A few weeks ago Manager told me I was working well and fitting in, but he wanted to see more initiative. That was before I got my work Crapberry, tho. I was sitting around a lot then, waiting for stuff to do. Still I’m not sure if he really meant that and was getting reports on me or something, or if it’s just some boilerplate managerial stuff he likes to say.

I’m feeling more confident, but still trying to not be presumptuous. I’m leaving a few tools here until I get issued some and I’m leaving my steel toes here to facilitate getting to the gym. Since I have less stuff to pack I can bring my gym clothes to work, that definitely helps

I think I’m going to blog more.

But my iPod radio gadgets kept breaking and I decided I’d rather drink my cable budget, so my trips to Z100 and MTV gradually wasted away. Then Bally started its own music video station. I’d forgotten how fucking catchy a pop tune was. Have music engineers perfected the earbug, or are my ears just out of shape?

Example: I read about “I Kissed A Girl” (Perry, not Sobule) on the web long before I heard the song. Queer organizations getting weepy about capitalizing on trysexuality or some bullshit. Then I’m in a tenant space and they’re playing some musical insipidity and once the beat is engraved in my ear drum I catch the chorus and I realize this is that song. I STILL catch myself humming the drum machine line. It’s insidious.

Sure, I remember “Mmm-bop” (Who the fuck old enough doesn’t? God damned Hansen!), I know the earbug isn’t new, but it always seemed like lightning in a bottle before. Now it’s a damned industry. And is it just me, or does Auto Tune only make it worse?

Take Jason Derulo’s lead (I think) single, yet another execrable R&B cheating apology (although one with a clear post-Kobe thread of buying his way out of trouble). The music is entirely unremarkable but the hook seems to be a voice autotuned into asexuality. Also, that thrice damned Kesha (I refuse use her pseudo-leet/pseudo-gangsta dollar sign spelling). My first exposure to what seems to be Mickey Avalon with tits was when her record label wrangled her onto the iTunes Music Store free single of the week. I don’t even think the file made it through a single play before I trashed it. But after just a few days on Bally TV I can NOT get “don’t stop make it pop” out of my damned head. The music? Pfft. I wouldn’t be surprised if that song lacks a single live instrument. The vocals seem to be mostly straight but there’s some definite intentional vocoder action up in that bitch. I could even legitimately like the track if she wasn’t badly rapping in that weird nasally accent thing. I like Mickey Avalon and I absolutely support a woman’s right to be a dirty skank if she likes. But that faux New England-jersey-whatever. It’s a definite problem.

Katy Perry’s song had that drum machine to provide a remove from the rest of the song, but pop music seems to have taken care of that. It now seems to be all about the sponsored performer (I can’t bring myself to say “singer” or especially “artist”) now. Is this new? A result of a small sample size?

And does one have to be a trained dancer now to get a record contract these days? Maybe I should just stick to metal.

When I was unemployed it was simple, I got up and did my daily futility (a term with special meaning since a temp agency found me this job), then at some point I wrote, then at some point I went to the gym. The problem now is that recurring use of “at some point”.

I need to write, every day. At least every weekday, like a part time job. I want to be less fat, which means gym time. Hopefully at some point I’d shoe horn some weight lifting into that. I should attend my Krav classes, since I pay for them whether I go or not. Lastly I subscribe to a large number of RSS newsfeeds. When unemployed it was a matter of some work to read them all. So far that, of all fucking things, has taken top priority. I guess it’s not that weird upon thinking about it. They come to my computer and it takes no actual effort to do them. But that’s got to stop. Some of them are important for research and news value. Some aren’t. I’ve already prioritized them, but I should disable the feature that tells me how many unread items I have. That should help. I get to the less important ones when I get to them.

I was thinking today that writing should be my top priority. But maybe it’s Krav. Krav attendance is indisputably a good thing for me. It’s a hell of a workout and it directly supports my confidence. You don’t realize how much concern about getting your ass kicked weighs upon you until you realize it’s gone. I only go once a week, even though the trip to Milwaukie complicates timing. When to eat on Krav nights is also a nontrivial question, for calories and dollars. But I burn the calories in class and a few dollars once a week isn’t that big a deal, I suppose.

So, on non-Krav nights I go home after work to write. This is probably only until I get hired. At that point I’ll have a locker at work. I likely could use one now, but that smells like fate tempting. With a locker I could leave uniforms, or at least my steel toes, at work and thus pack gym clothes. I tried to pack my gym clothes to work once but that was a serious pain. It might be the best option, however.

