"But Widge! You are destined for greatness! It should be so easy for you to succeed! You are so brilliant!"
But, no.
Instead, I will fail by most people's eyes,
I will take the job that doesn't show success,
I will live without the level of routine that a successful man lives,
I will waste away my time with art and creation,
and be so much happier than you.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
A sadly dying vehicle
I think nature has started to pick up on my habits for I was greeted by a warm Japanese chord as I stepped to the porch (The Mad Grabber will know what I mean if he ever reads this).
Today life just makes sense and I seriously think it has to do with my few hours of sleep. It's happened before.
Today I had to take a certain new car back to a certain rather expensive dealership to have it messed with by cerain rather expensive tools (but cheap labor I'm sure). It's a nice color, I'll give it that. Also, the speedometer goes to 160 (using the American scale, I might add) so I can expect that it has a rather nice amount of power, so I'll give it that too.
It was a little awkward going to the front desk of a room filled with desks all facing out in a big corridor of desks so that you walk behind everyone's back as they sit (at their desks) with their headsets talking to hopefully prospective customers but throwing glances at you as you walk because, with a headset, you are not as tied down and, I find, tend to look about the room or at other things. I wish I could have thrown "desk" in that sentence a couple more times. Anyway, it was a little awkward going to the front desk of said room and asking for who turned out to be the manager and walking past all the little desky people straight to the back to the "man in charge" but that was my biding. More awkward was my choice of aged clothing. Revolver t-shirt and written-on pants? Silly me. You don't go to a Bent- whoops I mean, a certain rather expensive dealership in those kind of clothes. Everyone else wears suits and ties and holds a cell phone to their face between chatting to the salesmen/women.
And then I was taken to the "lounge" with orange modern leather chairs but with a certain neo-classical feel what with the persian influenced rug (although it may have been Victorian influenced, my art history knowledge is rather vague) and definately European carved coffee bar. Yes, complimentary coffee, as most dealerships are apt to offer. But not "pour it yourself!" pots of regular and decaf. And not even exiting flavored coffee.
Espresso.
Served by attractive and young European women, no doubt hired for mostly just those descriptors.
I think to myself, "What the hell am I doing in a place like this?" and this thought is only compounded when I have this urge to get up and tap the vacuuming girl on the shoulder, pass off the cafe latte, relieve her of her vacuum, and continue the job myself.
When finally the keys to my long forgotten "little, red shit-box" (a phrase which, ironically, contains more reminiscence of the Little, Red Schoolhouse Nature Preserve than something negative) arrived, I was pointed in the direction of the porsche lot. "Right there between the porsches. See it?"
"Yeah, it's the only crappy one, got it."
And yet upon reaching the car, unlocking the door, plopping my stuff on the seats, and turning it on: oh heavenly joy! I found myself delighted once again with its handling, its responsiveness, its sounds, its smell.
Taking it to an old favorite diner was bliss. The drive was unlike any drive I have driven in what seems like many driving years, although it probably is only less than one year because I was only just recently having to drive it all over the place. How is it that I could have forgotten what joy the "little, red shit-box" gave me? Could it be that the loud-stereo, power locks, power windows, eight cylinder carrying beast that is my hypocritical bane had lured me into complacency? Ah but, the ease of travel, the comfort within, the amenities!
And yet, after many months of driving it, a few hours of driving an old, beat-up, amenity-less car proved so much more satisfactory.
Like making my own meal versus going out and buying one (yeah, you like how I tied in the last post? Booya.)
But my satisfaction will be shot down unless I have the faith of the widow of Zarephath (maybe some of you will know what I mean).
If I don't, the I lament the loss.
Both in possesion and in character.
Today life just makes sense and I seriously think it has to do with my few hours of sleep. It's happened before.
Today I had to take a certain new car back to a certain rather expensive dealership to have it messed with by cerain rather expensive tools (but cheap labor I'm sure). It's a nice color, I'll give it that. Also, the speedometer goes to 160 (using the American scale, I might add) so I can expect that it has a rather nice amount of power, so I'll give it that too.
It was a little awkward going to the front desk of a room filled with desks all facing out in a big corridor of desks so that you walk behind everyone's back as they sit (at their desks) with their headsets talking to hopefully prospective customers but throwing glances at you as you walk because, with a headset, you are not as tied down and, I find, tend to look about the room or at other things. I wish I could have thrown "desk" in that sentence a couple more times. Anyway, it was a little awkward going to the front desk of said room and asking for who turned out to be the manager and walking past all the little desky people straight to the back to the "man in charge" but that was my biding. More awkward was my choice of aged clothing. Revolver t-shirt and written-on pants? Silly me. You don't go to a Bent- whoops I mean, a certain rather expensive dealership in those kind of clothes. Everyone else wears suits and ties and holds a cell phone to their face between chatting to the salesmen/women.
And then I was taken to the "lounge" with orange modern leather chairs but with a certain neo-classical feel what with the persian influenced rug (although it may have been Victorian influenced, my art history knowledge is rather vague) and definately European carved coffee bar. Yes, complimentary coffee, as most dealerships are apt to offer. But not "pour it yourself!" pots of regular and decaf. And not even exiting flavored coffee.
Espresso.
Served by attractive and young European women, no doubt hired for mostly just those descriptors.
I think to myself, "What the hell am I doing in a place like this?" and this thought is only compounded when I have this urge to get up and tap the vacuuming girl on the shoulder, pass off the cafe latte, relieve her of her vacuum, and continue the job myself.
When finally the keys to my long forgotten "little, red shit-box" (a phrase which, ironically, contains more reminiscence of the Little, Red Schoolhouse Nature Preserve than something negative) arrived, I was pointed in the direction of the porsche lot. "Right there between the porsches. See it?"
"Yeah, it's the only crappy one, got it."
And yet upon reaching the car, unlocking the door, plopping my stuff on the seats, and turning it on: oh heavenly joy! I found myself delighted once again with its handling, its responsiveness, its sounds, its smell.
Taking it to an old favorite diner was bliss. The drive was unlike any drive I have driven in what seems like many driving years, although it probably is only less than one year because I was only just recently having to drive it all over the place. How is it that I could have forgotten what joy the "little, red shit-box" gave me? Could it be that the loud-stereo, power locks, power windows, eight cylinder carrying beast that is my hypocritical bane had lured me into complacency? Ah but, the ease of travel, the comfort within, the amenities!
And yet, after many months of driving it, a few hours of driving an old, beat-up, amenity-less car proved so much more satisfactory.
Like making my own meal versus going out and buying one (yeah, you like how I tied in the last post? Booya.)
But my satisfaction will be shot down unless I have the faith of the widow of Zarephath (maybe some of you will know what I mean).
If I don't, the I lament the loss.
Both in possesion and in character.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Foolish me
Why do I go out to eat when I can make such pleasant dishes at home for cheaper?
Start with spinach fettucini. Add some garlic-roasted alfredo sauce and some stir-fried red, yellow, and orange peppers and mix it all up. Garnish it with some dried romano, parmesean, whatever-suits-your-fancy cheese and a couple of peices of whole wheat bread (Hot chocolate powder, tomatoe, or lime not used).
Seriously, readers, make sure to poke and prod me about doing this more often for I would be a fool not to.
Start with spinach fettucini. Add some garlic-roasted alfredo sauce and some stir-fried red, yellow, and orange peppers and mix it all up. Garnish it with some dried romano, parmesean, whatever-suits-your-fancy cheese and a couple of peices of whole wheat bread (Hot chocolate powder, tomatoe, or lime not used).
Seriously, readers, make sure to poke and prod me about doing this more often for I would be a fool not to.
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