Who is trying to kill us?! What the hell is that thing?! How can this be, Jim?! What on earth...holyshitisthisthefinalzombieapocalypse?!
Aside from the interrobangs, what do these expressions have in common? They are likely uttered by movie or story characters who are entering into a life/world-altering experience and must convey their utter flabbergasting for the audience/reader. As if!
I get tired, bored, and a little embarrassed for these witless characters. Sure, in REAL life someone (maybe even me) would be noticeably upset if dead people were suddenly reanimated and started walking menacingly, albeit slowly, toward me with the primal urge to eat my brains. In fact, I might ejaculate an expression in loosely vulgar terms to the effect of I'm really confused and disbelieving all of this. However, to me this serves no purpose to move a story along. It seems like a given. If I'm regaling you with an anecdote about the time when I was in the Hamptons and a giant sea monster walked ashore and trashed some houses and ate lots of rich people, I don't think anyone is going to appreciate me pausing and saying, "And you know, we were all like, What the hell? OMG, this is really strange and unusual! I can't believe my eyes." What the listener really wants to hear are the details. Because they can probably imagine that it is really strange and unusual (unless you lived in the 1950-1960s Japanese movie world).
So what do I want? Characters close by to pounce on the exposition.
Frank and Joe entered the abandoned amusement park indicated on their half of the map they found in the mummy's chamber. They came expecting to find a clue to where the other half might be hidden and hoping that their old grounds keeper wouldn't turn into a werewolf again. They walked around for a few minutes, past the tilt-a-whirl that no longer whirled and along the Midway that bustled no more. Then when they approached the Haunted Fun House ride, Frank got the feeling that maybe what they were looking for was in there. Joe seemed a little unsure, but Frank reminded him about his correct assumption about the tomb of the Chang Dynasty soldiers being the site of the neo-Druid conventions. Joe couldn't argue, so they proceeded.
It was pitch-black and all they had to light the way was a Zippo lighter and Joe's LED keychain light that emitted an eerie red glow turning everything an evil combination of crimson and shadow. Halfway down the ramp they heard a bunch of popping sounds echoing down the tunnel, getting faster and closer in frequency. The ceiling sparked and the walls shuddered until Frank looked around and had to sprint trying to catch up with Joe's rapidly disappearing wake. When they burst outside, the amusement park was lit up in a blue haze, not a result of the full moon. Joe, naturally the wussier of the two, stammered, "W-w-w-what's going on Frank?!" Frank could only gape with wide-eyed horror as they looked on as pieces of the teacup ride were breaking off their axes and floating toward the summit of the roller coaster, The Inducer.
Just then a uniformed police officer came running to meet the panic-stricken duo. "Hey boys! I'm Officer Dantes, and we need to get to higher ground. We are in the middle of a war between invisible aliens! They are going to tear this place apart and anyone who gets in their way!" They rushed over to the exit of Splash Mountain and started climbing. Along the way Officer Dantes briefed them on two-hundred years of secret alien history that only the Monroe County Sherriff's Office has been tracking for decades. Apparently, this wasn't the first abandoned amusement park that was destroyed by these invisible alien civil wars, and it likely wouldn't be the last....
Ahhh, that's the stuff. Good 'ol Officer Dantes to the rescue. Of course, this isn't the only way to get that information to Frank and Joe and the reader/viewer, but it's better than prolonged scenes of them being baffled and bewildered by vague details. Invisible alien civil wars are a good start to imagining why things are flying around at night.
I'm a man of simple tastes, so now, Officer Dantes,...tell me more!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Where have you been?
Dead.
In Mexico.
For reals?
No. Not really. Just bored. And scared.
Of what?
Writing something boring. Or sucky. Like Ethan Frome.
If you ever feel like you have it especially rough, then read that book. You'll be super glad that you aren't those characters. But if you are real smart, you'll realize that you have working eye-lids and the ability to close them and not look at those pages anymore and go look at something else, like a jar of M&M's. For those of you without working eye-lids, then put on some eye-patches and dream of M&M's, instead.