Until then, work, home to write, then gym. But losing weight also means eating right, which means shopping. So when the hell do I do that? Maybe I shop after Krav lessons. I do have two late night grocery stores nearby. Hmmm.

I was pulling for the Colts in the Super Bowl, but my level of emotional investment was low. Nil, perhaps or something close to it. Peyton seems
like a class act, although I’ve heard he’s the quintessential Dumb Jock. In a league of Owenses and Belicheats, I’ll take it. New Orleans winning one hardly broke my heart. That city has deffo had more than its share of bullshit to deal with. I hope it can survive the utter lack of productivity coming upon its economy. How long does a citywide hangover last, anyway?

Wooga told me a while ago she was
planning a trip to the Woodburn outlets and asked if I wanted to come along. Yeah, why not? I could look at the Pearl Izumi store and maybe get her to eat some fast food. Accomplished both goals. I win! But greatest win came via the North Face store. As previously mentioned on Twitter I picked up a fleece liner for my goretex jacket. Can’t wear my Yelp hoodie at work, sadly, and the goretex itself is a bit bulky. So I grabbed a gray (mushroom gray, apparently, in girl colors) lightweight windproofish fleece. When I saw it was 35 this morning I was really glad for that. Clutch timing on that trip, Wooga. WTG. I’ve been basically wearing two coats for years. Lately it’s been my Yelp hoodie and a windbreaker. It’s kind of a Thing now to grab my jacket and not have to make sure the innards don’t fall out, or to hang it up and not have the outer part slide off. Progress, baby. Now if only my fuck up field will leave these extra zippers alone.

Progress is I (soft of) found a (sort of) job. The first sort of is my temp agency actually found me the job, and the second sort of is it’s temp to hire, so I can blow it and not get hired. At which point I might be pretty well fucked. But I have several reasons to feel good about this opportunity.

I have experience and training in the field. The job itself is easy, it’s changing light bulbs, plunging toilets, futzing with the occasional door. Although the two people I interviewed with dropped hints that if I work out there might be more in store for me. The people seem pretty chill, no one sticks out as an obvious dick and most of the people seemed to be reaching out to make me feel comfortable. It’s a fairly large crew, there’s 8 including me. One of the sources of conflict at my last job, in the Pearl, was there were only three maintainers, one of who was the chief. So it was just me and Numbertwo day after day after day. Numbertwo and I get along, I’d even venture to say we’re pretty good friends. But there would be flareups occasionally, mostly because we would get sick of looking at each other. I like this situation better.

The last reason is the reflection part and it’s about blogging. I never got into diaries or journaling, I only started blogging to keep my IM friends up to date. But occasionally I’d get bored and look through old entries. That’s how I discovered that I, in fact, do NOT have a strong immune system. And it also identified a pattern with jobs. I walk in excited, I become intoxicated with the place, then I turn against it with the type of savageness normally reserved for mama bears and bored cops. All due to overwrought expectations. So this time I’m going to keep my head about me. It’s a job, in fact, it’s an audition for a job. It’s not going to change my life. Other than the paychecks and time sink.

It’s a commercial property management company downtown with one big and several smaller buildings. Details? Ask me IRL.

After leaving Avatar last night a thought occurred to me. I’m no movie geek so this question might cause great pains to some out there, but it seemed reasonable to me.

Why is James Cameron so well regarded when Michael Bay isn’t? They both tell pretty bad stories buoyed by visual effects, so why is Bay in the dirt and Cameron in the clouds? Is it the technical innovations that Cameron’s movies seem to drive? Because, really Avatar’s blue cat people really don’t look THAT much better than JarJar Binks. Especially when sharing the frame with real people. They have convincing facial expressions, but so do the living sock puppets of 9 and the Wild Things. The bioluminescent flora of Pandora could have been high quality blacklight paint. Does this give Cameron respectabilty over Bay’s towering fireballs? The answer my girlfriend and I came up with is Cameron’s characters feel more human than Bay’s. We weren’t satisfied with it, but it worked.

I admit that I haven’t seen all of Cameron’s movies. In particular I haven’t seen The Abyss which seems to be held in high esteem by most people I know that have. I, of course avoided Titanic like a second circumcision. I’m seemingly alone on the planet in my hatred for T2. Really, Jimmy? A Terminator swearing it won’t kill anyone. To a kid? What the…?

