Customers.

"This job would be great if it weren't for all the [...] customers."

I can't deal with people screaming at me. Seriously, it's not my
thing. I've got an aversion to emotional confrontation. Physical
confrontation, I love. But when people get all red in the face, I
just start shaking, trying so hard to resist that urge to throw a left
jab, followed by my overhand right. When I plant my left foot like
I'm supposed to, twist my hips and put my shoulder into it, that guy
standing in front of me buckles and falls like a house of cards. It's
a beautiful thing to see.

But according to company guidelines, I'm not allowed to deal with
customers in this manner. My job is to make them happy, not to see
how fast they buckle behind a right hook to the midsection.

And when they're standing in front of me on the sales floor,
SCREAMING, my job is to give them whatever they want.

Honestly though, I have to start using this train of thought in my
daily life. When that gallon of gas costs more than I'd like, I'm
just going to walk into the gas station, ask for the manager, and
start screaming like a special-needs man-child.

If he's been trained like I have, I'll be tooling around town on
Texaco's dime in no time.

Really? The sun? At this hour?

You know what sucks?

Good girlfriends and gay guys, sure.

But what really sucks is being awake long enough to watch the sun come
up when you're in dire straits with a draconian attendance policy. And
having to work at eleven AM on a Sunday. That, my friend, is not the
recipe for a good day waiting to to hurl itself upon you.

Anyhow, I've invited some other writers to this ramshackle abode I
call a blog, and I hope they agree. Because they're gifted and
creative people, to be sure, but also because I'm lazy. And I don't
post to this blog nearly as often as I should.

I should also take a moment to encourage you to check out RudeBoy's
pictures in the sidebar. That's some good shit. I was thinking about
getting myself a Flickr account until I saw his, and decided I'm not
what you'd call "A Photographer".

And if I'm not convinced I can do it better than anyone I know, I
won't do it anymore. That's why I stopped playing guitar when I met
Ryan.

It's a ridiculous neurosis, to be sure, but it exists, nonetheless.
If I wasn't afflicted, I'd have kids by now. I know some great
parents. I could never live up to my sisters, my brother,  or my cousins 
as a parent, so I stopped trying.

Anyway, I hope to have some new writers on board soon enough. I just
pray they don't write better than I do.

Stay tuned.

More lunch thoughts.

I'm having a light lunch today. I haven't eaten since yesterday, and
I'm not really that hungry, I think. It may just be psychological,
though. I may subconsciously want to eat as little as possible so I
can drink myself into a coma tonight.

I did eat a lot last night, though. Ryan made some fantastic steak
concoction. I ate a ton of that, and promptly fell asleep for the next
fourteen hours.

In other (and possibly related) news, it's Eti's birthday right now. I
was going to send her something, but I don't really know how to send
things to the Middle East. And sending her something would surely make
her feel like she should call me, and as much as I want to hear her
voice, I don't feel like I'm in the right place (mentally) to take
that phone call right now.

I was talking to a coworker today, and she said, "You should do
something fun on your day off. What do you like to do that cheers you
up?"

I had no answer to that.

So I'll be up all night drinking red wine, wake up sometime tomorrow
evening, spend what's left of the day at my computer writing something
for my (as yet unpublished) website.

Plus, it's going to be a hundred and twelve degrees again tomorrow.
Who wants to go out and do anything in that kind of heat?

I hope the weather's a little more forgiving in Israel.

In fact, I hope a lot of things are.

Actual work being done? Ridiculous!

I'm well armed, now. I haven't written anything of substance for
quite some time.

I'll tell you a little secret, I've been using this time to put
together a pretty kick-ass website. I'll let y'all know when it goes
live, and much of the stuff you'll have already read right here, but
there will certainly be a lot more. I'm slowly coming out of my
little funk, and I plan to come out of my corner swinging.

I've got a Mac and a brain, and I'm not afraid to use them. Not
anymore, anyway.

Stay tuned.

Haircuts make me happy.

[sing in terrible, non-melodic, falsetto] "I'm going to get my hair
cut, woo-hoo!"

I always feel so much better after a haircut. For me, it's a lot like
a lumbar adjustment, or an hour of intense therapy. It's a rebirth, of
sorts. It makes me feel like a new man. And afterward, I always need a
shower.

Gray.

An odd, dreary day in Southern California.

Ah yes, fumar.

It's a bit of a novelty just to be smoking indoors, but finding so many "smoke aquariums" is a great thing.

God bless the Atlanta airport, and all the backwards people of the South.



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On my way to the other side of the country.

Sent from my iPhone

Boarding. Made it just in time.

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Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport

This airport is a ridiculous maze. I searched for my flight for half an hour before I found out I was in the wrong terminal. Let this serve as a word of advice: when choosing a series of flights to get you from point A to B, do not change airlines. If you're switching from US Airways to Delta, for example you may have to go outside, actually board a shuttle bus, and go to a completely separate terminal. It's like a whole different airport! And you'll have to go through security again. And if you believed the girl at the information desk, you'll probably ride the green and white shuttle all the way to terminal 2, when the only terminal serving Delta flights is obviously Terminal 3. No sir. Changing airlines is NOT recommended.



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