Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Shock and Awe

If we can figure out a way to kill everyone on the planet, why can’t we figure out a way to feed everyone? Is it cost? Logistics? Simply not shocking and awesome enough? I’ll admit feeding and educating everyone wouldn’t be as interesting to watch as blowing everyone up, but has it come to the point where everything we do is dictated by whether or not it makes for good TV.
I think it’s simple as Have vs Have Not. You can paint that matchup with whatever label, religion or –ism you want, in the end, though, the whole game is about people who have stuff trying to keep it or get more of it, and people without stuff trying to get stuff. There are groups of people that provide an exception to this rule by talking a lot about how they are happy with the small amount of stuff they have because of other things (what they believe, how they love, etc…) and a lot of those people try to convince other people that they could be happy too, if they thought/believed/loved like they do. Most of the people doing this convincing have already received/reached a level of having stuff that makes life bearable. Let’s face it, are you going to listen to someone tell you how to be happy if they have to beg for food, clothes and housing, let alone healthcare.
All of today’s big religions take good care of their employees. There’s no mystery as to why. The question puzzling me is why people let themselves be fooled into believing they should be happy with what they’ve got. The promise of happiness in an afterlife seems like big chunk of baloney to swallow just so you can rationalize living in misery. And the feeling of moral superiority must fade when you and your loved ones are hungry.
Moral and intellectual superiority only go so far. I know lots of smart, devout people that are comfortable living simple lives knowing full well that people less smart and less “good” are making tons more dough. I’m not talking about them. They are capable of caring for themselves. Maybe they won’t be able to take the Jag to the club, but they aren’t going to foment revolution about it. So, why is education so expensive in America? Why is it a luxury? Again, if we have the capacity to pay for an arsenal that can eliminate every human (and just about every animal and insect [cockroach legend?]) why can’t we teach them to read and write?

Whey and kurds
What we need is action
A money making faction
Not continuous distraction
But it’s never been my forte
This capitalism sport
Always ready with a quick retort
I rationalize my ineptitude
As artistic attitude
A temporary interlude
Before real earning begins
Doing penance for past sins
Yet who keeps track of losses and wins
Where does the official scorer sit
Judging what’s an error, what’s a hit
Frankly, I don’t care that much
All I want is your loving touch

Worried about failure
And a southern exposure
You take pills
And pay the bills
I watch the boy
And try to employ
Marketable skills
To cure our ills
Producing these words
And feeding the birds
Certain it will go our way
“How?” and “why?” you say
To which I reply
I don’t know why.
I just feel we’re here to stay
We’re so far away
From family and friends
How this all ends
Simply depends
On us and a fair bit of luck.
Your look, awestruck,
“I don’t give a…care
whether here or there
our future depends on jobs.
Superstitious slobs
With millionaire aunts
Can joke and count on chance
Their main concern
Is not what they earn
But having money to burn.
Our situation’s
Like most of the nation’s
Getting enough to get by.”
“I get it,” I sigh
I’ll just have to try
To step from this void
To the world of employed
So we can avoid
Moving further afield
Emotions steeled
Work should yield
A dramatic change
Feeling strange
The dog has mange
And incredible range
Hits the high notes
Herds the goats
Digs moats
Eats groats
Adrift in the sound
Won’t run aground
Or sleep around
Bones are found
Where others drowned
What a hound!

Obnoxious Man is going to the dogs.

Monday, September 29, 2003

Obnoxious Man

Soo is getting annoyed with me more frequently. She calls me Obnoxious Man. I imagine myself as a superhero, like Batman, cruising the earth searching for peaceful conversations where I can intrude myself and launch a vitriolic tirade.
I’ve started sending emails to Congress, it’s actually quite hard to find the personal email address of each individual congressperson. If you want to send one email to YOUR representative it’s quite simple, our wonderful government has established a web site and all you have to do is type in your area code, and bam you’ve got a box where you can write your message, point and click, don’t be a dick. You don’t get their personal email address, of course, it goes to some flunky, some aide that scans them looking for anything interesting, the odd email from lunatics in the sticks. And representatives only answer mail from people in their own district. Emails bounce back with a canned response:

Thank you very much for contacting my office about an issue that I know concerns you greatly. Please know that I have acknowledged and registered your opinion, and I greatly appreciate hearing your views.
If you reside in the 5th Congressional District and have included your name, address and zip code, you will receive a more detailed response shortly. If you have not included this information, please resend your message or visit my website at http://www.house.gov/ackerman/pages/contact.html to log in your commments.
As a matter of Congressional Courtesy, I can only respond to correspondence from within my own district.
Thank you once again. Your comments are an integral part of the political process, without them I would not be able to make the decisions that affect our community and our nation.

