Friday
Thursday
Sign Here
Lay off.
Reduction in force.
Right sizing.
It's all fired though. But, honorably discharged, I supposed. Oh yeah, today I got laid off. Me and two department colleagues. One of those colleagues a very close friend and mentor. Damn!
A business decision.
Not related to your performance.
Cue up Will Oldham's "You Will Miss Me When I Burn" because even with the most pragmatic view of business physics and wearing the bravest face, that shit smarts a little.
I suspected something was fishy when the out of state boss set the quickie no context meeting. "Uh, OK, see you then." Then, when NONE of the fabulously placed spies could determine what the purpose of the meeting was.... combined with several other "tells" that I cannot go into without revealing too much about how one operates both in the corporate spotlight and in its sewers. Let's just say, I knew.
Thursday after lunch. Last day Friday. No problem. Ten years. No problem.
All for the very best though, "it's all opportunity, kids." All for the very best.
Music to make
Pictures to take
We move forward with positivity, optimism, and glee at the next set of adventures ahead.
Or, something like that.
Reduction in force.
Right sizing.
It's all fired though. But, honorably discharged, I supposed. Oh yeah, today I got laid off. Me and two department colleagues. One of those colleagues a very close friend and mentor. Damn!
A business decision.
Not related to your performance.
Cue up Will Oldham's "You Will Miss Me When I Burn" because even with the most pragmatic view of business physics and wearing the bravest face, that shit smarts a little.
I suspected something was fishy when the out of state boss set the quickie no context meeting. "Uh, OK, see you then." Then, when NONE of the fabulously placed spies could determine what the purpose of the meeting was.... combined with several other "tells" that I cannot go into without revealing too much about how one operates both in the corporate spotlight and in its sewers. Let's just say, I knew.
Thursday after lunch. Last day Friday. No problem. Ten years. No problem.
All for the very best though, "it's all opportunity, kids." All for the very best.
Music to make
Pictures to take
We move forward with positivity, optimism, and glee at the next set of adventures ahead.
Or, something like that.
Wednesday
Tuesday
Costumes for the Play
Left: Black Power Ranger
Right: Business Cyborg (note the old school battery backpack)
Right: Business Cyborg (note the old school battery backpack)
Monday
Comments on Recording A Record
Okay, here’s the status of the record I began pre-production about a year ago:
Shhhhh! Well in progress. Well past the point of no return. In fact, the point of no return is so far back, that when I look in the rear-view mirror, I can’t tell if the point of no return is a cop car or a taxi. Too far back; too dark. No refunds. No reentry. No store credit, deadbeats!
When I work on a record one technique I utilize is the draft title. The working title. This word or phrase or insider combination of letters and or numbers helps keep my mind focused on the premise. A Premise. Premises.
Some working titles so far have been, “The Process,” “The Death of Kings,” “The LP Record’s Last Album,” “First Pull Up – Then Pull Down,” and, “Mode of Zero.” All shortcuts for me to remember my place in this process. All pointing to similar things: probably one of my last “albums” and probably completely inaccessible. Oh well. There will be short pieces and producing and contributions, but the full-length album? Even I don’t know. Probably not my last record, but I don’t foresee many more ahead.
I do like what’s happening creatively, so far. And, I am actually enjoying myself. But, there’s already too much stuff. I’m Axl-fucking-Rose now and I’ve not even approached real mixing or flourish. There’s a natural sense of sequence though, but there’s just more material than any sane mind could process (do you get the feeling that I'm trying to convince myself to stop adding time and start editing?).
I’ve always relied on good sense and spiritual intervention to let me know when it was done. Hello, spiritual intervention hotline? Hello? Dammit! Wrong number! I am, however, on the downhill side of this thing I believe. I hope so.
Also, notably, this is truly a part-time effort. Not necessarily because I have to work in dribs and drabs, but because I don’t want it to shorten my lifespan. Hard to explain. But, yeah, I’ll spend a little bit of time here and there and I’m finding it a refreshing way to make a record. You get more external influence and you approach each segment with fresh ideas. And plenty of time to envy what others are creating and to think your stuff sucks then realize that it's brilliant.
