclusiveness and reaffirms cultural artistic value."

Yee-awn.

Sadly, the only time in San Francisco where we closely have skimpy bikini's, breads and breasts is the Gay/Lesbian/Blah blah blah Parade. Let's just say I'll doubt any of it will ever show up on "Women Gone Wild" video's. We here in San Francisco can't have a skimpy bikini, beads, and breasts bachanalia because that'll only be perpetuating the sexism and objectation of womyn by patriarchal society and that would be wrong (unless of course, it's done intentionally and as part of a political statement in which it'll be an attempt at shattering the objectation of womyn by the patriarchal society by empowering womyn to go naked and shift the paradigm).

Which kind of reminds me of a story. A friend of mine got hit on at a Passover Seder some guy, a guy whose girlfriend happened to be right there at the Seder too. See, as he explained to her, it's okay that he's hitting on her in front of his girlfriend because both of them are "polyamorous." My friend wanted to know what polyamourous means and what the difference is between that and being swingers. The difference, of course, is that if you're upper-middle class, white and got a Liberal Arts degree from UC Santa Cruz, Berkely or Oberlin, you're "polyamorous." If you didn't go to college, live in the sticks, and have a moustache, you're a swinger.

And yeah, I haven't posted in awhile- damn two-day hangovers.

I broke my work virginity and went out drinking with coworkers on Thursday. One of the benefits of working downtown again is that I can go out for drinks after work again, something I actually missed at my last job as it's one of my favorite things about working in an office. Another benefit of working with a lot of people who are in their mid-20's is that there's lots of opportunities to go out for drinks after work. Of course, one of the problems with working with people in their mid-20's is that they like to go for drinks and like to do it hard. Let's just say Goldschlager, Saki, and kamikaze's do not make for a good next day.

The way I see it, though, is that I had to do what I did. It wasn't because I like to drink or have no will-power when it comes to drinking, it was kind of a strategic, office-politics thing. The group of people I was drinking with included the woman who is training me and I have to butter her up since she's not only the one who reports to my bosses about how I'm doing, she'll be the one everyone will bitch too when she starts her new job and there'll be a month or two of awkward transition from her style to mine. Then there's the guy I'll sort of be managing- have to be on a good relationship with him. Then there's the two Office Manager's who were out that night- have to bond with them; office manager's are always people you should have on your good side. And since the company is mainly France-based and one of the people out that night was French, I had to bond with him too. And I'm not even getting into the funny-you don't look Jewish girl who spent all night in tears complaining about her being shunned in Jewish school and looked to me to help her understand why.

As far as not doing a bunch of shots I shouldn't have done (Goldschlager, for instance, was sworn off years ago after causing a really bad day), it was my first night out with coworkers. I had to step up. I have to make sure they knew I could deal, mainly so I can go out some more and do some more bonding with important people who I'll need to work my way through the company.

See, I had to do what I did.

I have begun to realize that there are two types of people- sweet snack people and salty snack people. Sweet snack people are, of course, one's who love chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. Salty snack people are into Dorito's, chips, pretzels, and anything and everything involving cheese. In fact, the cheesier the better.

I am firmly aligned in the salty snack group. I would much rather have nacho's than cake, chips over M & M's, cheese fondue over chocolate fondue. Cool ranch Dorito's are my crack.

Unfortunately, there's a problem to this, besides the fact that junk food is bad and salty snacks are bad for you- I'm supposed to eat fruit. I don't eat nearly enough fruit and by all accounts, I need to eat fruit, fruit, and more fruit. Sadly, I don't eat like eating fruit because, well, fruit is sweet. Which is why it's easy to eat fruit if you're a sweet snack person, but not so helpful if you're a salty snack type person. Despite the fact there's free fruit at my office, I don't have any desire to eat it, it's just not my bag, baby.

What all of us salty snack people need is, well, salty fruit. Which is damn near impossible, so the solution is plenty obvious. Fruit covered with gobs of cheese. Preferably melted or extra-sharp.

Can someone get on that, please?

Interesting story on the homeless in the SF Chronicle the other day. It's about how the political spat over the "Care Not Cash" plan (cutting aid to homeless people and giving it to homeless services instead) is being debated on religious/theologoical grounds. One of the leading critics of the program, California State Senator John Burton has put up posters all over the city with this slogan "Jesus gave money to poor people on the streets of Galilee."

