Dreams, and "dreams"

Suggested soundtrack, "Where is my mind?" by The Pixies

Things are plugging along here in Texas.
I'm all excited about my visit in September, can't wait to see everyone.
Since a typical weeks' schedule can be found in an earlier post, I won't bore anyone with those details. What I will do, though, is talk about some of the crap that's been going through my head lately as I wander the hot streets of Dallas, alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company.
I think about dreams. I haven't had any good ones lately, and to that I attribute a severe decline in the amount of alcohol and ilicit substances that I consume. At most, I can get drunk out here. And I have. But the best dreams, and pre-sleep thinking, came when I was stoned out of my mind. Since they execute people for marijuana possesion here, I won't even DARE mess with the green (okay, they don't execute potheads here, but jail time is required. They do announce executions proudly on the radio though, and describe the condemned [A recent profile: "...he was convicted two days after his 18th birthday, so the death penalty WAS available. Praise Jesus. Now back to Ultra-Conservative-Christian-Viewpoint, Gay-and-Black-Hating News Hour." Grim, huh?]. The Great State Of Texas recently executed it's 400th criminal since the reinstatement of the DP, and doesn't show any sign of stopping. But I digress...). So I can't smoke and go to bed while listening to music, which is, for want of a better term, a major bummer. But I remember an instancein San Diego when I was going to bed, and high as a kite, and I tried for the better part of an hour to have an out-of-body experience. Or at least get to the point where it didn't always feel like I was facing the way my eyes were oriented. Do you see what I'm saying? Am I making myself clear? It didn't make sense to me that when my eyes were closed, and it was dark, I still could only feel like I was facing forward. Why is that? Is our whole consciousness lined up with our eyeballs? If so, why? They are our windows to the world, granted, but should they determine the alignment of our soul? Close your eyes, relax, and try to feel like you are facing any direction exept the one you are facing. It's freakin' impossible!! But that night, I almost shifted it. I got close. I think. If we can die, and leave our body behind, why can't whatever it is that is making our body work for us move around without the body? I know I'm asking a lot of questions, and I still ask myself these questions. The answer, to me at least, would have something to do with out-of-body-experiences. Now I'm not one to believe in mystical crap, or crystal healing, or Sedona, or whatever, but I could get behind the out-of-body thing, if it could answer my questions. I recently read an article...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/6960612.stm

...that talks about recreating out-of-body experiences with science, and contained the following quote, by one Dr Ehrsson: "This experiment suggests that the first-person visual perspective is critically important for the in-body experience. In other words, we feel that our self is located where the eyes are."
AHA!!! I'm right!! I sugggest an large government grant be given to me immediately, along with a laboratory, an apple PowerBook, a comfy bed, two incredibly hot female lab assistants, and three pounds of sticky California green. I'll crack this thing wide open. In a matter of weeks.
Moving on from the science and research portion of today's post...

...to the Heredity and Family portion.
So speaking of dreams, I got to thinking about mine. The figurative kind. The kind that brought me to Texas. I'm not here for anything more glamourous than money. As mentioned before, I want to one day own my own bar. Will that dream fall away if I stay here too long? I'm not sure this was such a bright idea sometimes, but I couldn't save money for my own business by socking away $100 a month waiting tables. On the family front, my dad couldn't be happier. There have always been lofty expectations set upon me by my father. Despite bad grades in everything but Art and English, and early signs of alcoholism, he believed in me even through high school. While I loafed around in community college he still had hope, especially after my brother got married, fathered a child, and got divorced in the space of a year. "You will be something someday," he said. Not many high expectations were placed on my sister who, in a shocking turn of events, married a good man and moved to a nice state and is living a happy and secure life and is having what will turm out to be a beautiful and well-cared-for baby. If she keeps it up, she will break all current Molitor relationship-longevity records. The great thing about this is that no one expected Susanna to turn out so well. I love my sister dearly, but for a while there the family was extrememly worried. The bad decisions that most teenage girls make seemed to be becoming her way of life, but then she turned it all around. Her sweet and caring side finally beat out her rebellious and stubborn side, and she has been justly rewarded with stable employment, good lodgings and a loving husband. I, on the other hand, have always been expected to do great things. Whenever I don't, I am reminded sarcastically by my father. I wonder, then, am I just doing this whole Texas move to prove that I can do the normal thing, and do it well, and make something of my life, using the most traditional path? If so, I might have to be disappointed in myself. I never considered myself traditional, and I wanted any success I ever got to be the result of my creativity, not my ability to work hard at menial tasks for long periods of time. But here I am. I still write, but my ability to make movies is hindered by the fact that I have nothing to make them with (though my first big purchase planned is a PowerBook and a digital video camera). So if I wanted to make it creatively, the fact that I'm writing loans instead of waiting tables should have nothing to do with it. I'm actually writing MORE out here, since I don't have anything else to do. So actually, instead of cursing my situation, I should be thankful for it (I am actually thankful for it). Maybe this is my great test. My exile. My "wilderness years." And when it's done, I'll be a better writer, a harder worker, a more patient father-figure, and a richer bastard. Then, I can be the best damn bar-owner in the country.
I feel better now. Thanks for listening.
Until next time...