Way too much material. This I know. But, there are elements of all of the pieces that I want to preserve mostly because a “record” should be a “record” of a place and time and series of events. I want to someday say, “Holy crap, that was an interesting place for the brain to have been.” I have ideas though.
What else does one need to know? When will I finish? I’m guessing by summer this year. We’ll see. What does it sound like? Hell if I know.
Too bad that I can't play musical instruments, sing, properly use recording equipment, or write songs. Otherwise, I'd be done, yo!
Record In Progress!
Shhhhh! Well in progress. Well past the point of no return. In fact, the point of no return is so far back, that when I look in the rear-view mirror, I can’t tell if the point of no return is a cop car or a taxi. Too far back; too dark. No refunds. No reentry. No store credit, deadbeats!
When I work on a record one technique I utilize is the draft title. The working title. This word or phrase or insider combination of letters and or numbers helps keep my mind focused on the premise. A Premise. Premises.
Some working titles so far have been, “The Process,” “The Death of Kings,” “The LP Record’s Last Album,” “First Pull Up – Then Pull Down,” and, “Mode of Zero.” All shortcuts for me to remember my place in this process. All pointing to similar things: probably one of my last “albums” and probably completely inaccessible. Oh well. There will be short pieces and producing and contributions, but the full-length album? Even I don’t know. Probably not my last record, but I don’t foresee many more ahead.
I do like what’s happening creatively, so far. And, I am actually enjoying myself. But, there’s already too much stuff. I’m Axl-fucking-Rose now and I’ve not even approached real mixing or flourish. There’s a natural sense of sequence though, but there’s just more material than any sane mind could process (do you get the feeling that I'm trying to convince myself to stop adding time and start editing?).
I’ve always relied on good sense and spiritual intervention to let me know when it was done. Hello, spiritual intervention hotline? Hello? Dammit! Wrong number! I am, however, on the downhill side of this thing I believe. I hope so.
Also, notably, this is truly a part-time effort. Not necessarily because I have to work in dribs and drabs, but because I don’t want it to shorten my lifespan. Hard to explain. But, yeah, I’ll spend a little bit of time here and there and I’m finding it a refreshing way to make a record. You get more external influence and you approach each segment with fresh ideas. And plenty of time to envy what others are creating and to think your stuff sucks then realize that it's brilliant.
Way too much material. This I know. But, there are elements of all of the pieces that I want to preserve mostly because a “record” should be a “record” of a place and time and series of events. I want to someday say, “Holy crap, that was an interesting place for the brain to have been.” I have ideas though.
What else does one need to know? When will I finish? I’m guessing by summer this year. We’ll see. What does it sound like? Hell if I know.
Too bad that I can't play musical instruments, sing, properly use recording equipment, or write songs. Otherwise, I'd be done, yo!
Trace
Comment: I keep thinking about this Trace Crutchfield character. I know enough Houston preppies to know that they exist, but Trace is so over-the-top-prep-school yacht-club-whitey, I can't help but think that this is a put on. Like, is that even his name? It's such a Holden Caufield sort of thing. And yet, though it may be satirical, he owns his whiteness so completely, that it comes off as genuine and even healthy. Easier to deal with than the typical white kid acting/dressing black.
“All you gotta do is act black. Act black and be yourself.”
1) Sure, I go back and forth whether Trace Crutchfield is indeed his name. But, shit, it fits him like a cheap prep-school suit, don't it? But, does it matter? You can see that Trace Crutchfield the character is so much Trace Crutchfield the person that I have no problem accepting him as Trace Crutchfield. God knows, we can be shaped by our names or we can shape names to shape us. Or, uh, whatever.
2) No shit, dude he "owns his whiteness." Yes. Trace Crutchfield does completely, 100%-ly, own whiteness (not just his, but all whiteness). And, the beauty is it's irrelevant to him. It's not cowardly or world domination whiteness. It's pure, no fear, hello world whiteness. It's a thing of beauty - act or not.
