gimme the job already
Thursday August 28th 2003, 11:13 am
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

2 Phone interviews, both well over an hour. A group interview with the COO, an outside IT manager, and a staff member, lasting almost 2 hours. An interview with the CEO and CFO, lasting almost 2 hours.

And then, today, a request for additional references. I flooded the airwaves with email requests for references. No problem. Not only that, but the Guys-with-the-job want to talk with my referees – fine and dandy, except that they’re in England, which, with that 8 hour time difference, makes things a little more complicated.

I’m tired, I’m poor, and I’ve had enough. Gimme the job already. Or give it to the other guy/gal. Just get this done.

a moment’s pause
Sunday August 24th 2003, 7:16 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

Life moves too fast, here, too fast to think too fast to write too fast to breathe, often. Though never to fast to smoke. Although I often have to smoke quickly. But even then, those precious 5 (4) minutes. A horizontal hourglass, demarcating the time during which I am responsible for Absolutely Fucking Nothing. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why smokers are cooler and saner than non-smokers. We sit around, many times a day, doing Absolutely Fucking Nothing, and enjoying it. We get (err, well, lots of folks do) paid to do Absolutely Fucking Nothing.

It might well be the most enjoyable, and the most productive time, in my day, those minutes of AFN. Those minutes, stolen, particularly, from this mad-cap life I’m leading, are all the more precious. Yes, they may be in exchange for minutes coming off the other end – the restful, retirement end. It’s like an advance on a pay-cheque, I figure it, money when you need it, immigrant/ghetto/po-white-trash style.

All of which is to say, I need a fag, and I’ve been too fucking busy for a week plus now to even find it – the perfect five minutes of AFN. Not much insight into the psyche behind the typographical theme, here, but fuck it: this site has no guarantees that it will be interesting even to those who know me.

Sunday August 17th 2003, 10:51 am
Filed under: library Tags:

remind me, please, not to talk about politics on this site of mine. Not because I don’t have any. Not because I don’t read the correct sites and keep abreast of the appropriate stuff.

And yes, I’ll sit around with a bottle of wine arguing politics. I find that Israel and Buffy have made for a good mixture in the past (accompanied, where possible, with a bottle of this).

But what I’m NOT gonna fuckin do is spew my politics all over the ‘blogosphere’ in the futile hope that someone notices me. In the still more pathetic hope that someone takes me seriously. Or in the downright ludicrous hope that someone syndicates this shit. Syndicates?! For fuck’s sake – that’s for washed up sit-coms and fascist talkshow hosts. The self-righteous, self-involved collaborative wank that is the ‘blogosphere’ gets enough shit that, well, fuck it, they can have a bit more from me.

And now, yet another hello and what the fuck do you want, this time not just to Ms/Mr Vermont, but to a whole bucketload of people, from Russia, from Texas (?!), and that whole ‘middle’ bit of the States I always get confused on. I dunno what you want, or what you’re getting out of this, but hey. Maybe I’ve at least pissed some of you off by now. Or maybe not. But just remember, boys and girls (you know – I’m suddenly disappointed that all of those blogging Polish teenage girls aren’t reading my site. Damn.), it’s all shit. Burn the shit; Burn everything. And, a parting sentiment of wisdom: If you can’t fuck it, and it doesn’t dance, throw it out.

the lonelies
Saturday August 16th 2003, 9:12 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

The lonelies. Ain’t nothing wrong, ain’t nothing right. Ain’t nothing? write. Home, alone, though with furry friends. Pat Metheny on the stereo, a glass of white wine. I’ve been working all day, on household stuff. And a phone call, of course. And that call somehow turned this into Oxford-in-Berkeley. The all to familiar emptiness of post-phone call quiet. More tired than I should be, given the hour, yet unlikely to go to bed until well beyond a reasonable hour. Quietly reading an engaging (children’s) book, and yet. And yet. Perhaps some piano, written in pencil, as it were, as it floats and fades and flees from wherever it came to wherever it goes. Still me, I guess, is the answer. Not running, not finding anything new. Just new words and new spines and new wines.