Reviews of various things...

Suggested Soundtrack: Cat Powers, "Lived In Bars"



...or, if you like something a little more meloncholy, "The Greatest" (Live)



It's Saturday, and the family has left for "The Lake" for a weekend of lounging and wakeboarding and mosquitoes. I decided not to go, and consequently am bored beyond belief. After going to the outlet malls and stopping off for lunch, I'm back home running around in my underwear blasting music throughout the house. The dogs are going nuts. I've decided to to a "Review" post, to rate some of the stuff I've come across here in Texas. So, without further ado:

CAT POWER
I got a tip-off from my friend Brooke in California that a "Cat Power" show was coming to Dallas. I like cats, but empowering them and parading them in front of a paying audience is something I can't support. Realizing that Brooke wouldn't weigh me down with such inane bullshit , I googled "Cat Power" and found that it is the stage name of a popular indie musician who, besides having an adoring fan base and substantial credibility among critics, is also pretty hot. I was in. I ran my decision past Kelsea of The Wrong Trousers, who seconded my decision. The show was held at the (allegedly) famous Granada Theatre. I bought a ticket, convinced a co-worker to go with me, and headed out with high hopes. I had bought Cat Power's most recent album, "The Greatest," and was enjoying it immensely (kinda like a blues-y Feist with some Elliott Smith undertones and a lot of piano). The theatre was great.

Old, really old, with balconies and bars and all the seats taken out so there was terraced standing room. Beer in hand, I went upstairs to get a good view. Hot female musicians attract many hot female music fans, I discovered. After the opening act, the usual routine: lights go down, curtain comes up, everyone cheers; stage is revealed as empty, back to the beers; ten minutes later as stage is populated, everyone cheers; the people on stage turn out to be roadies, back to the beers; a solitary figure walks on stage and picks up a guitar, everyone cheers; he says "Check, check, one two" and leaves the stage, back to the beers. I hate this part of every show. Then she fianlly comes out, with a tiny terrier, and everyone (probably 400 people) goes freakin' nuts. What a great show. She kicked ass, her band (made up of semi-famous jazz and blues musicians, I heard) was on fire, and her dog made the occasional appearance. I had a powerful "Ah-HA!" moment as the hot female fans I had noticed earlier began pairing up and making out. I was at Lilith Fair Lite! But it was cool. Besides her stuff, she did three covers (New York, New York; Tracks of my Tears; Satisfaction) that were so different in music and cadence that it took a moment to figure out that I knew the song she was singing. After the show, Chan (Cat's real name, pronounced "Shawn," I was told) said goodnight and as people left, she told everyone that they were recording a live album during the show and that we all were welcome to stick around while they went through some of the songs again. So I did. Went right up front, since 60% of the people had left. Enjoyed another hour of music, and got to pet the dog, since she let him on stage. Great! Probably the best time I've had in Dallas so far. Hope to be able to share more good times in the future.


