The Move...Again

Part 2 - ...The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

My uncle's house is very nearly a mansion. Six or seven bedrooms, secret doors, small sections of walls removed to be filled with opulent statues and commissioned murals. I was apprehensive about grabbing the handle to the black, metal gated home; concerned that Foad had somehow connected electrodes to it. Turns out that won't be installed until next month.

Right before dinner, Foad, Lena (his boisterous and demanding daughter) and I retreated to his overwhelmingly wood-paneled office while things were prepared. I could smell the gyro meat cooking as I punched away at keys to access my email account, housing the travel plans. Lena sat on Foad's lap, wasting sheet upon sheet of return address stickers for his business to no retaliation. He explained that my aunt might be able to get a discount from FedEx if I decide to ship my bed, desk and CD storage unit while selling the rest. Leaving me to drive up in my car instead of there being the necessary driver for car, driver for truck. I looked over at Lena, plastering a sheet of paper with their address in gold leaf and shook my head.

After dinner we again sat around in the office, Lena now at the helm clicking links for songs by the Wiggles and Barney to permeate the nervous atmosphere that I guarantee only I could notice. There was no way I would be willing to sell my things simply to save fifty dollars, I explained to him. He sighed and the cost-cutting discussion continued. Bounding from one uncomfortable territory to another I fiddled with the entry way to the secret passageway that lead to the master bedroom's closet; a room that I'm sure I could live comfortably in. Things did seem rushed, but why fight something that has fallen together so perfectly, minus an extra driver.

I stood on the phone with Budget, the rental company I had employed, to ask about any other options on hitching my car up to the truck. Turns out there were; I stopped noticing the left over gyro meat in the air and called my brother-in-law about driving options.

R.I.P. Coretta Scott King

Staunch in her belief in non-violent civil rights protests and civil rights reform.

To be said 19 times

To help decision making.

"Thou seest me, O my God, detached from all save Thee and cleaving unto Thee. Guide me, then, in all mine affairs unto that which profiteth me for the glory of Thy Cause and the loftiness of the station of thy loved ones."

Baha'u'llah

The Move...Again

Part 1 – Apprehension yet Staunch Belief

Last night I didn't sleep well. An unusually long hour of lying under the sheets followed by about a half hour several hours later. I'm not exactly sure when I woke up for the half hour, but I seem to recall it being "18:06"; which was bizarre in and of itself. Both times, while I lay there, I buried my head under the spare pillow with Motion City Soundtrack songs playing like a jukebox that someone had stockpiled with quarters and left for something more interesting. Intermittently, pictures of me would flash. I’m packing a Budget rental truck by myself, driving by myself, laying in a hotel bed, flying back down and driving my car back, and another of me sitting in my friend Joseph’s apartment crying, looking strangled for air, all to accompany the music. The stop-motion daydream lay addled with me reflecting the sentiments of the cold snap wind I imagined was outside, moving the trees’ branches in some kind of order. All I could do was be there at that moment.

I said some prayers and imploded down to the bed only to have the music start up again. My grandparents had told me earlier in the day that I could spend a week at their house before I left. I explained that there was no way for me to move twice, or take off the work necessary for such a thing to happen. They both expressed an understanding, but persisted as a foreshadowing of what would occur while I tried to sleep.

I recall then giving everything to Someone on a mountain. They were gracious in accepting the burden that was my presentation, and I felt lighter. Like beaming. A shockwave of light enveloped everything leaving a smile and pictures of family and large-smiled friends whom I missed and wanted to hug and surprise.

It all stunted and stopped abruptly, and I slipped under.

Momentary lows breed longer peeks of smiles and laughter

Things are still weird. I'm trying to complete a few tasks; stop staring at visitor hits all day long; a break from the monotony.

Popular, Fashionable Opinion

I turned the key down immediately after explaining my feels on homosexuality to the voice on the other end of my yuppie Bluetooth headset. It remained silent. Long enough for me to reiterate, "that's just my belief on the issue." The voice doesn't seem entirely excited with this revelation. I turn to see people adjusting chairs in my seat and the brown bag of food milling around my fingers. The voice mocks surprise, shocked would probably be a better word for the reaction; awkward, for the conversation. A naked tree refracting on my dashboard but still making noise through gaps in the car’s construction and I tell the voice that I need to head into Feast; that I have to go. It concedes, and avails itself a “goodbye”.