Which, of course, is an excellent point and one that is important to heed. Even this Jew admits that Jesus (that is, of course, if he existed) said and did some pretty cool things. The only problem with that is this- I don't think there were any crackhead's in Jesus' time.

Ummm, so I was gonna post a long rant about schlepping all the way to Oakland to watch some big-screen Buffy and Sing-Along Buffy only to be turned away from the door because it was sold out, but I can't. See, there's this huge lump in my throat, something probably caused by the 3/4 bottle of wine that I bought as a result, and I have nothing to say.

Sorry, I'm a little misty right now.

From the SF Chronicle:

...."Buffy" could be simultaneously funny, scary, touching, sad and sexy in a single episode. Whedon started out coyly writing about teenage isolation or alienation, but he quickly expanded to embrace issues of death, spirituality, corporate greed, naked ambition, unchecked ego, sexual orientation, fear of the larger world and, in a strand that ran through seven seasons, the beautiful, ever-changing bonds of friendship....

Beyond that, there's this: If you never watched "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, " then you missed out. Honestly. It was not only a pop cultural phenomenon, but it was also that elusive, fervently sought-after creation -- a brilliant television show.

From the Newsday:

If I had to pick the perfect moment of the show's seven-season run, I just might have to nominate a sequence from "Inca Mummy Girl," a so-so episode from the second season. It speaks to the overall strength of the series that Buffy herself is not even part of it.

Buffy's dainty, socially inept, computer-geek friend Willow (Alyson Hannigan) has shown up for a costume party at the Bronze, Sunnydale's teen nightspot, dressed as an Eskimo, complete with harpoon. She watches while the boyfriend she secretly adores, Xander (Nicholas Brendon), slow-dances with Impata, a beautiful South American exchange student who is, in fact, a revivified Inca mummy whose kiss, we viewers know, will suck the life right out of a man and turn him into a husk. Edge-of-your-seat anxiety is compounded by the sexiness of the dance, Willow's heartbreak by the absurdity of her costume. The throat constricts, the mouth edges into a grin, the arm hair rises, the fingers clinch. It's difficult to recall another series triggering so many emotions at once.

From Slayage.com:

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the best television show ever created. But it transcends television. It's too important. Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the one thing, the one constant that has affected my life more than anything else. Buffy is life. And life is about to end.

And finally, in case people still don't get it my favorite bit of dialogue, courtesy of Spike:
Truth is, I like this world. You got dog racing, Manchester United, "Love Boat," and you got people. Billions of people walking around like Happy Meals with legs. It's all right here. But then someone comes along with a vision. With a real passion for destruction. Angel could pull it off. Goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester bloody Square, you see what I'm saying?

See what I mean? Bloody fucking brilliant.

Good bye, Buffy.

I hope you're all enjoying this little family drama. See, it's never a boring moment here at Hooray For Anything. I wonder how many other people I could diss only to find there actually reading this here blog. Hmmm....maybe I should start naming names.

God damnit, once again the rest of the world is behind the curve that I've already been there, done it with. The NY Times has a story in the Sunday paper-certainly the sign of something becoming a major trend if ever there was- about the pitfalls of blogging. In it, they mention people who got in trouble over blogging, people who had relationships go awry because of it, and people who got in trouble with friends over it. God damnit, why didn't they interview me- I've had all three happen to me. I got in trouble for posting stuff at work, got dumped because of stuff I posted, and got in a fight with a friend about something. Granted, the pissing off the friend was kind of the intentional side, but still. Thank God both my parents have both completely forgotten that I have this page (don't get me started).

There's even a blurb about the temptations of posting really personal stuff as a way to attract attention. I know all about that. Hell, my readership has gone way down now that I got a job, got paranoid, and got happy (well, somewhat happy in a relative sense). I can't tell you how many times people have told me how boring this page has gotten since I started working (or at least, got threatened with lawyers). I could give you the joys of online dating, working for meglomaniac eccentrics and the incompetant managers that work for them, or how there's nothing like travelling down the state for the company party after only being on a job for a week to make you get that High School loser feeling again, but I don't feel like it.

Unless, of course, you want to hear about it.

I knew I should have written a story about all of the crazy stuff my stupid-ass blog has done. Might as well have gotten some fame or attention for this thing what with all the problems it's caused me.

So I saw the Matrix Reloaded last night.