Kind of gives you a warm fuzzy feeling, eh?
This is what I’ve been sending:

You have a voice
I have no choice
But to send email
And see how you fail

To George W. Bush

"It is the function of the citizen to keep the
government from falling into error."

- Robert H. Jackson, Associate Justice of the U.S.
Supreme Court, American Communications Association v.
Douds, 1950

Since taking office, President Bush has signed into
law bold initiatives to improve public schools by
raising standards, requiring accountability, and
strengthening local control. He has signed tax relief
that provided rebate checks and lower tax rates for
everyone who pays income taxes in America. He has
increased pay and benefits for America's military and
is working to save and strengthen Social Security and
Medicare. He is also committed to ushering in a
responsibility era in America, and has called on all
Americans to be "citizens, not spectators; citizens,
not subjects; responsible citizens building
communities of service and a Nation of character."

"With the drafting of the U.S. Constitution in 1787,
the country's Founding Fathers created a new system of
government. The idea behind it - quite revolutionary
at the time - appears at first glance to be simple and
straightforward. The power to govern comes directly
from the people, not through primogeniture or the
force of arms, but through free and open elections by
the citizens of the United States. This may have been
tidy and direct as a theory, but in practice it was
far from inclusive. Complicating things from the very
beginning was the question of eligibility: who would
be allowed to cast votes and who would not."

And then I add my “Primogeniture” poem (see above).

Let’s see who they send out to visit me next.

Sunday, September 21, 2003


Beautiful flowers, rising like spires, cups of color adorn the pinnacle. I marvel at the small miracle, as they defy gravity to keep such a weighty display of nature’s wonder aloft.
It rained a bit this morning. The added burden of water brought them down, flowers fading on the ground.
“I heard digitalis were poisonous,” said Soo.
“Like Hemlock?” I asked.
“I guess.”
I think.

Faded flowers
A disappearance
Summer showers
Tears appearance
We’re faulting
Sending troops
Killing groups
In the way
Or so you say
You think
We dumb
You blink
Act numb
To facts
We see ‘em
Ad nauseam
Do you see a resolution
Is this your final solution
From whom will you seek absolution
When blossoms pale
And the bullets hail
Wars will fail
They always have
A burn’s salve
Brings late relief
After fire has wrought its grief
Regardless of how well applied
Tell the wounded he hasn’t died
Here’s some healing
For what you’re feeling
Treat the skin
But what’s within
An understanding
That what you’re handing
Western sin
A hospital
A broken skull
Where’s the thanks
For our tanks
Our best intentions
And latest inventions
Were designed to save you
If, perchance, we killed a few
What were we supposed to do
Collateral damage
Was expected.
Next Haj
He speaks with voice inflected
Backed by experts well respected
Your land lacked inspection
(and a dose of genuflection)
trust us when we say
what we do
is good for you
your buds can bloom another day.

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

Caterpillar Hell

I’m having real trouble sleeping. Sometimes it’s just the nightsweats, waking up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head, oh, I’ve got a bad desire (sorry, Bruce). That’s one thing. And, honestly, I’ve gotten used to that, (it’s amazing what the human body can get used to), what’s been worse are the dreams.
It’s hard to capture in complete thoughts the contents of a dream. Lately, I’ve been dreaming about the caterpillars. They managed to slip in under the door in our bedroom. There’s just one small crack, the tiniest opening, but they found it and dozens of them crawled into our room, the bathroom, onto our towels, they’re everywhere. So, I have this dream and they’re crawling on me in my sleep and they snake through my nostrils and into my open fitful sleep breathing mouth into the cavity of my skull. They cocoon and sprout wings and start flying about my brain, but there is no brain, just a hollow head, so they start wriggling out between my teeth and flapping around the room. They try to get out the same way they came in, but they are trapped inside looking for a light to go to, but all they can see is the green glow of Soo’s cell phone charging. So, they dance around the phone, doing an aerial ballet as if in homage to modern communication.
I started thinking about the caterpillars as humans. There are millions of us billions of us and we wander around aimlessly looking for food and a place to rest. They really can look spookily cogent sometimes, the way they stop crawling and lift the front of their bodies, their heads (duh), and rotate it around as if they are looking for where to go next. Most of them will die. They’re dying already, some just stop moving and shrivel up in the sun, others do a death dance, I’ve seen them on the rocks thrashing about as if on fire. Some make it, some don’t. Nate is fascinated by them. Soo is repulsed. I’ve turned them into metaphor. Who will metamorph, who will sprout wings?