Oh my God!!!!

"You there, tell me how long it is until ten years is up..."

And then there's this!

Yes, I still love Pandora; even after it suggested Asia

I've been asked to supply less thicket (general, quick synopses) and more brush (thought provoking content) to the blog. Sorry, I've been busy taking care of things at work. Plus, I just plain don't have much to write about. Except how working here is an exercise in patience and that Billy Blanks is a bald, kick boxing machine.

If you’re chomping at the bit for something meaty…I can write about my continuing work with international usage reports, how completely wonderful it is to uncontrollably laugh at a ugly couch, my overuse of ‘c’ words in this sentence, the disbelief that a reporter has been kidnapped in Iraq who was trying to spread the word about how the U.S. was mistreating the situation or how cool it is that someone has created a Pong clock that calculates a second with each blip of the ball; but I have a feeling that no one is interested in any of those things.

Something will move down the chain later in the week. I promise you this!

Woo Hoo!!

Hooray for infectious laughter!

I learned today that the road block that had been placed in my job search has just caused another road to sprout up from the grass. I'd jump and click my heels together if my hip didn't hurt so much...plus people would stare at me even more then they already do.

Happy Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day

Remember him as a hero...

You're confused, just think what was going through my head when I got that call

Last night I received a call at around eleven...somewhere around then. I'm not quite sure, I was asleep. Anyway, it doesn't bother me that someone called while I slept, happens all the time. What's weird about this is that it came directly after the weirdest dream I've had in a long time, and the sheer fact that I remembered that I got the call. I'll explain...

On average, I remember about 0.5% of all my dreams. That's not a lot. Last night, I remembered one, and it was a doozy. So, I walk into a dog adoption place with a woman on my arm, and we're looking for a dog. This guy dressed in khaki opens this tiny door and says, "What do you think of this one?" It's a terrier, and I respond, "Sweet, he's a cutie." (I did mention this was a weird dream right? I don't recall the last time I used the word 'cutie', but I'm pretty sure I was either joking or four.) I look over at the woman next to me, apparently she nods, and the Khaki Man opens other little door, "How about him?" "Ah man, he is awesome! I love beagles!" I then turn and the woman nods. At this point I'd like to suggest that, perhaps, this woman and I were married or dating; we were awful close. Anyway, Khaki Man then opens up this larger door and says, "How about a bear-dog?" This...thing comes walking out of the doorway, and it’s massive. Fur spiked and...orange and brown for some reason. The thing looks nothing like a bear. "Yeah, he's all right." The bear-dog then proceeds to maul me.

So, I'm laying there, perfectly calm, being mauled by this "bear-dog" that looks nothing like a bear and more like one of those weird Pokemon characters who's ability seems to be "mauling David", and I say, as nonchalantly as possible, "I'm not so sure about this one". The thing is biting me all over, and the Khaki Man pulls him off me and brings it back to the doorway. I stand up, shake my head with a smile, covered in bites and the woman is laughing. (What a great girlfriend/wife I have in this dream! She's probably thinking, Well, it happens with a shrug.) Then, the Khaki Man opens another small door and leads this orange, spotted...cat...thing into the room. And he says, "This is a cheetah-dog," as if it were something common-place. (I simply must interject again here and point out that this creature look nothing like a dog. Nothing! Cat? Yes. Dog? No.) I take a few steps toward the "cheetah-dog", turn to the Khaki Man and say, "Yeah, he's pretty cool." Then the "cheetah-dog" starts attacking me. I'm on the ground, with the "cheetah-dog", and its trying to kill me. I have a smile on my face for some reason and I say, "Awww, I love him, I'll take him." This is when I woke up...

This is an actual dream that I had, and in everyway should influence why it’s a good thing that I don’t remember my dreams.

