Start Me Up

The drive was longer than I remembered from my interview¹, maybe because my head felt like a block of concrete threatening to topple off my shoulders. No sleep the night before my first day at my first real(meaning salaried) job had me hoping new-experience adrenaline would rocket me through the day. Counting down until five - one day and already a typical office drone.

High Speed Internet Access was a start-up partly funded by Paul Allen, one of the original Microsoft founders and lover of recreational submarines(a venture of his I wish I had worked on instead). Befitting a start-up, there were only six other people in the office. Steve, the lead web developer, Mike the copywriter, a visual designer whose name I don't recall(let's call him the guy who got caught looking at Blacks On Blondes), a manic and unstoppably moronic middle-manager whose name I also don't recall(let's call her Cathy), RJ the tech lead with the fantastically deep voice, and our boss, another woman whose name has been replaced in my memory by my gym locker combination(probably).

They were very friendly people. Steve, in addition to being a web developer, was a very talented visual designer as well². He was the only Mac guy in the office, in the time before the iPod and Justin Long would convince many Americans to join him. Blonde and balding, he was a cool, grown-up nerd - a glimpse, maybe, into a possible future. Steve was also a musician, recording his own songs, mainly heavy metal. He gave me shit(partly deserved) for liking Metallica's Black album after knowing me for all of two weeks.

Mike wore leather jackets, listened to Danzig and Iron Maiden, acted in plays, had a super-cute red-headed girlfriend and generally seemed like the coolest guy I had ever met. It's a little embarrassing how I became his sidekick; a kid brother trying to tag along and emulate his superior, older sibling. One day RJ left a repeating loop on my computer playing 'Hey Mike' because that phrase came out my mouth at least a dozen times a day.

Fuck RJ.

To my credit, Mike and I became friends pretty quickly. He was into a lot of the same nerdy things I was, like Mystery Science Theater 3000, comics, sci-fi and horror movies, and heavy metal. He gave me tips on working out(which I had just started doing), women, and most importantly, music.

I was ignorant. A nit, dweeb, poser, whatever you want to call it, my musical canon rarely went past the radio dial.

One morning, I came in and overheard Mike and Steve discussing a new record. I awkwardly came over and offered that the new Live album was pretty awesome(basing my opinion solely on the fact that the single on the radio, "The Dolphins Cry", sounded pretty bad-ass³ to me).

The Dolphin's Cry (Album Versi...

Mike offered a polite "Really? Cool..." while Steve ripped into Live and told me they sucked back when they were called Public Affection and played small clubs in New York City(coincidentally, while Steve's band also played those clubs).

I was shocked. How could this band - played heavily on WHFS, the station the cool kids in high school and college listened to - suck? My brain had trouble accepting that anyone into rock music could hold such an opinion. Of course to this day I'm still struggling with building the courage and self-identifying will to not care so much about other people's opinions(without carelessly discarding them, though), and I'm getting better at it. Getting divorced helps.

Later that day, Steve played Kid Rock's Devil Without A Cause, which was getting a lot of attention in 1999 after languishing around for almost a year. "Rap Metal", or whatever you want to call it, was still nu(sorry, I couldn't help myself). The novelty of what Kid Rock was doing was fascinating(and yes it was novel, even if you consider Faith No More's "Epic" or Anthrax's "Bring Tha Noize" the first "rap metal" songs, because neither meshed rock music and rap the way Kid Rock, Limp Bizkit, Korn or Linkin Park did - Mike Patton's vocal stylings over a pretty great alternative rock song and Chuck D rapping over a metal song are basically a chocolate bar dipped in peanut butter, and while looking back at the origins of a Peanut Butter Cup may be more interesting than a Peanut Butter Cup, it still doesn't make it a Peanut Butter Cup⁴. Plus, no one but rock critics(and I guess Scott Ian) consider them rap metal in any conventional sense).

Even a decade later, the record holds up, certainly much better than most rap metal. I don't think it's a coincidence Kid Rock remains, at least commercially(and culturally, if you aren't a stick-in-the-ass snob) relevant, while Fred Durst⁵ and whoever the fuck was in Crazy Town have become musical footnotes.



The Kid's use of hard rock, country and blues is probably why Mike and Steve could listen to Devil but still mock Live. Kid Rock was an unserious theatrical hard rocker, much like a band both Mike and Steve loved, KISS.

I'd never really been exposed to KISS. Mike - appalled - played "Christine Sixteen"(a favorite because his girlfriend's name was Christine, though she was not sixteen). KISS had a constant presence in our office soundtrack after that.

Christine Sixteen - Kiss

I can't imagine an office as loud as ours was, and I'm surprised we got away with it as long as we did. Mike played Danzig⁶, Iron Maiden, and pre-Black-Album Metallica. Steve played Megadeth, Guns N Roses and even some Slayer. Cathy's office shared one wall with our space, as did RJ's. I think the breaking point was when I cranked Metallica's S&M one day, in attempt to prove to Mike and Steve that Metallica could still kick ass(not sure how I thought exhibiting Metallica's willingness to play with an orchestra would accomplish this goal). "Master Of Puppets", live with a string section, was apparently all the non-metal faction of the office could take. We were asked to use headphones from that point on(though Cathy still got to play the soundtrack from The Lion King - the only album she seemed to own - whenever and as loud as she wanted).