Friday, September 5, 2003

Lonesome, Lonely, and Alone

Moving away from your friends and family is a great, albeit painful, way to gain a newfound appreciation for them. If you ever find yourself not appreciating a buddy, imagine not seeing that person for two years or ever. You can talk about the connectedness of the world today, how easy it is to phone or email, but really there’s nothing like seeing a person, being in each other’s presence. I find myself wondering why people take so long to answer emails or return phone calls. Have they forgotten about me? Did I do or say something to offend them? Then you realize, you are on the periphery of their lives now. You are not someone they will see next weekend, they are not going to pop over to watch the game. You may not see them for years, maybe never again. It’s hard for people with busy lives to devote time and emotion to people they may see only twice a decade.
This is a difficult realization. It means you either have to make new friends or hope for many visitors. We’ve had a few friends and family members come up, it’s not like we’re on the North Pole, but that tapestry of relationships we’d spent years weaving is suddenly looking a tad threadbare.
Take, for instance, an email exchange I had this morning with a friend in the Bay Area, a Giants fan, with whom I enjoy engaging in ribald baseball banter. My loathing for the Giants runs deeper and is more frequently fueled than any hatred I have for the Yankees. Yet, I manage to put aside those emotions and have formed real human relationships with people who root for the San Francisco Giants. That’s just the kind of guy I am. So, I forget exactly what I wrote, something about Barry Bonds and steroids, alleged use of a corked bat, the words “flaccid bags of has-beens” may have been used, but he replies with niceties like kiss the wife and kid and signs it “Your buddy” – (name deleted to protect the innocent).
“Your buddy” I think. What does this mean, “your buddy”? Of course, he’s my buddy. Was there any reason he needed to reiterate that he was my buddy? Was it concern on his part that perhaps I might be drifting into isolation and I needed reassurance that I still had friends. This was also my mind working after a run. I’ve started jumping on the treadmill while Nate takes his afternoon nap (now, usually his only nap of the day). Three or four days a week I get a good endorphin rush. Immediately following the run, though, my mind is racing. I’m usually a stressball until I get Nate down, I’ve had about a pot of coffee and I don’t like to eat before I run, so I’ve get a mostly empty stomach, then I go for a run and it clears my brain and I enter a blood sugar deprived, endorphin fueled buzz state that rivals anything William Blake ever got going.
So, this was my state of mind when I got that goddamn “your buddy” email. Yeah, I’m a little isolated. I miss my friends. I wonder if they ever really were my friends. It could be that we just make friends out of convenience. “You’re here, I’m here, we each have some free time, what do you say we do stuff together and call ourselves friends?”
“Sure, why not?”
What the hell.
Soo’s contract has been cancelled, shortened, she was given two weeks notice. I’m going to have to give up this computer and go write downstairs. The good news is she’ll be here to help with Nate. The bad news is we won’t have her income anymore. And, I still haven’t heard from that company about their opinion of my second round of interviews. I wrote an email to the guy I didn’t exactly hit it off with, but I haven’t sent it yet (for reasons that you’ll see as apparent). I probably won’t send it, I’ll just wait and see what they say. Here’s the letter:

Dear Mook (not his real name),
Thanks for taking the time to meet with me yesterday. I’d like to say it was a pleasure, but that would be transparently untrue. The conversation was interesting, probably more so for you than me. If I could take a bit more of your time I’d like to clarify myself. I do not presume to know your company as well as you or anyone else that has worked there for an extended period of time. The impression I have of the company is based on articles and conversations translated through the lens of my own experience. This experience tells me that a company could have the hottest technology in the world and still fail. It could have bright, dedicated, well-meaning employees and fail. It can have a dynamic leader with a clear vision of what he sees the company becoming and fail. There are thousands of reasons why companies fail or flounder or just plain underachieve. Where I’ve seen success is in companies where each of the aforementioned are in place AND the meaning and importance of each are adroitly communicated to the proper audiences in the proper way.