TRAFFIC
There is a peculiar custom here in Texas. This is in their terrible handling of traffic accidents. Namely, they leave them there. I've seen this a few times now. A car will rear-end another in the middle of the freeway, and officers arriving on scene will leave it sitting there. So a fender-bender can shut down a major freeway in rush hour traffic. You find yourself stopped on the interstate, late for work, and getting later, creeping slowly ahead. "If there isn't a dead body up there," you think, "if I don't see a dead human, in pieces, splayed across three lanes, I am gonna be PISSED." Sure enough, when you get to the bottleneck, you see flares shutting down a half mile of three lanes, a Jetta with minor front end damage sitting in the middle of it, and sixteen state troopers in cowboy hats with their thumbs looped into their belts, kicked back and chewin' the fat. "Stupid hicks!" you say. To yourself.


SUPERBAD

Go see it, or you are an idiot. If you go see it and you don't like it, I hate you. While we're there...



THE MOVIE THEATRE

I like the movie theatre because there is a five dollar early bird special and a staff that doesn't care how many movies I sneak into using that five dollar ticket. I don't like the movie theatre for the same reason I don't like most movie theatres, and that is becuse the urinals in the men's rooms never have partitions. A regular ticket costs ten bucks, popcorn costs six, and you can't install a five dollar piece of plywood between pissers so my penis can have a little privacy? Lame. To add insult to injury, Texas doesn't believe in paper towels. Yup, everywhere uses those terrible hand dryers. I wanna dry my hands, not move the water to my fingers and wrists.



CHICK-FIL-A

Wow. Californians are missing out. This was a pleasant surprise. I had asked a fellow trainee what to eat should I end up at Chick-Fil-A. I was told "You go in there and you get yerself a boxa the nuggets, and you get yerself the waffle fries, and a drink, and yer good." Cool. Coming back from shopping, I see a Chick-Fil-A, I remember JP's hot tip, and text Mike (my only friend here) for confirmation: "What do I get at chick-fil-a?" to which I recieve a prompt reply: "number 1." Okay. The number 1 is a chicken sandwich with waffle fries and a drink, so I got that AND the nuggets, and let me tell you, it was great. The nuggets especially. They're chunks of chicken, not the pieced together crap that McNuggets are made of, lightly battered and so on. Delicious. I know there's one in SD now, so go! and eat some nuggets. Not on Sundays, though. They've shunned the American economy by resting on the 7th day.

RESTROOMS AT WORK

As I voided my bladder the other day, I noticed something that had been in front of me since day one, right under my nose, that I had failed to see because it was so obvious. There is a shelf in front of the urinals. Why? you ask. I would ask the same thing. Until the aforementioned "other day" when I noticed the uncompleted brown ring of a coffee stain on the shelf, right under my nose. As it dawned on me that someone actually brought their coffee in to the pisser with them, mild disgust turned into outright horror when I heard the soft, strained grunt of a co-worker using the stall behind me (somebody's bakin' brownies!). How on earth could anyone enjoy coffee with the smell of fecal matter so stong in the air? I almost barfed, and I wasn't trying to consume a flavored beverage. Then, I remembered an old friend of mine who used to take his morning dump with a bowl of cereal in his lap. For him, it was the ultimate in time-saving. I'd rather be late. And I have a desk to set my coffee on, thanks anyway for the little ledge.

COMING HOME FOR A SPELL

YES!!! I just bought a ticket to visit!!! I'll be in San Diego from Friday, September 14th at 5:25pm through Sunday the 16th at 1:17pm. All I'm bringing is the clothes on my back and my board shorts. The reason for the visit is that I miss everyone terribly. Plus I'll be attending a party that's going on at the bay on Saturday. So, a rough schedule:

Friday night: Bar Hopping. You wanna go? Let me know!!

Saturday Day: Maybe breakfast (maybe) and the Bay Party goes from 11-4!! There will be booze and boats and maybe a waverunner!!!

Saturday Evening: Bars, then food, then bars

Sunday Morning: Church.

Sunday Morning, for real though: Breakfast (Eggery?), beach.

