I’m on lunch break at work. After I made the promise a few weeks ago that I would write something, I’ve come to peace with the idea that this place is as good as any to open up and take it all in. If you remember, I used to be all about getting in touch with the writing muse, drowning myself in all of that poetic stuff. But for the last 16 months or so I’ve been stubborn. I got pissed off and tuned myself out. I wrote things, but I wasn’t expressing anything about what I saw or felt or thought about. This assignment was intended to allow me to throw myself into a situation that might break something loose. Chip away at this wooden Indian. The effort would put me back into the practice of seeing things like a writer. I might need this, not only for spiritual survival, but for money. It’d be good to know I can go to places confidently and do my job, like if I had to do a report on a secret gang meeting or spend a week behind bars, or maybe infiltrate a filthy rich person’s New Years Eve party. I have to know I can still DVR these scenes in my head and regurgitate all the nitty gritty wrinkles into writing
For now, I’m in the dining area of the cafeteria on the first floor of my building. This should be familiar to me by now, as I’ve eaten here around sixty-five percent of the time over the last three and a half months worth of work days. But, truthfully, it’s not that familiar. I never know what to expect. It’s Tuesday and I’m eating Chicken Cesar Salad. Chicken Cesar Salad is normally served on Thursdays. This will be the last plate of Chicken Cesar Salad – the near-pound of lettuce, quarter-gallon of dressing, crouton and chicken chunks, greasy breadstick, tomatoes absent – I will eat this year.
I sit alone. So far I have sat at the same table with another person only once. While I was nursing a respectable ham-turkey-bacon deli sandwich, an obese man, probably in his late twenties, with love handles bursting around the top-half of his back, which made it look like his arms started at his elbows, sat down with me. The outer tables in the room were pretty crowded, so I had taken a seat at one of the longer tables in the middle. My lunch friend couldn’t fit at one of the unattended standard square tables, so he sat at the head of my table, the opposite end from me, which was wide enough for him. A few slick bits of hair dripped from the front his scalp like salamander tails. He had a cone-y chin beard, kind of like a character out of Guitar Hero. I can’t recall what he smelled like, but, if I had to guess it, it would be the wet scent of deep fried BK hash browns, slightly burnt, accompanied by the humid odor of swamp ass. I threw back the rest of my Garden Salsa Baked Lays chips, picked up my backpack and fled the scene.
I got a promotion. I'll be able to write more stories. In light of this, I want to work on my craft. I've decided to give myself an assignment. Not for the paper or for a teacher, just for myself and for practice, and probably for WT. The best possible assignment would probably be “go to a place that is out of your comfort zone and write about it.” It would most likely be in Omaha, or maybe Lincoln or Iowa. Any suggestions?
Do you sometimes want to turn on Larry David mode and complain about something just for the sake of complaining/conversation?
Well, ever since Thanksgiving whenever I go somewhere, to buy beer let’s say, when I leave the vendor says to me, "Have a nice holiday.” And I think to myself, “Holiday? What holiday is December 10th? Is it Chanukah? No. Chanukah starts Dec. 21 this year. What, is every day in December considered a holiday?”
I don’t know if its part of the holiday spirit or if it’s meant to fight seasonal depression, but why say something when it won’t be true for weeks? Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I’m not celebrating much. There’s no turkey dinner or pumpkin pie. No true national holidays.
I dropped this LD bomb on my haircut lady yesterday. She said people say it because they won't see you again before Christmas or New Years. She may have a point here, but still, why not save the wishes until a few days beforehand?
Maybe I should take this as I sign that I am not yet in the holiday spirit. Heck, I haven't even started xmas shopping.
This year is different though. No semester exams plus crowded plane ride home plus hanging out with old friends in a place you haven’t been for a while. It doesn’t feel like the holidays just yet.
The Wandyteeth Fun Factory founders held a focus meeting this past week, in which scenarios of conceptual reconception were discussed. With the current state of the economy, WT is determined to ensure its members cheap entertainment in the form of relatable web content. The challenge our community has faced over the last dozen quarters is how to negotiate the style of a time-honored blog with an ever-maturing, less interested audience.
For example, traditionally I would fill space by mocking everything, especially myself, in a discussion about how in the span of about 18 months my pants size has ballooned from 32w to 38w. I have been thirsty, chugging brew and rum as my metabolism has rolled to a halt. But, these days, what context am I writing this in? Why would pals I see only every so often perceive this status update as must-read? That sort of yapping might be intended as chummy small talk, but could easily be received on any Thursday as miserable noise.
A new idea is only half a connected dot away.
What about a site that runs only brief status updates? They would be funny, mindless and easy. Well, that wouldn't work because that function is already available in facebook and twitter. It really is best to keep things fresh.
I figure the solution to this stagnation is one of potentially many answers to the question: What is the best way to interact with friends through a website so that friends feel like they spend time together and are friendly? I've got nothing.
But, I offer up the following idea for inspiration – back when I wrote people letters, someone wrote back that their friend's dad made sure to write at least 5 thank you notes every day. They could be to anyone, as long as he felt they helped him out somehow and should be thanked. I think within the driving force of being thankful lies the same shared kindness and easiness we are looking for.