I do not claim to be expert at this, just as I do not claim to be an expert about your business, but I do know how it gets done and I know how to do it when given the chance. I’m a firm believer in the inevitability of success. As long as there are committed individuals driven by a powerful idea I have full confidence in that idea reaching its fruition. This all may sound a tad hyperbolic, and a bit over the edge for a guy applying for a PR manager position, but I’d rather you know how I think and what I believe in and reject me based on that than reject or accept me based on one late afternoon conversation.

Best Regards,
Your Buddy,
Billy Shakes

Like everything else I write, it needs some editing. I just want to work, to be around people, and to make money so I can take care of my family. And, I want to stop whining. Waah.

What to do? What am I doing? Why do I even turn this fucking computer on?

Back to the Barber

Almost. I drove by the Barber Shop, slowly, looking in to see if he was at that last chair. He was not. Soo cut my hair. She did a pretty good job and it was free. Free is good.

Tuesday, September 2, 2003

Tent Caterpillars

OK, this is just gross. We are being overrun by caterpillars. It’s been more than a week since that second round and during that time nests of caterpillars have sprouted and spewed forth millions (no exaggeration) of creepy crawlies all over the island, indeed all over western Washington. They are on everything and they are systematically devouring vegetation. Apparently this is a peak year, that every decade or so they reproduce massively, and lo, we arrived in a massive year. It makes going outside repulsive. They stick to your legs, snap and crackle under your feet like long wriggling rice crispies, and rain down on you if you’re anywhere near a tree that has been infested. We were outside yesterday attempting to plant some strawberries in the garden. Nathan was crawling around in the dirt, Soo was digging up weeds and I was raking them away to the compost pile when I stopped. There was a noise, a lightly enveloping noise, it was the sound of sprinkles falling on leaves, except there was no rain, at least there was no precipitation. It was raining caterpillars! Scores of leafy trees around our property have been infested with tents (white, webby looking growths that morph into brown blobs of several hundred caterpillars) and from those tents were falling, aye raining, caterpillars. It was a realization that made my skin crawl. We couldn’t get those plants in the ground fast enough.
Earlier in the week, Nathan and I had been pulling weeds and simultaneously killing caterpillars. Nate has taken a liking to stomping on them. He’s actually just copying me, something he does with frightening precision. He mimics me when I wash my face, when I bang on the window to chase away the deer, and doing countless other mindless acts (I have to be careful when and where I pick my nose). So, it was no surprise to see him put out his little booted right toe and grind a caterpillar into our gravel driveway. Not a surprise, but oddly cute in a slightly disturbing way. Not to dwell on this too much, but noticing this facility with which children pick up on what their parents do has made me appreciate more fully the importance of child-rearing. There’s a big leap from killing caterpillars to killing (or hating or fearing) other humans, yet it all stems from the same source. We, as parents, are effectively programming our kids for the rest of their lives. Granted, they can be reprogrammed, and there will be a constant rewriting of the code as their lives progress, but it’s not like they can completely erase their hard drive and start over. They will have deep and powerful residual imprints on their memories from everything they do at this early age. That’s a scary thought, and it makes me distressingly aware of my every action around Nathan. I find it very hard to let that thought go and just “be” with him. Soo will tease me about this and say I’m too soft on him, that I let him push me around, and she’s probably right. It’s just so difficult to find that middle ground, that point where I’m being strict enough but not too mean. I’m terribly afraid of screwing it up. This means that at times I’ll be sitting here typing and Nate knows that he can come up to me and grab my hand and pull me away to go with him. I’ll occasionally shout, “Not now” or “in a minute” but I don’t do that with the regularity required to make it stick. And when I do do it, I feel bad, and I can’t stand to see him cry. So, in the end, I give in and just go with him. This makes for very disjointed days. I’ll go from typing to being dragged into another room, say, the bedroom, where I’ll occupy myself by folding laundry while Nate crawls around under the bed chasing the cat. Then Nate will get bored with that and will drag me into the kitchen to get him something to eat. So, I’ll make him some toast and start doing the dishes. He’ll get bored with his toast and want to go downstairs, so I’ll try to get something done while down there, like put another load in the wash. Then he’ll want to go outside, so I’ll get our shoes on and we’ll find stuff to do out there (this was probably why we were weeding and killing caterpillars). After a few minutes, I’ll spy him making his poopy face and we’ll have to go back inside to change his diaper. At which point we’re back in the Child’s Television Workshop and this computer is on and I remember that I had a thought I was working on and trying to write down. But, I’ve also got a load of laundry half folded on the bed in the bedroom, a breakfast mess to clean up in the kitchen, clothes that need to go into the dryer downstairs, and I can’t remember where I left my coffee cup. It’s no wonder mothers go nuts, there’s no way to keep your own thoughts straight. And, this is just with one kid, I can’t imagine how hard this gets with two or three!
I’ve gotten pretty bad about using the TV as a babysitting device, as well. I try to limit him to four half hour shows a day, occasionally, though, he’ll watch more. I justify this by saying there are days when we go to the park or playgroup when he doesn’t watch TV at all, but I still feel guilty. The kids programming is fairly good at assuaging the guilt, appealing subtly to a parent’s inherent desire to raise their child properly, “It’s like preschool on TV!” says one network. And maybe it is, but the kid is still staring at a TV screen. Whatever, I’ll say, and just sit him down and go try to find my coffee cup. I found it out on the back deck and the strangest thing had happened. The caterpillars had crawled in and out of my coffee and were zooming around the boards and up the slats like a bunch of mini-snakes on crack! (OK, not really, but wouldn’t it have been funny if they had?)
That’s another thing that happens. I get so distracted, I mean all these thoughts come and go through my head and I’ve got nine things going on at once, and Nate is screaming because he wants something and then I’ll think I heard or saw something and I wonder if I imagined it. Being outside these last few days has been awful. It’s bad enough that I’ve got the heebie-jeebies from the onslaught of insects, and I’m worried every minute about Nate’s curiosity re said insect’s taste taking hold, I’ve also been pestered by this persistent feeling that I’m being watched. The woods around our house are alive with noise, not just the above mentioned caterpillar rain, but nesting birds, foraging chipmunks and who knows what other creatures provide a continuous patter that could be anything. My only solace is that if Perry and/or McMahon are tucked away in the woods somewhere, they are probably covered in caterpillars and hopefully are also scratching away at skin exposed to stinging nettle.
A caterpillar just crawled across the window sill (the INSIDE of the window sill). They’ve breached the gates, call Security!