Sunday Afternoon: Bye Bye.

I hope that everyone will rearrange their schedules and cancel their appointments so that they can hang out with me. We'll see.

Until next time...

a slice of happy...

Suggested soundtrack: "Aquarius/Let the sunshine in" by The Fifth Dimension



I finally found something cool about the office where I work. It's the walk to lunch.
There's a Subway sandwich shop less than a mile from the office. I go there for lunch usually, and read a bit while I eat my Spicy Italian sub. Mmm. After the first couple of car trips, I realized that it might be better to walk.
The downside is, it's about 104 degrees here during the day. So I didn't expect the walk to be pleasant. But I had to give it a shot, for the following reasons:
- I'm used to a working environment where I am on my feet constantly, and this sedentary new venture is a (literal) pain in my ass. It might have something to do with the 22-hour car trip (see below) that I don't think I've fully recovered from: every time I sit for long periods of time, or more than a half hour in a car, my right leg starts to hurt real, real bad. It gets more pronounced and painful as time wears on, so at the office I'll simply stand up for a minute. In traffic, I go insane from it and turn into an asshole. Which is a roundabout way of saying that I am sick of sitting for four hours, then sitting in a car, then sitting and eating, then sitting in a car again, then sitting back down for another four hours. I gotta throw some actual movement in there.
-A man can only take fluorescent lighting, canned air, mindless chatter and no music for so long.
-The longer it takes to get to Subway, the more time I have to wind down and listen to music. The drive gets in one half of one song, max. If I were to walk, who knows how many songs I can listen to?
-My car's A/C takes a minute to get going. It takes one minute to drive to Subway. So I might as well be outside, right?

Off I went. I had my iPod going, my shirt untucked, and the sun in my eyes. The Subway was around the corner, across the street. The side of the street I work on has no sidewalk. I crossed the street, fully exposed to our closest star, in what was to become the only real hot portion of the walk. Because on the other side, there was a little sidewalk I had not noticed before. It ran between two twin rows of shade trees. The entire walk was shaded! I was cool as a cucumber, stretchin' my shit out, listening to Stevie Wonder and loving life. Thus began a tradition (if something I've done 6 times to date can be considered tradition).
I get alone time, which is nice. I see things that other people in the office never will. I see lots of bugs. My friends the fire ants pop up here and there. Of winged insects there are no shortage: butterflies galore, dragonflies, and the occasional yellowjacket, who tend to buzz around my ankles for a few yards before flying off to do whatever it is that yellowjackets do besides scaring the crap out of me. Huge mushrooms grow out low and flat in places the sun doesn't reach.One time, I got to see a little bird with a long beak nab a dragonfly out of the sky. He landed, set it down and gave it a peck, only to have it fly off. He quickly re-caught the fat green insect as it landed on a leaf, went back to the ground and pecked it twice. Problem solved. As I watched, singing "The Circle of Life" to myself, I realized that although I am not very happy with most of the aspects of my life right now, this walk is mine, and mine alone, and as long as I'm working here I'll have the walk to keep me the slightly sane and tolerably happy.
It's almost like being on my bike, which always made me feel like I was getting more out of travel than anyone in a car was. For instance yesterday, as I thought to myself that there are more and more dead leaves and acorns on the ground with each passing day, a brief but powerful wind kicked up in the middle of what had been a perfectly calm day. For close to a minute, all of the trees waved, letting loose a rain of leaves that poured out sideways and flew in circles, little tornadoes of leaves, as far as I could see, going up and down and around, getting in my hair, smacking into my face, while the leaves already on the ground skidded along like a moving carpet. It me want to spin in circles with my arms outstretched. Instead, I just took it all in, and when it was over, when all the leaves had settled on the ground and the road and the sidewalk, I smiled and looked at the cars driving by and thought: "Suckers."

Until next time...

The Routine...

Suggested soundtrack: "The Sound of Settling" by Death Cab For Cutie



Slipping into a routine...