First I'll get the particulars out of the way

1)Monical Belluci is my new movie girlfriend
2) What's up with the non-techno, non-heavy metal music background music?
3) As good as computer effects are- and they're damn good- we're still years away from them being really that great. I'm sure in ten years, people will look at this movie and laugh at the cheesy special effects. Let's just say that now that I'm working for a video game company, I'm seeing better effects in some of the video games being worked on.

Oh, how was it? I'm not sure, actually. I'll have to let you know after I see it again for the second (or third) time. There's just so much much to it. What else can you say about a movie that has a twenty minute car chase that includes cars, trucks, cops, motorcycles, Agents, Albino bad-guys, kung-fu action on the top of a truck, a slow-motion head on collision between two trucks, and an old Chinese guy who makes keys?

So I got strip-searched on my way to LA on Thursday by Airport Security. Not completely strip-searched, really, but what else can you say when some guy closing in on 70 and with an obviously way over-died hair die-job job makes you unbutton your pants and takes a peak to make sure you're not hiding anything. And all this after I had cleared out all my pockets, taken off my sneakers, taken off my belt and was still getting dinged because of the button on my jeans.

Welcome to the Brave New World, I guess.

SFO got all the new, fancy technical equipment and upped the security. Those devices which used to ding you if you only had lot of metal type thingies now dings you if you have the slightest bit of metal on you. I've flown hundreds of time and have never really had a problem with security, even when I probably should have been a problem with Security (for instance, carrying little, tiny water bongs, complete with metal lid in my jacket pocket was probably not such a hot idea). But there I was, before a one day trip to LA, getting dinged all over the place. My pockets got dinged, which is fine because I did have a lot of change and my keys in there. But then my shoes got dinged- there's metal in the shoe-laces, I guess (fucking Shoe Bomber). So off came the shoes to get x-rayed (yes, my sneakers got x-rayed). Then my belt got dinged as the little wand started buzzing right in that area (and yes, any kind of Spinal Tap type joke would apply here). Fine, I think. Then my wallet got dinged so I had to empty the other pocket, despite the fact the only thing in that pocket was my wallet and two nickles. Then the button of my jeans got dinged and so that's how I found in a full-on Jesus Christ pose, getting peeked at by creepy Security Guard guy.

First of all, I've recently flown to and from Washington and had less of a hassle. That's D.C., as in the capital of the Nation, where an actual terrorist attack happened. Second of all, I've fucking flown to Israel, where terrorist attacks happen several times a month, and gotten less hassle. I go on a one-day trip to LA and I'm getting investigated like I'm in "Midnight Express." They got those things turned up so high I'm surprised people aren't having to pull out their fillings in their teeth in order to make it through.

I mean, really, doesn't it strike any absurd that it's now standard practice that people are undressing before they go through security? Doesn't it strike anyone that it might be a bit on the overkill side of things when an entire line of people is busy stripping just to get through a security check-point? No wonder why the airlines are dying, who the hell wants to deal with crap like that? I think it's probably easier to go from one side of Korea to the other now than it is to get from one side of the airport to another.

I know, terrorism, 9/11, blah, blah, blah… but let's face it, 9/11 was a billion-to-one shot. If that. It wouldn't have even happened if our intelligence agencies and immigration services weren't a little less on the inept side. Let's face it too, there's actually less chance of terrorism on a plane than of actually crashing in a plane, and in reality, there's not really that much chance the plane is going to crash.

So what I want to propose is we just like we have first-class and economy class, smoking and non-smoking sections, we have Paranoid Sections and non-Paranoid sections. All you scared-ass, paranoid, whiny Americans who are terrified of terrorism can fly on Paranoid Airways and go through all the security measures, get strip-searched, have every swarthy looking person banned from the flight. That'll make you happy. The rest of us, the one's who aren't that concerned or are too busy worrying about what to do about having two week-hitting third-basemen on our Fantasy Team to worry about terrorism can just do it like we used to do it.

I'll take my chances. I ain't scared of no ghosts.

Let's say there's a brand-new copy of Rolling Stone in the men's room at work. And let's say too that there's a lot of good articles and you'd like to read it. It being in the men's room, however, is one allowed to sneak it out and bring it home with them? Or does one just have to spend a lot of time in the bathroom in order to read the whole thing?