From the 'Duh' Department

A woman just called me from the Dallas Morning News. She wanted to know if I wanted a 7-day subscription to the paper. My immediate response, "This is the American Heart Association." To which she replied, "Do you get the paper at your business?" "What about at home?" Soon there after she asked if my manager was around. Exciting stuff!

I wonder if she’s calling any other publishers who are struggling to move non-web-based publications?

I don't know that its sentimental as much as it is sappily full of the truth

I watch the Colbert Report too much

Joe and Flo have been married 66 years, and were both living together in a home for the elderly. They still kissed each other, Joe still gave Flo flowers and Flo still reminded him of the simple things that he had begun forgetting.

I heard the story two mornings ago as I got ready for work, and I found it meandering around in my head for the rest of the day. Flo’s (88) health was deteriorating, she had cancer several times and needed a walker to get around, and Joe (92) was displaying signs of dementia and Alzheimer’s. He would forget where he was, suddenly become irritated and lash out at anyone near him and he had hit Flo. There doesn’t seem to be a belief that Joe wanted to do anything wrong. He loved his wife, and seemed uneasy around his granddaughter, who recorded the experience, for fear that he may do something to her as well. There is a moment where his granddaughter comes into Joe’s room and wants to talk to him, and he refuses; getting angry, yelling.

Eventually, Flo moves to California without Joe. She fears that his episodes will get worse – they do. Of course, like any modern story, Joe is moved out to California to be near his wife. When they see each other Joe has a flower and a snappy pick up line.

Why am I mentioning such a story on this blog? Well, there have been a lot of studies that have recently suggested a link between diabetes and Alzheimer’s disease, and I’m thinking about much of a pain in the ass I can be right now and how much worse I’ll be if I get it. Will my wife leave for California, but still be supportive of me, even when I don’t have sense enough to wipe the drool from my mouth? I’ve always been the type of person who needs people to keep going. Needs a face, a voice or letters on a screen to prove…something, I don’t know what. Perhaps that I’m loved, but I somehow doubt that. Or that people remind me of whom I am. Nearly every day I talk to people online or in person and if fuels me. Keeps me remembering who I should be instead of falling inline with everyone else I see everyday. Keeps my mind on spiritual matters; on the far more important issues of calling myself to account each day or letting Baha’u’llah’s love shine through me at all times.

Maybe it’s just fear that caused me to write this. Fear that I may turn into a husk of my former self. That I will have no idea who I or anyone else is when I get old, and somehow have no idea where to turn to remind me. At that point will I even know that I’m a Bahá’í? That my life is what it is because of the Bahá’í Faith? Or will it all turn into a fuzzy reminder of something that I once remembered, frustrating me.

I told my friend Lindsey that there’s around a 70% chance that I’ll develop Alzheimer’s, or so I understand. Her response, “but a 30% [chance] you won’t”. Hopefully by then I’ll feel refueled by a face, a voice or letters on a screen, or simply by picking up the Writings and smiling.

P.S. - There was an interesting article in the New York Times about the diabetes epidemic in East Harlem that I feel inclined to share.

Oh man! Apple just rolled out a whole bunch of new stuff! Holy mugatastico! Go watch the Key Note. Seriously.

News of the day...

Yesterday I received a "gift" in the mail from Scion apologizing for there already being a recall on the sunroof of my car. Its a scale model Scion tC. Weird...

News of the day...

1. Shirin will be participating in a geography bee in the next couple weeks! Woo!

2. The HR employee who I was interviewing for a position quit last week, and dropped "the ball" on my interview. I'm told that in the next few days I'll receive a call to schedule another phone screening and possibly a proper phone interview with a new recruiter. Well, that answers a lot of questions.

3. Corey Patterson was traded to the Baltimore Orioles today for two single-A minor leaguers. There's no guarentee that he'll do better with the O's than he did with the Cubs, poorly, but we'll just see, shant we.

Monday morning - HBX pulls, Stats Update, etc.