Week three.
Still in training, done after this week. Hopefully I "hit the phones" soon after and can start to make some real money. Also, it'll really help to know whether this job is gonna rock, or suck, or where it falls on a scale from "rockin'" to "sucky." No mystery regarding training: It sucks the biggest boner ever. The only thing keeping me sane is the cool IM system that is company-wide, so I get to chat with friendly co-workers on the outside, and fellow suffering trainees on the inside. I get to make snide comments regarding the physical appearance and personal hygiene of the trainers, and watch the person I sent it to try and control their giggling. Then it's my turn to get an IM, and so on. For the record, my trainer bears an uncanny resemblance to:

...so the personal remarks aren't hard to come up with.

The routine I settled into (so far) goes like this:

MONDAY:
6am. Wake up
6:20am Wake up, for real this time, commence with the three "S"es
6:45am Start drive to work
7:45am Arrive at work, surf web
8:15am Training starts, surf web at every opportunity
12:15pm Lunch, read a few chapters of current book
1:15pm Back to work, resume surfing web at every opportunity
5:15pm All done, start drive home. Reflect upon how nice it was working in a restaurant: It wasn't like a real job, it was more like a place you stopped by for a few hours on your way to the bars in order to quickly and easily earn beer money with your friends. Then realizing: the office job is a place you spend half of your waking hours at where you are afraid to look at a girl's ass or say bad words or check your myspace, where you eat terrible fast food during your alotted lunch hour and return to more of the same, that is soul-crushing and music-less and repetitive, but pays much better than foodservice and is occasionally unintentionally hilarious. Realize that until I like my job or my town more, for now, my career change was lateral movement
6:30pm Arrive home, angry from traffic and thinking, also physically worn out. As I walk through the door, as a way of saying "welcome," Mia the 150lb mastiff jabs her nose into my balls and buttcrack. Good to see you, too
6:31pm JD asks if I wanna play videogames with him, I tell him I need to change and eat and do various other things
7:15pm I realize, to my horror, that although I changed slowly and put all my clothes away neatly, and fixed my own dinner, and read leisurely while I ate (stopping once or twice to tell JD that I wasn't quite ready to play videogames), and washed and put away the dishes, only 45 minutes have passed since I got home. Such is the nature of time, I realize with zen-like calm
7:25pm I have now changed, slowly, into my swimsuit. JD is knocking on the door to the bathroom asking if he can "come in," and asking if I'm ready to play videogames with him
7:26pm I am settling in with JD to play, as per my strict requirements, "only one level" of Lego Star Wars II. Despite my generosity, and probably in direct response to my surrender, JD "calls" player one, as well as the character he wants to be, meaning he gets to be whoever has a "lightsaver" and I get to be Princess Leia. Every time. "Dude," he shouts, "you have to be the girl. I called the lightsaver guy." Fine. One level only. Dude
7:45pm The one level has been played. I repeatedly assure JD that, yes, I'm positive that I don't want to play another level, and no, I don't have to explain myself to an 8-year-old. (JD isn't terrible, and I hope I don't give that impression. He's a cool kid. He is just stoked to have a friend installed in his house who plays video games, and can barely contain himself. When I was 8 I was probably the same way) I put music on outside and go into the pool
7:48-8:30pm I am in heaven. Or close to it. No people, no dogs, just music, and cool water, and fireflies, and stars
8:45pm Done drying off, I have a snack and read for a bit, maybe watch a movie
10:30pm Bedtime

TUESDAY: See above

WEDNESDAY: See above

THURSDAY: See above

Soundtrack change: "Beer" by Reel Big Fish (Couldn't find the song I wanted)



FRIDAY: See above, until 5:15pm...
5:15pm Change into street clothes in parking lot, drive to pick Mike up from mechanic, adjourn for beers
7:30pm Finally done with mechanic, we head to some random spot, drink two 32oz Shiner Bocks, eat painkillers
8:30pm Go get sushi, more beer, one carafe hot sake, one bottle cold unfiltered sake
9:30pm Sushi chef comes to table with some Shoju, we help him finish the bottle off with tonic
10:10ish Go to bar next door
10:45ish I apparently mass text everyone I know in SD. For the record, I have no idea what I said (my phone doesn't keep track of sent items), but the responses I saw the next day led me to believe that I was in a festive mood. Here's an approximation:


SATURDAY:
10:00am Wake up to the sound of many children yelling and playing
10:15am After peeing for a solid ten minutes, I head into the living room. The kids ask, "What time did YOU get home last light?" I think to myself: "Time? HOW did I get home last night?" but out loud I say, "Real late. Now, Uncle Nik needs some cereal." Eat and read quietly, drink water
4:30pm Head to Mike's for dinner and booze. We make a big batch of strong lemon-and-vodka drink, and drink it all. Then the two of us, plus another guy, finish off a bottle of Crown. "Finally, my hangover is gone," is the last thing I remember thinking

SUNDAY:
Chill at home, watch the Chargers lose

MONDAY:
See previous Monday

...and so on. I could get used to it. Thing is, Not drinking all week leaves me unprepared for the weekend. I'm not a big guy, but I can usually hold my liquor. So all of those years of practice are already out the door. The good thing is, drunk doesn't cost as much. The bad thing is, it doesn't take as long, so I got rocked hard on Friday. I'll try and take it easy on future Fridays.

So, all is getting better, as I've found a bit of relief from the beast of Boredom which looms large. Now, I need to solve the problem of human contact. In San Diego, in the restaurant business, I was in an environment that forced human contact and coworker interaction. None of that here. In San Diego, I got hugs, and kisses, and sometimes more, on a semi-regular basis. Here in Dallas, I haven't recieved so much as a hug. And that sucks. I knew I'd be bored, and that I'd miss friends and socializing on a nightly basis, but the lack of real contact is a terrible thing. Man, I sound whiny. But you miss the contact, trust me. So, I'll continue to bitch about that until I get a piece of Dall-ass. When that happens, you all will be the first to know.

Until then...

Oddities and invisibility...

Suggested Soundtrack: "Lonely Day" by Phantom Planet



The days at work are all the same. They lack the variety of the restaurant shift, with all its activity, and new challenges, and fun coworkers with whom constant interaction is a part of the job. My job, once training is done, will consist of me answering the phone and selling people loans. Not fun in a conventional sense, in any sense really, but potentially highly profitable. I have to remind myself that that is why I am here. I knew it would be tough, and maybe I'm a wimp for complaining so soon, but I'm good at complaining, and I've got some gripes, so I'll get 'em out. In a minute.

But first: Did anyone know that there is no law in Texas that specifically states which way your car should be facing when you park on the street?



It takes some getting used to. You drive down the street, and an oncoming car veers across your lane and stops, facing you, on YOUR shoulder. "Doop-de-do," this person is singing as they hop out, "another good parking job for ol' Randy. Wait a minnit. Why's that guy with California plates lookin' at me like that? Hey fuck you, faggot!"
Welcome to Texas.

One very good thing: Dr. Pepper EVERYWHERE. They make it here. I don't even think the Texans know who Mr. Pibb is.

The radio here isn't terrible. 'Humorous' would be a good word. Driving in to work, I heard an ad featuring a southern couple who were allegedly relaxing and enjoying the sunset, which started normal enough, then took a strange turn:
Husband: "Sure is beautiful out here, little lady."
Wife: "Honey, what's that you're smoking?"
Husband: "Why, it's a Black and Mild. It's got that big, rich, texas flavor."
Wife: "Really? Give me a taste."
(Sucking sound, dramatic pause)
Wife: "Mmmm!!"
...and so on. I almost laughed myself into a telephone pole. Hopefully there's more like this floating around.

In other, related, news, I'm still getting used to the "Smoking or non?" question at restaurants. Gets me every time.

Fireflies kick ass. 'Nuff said.