So, what can I come up with after a two week absence? It's going to be underwhelming, because I could've written a book in that amount of time (if I was Jack Kerouac, had a long scroll of paper, and some mescaline). Well, I'm going to convey some lessons about working. They may not be funny or applicable to you, but I think that they are good general thoughts.
1. Offer to do stuff all of the time, even if you don't have the resources or time. Someone will offer to help you if you ask or you'll be freed from other burdens if you are doing a good job and it's important enough. This is the only way to stop doing something you hate and start doing something you like. Dive in with gusto. If it's something worthwhile, other people will want to see the project, and you by extension, succeed.
2. Remember number one when someone else needs help. You can ride their coattails and they will be generous with thanks if you are generous with aid.
3. Smile at everyone and tell them that you are "doing awesome" when they ask the obligatory what's up/what's happening/how are things? Most people are not prepared for someone who is cheery all the time. Some jerk won't like that, but then they're a jerk, so screw 'em. Everyone else will want to talk to you, not some jerk. You'll produce a classically conditioned response in other people's brains when they hear your name (hey, that's the awesome guy or gal). You'll probably start to feel awesome after hearing that you are so much - from your own mouth even.
4. Show up on time for everything. People are pretty impressed by this, and it never looks bad. But don't hang people for being late unless it's really obvious or a major problem. Then you'll start looking really anal to other people. Everyone makes mistakes, and they hate it when someone else points that out. Well, sorry, Mr. Perfect!
5. Don't engage in gossip. It's sooo much fun to feel like you belong in the secret joke, but it is always destructive and you eventually will find yourself in the awful position of having to choose sides in an opinion-fueled argument. This sucks when you know both people are wrong, and now you've put yourself in a place where you have to say something either way.
These points are not original, nor do they encompass all of the things that will make you an effective worker. Your own personality, talents, desires, and wills take care of that. But these are things that I've learned over time and seem to make going to work more fun and bearable for those days when you'd rather be at home, watching Predator on the couch in your underwear eating a bucket of chocolate pudding with a garden trowel (right, Will?).
I hope you enjoy your job, but if you don't, especially try number three. It's pretty easy.
I'll try to keep writing things regularly. One of my friends gave me some good encouragement, so I'll try to put some of my crazier thoughts out here. I hope this doesn't end up getting me in trouble, like when I ultimately divulge my highly personal secret desire to someday walk up the Spanish Steps on my hands.
Oops.
In Mexico.
For reals?
No. Not really. Just bored. And scared.
Of what?
Writing something boring. Or sucky. Like Ethan Frome.
If you ever feel like you have it especially rough, then read that book. You'll be super glad that you aren't those characters. But if you are real smart, you'll realize that you have working eye-lids and the ability to close them and not look at those pages anymore and go look at something else, like a jar of M&M's. For those of you without working eye-lids, then put on some eye-patches and dream of M&M's, instead.
So, what can I come up with after a two week absence? It's going to be underwhelming, because I could've written a book in that amount of time (if I was Jack Kerouac, had a long scroll of paper, and some mescaline). Well, I'm going to convey some lessons about working. They may not be funny or applicable to you, but I think that they are good general thoughts.
1. Offer to do stuff all of the time, even if you don't have the resources or time. Someone will offer to help you if you ask or you'll be freed from other burdens if you are doing a good job and it's important enough. This is the only way to stop doing something you hate and start doing something you like. Dive in with gusto. If it's something worthwhile, other people will want to see the project, and you by extension, succeed.
2. Remember number one when someone else needs help. You can ride their coattails and they will be generous with thanks if you are generous with aid.
3. Smile at everyone and tell them that you are "doing awesome" when they ask the obligatory what's up/what's happening/how are things? Most people are not prepared for someone who is cheery all the time. Some jerk won't like that, but then they're a jerk, so screw 'em. Everyone else will want to talk to you, not some jerk. You'll produce a classically conditioned response in other people's brains when they hear your name (hey, that's the awesome guy or gal). You'll probably start to feel awesome after hearing that you are so much - from your own mouth even.
4. Show up on time for everything. People are pretty impressed by this, and it never looks bad. But don't hang people for being late unless it's really obvious or a major problem. Then you'll start looking really anal to other people. Everyone makes mistakes, and they hate it when someone else points that out. Well, sorry, Mr. Perfect!
