Freneticism

27 08 2008

I was running around a bit yesterday when I found myself while enjoying a brief moment of respite in the city hall parking lot, hoping to catch a mayor/council member on their way out of a closed session.  The Dodger game was on the car radio; I was wearing the appropriate garb (Garb should be a new age clothing store. Or a swear word) for a city council meeting, which is to say that I was far from my optimal Dodger game enjoyment outfit of shorts and a ripped shirt. 

It was perfect. 

Naturally, as soon as I made my way into the building to check on the progress of the session, some snot-nosed little ball of pretension asked me: “Can I help you?

Realize this: I have only ever given the most cursory of efforts to evaluate my personality type, but even these efforts have agreed with my own notions about my being judgmental.  I take some kind of perverse pride in my (probably overrated) acute ability to evaluate people from the moment of our first interaction.  I’m not unique in this way, to be sure.  To some degree, everyone picks up on intonations, inflections and body language in their relations with other people.  I simply prefer to exercise this act of observation on a more intense level than other people I know.  I would never deny that it is a rather arrogant thing to do, especially given the amount of times I have incorrectly pigeonholed those that deserved much better estimations of their value.  Nevertheless, I have found my observances and deductions to be accurate (to a greater or lesser degree) the vast majority of the time. 

So you can understand why I saw no problem in immediately pegging this guy in his late 20s as a patronizing ass from head to toe.

Upon seeing the main council chamber doors open and the room empty, I asked this fellow, the only person around, if everyone had already left for the evening. Thus continued our exchange:

“Yes, they’re all gone.”

 “Oh, that’s too bad, I was hoping to talk to a few of the council members after their closed session.”

“Oh, are you doing a project for class or something?”

“I’m with a newspaper and I had a few questions about the new City Manager selection process.”

“Oh, what newspaper are you with?”

– Understand now, how annoyed I was at his line of questioning so far. He first assumed I was a student, which might have been excusable given my age alone, but my attire and demeanor both suggested, in my mind, someone who knew the drill, had done it many times before, and was not asking for a tour guide. He, however, chose to assault (and make no mistake, that’s exactly what he was doing) my justification for being in the public hall during normal hours and requesting to speak with public employees. However, I would have just written off the encounter had he not then proceeded to really irritate my sense of respect. –

“I’m with the City Insider.”

“Oh. Well, they’re in a closed session right now.”

“Yes, I know. I was at the meeting, but I was hoping to get a word with one of them afterwards.”

“Oh, well they’re going to be in there for a little while, but I can’t really say how long it will be.”

“All right, well I have a deadline to meet for some other pieces tonight, so I’ll just come back tomorrow afternoon and talk to some other people.”

“Oh, well you see, the council members don’t keep regular office hours.”

“Yes. I know. I was planning on speaking to the city clerk or someone instead.”

“Well, you could wait around here if you like; they might not be that much longer.”

At which point I told him no, thank you, I need to be going, and promptly walked out the door muttering rude epithets about his faux hawk under my breath.

Really, I have patiently endured belittling and flagrantly insulting people time after time; the sneer metrosexuals with an intolerable air of arrogance and implicit contempt, however, need do very little to drive me right to the brink of unprofessionalism and scorn. 

Also murder.

 

(Fresh and Easy’s delightfully priced wares proved to be sorely inadequate consolation for such an inane and demeaning encounter. Quelf, however, managed to reclaim my formerly affable nature through much more unconventional means.)

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Math

24 08 2008

I actually experienced this tonight:

Overwhelming odor of cheap body cologne

+

“Oh snaps, that is tight!”

=

Boy Robert Ocean Sams. Like big time.





Ebonics-laden Interjection

19 08 2008

I’ve been a little heavy-handed lately; It be’s time to gets my groove on.