Okay, let's recap-

I am averaging about three hours of sleep for the past three nights. Last night was worse than the others. The only thing keeping me on my two feet right now is adrenaline and stress, stress so thick caffeine has been officially banned because I'm already feeling like I'm on a three day meth bender. I'm feeling so stressed out I've been clenching my teeth so much that it's giving me a headache. I've been clenching my teeth so much that I accidentally bit my tongue the other day and it hurts everytime I open my mouth. My ear problem took a turn for the worse and I'm back to being completely deaf in my right ear.

Plus the Giants and have lost five in a row and there's now only six days left until the final episode of Buffy

I am a mess.

Luckily, I'm going away tomorrow for the big E3 trade show and the company party. On the one hand, it's way cool that two weeks into a job, I'm being flown down to LA for the company party (unlike, say, a certain ex-company). Not to mention the fact that it's always a good sign when the company can actually fly all 1200 employees from around the world to a company-wide party in LA. On the other hand, I've been on the job for a little over the week and I barely know my department coworkers, let alone 1200 company employees. The only two people I've really spent any time with are my boss and the girl who's training me. My boss is nice and could probably be fun at one of these things, but is having a fling with one of the big Salesguy's and is probably gonna be a little preoccupied. The girl whose training me is way cool and, having been at the company for three years, including a year as the receptionist, knows everyone in the company. She is also a huge party-girl. But she also knows everyone in the company and is a huge party girl. I don't know how much she'll let me glom onto her all night, especially since she's been stressed out all week and we're having a little joined-at-the hip tension.

Then, of course, there's the fact that when I think about it, the thing that's making me seriously stressed out right now is my job. I am about to go on a plane, fly to another city, go to a party, and spend about 48 hours with the thing that's causing me all my stress.

Yeehaw.

On the other hand, I do have tix to see the Matrix Saturday night. So I have that going for me, which is nice.

Ugh. Insomnia again. Got it really bad. Really, really bad.

I think for the past two nights I've been averaging maybe three hours of sleep at the most. And trust me, there's not a lot out there that sucks as much as it being 2:30 on a work night and finding yourself completely wide awake and unable to sleep. It's not fun, nosiree, Bob.

Yeah, I'm a little stressed out about work these days. There's not a whole lot going on because of some huge trade-show and it being my second week having tons of down-time is not a good thing. Trying to look busy when you're not is not as easy as it sounds. But the main thing about the insomnia right now is that it's kind of a performance anxiety thing. It's stage fright. Getting to sleep is becoming such a huge issue that it's keeping me up just wishing I could get to sleep. I'm so stressed out on wanting to sleep that I can't.

I'm exhausted when I go into work (again, not good considering I just started a job). All day I'm frickin' exhausted, surviving on coffee and Sprite to make it through the day. The only thing I can think of all day is how much I want to go home so I can hopefully, finally, get myself some shut-eye. And then, when it comes time for the big moment, for shut-eye, it ain't happening. No shut-eye for me. It's a little over 10 right now and while my body is completely done, my mind is still racing. I can tell it's gonna be a long night just because whenever I take the time to notice, my teeth are so clenched together that my jaw hurts.

Oh yeah, I'm off to LA on Thursday for the big company party and some huge trade show. In other words, while I'm completely, fricking exhausted, I'm gonna be schlepping my butt all the way down to LA, going to some party with 1200 people, and then going around a huge convention center checking things out and going to meetings. I want to sleep. I needs to sleep. I have to sleep. Naturally, I can't sleep.

My kingdom for some shut-eye…..

Oh my Gawd, there's only seven days left until the LAST. BUFFY. EVER!!!!!!!!!

And now the big question is this- what the hell am I gonna do? What do you do when seven years of obsessingly watching a TV show comes to an end? What does one do on Tuesday nights, anyways? What is the point to Tuesdays?

So I put together a list and I've figured out what I'm gonna do now that Buffy's coming to an end-

1)Write a novel
2)Lose 20 pounds
3)Get a girlfriend
4)Read "War and Peace"
5)Volunteer at a homeless shelter
6)Actually go to more than one yoga class a week
7)See all the friends who've had babies over the past couple of years who I haven't seen or talked too in a long time
8)Call my mother
9)Learn Spanish
10)Rearrange my life so I can obsessively watch Angel

How do you know you're having a bad night?

When you don't have a nightmare, but have a dream about having a nightmare. A dream within a dream dream.

How do you know you're having a really bad night?

When the thing that jolts you up in the middle of the night, in full-panic mode is because you think you're hearing the click-click-clicking of the aliens from Signs.