From Houston Chronicle:
"That Crutchfield knows nothing about Houston hip-hop is the key: Shield the man to protect him, because his ignorance is imperative; almost precious. Crutchfield is sort of a cross between Mr. Rogers and Steven Colbert, a straight-faced crooked arrow. No question is too inane, no answer is too stupid and the way in which he intently absorbs every single word dripping off of every single lip fully trumps his lack of knowledge about his voting public, often culminating in him giving a quick twitch of his head, a furrow of his brow and the line "that is amazing" in response to every story told to him."
I am also still unsure if it's an act or not, but what I am sure of.... It's a good goddamn act. The nuance is immense.
"My iPod was set on shuffle and I had lost track of the music during her assault. As I reached to show her, it hit me: the Pet Shop Boys were clearly swooning away in the background. Jesus Christ. Mortified, I held up my iPod for her inspection and looked away, feeling defeated. She simply turned and skipped down the ramp as my face reddened in electronic solitude."
- Trace Crutchfield, iPod Wars
Trumped
The B: Daddy, you're fired!
The Dad: Huh, what?
The B: Daddy, you're fired!
The Dad: Do you know what that means?
The B: Yeah, it means you're excited.
The Dad: Well, actually it means dismissal. Mostly form a job. Like, if we asked [the woman that cleans our house] to stop coming and working for us. If we told her that we didn't want to pay her to work for us any more and that we wanted our house key back then we'd "fire" her. We'd say, in essence, "you're fired." So, you telling me that I'm fired means that I don't work with you anymore. [And even more clear, loving, and thoughtful explanation from dad to drive home the point and seal the deal! Blah-blah-blah.]
[Short pause in conversation]
The B: Daddy, you're fired!
The Dad: Huh, what?
The B: Daddy, you're fired!
The Dad: Do you know what that means?
The B: Yeah, it means you're excited.
The Dad: Well, actually it means dismissal. Mostly form a job. Like, if we asked [the woman that cleans our house] to stop coming and working for us. If we told her that we didn't want to pay her to work for us any more and that we wanted our house key back then we'd "fire" her. We'd say, in essence, "you're fired." So, you telling me that I'm fired means that I don't work with you anymore. [And even more clear, loving, and thoughtful explanation from dad to drive home the point and seal the deal! Blah-blah-blah.]
[Short pause in conversation]
The B: Daddy, you're fired!
Any Idea What This Means?
Hawkeye, it's Teek Zsa Zsa.
You buy-a chee cheecken.
You come shewa,
and you make truwa,
and you go, Teek Zsa Zsa.
Home of the best noy yan yo!
Teek Zsa Zsa, on the way!!!
You buy-a chee cheecken.
You come shewa,
and you make truwa,
and you go, Teek Zsa Zsa.
Home of the best noy yan yo!
Teek Zsa Zsa, on the way!!!
Sunday
Friday
Michael Bacon Kevin Jordan
Does anyone else think the Michael Jordan/Kevin Bacon Haines underwear "roommate" ads are a bit...uh, homoerotic?
The two of them prancing around their pristine "home" shooting baskets/blocking baskets and "giving each other looks"...in their underpants.
"Shooting baskets/blocking baskets." Damn! That's really funny.
I'm not buying any Haines products.
The two of them prancing around their pristine "home" shooting baskets/blocking baskets and "giving each other looks"...in their underpants.
"Shooting baskets/blocking baskets." Damn! That's really funny.
I'm not buying any Haines products.
Basketball Analogy - Correction
"What's funny is that I meant the other guy."
-RW
Oh.
You mean the guy who gets a little hip check, or takes what could be a questionable charge (the kind of call never called on the playground else you're called a pussy), and then he falls backwards like his eye has been torn out of its socket. You know the guy, the guy who just had his arm completely ripped off his torso by a grizzly. The guy hit by the runaway semi while crossing on the green light in the crosswalk (driver is obviously a racist - and drunk!).
The befouled dude is flopping around on the court like a fish in a dory, his big ass mama comes out of the stands with her shoe in her hand to beat the fouler. Dude's "cousin" shows up with posse and a bucket of water a wet cloth to dab the forehead of the injured, his teammates bring out the James Brown cape, he's down, but NO! He's up again!