Anyway.

Avatar is NOT a good movie. Specifically it’s not a good story. I’m not talking about the premise or plot, but the story the movie tells. Star Wars proves you can tell a simple story well. But Avatar isn’t simple, it’s simplistic and heavy handed (like the Prequels). This is what I’d expect a kid to make, not a supposed grand master of movie making. The hero wins over his angry boss, saves the pretty jungle and scores the hot chick. Awesome! Where’s the guitar solo? Even the specific item he uses as inspiration is a 14yo’s wet dream.

Then I read about an early treatment of Avatar on chud.com (worth a read if you have strong feelings about the movie one way or another. Even with CHUD’s terrible white text/black background. The treatment itself can be found here I can’t find where I d/l’d it from. I have the PDF if you want it.). The closing line of the article is telling, that in a big budget (although I’d call the cost of this movie monstrous rather than big, but for categorization…) the story goes out before the CGI.

I must admit the viewing public is swayed by what computers can do, even when they fail to be truly engaged emotionally by the spectacle (witness 2012, or ID4 for the earliest case I can recall). However, bringing up the budget, CGI is expensive while the story comes with a good script. So why not buy some blacklight paint?

But to the point. Judging from the early treatment Cameron can conceive a good story, even though it doesn’t appear in Avatar. But is he the perpetrator of this schlocky expensive nonsense, or the victim of his price tag? I honestly don’t know. Either way, Avatar: not good. I’m hoping there’s a lot of integrated deleted scenes on the DVD.

Spoilers below.
There were only three moments I can recall being impressed. The biggest was Grace dying. I fully expected the soul transfer to work. The second is not showing Jake catching the dragon. We’d seen him catching the bird, one avian rodeo was enough, WTG, JC. Third, and this is WAY HELLA GEEKY, showing Pandora not to be a single climate. I’m sick to death of desert planets and ice planets and jungle planets and city planets. Bleagh.

Last week was Thanksgiving, of course, but gratitude is for chumps so I didn’t really do anything of the sort. Wooga was on vacation and dogsitting so I spent most of that period there. Miraculously, she did not dump me, there weren’t even any near slapping incidents. Stabbing and/or choking motions made behind my back remain unconfirmed.

I totaled up the financial outlays of that week and made a vow to be more financially disciplined this week for the, say, 15th week in a row. Having been unemployed for as long as I have (anniversary is approaching!) I’m undergoing a disconnect from the world of productivity. I do my daily futility (which is now tops 80 URLs (including multiple saved Craig’s List searches)) and after that….

I’m not writing. I’m barely making it to the gym and I’m certainly not making an effort to increase my physical fitness. Switching banks threw my financial tracking all to hell and Operation Break 220 (pounds) hasn’t been officially abandoned, but I’m not doing anything other than grumbling at my scale.

Yet I’m actually in a better headspace than I was as graduation from PCC approached. Concerns are the same, I’m never going to find a job in the field I studied two years for, but the anxiety isn’t there. There are a few differences, I’m living as an adult, I’ve got my coterie of drunkards and I’m dating someone rather than living with mom, having two friends who were frequently busy and, well, the less said about the rest of that the better.

Interesting thing the second, my homie Ron T is now a citizen of the United States. Having nothing else to do when he announced the finalization of this I bolted up and headed down. It was 12/1, and of COURSE I hadn’t bought a new bus pass yet. I discover this about 15 minutes before I was supposed to be there, y’know, when the fucking bus is arriving at the stop after I’ve been playing Risk on my iPhone.

I’m time critical with a close by destination and the weather is moderate. That’s right, bike. Sans helmet. EGADS, man! What’s wrong with you? Me, that is. I was in a hurry. But federal buildings don’t apparently much care for bikes, there were no racks on the sidewalk. So I locked the much abused Larkspur to a street sign and dashed in.

Now, how the fuck does someone in the post 9/11 world not know how to go through a fucking security point? I’ve never actually BEEN through one and it only took me 2 tries (my belt buckle is really metal, it’s Target so I was mildly surprised). Between a few codgers and an idiot who just wasn’t grasping the situation I was afraid I was going to miss it. But all was well and I arrived to sit with my soon to be not foreign friend in a damn waiting room for a while.

