LIfe is a highway

WRITING POSITIONS AVAILABLE
St. John Tradewinds newspaper
seeks a qualified writer for a
special columnist position.
Position includes writing a
weekly column. Column topics
would consist primarily of
St. John issues as they relate
to its native population.
Candidate must be able to
meet weekly deadlines.
Please send cover letter,
resume and writing samples to:
St. John Tradewinds
Attn: MaLinda Nelson
P.O. Box 1500
St. John, VI 00831
or fax to 693-8885

Maybe some of you have been following my count down on gmail. Six more days till Maho Bay. B and I will be embarking on a five day vacation to St. John for some beaching, snorkeling, sailing and four wheel driving. Not that I hate my job or anything, but everyone seems so miserable around here. It weighs on the shoulders day in and day out and may one day break someones back.

 

It just doesn't feel right, sitting in an office for 10 hours a day, five days a week. Say you average a 9 hour day, work 48 weeks a year, take 2 weeks of vacation and another handful of days for sick days and holidays. That's 2/3rds of your year spent working 2/3rds of your waking day (an extra hour for commuting). And the 1/3rd you have to yourself, you spend thinking about that 2/3rds of your life at work. 1/3rd of you that is awake and yearning for something more...fulfilling, something beautiful. And like a car pushed to the limit, we're given a little oil to keep the gears going, accepting our fate on this congested highway. The volume 1/3rd of the way up on the radio playing commercial after commercial. buy me, you need this, eat here. Looking out our fogged windows at the world around us.

 

Yikes, I need a vacation. Maybe I'll apply for that job too.

 

 

Boston Massacre

I know. I haven't posted anything in a while. It's that end of the baseball season race where the winners get seperated from the losers and after the recent Boston Massacre, I know where my team lies - with the Chess club kids who get made fun of by the AV kids.

 

There was a tug at the heart this past weekend each time I watch Damon come up to bat:

 

We went for a beer and I proceeded to order way too glasses of Glendivich 18, neat.

Damon: you all right man?

Me: F.. you, ass.

Damon: I thought you were my friend?

Me: I hate you. You're dead to me.

Damon: Remember that time we all dressed up to look like cave men? We can't forget the good times. That's all we have.

Me: (Visibly drunk and slurring) Here's a $50 (throw it at Damon. Falls over a little) Thanks for the good time, whore!

(Damon slips the money in his pocket, downs his beer and leaves crying)

Me: Good riddence. Bartender, give me another scotch and one for my invisible center fielder.

 

Three thoughts this morning

1. I need a hair cut.

2. Work sucks.

3. The Red Sox are sucking a lot.

Sick?

Well, the secretary who gets paid a lot more then I do is sitting at her cube reading a trashy love novel. Now I haven't seen the title of it, but there is a woman on the cover of it in a blue colonial dress that shows enough cleavage to make a holy man sin. Enough with the bitterness that usually comes with a Monday, what I really wanted to write about is my weekend battle with a virus.

Now I haven't been seriously sick in a span of two to three years. The last time I was sick may have been Senior year of college during the winter after finals. It was one of those two days, out of commission, fever type things. I've had my colds and sore throats, but nothing lasting longer then a few days. Maybe it's because I eat well, and exercise a lot, but maybe it's my fondness for a dark glass of whiskey, or a combination of everything.

This Saturday, however, yours truly got sick. during the day I felt fine, but then 2pm hit, and I felt like Sonny Liston after Muhammad Ali's knock out punch that no one saw. I had shivers, my head felt like it was going to give birth to Athena, and my stomach was doing its own macherena. What did I do? I tried to go out. It was suppose to be one of those blow out party nights where you wake up the next day wondering why you have a receipt for 3 Gatorades and microwavable Mama Celeste green pepper pizza in your hand from Rite Aid. Alas, I did the 10 minute walk to the Metro with the whole heated intention of getting on but, I walked in to the Giant supermarket instead. I bought all the drinks in the supermarket that was splashed with labels yelling ANTI-OXIDANT, VITAMINS, HEALTHY, etc...and Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia. Walked back home and proceeded to sleep for thirteen hours.

By noon the next day, I was fine. I helped a friend move, went to the mall, did laundry and weeded the garden. So was I really sick? Can I continue my streak and say 'I haven't been sick for so and so long' or does the streak count start over? I say no. It was simply a mere inconvenience. Although there was a half hour period during my inconvenience where I did want to be back in Boston, climb up the stairs to the master bedroom, knock on the door and tell my loving parents, "I feel sick." Such a baby.

Heat index

In extreme heat, one has to learn a certain patience. The heat index is at a suffocating 102 degrees Fahrenheit in Washington, DC. People will act a little crazy and sooner or later you'll be acting a little crazy. It's like Night of the Living Dead, where we all start walking like zombies, bumping into each other, our mouths open and legs apart, moving to a cool shade and air conditioned buildings.

 

While on the Metro yesterday morning at Union Station, an angry black man walked on screaming obscenities at a balding middle-aged white man. Black man had a disc man, big head phones, a black tank top, black hat and black jean shorts. White man had on a white shirt, red tie and gray slacks.

 

White man says, "I don't appreciate being threatened."

The Black man stands up and out of his seat, braces himself on the bar and yells, "Fuck head. If I was a threatening you, You'd be lying on the ground bleeding right there." He points in between the metro seats. "So, no I'm not fucking threatening you, ASSHOLE!"

 

The morning rush hour commuters all look at each other with the expression - it's really too hot and too early for this.

 

I saw a little old lady dancing in line at the Whole Foods in Silver Spring last night because in her hand was peacan ice cream.

 

I haven't lost it yet, but I had this desire to walk through every bubbling fountain on the way to work this morning.

 

 

I just got this message from Metro

Disruption at All Stations towards All Stations. (Expect crowded conditions and delays due to extreme temperatures.)