Ignorance ain’t bliss
Friday August 15th 2003, 10:51 am
Filed under: TPT the First Links Tags:

lunging backwards
Thursday August 14th 2003, 11:51 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

I’d forgotten quite how powerful exercise could be. Every inch of my body hurts tonight, after fencing epee for the first time since, well, since I started fencing again. To my great annoyance, I actually lost 3 bouts. All to the same guy, no less. Gimme a week or two, I’ll take him.

The point is, though, that my cherished life of booze and fags and books seems slightly under threat by the ambitions rolling around in the back of my brain on the long drive back and forth to this place. The dream I never quite let go of – a dream unlike others, in that I don’t really have dreams. Or ambitions. More accomplishments than ambitions, and they’re both equally meaningless.

Well this makes me feel better – booze and fags and books and writing, that space of fingers flying and head spinning, can be reacquired after even large doses of physical exercise. The rhythms are not exclusive. And, I suspect, neither is easy to forget. I feel much worse, now, in a lovely sort of way. A pity I don’t have a keyboard handy: although vastly superior, I must admit having a proper piano around does have certain drawbacks at midnight. I’m going to go take a midnight-hot shower. Good morning to those of you facing 8 o’clock days ahead.

Wednesday August 13th 2003, 1:56 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

An empty house. Filled, with animals, of course. But empty but for my thoughts. which are being very very careful not to coalesce at the moment. It’s easy, for now – the sun is shining, I’m thirsty, I’m off to see a friend this evening and watch the Leonid meteors come in over the Pacific, the Western edge of this western world of ours. Can’t copyright that shit, thank God. And, as a cryptic reminder to all of you, and a pointed greeting to one: rainbows. Life is simply better because of rainbows. Just ask Noah. After the heatwave cometh the flood.

Apocalypse, part ii
Tuesday August 12th 2003, 11:52 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Links Tags:

children’s books
Tuesday August 12th 2003, 11:36 pm
Filed under: library Tags:

or, the childrens’ books. On brain sabbatical as time wends its way by, but never good at the emotional void. And I find in these books, littered (literally) all over this house, an uncomplicated joy and pleasure. I recall an evening, many years ago, rereading something – a habit I’ve largely, though not totally, broken myself of: as a child I re-read compulsively, books dog-eared to death. And in re-reading that book – a book for children, of course, and more specifically of my childhood, I got angry with myself. For enjoying the pleasure of the innocence as I sipped fine scotch and took leisurely drags on a fag. Something seemed so terribly wrong. Not merely innocence lost and childhood perverted, but something more, something unnatural about the confluence of joys.

I’m over myself now, I think, as I huddled out in the cold this evening (well, not really cold, but brisk enough), avoiding the chaos of the Inside, to indulge in a little compulsive reading. Everybody leaves tomorrow, leaving me alone for a week or so. I expect things might get rather interesting then. Stay tuned for tortured-soul(tm) Matt, manic-depressive(tm) Matt, look-Ma-no-hands(tm) Matt, and the whole cast of wacky characters you’ve learned to love. And if anybody wants to give me a job in a marketing department, things are rough enough at the moment that I’d take it. With a ready-to-eat-shit(tm) grin.

edit: I hadn’t planned on adding these ‘library’ entries to the front page, but until I, err, add something to the front page here to indicate that there are new entries in ‘the Library’ (yawn), I’ll just toss ’em on the main page here.

and your belongings shall be as dust
Monday August 11th 2003, 10:48 am
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

Are you Zen enough? Buddhist enough? ‘You can have it, if you can take it with you’, a friend and I once agreed, on a long drunken ramble (physically and verbally) somewhere in mid-North Berkeley. Well, I couldn’t take it with me, but I shipped it, and my stuff has arrived in San Francisco. Another few weeks until it clears customs and gets shipped to (drumroll) a storage space! No job, no flat, no flat, no stuff. I’m craving my music things. Craving to create again – and the space and time to create. My back is all fucked from sleeping on a couch – getting old, as my mother’s ultimately tiresome husband would say, ain’t for sissies. But my books, the bulk of my belongings? Given my distance from my work at the moment, they feel a bit more like decorations than the life’s blood they’ve been for so long. Slightly disturbing, and yet comforting at the same time – as the books themselves will be when I get a flat and get sorted. Some people keep plants, or fabrics, or candlesticks: I keep books. Familiar dust growing on familiar spines.