5. Don't engage in gossip. It's sooo much fun to feel like you belong in the secret joke, but it is always destructive and you eventually will find yourself in the awful position of having to choose sides in an opinion-fueled argument. This sucks when you know both people are wrong, and now you've put yourself in a place where you have to say something either way.
These points are not original, nor do they encompass all of the things that will make you an effective worker. Your own personality, talents, desires, and wills take care of that. But these are things that I've learned over time and seem to make going to work more fun and bearable for those days when you'd rather be at home, watching Predator on the couch in your underwear eating a bucket of chocolate pudding with a garden trowel (right, Will?).
I hope you enjoy your job, but if you don't, especially try number three. It's pretty easy.
I'll try to keep writing things regularly. One of my friends gave me some good encouragement, so I'll try to put some of my crazier thoughts out here. I hope this doesn't end up getting me in trouble, like when I ultimately divulge my highly personal secret desire to someday walk up the Spanish Steps on my hands.
Oops.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Up on the Treetops
If the time comes when I am able to buy a house, the first of many things I will do on principle is to build a tree house. We didn't have any mature trees on our property when I was a wee lad. In fact, we planted some tiny evergreens in the backyard when I was around 12 and I constantly mowed over them on accident because I wasn't paying attention to their tinyness. I always felt bad, too, but then just shrugged and continued on. Eventually they grew to be unimpressive dwarfed evergreens with flat tops. It was a pathetic sight to behold.
I wouldn't build this tree house for my child, even if I have one at the time. There could be no mistaking that it would be for me. If, in time, he or she wanted one of his or her own, then I would build one to suit, but next door to mine. And mine would always be nicer, just to show them who's in charge. It would have a fireman's pole for easy exits, but it would have a rope as the only means of entrance. If someone wanted to enjoy the view and lavish comforts of this arboreal mansion, then they would have to earn the right with calloused palms and sore muscles. This includes the future Mrs. de la Tromeo.
I've toyed around with the thought of having a ram shod little house atop a tree that doesn't look like much, but serves the purpose of sitting and having a think. This is all well and good, but these dreams are seed that turn into flowering ideas of unparalleled grandeur. If I'm going to haul lumber up a tree, then I might as well make it as good as I am able, and in my mind I'm capable of building the tree house version of the Taj Mahal. Its picture will adorn motivational posters and be a top downloaded wallpaper for many a business computer. Such is the elegance of my dreams that I'll probably have to hire the set designers from LOTR.
The many amenities of this upper reaches fortress of solitude would include such fashionable and manly items as a bean bag, box of water balloons and hose line from the house, chalkboard and chalk (for which to hang on the outside indicating whether girls are allowed or my current mood), a stack of comic books, flashlights, twinkies, paper and pencil, and binoculars (of course). This cliched list of boyhood items wouldn't be complete without a bb gun, either. I'm not advocating for mischief, but a guy has to be able to protect his home from foreign invaders, such as the insidious crow or badger. Raccoons and squirrels may party as long as they don't soil the place or eat anything. That's asking a lot, but this isn't an all-night truck stop, fellas.
After constructing and furnishing my dream tree house, I would then go about tending to the other necessities of home ownership, such as working so as to afford the mortgage payments. Principles are there for a reason - so we don't forget what's important in life. Let's not forget about that dude from 19th century Lawrence, KS who lived in a tree (what's his name, Mark?). He lived in a tree near a ravine in an area now known to me and a few others as a bottomless pit that leads to the blackest depths of hell. I only mention this because he must have lived by some principles, too, only they were really weird. He even walked from Lawrence to Washington D.C. for every presidential inauguration. You got to respect that, in some small way.
Sorry to end on a crazy tangent, but thems the breaks. And tree house monkey butlers for everyone!
I wouldn't build this tree house for my child, even if I have one at the time. There could be no mistaking that it would be for me. If, in time, he or she wanted one of his or her own, then I would build one to suit, but next door to mine. And mine would always be nicer, just to show them who's in charge. It would have a fireman's pole for easy exits, but it would have a rope as the only means of entrance. If someone wanted to enjoy the view and lavish comforts of this arboreal mansion, then they would have to earn the right with calloused palms and sore muscles. This includes the future Mrs. de la Tromeo.