How do you know that you're mind doesn't work like most people's mind?

When the thing you say to yourself immediately upon waking up in a cold sweat to calm yourself down is that not only are you not being invaded by aliens, but that Signs was a totally over-wrought, over-dramatic movie and totally not worth having a nightmare over.

So I had front row tickets in the center-field bleachers tonight at Pac Bell. Did you see me on SportsCenter?

Actually, it was one of the coolest seats I've sat in, all I had to do was lean over a few feet and my head would be in the field of play. Naturally, not a damn thing was hit towards me.

So my printer is down. I don't know what's up, other than it doesn't print anything and it's still kind of new and I actually need it right now. I hate when something goes wrong with your computer when you're at home. Not only is there now IT support you can bug, but you can't ask all the computer savvier people what's up with your computer. Instead, it's just you, the thing that's screwing up, an instructional manual, and, if you're lucky, a 1-800 number.

God damnit.

Here's a lesson for y'all- if you quit a job, don't go to a party thrown by somebody at work a week after. Not only do you suddenly have to deal with all these people you don't want to deal with, there's no better way of feeling like you never left or understanding why you left when you walk in and see a bunch of people you used to work with. Especially if a bunch of them are a few people you'd never think you'd ever see at a party like that.

My bad.

I will not watch the Beverly Hills 90210 reunion special...I will not watch the Beverly Hills 90210 reunion special....I will not watch the Beverly Hills 90210 reunion special.....

Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I'm gonna watch it...

Appropos of nothing-

I had a cat named Snowball --
She died! She died!
Mom said she was sleeping --
She lied! She lied!
Why oh why is my cat dead?
Couldn't that Chrysler hit me instead?
I had a hamster named Snuffy --
He died...

Lisa Simpson

Okay, so yeah, I've been kind of on the ambivalent side about the new job. I'm not really liking the new whole new employee thing. Again.

Luckily, word comes from the old job making me thank Jesus (or whomever) for getting the hell out of there. It's always nice to get those e-mails.

See, the company is run by the Head of the Company, the Big Head. The Big Head is a control-freak, the kind of boss who has to have everything go through him. You couldn't even take a shit without first asking him whether it was allright and then letting him know just exactly what kind of shit you took.

This, as you can well imagine, made things a little difficult to get things done. His company was rather big and getting bigger, yet everything still had to go through him. And considering he was running the company, he didn't exactly have a lot of team to proof-read marketing copy or approve packaging designs. Yet not only did he insist that he had to do it, even almost firing people for not doing it, he never quite understood that the entire company was almost unable to do a damn thing because of it.

It didn't help that he considered 9-5 to be his "prime time." It was the time, as he explained it, in which he'd spend all of his time selling. Or in meetings about selling. To see him, you either had to manage to catch him in between meetings, but you mainly had to sit around and wait for what he called "off-prime time hours" (I once asked his assistant about scheduling a meeting and was told that we could try and reach him sometime between 9-6. It was like trying to schedule appointments with the Cable Guy).

And it didn't matter where or when you met with him, you just had to. Especially if you had to get something done. He held meetings late into the evening. He held meetings at his house. He held meetings on weekends. He even, legend has it, occasionally held meetings at the doctor's office, Sopranos Style. And he would occasionally have meetings at the airport while he waited to catch a flight.

The thing about it is that he had abused and beaten down all the manager's and most of his long-time employees so much that nobody thought it was wrong to go to his house at 7 at night for a meeting. Or spend their Sunday afternoon's there. It was considered the norm. Nobody thought it was odd. Nobody bats an eye about it. So when someone would dare say things like "no, I'm not going to his house to go over proofs at 3 o'clock on a Sunday" a lot of people wouldn't understand why they'd think it was a bit screwed up.

So yesterday, one of the freelance copywriters, someone whose been screwed around like post-Justin Britney by the company was told that she had to go from work to SFO to have a meeting at the airport with the Big Head. Not only did it mean having to get home late, it was at the fricking airport. At the terminal. She, of course, said no. Which is what most normal people would have done, especially if they were freelancers. So, because he was a beaten down dog, her boss then drove off to the airport by his lonesome for the meeting.

Just your typical day at the place I used to call my home.

I have a lot of crazy dreams. I have a lot of psycho dreams. I have a lot of flat out whacked out, loco dreams.