The people being naturalized were told where to sit, but the family/friends types were allowed to roam with cameras. There was an Indian dude with two annoying little shits who wouldn’t shut up. He tried, he really did but they were just bad kids. The girl was in what looked like a Disney princess dress. Ah, cultural imperialism, you so funny. The oath, or whatever, was long. It mentioned the draft, which surprised me. I’d always thought, or maybe assumed, it was administered by a judge, but it wasn’t. Just some lady who looked like a random bureaucrat. They played some pretty lame videos that I’m way too jaded to deal with. Lots of Ellis Island photos, some boat people pictures, what look like portraits of people dressed up for the swearing in, all to the strains of America the Beautiful. None of it was as bad as them playing that fucking Lee Greenwood song. Jesus, what’s wrong with people? That was cheesy in the fucking 80’s when it came out. God damned Walmart shoppers, and bureaucrats. No imagination at all.

Then there was a video speech from Obama. All hail.

After that, drinking. Woot.

More weirdness, I left my bike locked to said street sign and ended up going to a Pizza Schmizza bar to watch the Blazers suck somewhat less than they had been. Yeah, you read that correctly. Odd, but cool.

Hold on, there’s more weirdness. (shut up, this is only 755 words so far, 763 now). I ran over my budget for the week by grocery shopping. Really weird, that. The one time I plan on drinking most of my grocery money, I go buy stuff. Jeez, what’s wrong with me.

And in closing for weirdness, I, at 34, just asked my mom if I could borrow her car. Thanks, folks, I’ll be here all week, don’t forget to tip your waitress you’ve been a great crowd.

For a variety of reasons (my girlfriend) I spent this past weekend at a cottage on the beach. Nothing separated my from sneaker wave induced drowning but some wood and glass and an unexpected two lane road.

And it didn’t suck.

The beach itself, as an environment and medium, is still pretty unimpressive. As covered on Twitter on the first morning for some reason I woke up just before dawn and decided I was going to go out onto the beach and watch the sunrise. After tromping up and down the stairs (since I’m dating the hostess/organizer of this expedition I was, naturally, in the master bedroom) a few dozen times (inside joke, no I won’t explain it) I was on the beach in the pre-dawn gloom.

At that point I realized two things.
1: Logs on the beach after being rained on all night are wet, at that point so was my ass.
2: A commercial jingle (for a cruise line IIRC) went “from the sunrise in the east, to the sunset in the west” illustrated the reason the sun was going to peek out from behind a ridge of hills, much as it does in Portland. So while I wouldn’t get to see the sun come up from the water, people living on the East coast don’t get to see it fall down into the water.

Anyway, the sun came up, the sky turned blue and the clouds turned pink before they turned white. There was sand, water and no bars. I went back inside. So much for the beach.

Also in the “new experiences” department, non-annoying toddlers and breakfast burritos. To be sure I’d had breakfast burritos before, the microwaveable ones. I decided after some experimentation the very idea was loathsome and deserving only of punishment. Fresh ones, however, were pretty good. If you’d told me as late as, oh, 7:55am, Saturday October 31st, 2009 that I’d have pico de gallo for breakfast and enjoy it, I’d have pointed and laughed. Then looked for some stairs to kick you down. Well, shit happens, right?

Oh, you’re probably still tripping on the “non-annoying toddler” thing. There’s not much to elaborate on there. One of the cottage guests was a toddler, and he wasn’t very annoying. I’d elaborate, but, y’know, he’s a baby and this is hardly a baby blog. But if the one known as Wooga talks about a couple bringing a sub 2 years old boy and a half Weimaraner half chocolate Lab to some event, have no worries. Even though Labs are the most emo of dogs (that was another inside joke, deal).

The rest of the weekend, well Manzanita is as if you put Multnomah Village in the middle of fucking nowhere. With more real estate companies. Cannon Beach is even worse because of the gift shop plague. If I had to spend any length of time on the Oregon Coast my desire to live would evaporate. Even this past weekend would have been pretty lame without 7 other people in the house. As my past experiences in Milton-Freewater illustrated, I’m city. I want concrete and funny smells and a number of venues for poisoning myself within a few minutes’ walk.

But, y’know. It didn’t suck. I also came home with several days of black bean soup, a bag of Oreos and nearly a case of Mt Dew. And I scored points by introducing Wooga to cash n’ carry. Net positive.