Friday, August 31, 2007

Where is my commission?

Conversations I hate having:

Me: Can I help you?
Woman: Yes, I need to place and add for Spaces Magazine
M: We don’t take ads in this office anymore.
W: But Missy Smith said I could drop off an ad here for Spaces.
M: (confused look) I’ve never heard of that.
M: Is it an advertising section?
W: Is this the Kansas City Star? Am I in the right place? Spaces is the Star’s top real estate magazine that highlights all of the city major properties.
M: It sounds like an advertising thing.
W: No, it is a magazine! Developers and real estate agents write for it.
M: Definitely advertising. Let me call someone downtown.
(Call downtown, then told to take the ad and process money – even though I am told not to ever deal with cash out of this office. If I were evil I would jack up the price and take a cut).

This beard will grown on you

That's right, WWers. I have joined the great ranks of men with beards.

Two weeks in and the usual five-o-clock shadow has given way to a robust bush of facial fuzz.

We blasted though the itchy, pedophile stage and right into full growth. I wake up in the morning forgetting what I have done, until I scratch my soulder or reopen one of those deep wounds caused by a strai face hair. they are deadly, people.

The whole idea for growing this face fungus came when my roommate and I decided that we needed a competition. Granted, we compete for a lot of things - attention, alcohol, games.

But this seemed like something that neither of us really new who would win.

Let me give you the run down...

In the red corner we have My Roommate: standing at roughly 5-foot-11 and 180 lbs he comes from the far away land of Oregon. Trained in the journalistic arts of Michigan.

With an Asian liniage his ability to grow a beard was thrown into questions, but a full head of hair proved promissing as we begin this bout.

In the blue corner we have Me: 6-foot-5 and 250 lbs az native of these Missouri waters and trained in the back woods of COlumbia.

His family is a mix between Russian and German lending him to a hariy growth that would rival that of big foot. As he has gotten older hair on arms, legs, chests, stomachs and elsewhere proved promissing as he set out to also farm face fuzz.

Two weeks in and the verdicts are roughly split.

My Roommate's fine haired beard makes him more stylish and "clean" one member of our group said. On the other hand, the full thick growth I sport on my chin is more reminicent of a Mountian Beast deceding from the tops of Mt. Doom.

Yes, that was a Lord of the Rings Reference, so sue me.

We have decided that after four weeks we will assess and evauluate the beard. Personally, I am beginning to love it. It's like a whole new adventure - plus I don't have to shave - ever.

Eat it Gillete. Fuck you and your Mach 3.

Maybe after time I can groome it and trim it into some cool shapes. Maybe trim my name into the side of my face.

Now that would be badass...

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Untucked button-up shirts

It's another rough Thursday at the Paragraph factory.

Our press club was celebrating and mourning the loss of two of our most dedicated memebers. It's always bitter sweet when someone leave our little group od drunkards and fuck offs.

We all know there are better things out there and they have gone ot find them. They are in Japan, Chicago, everywhere and no where.

They came in, drank it down and yelled for the band to play House of the Rising Sun with me one last time.

But last night the band would not oblige us our intoxicated requests. Their three piece smooth jazz musings did not exactly mesh with our loud swaying into life. I think our waitress recognized our distaste for what we were listening to last night, and so she doted on us to make we'd stay and tip well - as we all usually do.

But we might have recruited someone new to this band. We might have kept alive the connections around this city. We try. we really do.

We move on and hope that whom ever they hire here in the next few weeks will be someone with the fortitude to drink with best of us on these wild wednesday weeklies.

--- My Ipod Over flowith ---

I was simply overjoyed and overwheled at the overabundance of music spilling over into my Ipod.

In fact, there was so much that I finally have filled it. All 30 Gigs.

I know; who cares? I am sure most of you have filled yours a long time ago and really do not care that I fianlly got to a point where I ahve 5,904 songs that will last me 48.1 days if played continously - which I plan to do.

The new infusion of music, though, made me cocky. I was bragging to someone about it. Like the pompous jackass that I am.

"but why do you have so much. you don't even get a chance to listen to it all."

"What do you have?" I asked

"I have about a dozen good albums that i really like."

Mind boggling. 12 albums. But who is better off? Someone with 12 albums they know, respect and will cherish forever, or someone who has every sone writen by The Misfits simply becase he can?

Will I ever listen to all of it. I hope. I want to know it and enjoy it. but I probably won't.

Maybe that is the real tragedy here.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Oral fixins

There is no way to not make this sound sexual. I will have to jsut grit and bear it..but then again, that is what got me in trouble in the first place.

Had i listened to my parents, doctors, peers - everyone - then I would not necessarily bein this mess with a jaw wired shut and enough muscle relaxers to kill a small pony.

You see, I have an oral fixation.

I will stick jsut about anything in my mouth to chew on.

Paper clips
Id badges
Headphone wires
Phones wires
Business cards

...and these are just the things sitting on my desk that I know, at one point or another, had passed my lips and been chewed on like I was a teething puppy. It is an oral fixation that rivals that of a toddler.

Hell, I had a pacifier until i was 7 year old.

I smokeds in high school and into my freshman year college, but I did it so much that it ended up making me sick. Smoking was less about inhaling the tabacco and more about simply having something that tasted good sit between my lips and heat my teeth as I would sit, walk, work or anything really.

But now, my mandible has been put on the Disabled List.

As part of this oral fixation I will gnaw on my own lips and tongue - see previous posts about me piercing my own tongue in my sleep. I will clench my jaw when stressed and grind my teeth while I sleep.

Over the year this is apprenyly not healthy for both the muscles in your face nor the teeth in your head.

In fact, in a fit of grinding and gnashing I have actualy dislocated my jaw and pulled a severl important muscle that facilitates the chewing motion in your digestive process.

TMJ syndrome it is called. When the muscles in your jaw - the important once we talked about earlier - seize up and essentially fall apart. They quit working. Give up. take the ball and go home.

How do you survive this loss of motion and everloving pain? Pain killers and a new wire that keeps the jaw in place long enough that, hopefully, the muscle will grow back and allow me to eat solid food again.

Chances, according to my doctor, are good, but not certian. The jaw is a tricky bitch that when scorned comes back only when it wants to. It cannot be coaxed by mere drugs and sweet nothing.

So, here I sit, mouth guarded and wired at work. Nothing in my mouth to help pass the time and certianly nothing in my head to make this easier. Thanlk god for the drugs in my stomach to make me clam.

mumbled/but not read