I've toyed around with the thought of having a ram shod little house atop a tree that doesn't look like much, but serves the purpose of sitting and having a think. This is all well and good, but these dreams are seed that turn into flowering ideas of unparalleled grandeur. If I'm going to haul lumber up a tree, then I might as well make it as good as I am able, and in my mind I'm capable of building the tree house version of the Taj Mahal. Its picture will adorn motivational posters and be a top downloaded wallpaper for many a business computer. Such is the elegance of my dreams that I'll probably have to hire the set designers from LOTR.
The many amenities of this upper reaches fortress of solitude would include such fashionable and manly items as a bean bag, box of water balloons and hose line from the house, chalkboard and chalk (for which to hang on the outside indicating whether girls are allowed or my current mood), a stack of comic books, flashlights, twinkies, paper and pencil, and binoculars (of course). This cliched list of boyhood items wouldn't be complete without a bb gun, either. I'm not advocating for mischief, but a guy has to be able to protect his home from foreign invaders, such as the insidious crow or badger. Raccoons and squirrels may party as long as they don't soil the place or eat anything. That's asking a lot, but this isn't an all-night truck stop, fellas.
After constructing and furnishing my dream tree house, I would then go about tending to the other necessities of home ownership, such as working so as to afford the mortgage payments. Principles are there for a reason - so we don't forget what's important in life. Let's not forget about that dude from 19th century Lawrence, KS who lived in a tree (what's his name, Mark?). He lived in a tree near a ravine in an area now known to me and a few others as a bottomless pit that leads to the blackest depths of hell. I only mention this because he must have lived by some principles, too, only they were really weird. He even walked from Lawrence to Washington D.C. for every presidential inauguration. You got to respect that, in some small way.
Sorry to end on a crazy tangent, but thems the breaks. And tree house monkey butlers for everyone!
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Innovation
Necessity is the mother of invention. This proverb was proved true tonight in my apartment. I'm not much of a food planner. Usually it is the last thing on my mind until those pangs of hunger start to interrupt my thoughts. I'm cruising through a book or movie or blog post and then suddenly my brain sez, "Go eat some food or I'll make you uncomfortable for the next ten minutes." Sometimes I throw down and call its bluff. Show me what you got! Usually it's not bluffing.
However, the lazy portion of my brain (~97%) tells me not to worry. The hunger will subside and you can go back to whatever you were doing without ever having to get up. This is a constant internal struggle. Most of the time I do end up going into the kitchen and look for something to prepare for a voyage down my gullet. I look in the fridge, then the cupboards, then the freezer, then the fridge again (just in case I missed something). I'll get an idea of what I have, but nothing happens right away. I'll need some time to think about it. Usually the main debate is whether or not I'll have to wash a pot or pan that won't fit into the dishwasher. It's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care.
So, eventually when I do decide to open a can of beans, heat them in the microwave and pour them over some hot dog buns that might go bad in a few hours, I call it a victory. But tonight I had a little obstacle. What happens when extra-container ingredients are required? I mean, perishables usually perish in my kitchen due to my lack of interest in consuming them in a timely manner. Tonight I chose to fix macaroni and cheese. This requires a box of the stuff, some butter or margarine and the tiniest bit of milk. I went ahead and started boiling the water and cooking the pasta before I decided to see if I had any milk.
Much to my swearing chagrin, there was none on hand. What's to be done? Wait, what's that in the back corner of the fridge? I must have forgot about it, behind the beers, next to the hot dogs, baby carrots and apple butter. It was also obscured by the giant crock pot of salsa queso looming in the foreground, always demanding my attention, but never getting any love (it's over a week old and I'm just not turned on by it anymore). This hidden ingredient savior was nothing but a simple carton of chocolate soy milk. I didn't have time to ask myself how the hell that got in there. I only paused a second before I added it to the mix, pondering what the coloring would do to the macaroni. It turns out that the sauce became just a little more orange.