And then there was last night's dream. I was working in a diner, or some place like that, surrounded by ex-coworkers, and joining everyone in a group sing-along of the Beach Boys Wouldn't it Be Nice as a truck drove by blasting "Pet Sounds" through the neighborhood.

Damnit, I'm used to waking up in a cold panic, not singing songs. What the fuck is going on?

Okay, so you know that whole thing about not thinking the whole starting another new job thing wasn't that big of a deal? Well, as I was lying awake last night around 1 in the morning, it suddenly occured to me that I'm wrong. It is a big deal.

The place that I quit to get this job may have sucked, but I was comfortable there. And all things considering, it's been awhile since I've felt comfortable anywhere. I had proven myself, shown myself to be a great employee. I knew all the ropes and all the people I needed too or cared to know. I had friends there, routines there, and a comfort level there. I even had a huge office infatuation there. I was so comfortable there and with my position there that I was routinely going into work wearing nothing but a t-shirt jeans and three-day stubble. I was so comfortable there that I had stopped bothering hiding the fact that I was reading Salon and ESPN.com all day. After months of being the new guy, I was finally able to be myself.

And now, that's all gone.

Once again, I'm the new guy. I don't know anyone or anything. I have to make the first impression all over again. I don't know where the tea bags are or the copy machine or where certain people sit. I once again have to prove myself. I once again have to keep my personality in check, once again have to be the guy who asks questions all day, once again I have to hide the fact I occasionally check ESPN.com (for the Giants scores, of course) and spend a lot of time on Hotmail. I dress up for work, I shave as much as I can, I have no office infatuation.

And all things considering, I'm tired of being the new guy.

Now here's the problem with playing Fantasy Sports- today it was announced that the closer for the Giants, Rob Nen, is now officially out for the rest of the season. This is bad. On the other hand, I slyly picked up the guy who is going to take his place, Tim Worrell. So while Nen's injury is bad for the Giants, it's good for me. Except for the fact that Nen's a great pitcher and the Giants need him to help stomp through the season, so it's bad for me. Except it's good. Or not.

And here's another situation. I went to the Giants game on Sunday. The Giants had a 4-1 lead going late into the game and things looked like I could get Worrell in for a save situation. Then the Giants started getting runners on and I started to think- the bigger the lead the better, but if they score more runs, I lose out on my save situation. So, while the Giants scoring more runs is good for the Giants and so good for me, I was hoping they wouldn't score more runs because I wanted the save. I found myself kind of hoping the Giants wouldn't score just so I could get the save.

Don't even get me started when somebody on my team faces a Giants pitcher.....

God damnit, you have two episodes left, stop sucking and start rocking.

Anyways, I would regale everyone with stories from my first day at the new job, but considering that this is my third new job since October, I've already done it. Besides, all things considering, I've had so many first days lately that they're getting kind of boring.

I will say this- I do project managing. My old job was trying to do project management in a place that couldn't be managed. I was a sheriff in a frontier town. I was trying to pull a John Wayne there. A Jimmy Stewart. A Shane. My new job, however, is like being a sheriff in upper-middle white suburbia. It's like being the sheriff in Walnut Creek. And you know, I'm kind of thinking that trying to be John Wayne is probably a bit more fun.

Too bad it doesn't pay as well to be John Wayne.

And then there were four......

Goodbye Kimmy

Ladies and Gentleman, my last day at work….

Gotta love last days at work. All the attention, all the love, all the extra money. Not to mention all the free booze. It's like your birthday, without any cake or people singing you stupid-ass birthday songs.

The thing I dreaded most about my last day was the whole goodbye thing. I am not a good goodbye person. I hate good-byes. I don't like saying goodbye to people I like and I don't like pretending that I care about saying goodbye to people I don't like. I'm all about slinking out before anyone notices.

It's especially tough saying goodbye in a work environment because I've had enough jobs to know that no matter how friendly you are with people at work, you're still mainly work friends and despite all the proclamations of how you'll hang out with each other after you leave, nobody really means it. The "let's do lunch" or let's do drinks" that everyone says is definitely your basic "let's do lunch." Not that I didn't like the people I worked with- some of them I really truly did- but I don't see myself hanging out with most of them. That's the thing about work friends, take away the actual work part and you have nothing really to talk about.