And the crowd goes ape shit.
Pallbearers appear with dark suits and white gloves carrying a shiny brass coffin. The mama and "cousin" are taunting the fouler saying stuff like, "wut up, beeoch? Want summa dis, muthafucka?" Mama is sobbing, "Whyyyyyyyy Jesus! My bayyyybeeee! Noooooooooo!" An angel repels from the scoreboard. A gospel choir sings Amazing Grace.
There's a beating, some gunplay, cops are called.... Then! The guy gets up, krumpin', clownin', breakin'. Looking around like, what happened? Let's play!
The refs watch for about three minutes before resuming game play. The crowd is spent.
Basketball Analogy
So Rich left a voicemail message last night. His assertion was that the unspoken law of NHL hockey is that the game is one thing, but people really come out for the drama of the fighting. The refs back off for a bit and let the action play while the ticket-holders lose their minds. It's expected. It's part of the game.
Fast forward to the near future: NBA basketball. The unspoken law of the NBA is that the game is one thing but people will really come out for the drama of the superstar foul reaction. The petulant disbelief of the offender. The "who-me?" reaction escalated to Broadway proportions. Vaudeville meets the hardwood.
Here goes:
Fast forward to the near future: NBA basketball. The unspoken law of the NBA is that the game is one thing but people will really come out for the drama of the superstar foul reaction. The petulant disbelief of the offender. The "who-me?" reaction escalated to Broadway proportions. Vaudeville meets the hardwood.
Here goes:
Play-by-Play Announcer, “Jim” (radio): All righty, we’re back with 2:32 left in the third quarter at Staples Center, Lakers 72, Grizzlies 64. Ball inbounds under the basket Miller to Gasol. Gasol turns, shoots and Kobe swats it away! Odon gets the ball… There’s the whistle. It’s on Kobe, his forth!
Color Commentator, “Billy”: Jim, Kobe doesn’t appear to like that call.
Jim: That’s right, Billy. Kobe has taken the ball away from Lamar Oden and is walking to mid-court. He. Is. In. Disbelief. Clearly, Kobe doesn't agree. This’ll be a good one.
Billy: Kobe has placed the ball on center court and his hands are on his face; he is in serious disbelief over that call. Kobe sits down. It looks like he's...mock-sobbing.
Just look at the Lakers bench, it looks like they just witnessed a Chevrolet Suburban hit-and-run a stroller in an crosswalk. Chevy – 0% or $1,000 cash back now through April 3 at the Chevy Monster Spring Cleaning Sales Event.
Jim: I think Kobe’s telling referee Will Simmons that he’s crazy. There's some finger-wagging, some staring...
Billy: He’s making the dizzy-in-the-head motion with his finger to his temple. I believe. Yes. He has crossed his eyes.
Jim: The crowd’s going nuts. They saw that on the H-P Jumbo Monitors. Kobe better be careful, or he’s going to get a technical, that could be costly to the Lakers.
Billy: Yeah, but the refs have backed off. There going to let this one go. Let’s hear from Suze Richards on the sidelines:
Sideline Correspondent, “Suze Richards”: Word has it that Kobe has something special loaded up for this tantrum. We can only hope…
Billy: There it is! He’s taking off his shorts! Kobe Bryant is standing at center court at Staples Center, two minutes-thirty left in the third and Kobe Bryant is wearing compression shorts and the number 24 jersey. Suze, you were right!
Jim: What’s that printed on his rear? Oh my...
Suze: It says, “Witch Hunt” clearly an attack on the refs and the NBA over the number of questionable calls against the superstar, particularly the suspension-educing flagrant fouls. Jim.
Jim: The trainer is bringing something to Kobe. It’s…it’s a pogo stick. Holy cow! Suze, I thought "Which Hunt" was the surprise, but this takes the cake.
Billy: Kobe’s bouncing on a pogo stick in his underwear and pointing at the crowd. This sellout crowd is going nuts. Woah! These fans are pumped! That may have crossed the line with these officials though who are now converging on mid-court.