Monday, September 1, 2003

The Second Round

So, I finally got called back in for a second round of interviews after a month of waiting plus almost a week of trying to schedule. In the interim I’d heard so many bad things about the company and was so disappointed with the wait and lack of responsiveness on their part I was almost ready to not be upset if I didn’t get the job. But the desire to stay here on Las Piedras Island, not to mention the desire to get out and be a breadwinner (male ego, sense of self worth and all that), and the desire for some sense of security all combined to make me feel like crap when I walked out of that office feeling like I’d tanked. I got along fine with the people I’d be working with (whom I also met on my first visit), it was the guy who would be my boss’s boss that gave me an unpeaceful uneasy feeling.
I’d like to just say he was a prick and be done with it. I’ve met lots of pricks in my life and have worked for a few, and while (as one interviewer for a different job put it) “life is too short to work for an asshole,” one could counter that life is too long to not work at all. So, prick or not I found myself evaluating every word of every question, every answer and every nuance of his responses to my answers. I wish I had the luxury to write it off and say the smug bastard was arrogant, rude, and so pumped up pleased with his own damn self that he would have been a nightmare to work with and I’m better off if I never hear from them. However, seeing as how I will most likely have to go through this fucking process again and possibly again and again until I get one of these fucking jobs I had better be able to put a finger on what went wrong and figure out what I can do to improve or I might be writing this alone in an apartment in Des Moines.
Was I too arrogant? I have a tendency to pick up on the tendencies of others, and, if I sensed a certain cocksure-ity from this guy maybe I overcompensated with a bit of bluster on my side. Did I relax too much? We went to the cafeteria for the interview, and that might have put me at a false sense of ease. He was tired, yawning and saying the day had been a long one (it was 3:15 by the time we started talking), they’d just launched a new product, etc. Yet, when it came time to drill down and ask hard questions he certainly looked wide awake. He looked like the last prick of a boss I had, to tell the truth. Do I respond poorly to authority figures? Do I fail to hide my disdain, is my face too expressive, as Soo says. And, do I share too much? Did I need to go into the personal reasons we left the Bay Area?
All these and dozens of others questions buzzed through my brain as I walked back to the ferry. I checked my phone/watch and noted that I had no new messages and about 25 minutes to catch the next boat to Las Piedras. I had been careful not to eat too much before the interview, I always get logy when I have too much in my stomach. Of course, I had had a bunch of caffeine. My morning pot of coffee and a soda before, and a soda during the interview. So, I needed to pee and I wanted a bit of alcohol to wind down. Stimulants in the morning, depressants in the evening, I always say. I found a bar on the waterfront and used their facilities. I ordered a Guinness (I was hungry, and Guinness is the closest thing to a meal you can drink), but it was a slow pour and I was in a bit of a hurry so I asked the bartender to make it a Bass. He gave me a dirty look because he’d already started the Guinness. “Do you want this?” he asked me in a pointed way that made me feel guilty, so I just said, oh yeah, I want that, too. I’m weak.