Then there are the few people who you really do like and really would like "let's do lunch" not mean "let's do lunch." Sadly, I've been around the block enough times to know that even when you say "let's do lunch" with people you really want to do lunch with, it usually turns into "let's do lunch" anyways. Its no fault of anyone's, it's just that, well, see above comment about not having anything to say since you're not really working together anymore. And when you don't work with each other on a daily basis, you're out of each other's lives. There's a new person in place, a new work dynamic, new gossip and people who leave slowly get forgotten.

Then there's the people I'm neutral about- the people I worked with but didn't care that much about. It's not like I hated them, but it's either I didn't know them that well or I just somewhere made the decision I didn't really care about knowing them. The problem is that a lot of the neutral people liked me, or at least made a big effort to show that they did and so I had to make a big back. I am not very good at pretending I care about people I don't care about. Some of them were so nice to me during the last few days that I started to feel guilty I wasn't nicer to them when I was there.

And finally, there are the people I didn't really like. Or at least didn't like because I thought they were incompetent twits and were the bane of my existence when I worked there. Saying goodbye to them was tough not only because once again I had to pretend that I cared, but also because I know I spent some amount of time trying to get them fired or hoping they would be. One of those people, my bosses boss, someone who gave his poor eighteen year old a lengthy straight-out-of-Hamlet soliloquy about how his screwing up made me leave, I pretty much avoided for the past two weeks. He didn’t even show up at my going away lunch because he felt so bad about everything that he was avoiding me (as I was to him). Another one of those people, the Manager I almost got fired a few months back (and might just have done after I left) also issued a mea culpa about my leaving and kissed my butt for my last two weeks. He did such a job of kissing my butt that he kept on threatening to throw me a good-bye party at a bar. This despite any evidence that I wanted to spend anymore time with him than I had to.

All of this led to the big drama of my last day- the giving out of my digits. While everyone said they wanted my info (real e-mail address, phone number, etc.) there were only a few people who I wanted to give it to. Some of them I wanted to give my info out too, some of them who asked I didn't really want to give out because I knew we were only in the "let's do lunch" realm and I'm too cynical to make the effort to give out, and some there was no way in hell I'd give them it. One of them I wasn't going to give anything too because besides falling into the neutral category (with a smattering of spillover into the trying to get fired category), he also creeped the hell out of me. Let's just say that even though he was over 40, I don't think he was quite sure of what team he played for, if you get my drift and I think that you do (not that I have any problem with it, of course, except when there's a fine line between friendliness and hitting on and the line was crossed a few too many times). He kept on bugging me for my phone number all week, even taping a note to my desk before lunch to remind me for the umpteenth time to give me my info. After being pestered at my desk, I gave in and gave him my e-mail address. For my phone number, I lied, something I have absolutely no guilt about, especially as he also hinted after I gave him my number that we should meet up for drinks that night. Iyick.

Still, I'll miss the people I worked with, even some of the one's I didn't like. I'll miss the endless selection of heavy metal favorites and obscure indie bands that endlessly serenaded me during the workday. I'll miss burning discs of said heavy metal favorites and obscure indie bands. I'll miss endless discussions of the Giants and the endless amounts of shit that were thrown back and forth. I'll miss gossiping with my boss and my coworkers and knowing that I know everything that goes on in the Department. I'll miss being able to say the snarkiest and sarcastic thing in front of my boss and have her rifle something as equally snarky and sarcastic back. I'll even miss being thought of as the one everyone went to when something went wrong and got to be the one everyone kvetched too. But I won't miss the stress or the incompetence. And I won't miss the being jerked around, the inability to treat anyone with respect, and the sheer insanity of my last job.

Oh well, onto bigger and better things…..

Here's why The Simpsons ain't what it used to be- I can buy Bart and Milhouse being in a club. And I can buy them being in a club with Martin Price. But definately not Nelson. And there's no way Bart would be hanging out with that "It's Pat" kid who occasionally shows up.

Yeah, it seems to be get on the Soap Box and pontificate day. Which nobody seems to like when I do it, but what the hell. I'm tired and massively hungover after my Last Day at Work Festivities, culiminating seeing the Melvins at the Great American Music Hall from a scalper, so this is all I can do today. Not to mention I think I just fucked up my ear when cleaning it and can't hear anything out of my right ear.


How did I miss this? The President of the United States hopped onto one of our super-duper jet fighter planes, got all decked out in military garb, and got flown onto an aircraft carrier. There, after changing out his military garb and with a banner loudly proclaiming "Mission Accomplished" he made this big huge speech to the country telling everyone that the war in Iraq is kind of, sort of, over.

