Sunday, October 30, 2005

Annual Halloween Costume Party 2005

On the return home from the ruckus Halloween party this weekend, I reflected upon my behavior, which was, in a word, juvenile. I try to be dignified and proper in my daily life and perhaps when I'm given an opportunity to let loose a little I end up acting inappropriately.

Bollywood Starlet (that's me!)

In the moment, biting Holly Golightly's ear seemed like a very good idea.
Uppon reflection, even choking a rubber chicken is an unacceptable pun.
Once more, how old is too old to be snorting a Pixy Stick on a dare?

Swedish Chef - a la muppets (the programming brawler)

Does this mean I'll never grow up?

Thursday, October 27, 2005

A bit of Spine.

One of the first things I noticed about her is that she wasn’t wearing a coat.

On my way back to my apartment from a long stroll, I saw them walking towards me on the street. She; perhaps 20, ponytail, no coat and a very large silver purse. He; perhaps 25, black leather coat, oversized black pants.

As we approached one another, I could see she was crying. It wasn’t an injured cry, nor tears of frustration nor anger. She was sobbing with what sounded distinctly like desperation and despair. Her boyfriend (pimp? drug dealer?) held her hand with both of his; one hand on her wrist, the other on the tips of her fingers and yanked her along the sidewalk. She twisted her hand back and forth trying, it seemed, to wrest herself away from his grip.

I asked aloud to her, “Are you alright?”

She sobbed again and looked at her feet. He growled, “She’s fine.” and yanked her along. I turned to watch them continue and he led her into an alley.

The next time I saw her, a few minutes later, she was alone, walking quickly back the way she came, still whimpering a little bit, looking wild-eyed. As she walked by, I asked her, quietly this time, “Do you need help?”

“No. I don’t need the police. Not the police.”

She didn’t even slow down.

I watched her walk away and told the dispatch, who I already had on the line, that "She says she doesn’t want the police." They said they would send someone anyhow. I gave them a description.

As I walked home I saw them both one last time, driving away together in a little red car.



The programming brawler and I were seated at one of the best seats in the house – a small table for two, to right of the fireplace.

He; hunched over the table with his crazy professor hair, tweed jacket and a large mug of dark beer. Myself; stretched back in my chair, black suit, french twist and a martini.

I looked at him and asked; “How does one acquire Spine? Is it something one is born with…or is Spine developed or squashed over time.”

He looked thoughtful.


This is what I wish would happen next:

I’m driving down the road towards my apartment from work. I see her on the corner next to McDonalds, across from the motel. Her ears are pink and she still has no coat. I stop next to her, roll the passenger window down and lean towards her. I ask, “Did everything work out ok for you last week?”

She looks left and right before approaching my little car. She shakes her head no.

I ask, “Can I phone someone for you?”

She says, “Will you take me to State and Third? I can walk home from there, my mom is so worried.”

I nod, lean over further and unlock the door. I pull the latch and give it a push. She gets in. Diana Krall serenades us with a low Besame Mucho. I hand her my leather gloves. With a little hesitation, she slowly pulls them on. We drive to State and Third in silence.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Cold Turkey

I neglected to stop for a coffee this morning. There is no coffee at the office, as everyone else prefers tea or is allergic to caffeine. I thought I could simply buck-up and do without for once. Over the course of the day, I experienced the most hideous and extreme symptoms of withdrawal I ever imagined.

8 AM: I'm a little sleepy. What is this sensation? Hunger? Thirst? Hummm... It's not entirely evident.

9:30 AM: My boss and coworkers begin to look like Muppets - I have no empathy for their minor inconveniences and their soul-less eyes mock me. I check my top desk drawer for ephedra, I'm out.

10 AM: I've slumped to nearly eye level with my desk top and my tongue has split into a forked serpent tongue. The big boss - standing across from my desk - wants me to determine why the copy machine won't accept copy paper. I look up from under my eyelids and hiss.

11:30 AM: The headache has begun. I've thrown two temper tantrums so far and have come dangerously close to beaning a coworker with my Swingline.

12:15 PM: My headache is unbearable. I'm curled under my desk, fists pressed to my temples, teeth grinding. I feel a distinct fraternal bond with recovered heroin addicts.

3 PM: Co-workers have finally come to the conclusion that it's better to leave wounded animals to themselves to recover or die alone. This, in itself, is a small relief.

5:30 PM: The programming brawler comes to retrieve me, wraps me in a thick towel to immobilize my claws and spiny tail. Being trained in emergency situations he knows to drive to the nearest gas station. He purchases a coffee and moistens a sponge to dab on my lips. I attempt to bite his fingers.

I’m currently succumbing to a redeye at the local internet café and feeling much better, thank you.

Monday, October 10, 2005

The Best Pickup Line Ever: National Marketing Convention 2005

We all know the following pickup line rule of thumb: Tell the pretty girls they’re intelligent; tell the smart girls they’re beautiful… but what do you tell those girls who make a living writing pickup lines for products?

Tell the girls in marketing that they look like stock photography.