On getting around: I live about an hour north of Dallas proper, in an area of suburbs known as the "metroplex." There are no natural landmarks to help the newcomer with directional issues. At long last, I have figured out how to effectively navigate this flat and featureless expanse: Water Towers. Every city, town, or half-baked municipality has its very own water tower, complete with the name of said city, town, etc. painted on the side. They are the only thing, besides the random clusters of office towers, that break up the landscape. So: going from Parker to Frisco? Look up. There it is! A big water tower that says "Parker." Now, look around you. Within sight should be ten to twenty more water towers, ranging in distance from "close by" to "peeking over the curve of the earth." Locate the one that a) says "Frisco" explicitly, or b) has some kind of sylized "F" and an American Flag. Drive towards that tower. See how easy? No need for mapquest!

On religion: Churches are big here. Culturally and figuratively. Fucking HUGE. The buildings are massive, warehouse-sized things, that look about as much like a church as a Wal-mart does. Same size parking lot, too. I was invited to go this past Sunday, but I respectfully declined, so that I could do the...

Quadruple Feature!!!! Yes sirree, your movielovin' pal Nik saw four movies on Sunday, in a row. Sunshine, followed by Simpsons, followed by Die Hard, followed by Bourne. The plan was flawlessly executed, the timing was perfect, the price was five dollars. That's right, the first show of the day is only five bucks!! Hahaha! I'm gonna wait a month and do it again. This was a perfect Sunday for me because I love movies, I hate church, and can't ride my bike anymore (see previous post). Plus the weather is always crummy, so I might as well be inside. I would recommend any of the movies I saw. Simpsons was funny as hell, Sunshine was super intense if you're into sci-fi, Bourne was incredible and had the best fistfight ever in it, and Die Hard was, well, Die Hard. I can also proudly claim to have seen the preview for every movie being released for the next year and a half (some I saw twice). I thought I might catch SOME flack, but I moved about the theatre like a ghost. Which leads to my final topic...

The nobody factor. I am nobody here. It's an odd feeling. I'm not saying I was the King of San Diego or anything, but I felt liked in my community, at my job, and it felt nice to go out at random and see people I knew. It took seven years to get to that point, so I can't expect to be embraced immediately by all the cool people of Dallas. Really, do I even deserve anything at this point? I'm a guy, who's new to the area, who owns nothing, and doesn't have his own place, and is still in training for his job. I wasn't expecting to make great friends right away, I really don't even want any new friends. I want my old ones. But it was me who left, so I can't bitch. But is it gonna change me? Was the Nik I was in SD, the Nik of the Wrong Trousers song - happy, carefree, Nik - was he a result of the environment? A cool job, a cool city, great friends, popular with the ladies: is that why I was the way I was? Or did my personality get me those things? I guess the coming months will tell. In the meantime, I have all the time I need to work on my reading, or fitness, or whatever. Maybe I should just avoid all human contact and work work work? No fun there. But a sound financial plan, to be sure. Because as soon as I make friends, I'll start drinking, and partying, and blowing money, which we all know I can't control. What to do, what to do?
I feel isolated. The family I live with is cool, but conversation is limited. I'm missing out on talking to a ton of my friends on a daily basis, and they only lack one friend, easily replaced. Hardly anyone calls me, which is no big deal, because I've never been much of a phone talker. But now it seems that if I have anyone on the line I get out a few days' worth of missed conversation. I hope I'm not bugging anyone. I hope if I am, someone will let me know. Don't let that stop you from calling me. It's not as bad as it sounds. I mean, it's only been a week! Why am I whining? I've got Mike, who last Saturday came by for some grilling and pool swimming. We got to drinking, and I got ahold of some painkillers, and it was just like the good old days...

On the up side, I am getting a lot of reading done. A lot. I've finished four books since my arrival, and am well on my way into two more.

Next time: nothing depressing!!

The horror, the horror!

Suggested Soundtrack: "Sheep go to Heaven" by Cake



A full week in, and I have much to report.