Oh, please, please, please, let some Red State, Fox News loving, American Flag waving type reach the same conclusion that is just so obvious about it all- can you say "way over the top?" If the President were to wrap the flag around himself any tighter he'd be in danger of dying from autoerotic asphyxiation. And where are all those Republican yap-dogs who demanded congressional investigations everytime Clinton did something whacky on the taxpayers dime? Being flown by a jet plane onto an Aircraft carrier for the very first political commercial of the 2004 election has gotta to cost a pretty penny. Just maybe, maybe it would be enough for kids in Oregon to have one more school day not cut from their calendar.

And just what mission did we accomplish? Found lots of WMD's did we? Discovered tons of Al Queda cells, did we? And yeah- standard anti-war disclaimer here- the Iraqi people (at least the one's we didn't kill or maim) are probably better off than before, at least for now, but I'll let The Onion sum it up- Tortured Ugandan Political Prisoner Wishes Uganda Had Oil . Oh, yeah, right, it was about 9/11. It's always about 9/11. The proposed tax cuts are because of 9/11. Oil drilling in Alaska is about 9/11. Sarah from Joe Millioinaire appearing in Playboy is because of 9/11. Except for the fact that Iraq had nothing to do with it, something even the Administration will occasionally admit, but in ways that would make the Subliminal Guy on the old SNL skits proud. Just listen to one of them on one of those talk shows. They'll always say things like "blah, blah, blah…yes, there is no proof that IRAQ had anything to do with 9/11, has any TIES TO AL QUEDA, any WEAPONS OF MASS-DESTRUCTION, or SUPPORT TERRORISTS, but….."

In fact, while the Administrations is out doing a victory lap and the American people are circle-jerking in the mirror and exclaiming how wonderful we all are, doesn't it strike anyone rather odd that we seem to be the only one's in full "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" mode? The Europeans don't seem to really care (haven't seen Tony Blair doing much gloating these days, have you?), Asia's all freaked out about SARS, and the Arabs are pissed off at us, as usual. Even the Iraqi's, the people with whom we just "liberated" can't wait for the door to hit our asses on our way out of their country.

I think I'll leave it to Madonna to sum up our current craziness as only she can with these sparkling lyrics from her new song:

I'm drinking a Soy latte
I get a double shot
It goes right through my body
And you know
I'm satisfied,
I drive my mini cooper
And I'm feeling super-dooper
Yo they tell I'm a trooper
And you know I'm satisfied
I do yoga and pilates
And the room is full of hotties
So I'm checking out the bodies
And you know I'm satisfied
I'm digging on the isotopes
This metaphysic's shit is dope
And if all this can give me hope
You know I'm satisfied
I got a lawyer and a manager
An agent and a chef
Three nannies, an assistant
And a driver and a jet
A trainer and a butler
And a bodyguard or five
A gardener and a stylist
Do you think I'm satisfied?
I'd like to express my extreme point of view
I'm not Christian and I'm not a Jew
I'm just living out the American dream
And I just realized that nothing Is what it seems

As Neo would say, "woah..."

Well, well, well, my favorite Conservative Republican prude, Bill Bennett, just got outed for having a big-ass gambling problem. Quelle suprise- some uptight, priggish, blue-nose who built a career out of castigating the immorality and the going-to-hell-in-a-handbasketness of everyone else isn't quite so upstanding as he pretends.

I wrote this a long time ago, but I guess it's apt to post it now- my salute to Bill Bennett, a true American Hero. Of course, nobody except me and a few other wonkish types know who he is, but what the hell.

For what it's worth, I apparently kick butt in kickball. I'm guessing, thought, that it's not really worth much.

Another league, another team, another thing I've done in this city that I've signed up as an individual, not knowing anyone. See, in order to survive in this city for so long, especially as a single person, you have to constantly reinvent yourself. You have to pick yourself up and go find things to do, excuses to go out, and ways to meet people. Life is a constant struggle to move forward.

Once again, I'm the old-timer on a team. I'm the only one whose over thirty. I'm the one whose lived in the city for over a couple of years. I'm the one who knows where everything is and everything there is to do. All the other men on the team are all new to the city- all single and fresh-faced and eager. The women....lesbian? Or young. And then there's me.

Maybe staying home watching TV isn't such a bad thing. I think I'm tired of meeting new people.