Striking realizations rarely present themselves as such until a few moments after they’re observed.  In fact, “striking” might not be the most apt term for these enlightening instances at all.  Strikes are instantaneous and forceful, unless they be from a weak girl or a timid umpire.  Strikes need to cause a reaction deep within the innards of the struck. Striking realizations should have an onset infinitesimally after their cause.

I submit that we refer to such realizations as “ruptured bladders.”

Ruptured bladders are impossible to ignore from the very moment they begin to afflict their host. (questionable medical terminology, but House doesn’t start up again for weeks — c’est la Robert.) Ruptures carry no doubt as to their nature; ruptures denote both immense amounts of cause and consequence. In fact, just hearing about someone who has a ruptured bladder provokes a response within the hearer akin to the death knell in a medieval village. Moaning, cringing and gnashing of teeth all find their way to the forefront of the cerebellum in a hurry, even when images of blood and death are paralyzing thoughts of anything but.

So, my ruptured bladder today presented with only one symptom:

Enjoyment of the Dean Martin classic, “Not Enough Indians” for more reasons than he could have imagined.

Lyrics posted below for your enjoyment and horror.

Wagon train of lovin’ moving slow

And I can see the peace pipe burning low

You criticize each little thing I do

But listen baby, I’ve got news for you

There’s too many chiefs and not enough Indians around this house

Baby I’m tired of this old game we play called cat and mouse

If you don’t give just a little bit more

We’re both gonna lose this race

‘Cause there’s too many chiefs and not enough Indians around this place

Trouble on our happy hunting ground

‘Cause you keep stepping too far out of bounds

It’s hard to run this reservation right

When you stay on the warpath day and night

Well there’s too many chiefs and not enough Indians around this house

Baby I’m tired of this old game we play called cat and mouse

If you don’t give just a little bit more

We’re both gonna lose this race

‘Cause there’s too many cheifs and not enough Indians around this place

Look at all the things I have to do

To keep this teepee running just for you

Well time’s are tough and wampum’s hard to save

Just remember who’s the squaw and who’s the brave

Well there’s too many cheifs and not enough Indians around this house

Baby I’m tired of playing this old game called cat and mouse

If you don’t give just a little bit more

We’re both gonna lose this race





Play it again? Sam?

17 08 2008

I have got to find someone with a piano who doesn’t mind letting me in at odd hours of the morning.

Notice: Robert has an insatiable urge to delve into the keys more often. Help.





Crammed Varies Loose

15 08 2008

Jacobean Ladder looming high up into space

Both of us avoid the void that calls us from the fog

Disconcerting glances chanced upon each other’s face

Two are none tonight when we affright with eyes agog

Beckoned to the greater, we say “later – first we play”

Knowing all the while that love’s stile shan’t be used

Fortuity is absent where now absinthe stakes its claim

Where once affections died, vexations and despair are fused

Crooked smiles can’t beguile sand-entombed emotion

For playgrounds only served to staunch insatiable devotion

Forward is the way to play today, or rather work

Untenable Jocularity reveals the jerk.





Netherworldly

15 08 2008

I used to dream rarely; I can remember a handful of dreams (usually recurring) throughout my life, but they usually came sporadically.

Lately, though, I’ve been fairly well plagued by a few persistent images on a nightly basis. I don’t fall into that category of people who believe dreams always mean something important — a lot of the subject matter of my earlier dreams is a great testament to this, in fact. Whatever the cause for them, though, I could really do without them. At first I thought that I’ve just been waking up a lot closer to my REM cycle than usual; but it hasn’t really mattered when I wake. Weekends, travel days and even really short three hour nights have all held the common thread of this dream. Realize this, though: the fact that I can remember it every time disturbs me a lot more than the dream itself.

Maybe I should just eat a ton of pizza and Nyquil on the same night. Couldn’t make it any worse.





This Just In

14 08 2008

Narnia still gets to me, every time. Kristen was reading some of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader tonight during TST, and I found myself (or lost myself) on that distant shore for a brief moment of bliss.

Aside from Randall’s poem, that had to be the highlight of the night.