What could this concoction possibly taste like? It tastes just like it sounds...delicious! Actually, it tasted like macaroni and cheese with the tiniest hint of chocolate. Let this be a lesson to you - if you're in a bind, then don't be afraid to use unusual ingredient substitutes. It might turn out to be the greatest thing ever. Unfortunately, my macaroni and cheese didn't fit this bill. It was okay, mind you, but nothing to have on the Food Network or anything. But I do have a great substitute for spaghetti sauce if you're in a pinch...
However, the lazy portion of my brain (~97%) tells me not to worry. The hunger will subside and you can go back to whatever you were doing without ever having to get up. This is a constant internal struggle. Most of the time I do end up going into the kitchen and look for something to prepare for a voyage down my gullet. I look in the fridge, then the cupboards, then the freezer, then the fridge again (just in case I missed something). I'll get an idea of what I have, but nothing happens right away. I'll need some time to think about it. Usually the main debate is whether or not I'll have to wash a pot or pan that won't fit into the dishwasher. It's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care.
So, eventually when I do decide to open a can of beans, heat them in the microwave and pour them over some hot dog buns that might go bad in a few hours, I call it a victory. But tonight I had a little obstacle. What happens when extra-container ingredients are required? I mean, perishables usually perish in my kitchen due to my lack of interest in consuming them in a timely manner. Tonight I chose to fix macaroni and cheese. This requires a box of the stuff, some butter or margarine and the tiniest bit of milk. I went ahead and started boiling the water and cooking the pasta before I decided to see if I had any milk.
Much to my swearing chagrin, there was none on hand. What's to be done? Wait, what's that in the back corner of the fridge? I must have forgot about it, behind the beers, next to the hot dogs, baby carrots and apple butter. It was also obscured by the giant crock pot of salsa queso looming in the foreground, always demanding my attention, but never getting any love (it's over a week old and I'm just not turned on by it anymore). This hidden ingredient savior was nothing but a simple carton of chocolate soy milk. I didn't have time to ask myself how the hell that got in there. I only paused a second before I added it to the mix, pondering what the coloring would do to the macaroni. It turns out that the sauce became just a little more orange.
What could this concoction possibly taste like? It tastes just like it sounds...delicious! Actually, it tasted like macaroni and cheese with the tiniest hint of chocolate. Let this be a lesson to you - if you're in a bind, then don't be afraid to use unusual ingredient substitutes. It might turn out to be the greatest thing ever. Unfortunately, my macaroni and cheese didn't fit this bill. It was okay, mind you, but nothing to have on the Food Network or anything. But I do have a great substitute for spaghetti sauce if you're in a pinch...
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Man and Machine
Gee, what to say? What to write about? Have I been too busy or too bored? Maybe both. But I did experience a unique feeling tonight that I haven't had since I've moved down to Texas. Tonight I felt like I belonged, like I wasn't a stranger.
Last September I moved down here after living in Kansas for the entirety of my life. I was excited to be in a different place, but for whatever reason, wasn't adventurous enough to declare it my own and take advantage of all life had to offer. I remained very timid, like a little bunny quivering in its cage. My job is great and that helped a lot. The people I work with are very nice, but I couldn't just insert myself into other people's social lives. Not with my (lack of) skillz, anyway.
So, weeks and months went by, and I said yes to any social opportunity that blew my way. Still, I hadn't taken the initiative and behaved like a person who owned his own life. For a long time I felt like I was living in a foreign country, not content to ramble about because I'm afraid of getting my hands cut off for jaywalking. For some reason, I've felt this way all of my life whenever I visit another state. Understandably, all of the states in this country are united and adhere to a similar core system of laws, but still they differ ever so slightly. Don't ask me what my guilty conscience is all about, because I don't have the foggiest.