I powered through my beers, knowing I needed to get to the ferry. They helped me shake off a bit of the regret, and who knew, maybe I was being too hard on myself. Maybe I will get the job and be able to work for another asshole. Maybe I am an asshole! That’s the question no one seems to ask themselves. Am I being an asshole? Is something I’m doing causing someone else problems or pain? Maybe we’re all just a bunch of assholes shitting our way through life only concerned about moving our own little sphincters and to hell with everyone else. It makes you rethink the term Cover Your Ass. What bugs me is when people play the wife and kids card. I’ve got a wife and kids, I’m just doing my job. As if they’d be a decent human being if they were single. If I might paraphrase Gertrude Stein, “Assholes are assholes are assholes are assholes.” And I’m aspiring to be such. If I’d been more of one perhaps I wouldn’t be here in the first place. What is it about work that makes people suck? I’d like to be able to say it’s only because of the bad economy, that times are tight and people are stressed and it brings out the worst. But, I saw much worse during the boom times. The only conclusion I can come to is people suck. It would be very easy to just write that off as the rantings of a bitter unemployed househusband loser, if they’re just wasn’t so much evidence to back it up. People have been shitty to each other from time immemorial. And this grotesque display of shittiness continues day after day with the new spin of shit broadcast to all of us through the air, over cables and via satellite so we can look at it and say, “Wow, I sure am glad that’s not me.” But it is you, it is me, it’s all of us, a bunch of shitty humans being shitty to each other and our planet. Whatever, you say (I say), just give me my job, and my house, a decent education for my kids, and a retirement where I can watch my kids grow up to avoid as much shittiness as possible and I’ll be happy. Just avoid the shit. Ironically, it appears that people need to become assholes to avoid the shit. When you don’t have a job, when you don’t have money, when you don’t have health benefits, you are always on the verge of losing it.
I don’t want to give the impression that this is some holier than thou schpiel, don’t get me wrong, I want to be an asshole. If someone came to me and said I want you to do this shitty thing and you and your family will be taken care of for the rest of your life, then you know what, give me the shit. Of course it depends on the circumstance. I wouldn’t fly a plane into a skyscraper, for instance. But if you told me I had to make some lousy bastard and/or his company look good in the press for a year or four or ten so his company could make money regardless of the damage that company did to the environment or other people, I would do that in a heartbeat. If I didn’t do it somebody else would.
So, I’m thinking all this as I drink my beers and then while walking briskly to the ferry weaving between all the tourists wearing their sweatsuits and Dockers and Mariners crap, getting more and more angry at the world. I make the ferry, get a beer from our friends at Sodexho and call Soo to tell her when I’ll be home. I spend some time just drinking and watching people, the ferry is crowded with folks returning from the Mariners game. Sodexho (the catering service that runs concessions on the ferries) is having a special on game day beers. I’m a sucker for a bargain, so I get up to get another. Did I see Agent Perry lurking by the video games or was I just imagining that? “Whatever,” I say to myself, “it either is or it isn’t, it doesn’t matter.” I ignore the compulsion to go check and find a table where I can open my attaché case. I drink my second second round after my second round and start scribbling in my notebook:
“People suck,” who did I say that to?
It will take too long to remember
Caught in the people and the fog of brew
Pick a month, a day, suck my member.
I’m loaded after an interview and I don’t care
Approaching port, mostly full, must drink
Quickly. Not much time to spare.
Stupid words I’ve said, synch and sink
What did he think, and does it matter
Meaningful speech or mindless patter
Arrogant prick
Makes me sick
Another degree,
And that would be me…

I got home without incident.