Went on my first bike ride. It was a resounding failure that shook my nerves to the core and prepared me for other soul-crushing attempts to do like I did in San Diego. The Walgreens is a half-mile away and I decided to do an early evening ride to get some essentials. It was hot out, and sticky, but I kept a shirt on just to protect my God-fearing neighbors from the sight of my half-naked body. Good idea, as it turns out. The amount of bugs out here is unbelievable. I remember once, riding in SD, getting a bug in my mouth. Once. Flash back to Texas, where I had eaten three mosquitos before I even got out of the driveway. The faster I went, the more hit me, and the greater their velocity. It kinda stung. Furthermore, the layer of sticky sweat that built up on me after the first 30 seconds meant that the bugs didn't just hit, they stuck. Too late now, though. I had my iPod going and by golly I was gonna ride to the damn store! Head down, smacking my arms in a constant rythym to kill the bloodsuckers that adhered to my skin, I pushed on. Braving roads with drivers who, judging from their slack-jawed glances, had never even SEEN a bicycle before, I make it to the store to discover, but of course, there no bike rack. I have no idea why I didn't anticipate that. Well, I have one idea why: I am obviously a moron who is out of his element. I chain to a tree. Shopping is without incident. This Walgreens is almost exactly like a California Walgreens, except that everyone is slightly nicer, and they sound funny. Finished, I go unlock the bike. As I mount my bike, the unmistakable feeling of a bug stuck to my leg makes me pause to smack it. In doing so, I realize that both of my legs are covered in ants. One hundred ants. Red ones. What followed was probably pretty funny for spectators: I hop off the bike, dancing around the parking lot, slapping myself in the legs while letting out an unbroken stream of curse words that would make a sailor blush. All the while with cheery music from ELO piped into my head from the iPod. Once the slaugher was finished, I rode home (more of the same: pedal, pedal, smack, pedal, pedal, smack), went inside and relayed my story to the Martin family.

"Better hope those weren't fire ants."

But guess what?



They were. Not pictured here are the yellowish pustules that form during day two, which, if popped, can become infected. Good times!

Lesson learned: bike riding is for fair weather and friendly towns, which is to say, not anywhere around here.

Another one for the "Why doth Texas hate me so?" file:

Apparently my method of self-cleansing hasn't hit central america yet. When I came to visit in June, I brought my toiletries, including my loofah thing which, when teamed with body wash, provides me with squeaky clean skin that is soft to the touch and pleasantly aromatic. No one here had heard of it. There was only a few questions on that visit, nothing rude, you see. I found out that they were being nice so I would move out here. For as soon as I had arrived, the mother of the household asked, in a well-aren't-you-a-little-nancy-boy-tone, "Did you bring your LOOFAH?"

I replied, somewhat taken aback, that I had.

She just laughed.

Next day, same thing with my friend Mike's wife. "Did you bring your LOOFAH?"

And she laughed.

I still haven't figured out how they clean themselves here in Texas, and frankly, I don't care to. The fact is that two women insulted me for loofah use, and I am still recovering. Oh, loofah, scrub my pain away...

On the job front, I'm officially an employeee of Countrywide Financial Corporation (CMC), meaning I have been issued a cubicle, a computer and printer, some drawers, a phone with a nifty headset, an assortment of pens, one small and one large pad of paper, various useless handbooks telling me whose ass I am not to grab or even comment lewdly upon and, most exciting for me at least, my very own Employee Identification Badge.



It has a tiny little picture of me on it, distorted by the computer's printing process, and it allows me to access areas by holding it up to a card reader. I feel like James Bond, smartly dressed, going into headquarters. Except that I can't kick anyone's ass, I'm dressed in business casual, and "headquarters" here would refer to a room the size of a football field with cubicles stretching from wall to wall. But still pretty cool. Kinda. But not really.

I'm really nobody here. It's kinda weird. There's probably six people in the office that know me by name, half of those only because I work under them so they're required to. I walk around, and everyone just nods at me, if anything at all. It's not like I'm not trying to meet people. The setup here makes it difficult. My cube is adjacent to two others (I have a coveted corner cube), and my neighbors consist of one pretty cool guy and one mindless dolt who talks to himself ALL OF THE TIME. Really. A tiny little version of Milton from Office Space, right next door.

This is getting a bit wordy, so I'll go for now.

Next time I'll telk about more Texas oddities, and the effects of being invisible...