For the past month or so I haven't attended our weekly publishers’ conference call. This is not for wont of being there, but rather that I no longer receive the meetings on my calendar or meeting agendas in my email a day prior. On Friday I received a whopping six invites to meetings, mostly publishers conference calls, by way of Linda, our Publishing Coordinator, but no agendas. Today is my first meeting and I'm sitting here, scheduling my week and writing a post in my spiral bound booklet from Sessions of last year; with the blue, futuristic man unraveling on the cover.

Heather and Joe attempt to man-handle the publishing schedule for the next few weeks, the schedule that Tom used to rule and fielded questions over. They both tried to hide their relative obliviousness to the subject matter as Heather stammered over words, repeating herself several times over, scratching the red stress rash she was developing under her chin. Joe, on the other hand, sits, arms crossed on the table looking like a frosh-security guard amidst the fog outside and what lays thick in the room.

I'm asked three questions, all off-the-cuff and unrelated to the subject matter, an obvious sign that Heather is trying to slow the meeting down and relinquish control over what is uncontrollable. Her fingers flip her pencil around in her right hand.

P.S. - Don't get me wrong here. I feel bad that things are so chaotic, I'm just not sure how I can help, or if I really want to.

Let life move like leaves in high winds

I've been focusing on numbers, figures and geographical internet usage for the last week or so and my brain has begun focusing on things of that nature, divorcing itself from thoughts of essays, prose or thinly thought-out ramblings. Doesn't feel natural. No descriptions used, just raw data. Then I start writing a post in this box, and it fills back in like the 'T' shaped blocks from Tetris. Posts are going to come as they come on this blog, no predisposed ideas that everyday something will be constructed and plopped onto the internet. No schedules, no raw data, only experience-based things. With the occasional link that I find humorous.

The Variety Hour

New Years Eve and there's a jumper:

...after attempting several times to block out the screeching of the three 12-year old girls at the glow of MTV's New Years Eve "event", I looked to my left to see one of the kids jumping onto Melodi's back and sinking his teeth into the top of her head like she was an apple. She calmly, somehow, tried to grab him and lift him off her, failing, then trying to shake him off. Each rotation looked more painful. I pulled him off her and held him above Medlodi's head, making sure there was no bleeding or major damage, the delivered him unto the couch. "You're going to sit now." He defied, so I grabbed him again and sat him down. Not more than a minute later he realized that the couch was parallel to the short wall and gave him easy access to the opening that led down to the doorway on the first floor. He made a move toward it. I lunged after him, sitting him back down. "No, you're sitting now!" But he fought his way free and made another leap. Everyone in that upstairs "entertainment room" was screaming at either the TV or the fact that I was trying to prevent a nearly three-year old child from plummeting to his death. His dad, with the swiftness of a new amputee, stomped up the stairs, grabbed his son, gave me the nastiest look I've ever seen and stomped back down the stairs. I looked over at Melodi to see if she was all right, then Sanam and Layla. They were all confused at what had just transpired. Thoughts of, "why did that kid just try to kill himself?" and "why was his dad mad at David for saving him?" zipped through their heads like the 12-year olds' screaming. Soon there after, I left...

"I'm making honking noises! With my mouth!"

...I wasn't sure how late we would be at the game. Probably around eleven, twelve o'clock depending on the outcome and traffic, I thought to myself, sitting in the drivers seat of my car quickly chewing and swallowing my North Beach sandwich. I would have to be at work early the next morning, well, as early as I normally have to be at work, and I wasn't too excited about it. Soon there after, Sanam called to meet them in front of the Champs as I finished, opened the door and shoved the sandwich's packaging into its bag and threw everything of consequence into my bag.

Giving myself a shot of seven units of insulin in the back of Sanam's dad's SUV, Sanam blurts out, "So, David, after that kid who tried to jump got downstairs he told his mom, 'Mommy, I just wanted to jump once, mommy.'"...

Card into Gate? Check. Card into door? Computer? Phone? No? Stress induced neck pains? Check.

...I walked around the office with an irritated, faux cool strut. If Yoshee had seen me, he would have a) laughed, b) slapped his knee, c) pointed, d) asked what was wrong...

Be cool, my babies.