Well, starting last month, I made some giant strides. I mentioned to my boss that the Nintendo Wii was possibly the funnest thing to do, ever. She just happened to have one that she wasn't using and wondered if I would enjoy it for her while her new house is being built. I told her that I wouldn't have a problem with that. Then a rumor spread around work that I was going to have a slammin' party that centered around Wii fun and record playing. Since I'm not the kind of guy who wants to disappoint people, I decided to oblige, inviting all the people in my department. Most everyone came, including the oldsters, and they all enjoyed the unifying pleasures of the Wii and ultra lounge spinning on my hi-fi. The night was so successful, a sequel is in the works. Plus, it got me over the hump of having multiple peoples over to my place. Now I just need non-work folkle.
Also last month, someone struck me from behind. This was a weird way meet another person, but it was something. Eventually her insurance company decided that my car was a total loss, so I had to decide on what should replace my faithful transpo. I eventually decided on a fun, guy's car, since I've only ever driven four-door sedans all of my life (save for my sweet-ass '82 S-10). So tonight I took my new car for a spin. It's incredibly fun to drive, and I wanted to stretch it out on the highway. As I was leaving town, I noticed a little twinge of Aw, I'm gonna miss you, San Antonio. I remembered getting lost on this very highway several months ago, thinking that I would stumble upon a drug deal gone bad in the middle of nowhere. But this time I was totally comfortable with the highways, stores, bright lights, big city anarchy, and all that stuff. I'm familiar enough that I feel like I belong. Like it's my city, too.
However, like many expatriates of certain states, I'm not sure that I will soon come to feel like a Texan. I still have many great friends and loving family members in Kansas that occupy my heart, so I shall have to keep on guard a little while longer. For the meantime, however, party at my place! We can play some Wii and go driving with my new pal, Sheila.
Last September I moved down here after living in Kansas for the entirety of my life. I was excited to be in a different place, but for whatever reason, wasn't adventurous enough to declare it my own and take advantage of all life had to offer. I remained very timid, like a little bunny quivering in its cage. My job is great and that helped a lot. The people I work with are very nice, but I couldn't just insert myself into other people's social lives. Not with my (lack of) skillz, anyway.
So, weeks and months went by, and I said yes to any social opportunity that blew my way. Still, I hadn't taken the initiative and behaved like a person who owned his own life. For a long time I felt like I was living in a foreign country, not content to ramble about because I'm afraid of getting my hands cut off for jaywalking. For some reason, I've felt this way all of my life whenever I visit another state. Understandably, all of the states in this country are united and adhere to a similar core system of laws, but still they differ ever so slightly. Don't ask me what my guilty conscience is all about, because I don't have the foggiest.
Well, starting last month, I made some giant strides. I mentioned to my boss that the Nintendo Wii was possibly the funnest thing to do, ever. She just happened to have one that she wasn't using and wondered if I would enjoy it for her while her new house is being built. I told her that I wouldn't have a problem with that. Then a rumor spread around work that I was going to have a slammin' party that centered around Wii fun and record playing. Since I'm not the kind of guy who wants to disappoint people, I decided to oblige, inviting all the people in my department. Most everyone came, including the oldsters, and they all enjoyed the unifying pleasures of the Wii and ultra lounge spinning on my hi-fi. The night was so successful, a sequel is in the works. Plus, it got me over the hump of having multiple peoples over to my place. Now I just need non-work folkle.
Also last month, someone struck me from behind. This was a weird way meet another person, but it was something. Eventually her insurance company decided that my car was a total loss, so I had to decide on what should replace my faithful transpo. I eventually decided on a fun, guy's car, since I've only ever driven four-door sedans all of my life (save for my sweet-ass '82 S-10). So tonight I took my new car for a spin. It's incredibly fun to drive, and I wanted to stretch it out on the highway. As I was leaving town, I noticed a little twinge of Aw, I'm gonna miss you, San Antonio. I remembered getting lost on this very highway several months ago, thinking that I would stumble upon a drug deal gone bad in the middle of nowhere. But this time I was totally comfortable with the highways, stores, bright lights, big city anarchy, and all that stuff. I'm familiar enough that I feel like I belong. Like it's my city, too.
However, like many expatriates of certain states, I'm not sure that I will soon come to feel like a Texan. I still have many great friends and loving family members in Kansas that occupy my heart, so I shall have to keep on guard a little while longer. For the meantime, however, party at my place! We can play some Wii and go driving with my new pal, Sheila.
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