Jim That’s it. Kobe’s been assessed a technical foul. His first. A Chevy Malibu technical foul. Chevy Malibu. Independence and emotion come to a meeting of the minds. Chevy, where the charrrrge begins. Now Phil Jackson is awake and he's pointing at the refs. Phil is in dis-belief!
Billy: We’ll be right back after a word from Budweiser. Budweiser, the king of beers. Lakers 72, Grizzlies 64.
Thursday
Wednesday
Ask Ty…March 21
Q: Where I work, they are about to move us from separate (or semi-separate) work spaces to an open workspace. My concern is, one of the guys who works in a room of his own has an extremely moldy aroma, and his room smells like mold has been growing in it for years. Standing next to him is almost a toxic experience. What does a person do in this situation?
- Trippin’ Mold While Working for the Man
Ty: Good question and an even better observation.
Have you considered that this whole move is just a big guise to get mold guy out into the general ventilation stream? Maybe your company brass is just trying to find a way to clean up his office and get this guy some much-needed light and some air.
Here's what I know:
Your options as I see them, Trippin', are:
I’m guessing though that given some light, some air and a little time, this problem will clear itself up on it’s own. Or get much, much worse. Dunno, maybe the guy just stinks.
Just a guess. - Ty
- Trippin’ Mold While Working for the Man
Ty: Good question and an even better observation.
Have you considered that this whole move is just a big guise to get mold guy out into the general ventilation stream? Maybe your company brass is just trying to find a way to clean up his office and get this guy some much-needed light and some air.
Here's what I know:
Exposure to mold is common both inside and outside the home, but some people are more sensitive to mold than others, especially those with allergies and asthma. Mold exposure may cause cold-like symptoms, watery eyes, sore throat, wheezing and dizziness, and trigger asthma attacks.
Because some mold spores are very small and can easily be breathed deeply into the lungs, it is not safe to live in houses with high mold levels. Exposure to high spore levels can cause the development of an allergy to mold.
Molds grow on organic materials such as paper, leather, dirt and soap scum. They grow best at warm temperatures, between 77 and 86 degrees Fahrenheit, although they can grow in temperatures between 32 and 95 degrees.
Molds grow in moisture. Water leaks, flooding, high relative humidity and condensation are all situations that increase the growth of mold.
Your options as I see them, Trippin', are:
- Lobby, finagle, jiu jitsu your way into a workspace far away from mold dude
- Submit a report (even anonymously) that the company may have a mold situation that should be checked
- Lobby, finagle, jiu jitsu your way into getting someone else to report mold guy so you maintain “plausible deniability.” I don’t know your company dynamics, but it’s always better to get some other sucker to do the dirty work, “Gee Sally. I read the mold can KILL!”
- Ask the moldy dude, "hey, does it smell moldy in here." See how he reacts.
- Suck it up, trip balls, and let the mold spread to the new and exciting open workspace.
- Point your company or your little helper (see #3) to "mold facts" on Interwebs including clean-up tips such as:
- Materials should be dried quickly; mold will grow within about 2 days.
- Anyone spending more than a brief time cleaning in a moldy environment should use a HEPA filter mask; typically it will have two straps. Also, use gloves.
- Porous materials should be thrown out or completely decontaminated if they are moldy. Materials such as hard plastic, glass and metal can be cleaned and disinfected.
- Remove the mold using a non-ammonia soap or detergent. Never mix bleach and ammonia. Surfaces from which the mold cannot be completely removed should be treated with enough chlorine bleach to keep the surface moist for at least 15 minutes, rinsed, then rapidly dried.
- Disinfect by applying a solution of 1 cup chlorine bleach per 1 gallon water or follow manufacturer's recommendations. The surface should be thoroughly wetted with the solution. Keep the surface wet with the bleach solution 10 to 15 minutes to kill the mold. Allow the solution to dry naturally 6 to 8 hours.
- Other products that kill mold are biocides. These biocides have Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) registration numbers on the bottle and instructions for the intended application.
I’m guessing though that given some light, some air and a little time, this problem will clear itself up on it’s own. Or get much, much worse. Dunno, maybe the guy just stinks.
Just a guess. - Ty
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