Dirty Black Summer - Danzig

The Wicker Man - Iron Maiden

Peace Sells - Megadeth

We (mostly) obeyed the headphones rule, until we go the idea to move all of our cubicles into the unused, far end of the office. HSA originally envisioned twenty plus developers working at the Hunt Valley location, so we had a lot of empty space. In a room meant for a dozen or more Ron Livingstons, the three of us took up residence and resumed playing our music.

After we ran through everyone's CDs, we discovered something that would make spending the summer of 1999 stuck behind a desk much more bearable: Napster.

In the (barely) pre-iPod days, Napster was a godsend. All of a sudden, Metal, Pop, Hip-Hop, R&B, Soul, Punk, Oldies, whatever the hell Wesley Willis was doing; all of it was bouncing off our cheap cubicle walls. Almost any song we wanted, instantly(and being 1999, the office was the only source of broadband for most of us, making it a privilege unique to work).

We put the "any song" aspect of Napster to the test, downloading obscure one-hit wonders, commercial jingles, themes from 70s sitcoms, and the demented spoken-word of William Shatner. One afternoon, we did all cartoons and I played the theme from Ducktales to trump Mike's Chip N Dale's Rescue Rangers. Steve followed with Alvin and the Chipmunks, and Mike countered with GI-Joe. I think it ended with me playing the opening song from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

On another afternoon(we must have been very productive in the morning) we had a contest to see who could download a song so bad, so offensive to the ears that the rest of the office would crack. It started off with annoying but bearable pop like "Pass the Dutiche" and "Ninja Rap", before Mike went to the nuclear option and played Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up".

Steve bounded from his desk to behind Mike's and violently snatched the power cord of Mike's speakers out of the socket, almost pulling the twin units down off the desk. Mimicking an umpire calling a runner safe, Steve said "You win dude, you win! NEVER, EVER play that again!"







Looking back, I can see the RIAA's point of view - Napster made digital thievery incredibly easy. Within days, every one of us had a library of music on our hard drives that was at least as big as our CD collections at home. And, befitting the times, none of us really saw a problem with this. Record labels gouged us on CDs, TicketMaster held a monopoly on concerts(despite Eddie Vedder's best, mumbling efforts), and out of all this greed Shawn Fanning appeared and offered us a way to stick it back to the man. The faceless, damnable man.

Still, I think we all knew, deep down, that it was just like going into Tower Records and walking out the door with the A-L Rock section one day, then coming back for the box sets(and some Blues, why not?) the next. Which is why, when Metallica(and Dr. Dre) announced their lawsuit, I sided with the band. I was the only one in the office to do this.

Now, I hadn't downloaded any Metallica, so that made my cognitive dissonance a little easier to ignore. Mike and Steve had, however, and they mocked me endlessly for my (albeit, mostly hypocritical)position. They already considered Metallica a past-their-prime, lame mainstream version of the former glorious eighties incarnation. The lawsuit only gave them more ammunition⁷.

Ironically, I was the only person whose Napster account was banned after Metallica turned over a list of users they said had illegally downloaded their music. So, for the five minutes it took to set up a new Napster account, Metallica had prevented me from doing something I hadn't done anyway.



Being my first office job, adjusting to the nine to five world was a little awkward. The Commute didn't help. And it deserves proper noun status, as The Commute was epic. From my apartment in College Park, getting to HSA in Hunt Valley required going through not only the Capitol Beltway(the suicide circle around DC, also known as 495) but also the Baltimore Beltway before finally ending(sort of) north of Baltimore, just before the border with Pennsylvania(in fact, Steve lived in Pennsylvania, and had a shorter commute than me). My drive could be anywhere from 45 minutes to over two hours. As such, getting to work "on time" became very subjective, at least from my point of view. As long as my work got done, who really cared?

Unfortunately, that's not how the working world(even at a start-up, apparently) works⁸. One morning I overslept, and combined with a slower-than-usual Beltway made me very, very late. RJ lit into me when I got into the office. At first I didn't think he was serious(I'm not used to people being mad at me, so when someone is, I assume they're joking), but then he threatened to have security escort me out.

In peril of being escorted to my Saturn by the short, balding and elderly security guard, I left. That was Friday. I went straight to UMCP and re-enrolled, thinking that it was something I could now afford to do. My family seemed(relatively) better. Monday, I quit.

Looking back, I needed that. RJ's humiliation of me in front of my co-workers taught me that, no matter what, don't give the boss a reason to be mad at you. Learn what time you are expected to be somewhere, and be there. No excuses. The fact that I was getting all of my work done didn't matter in the work-world context; the fact that I wasn't at my desk at nine(consistently) did. I still had, largely, a school-work mentality that doesn't cut it in the real world. I see it a lot at work today in some of the recent graduates we hire - some are notoriously unreliable when it comes to deadlines(some are notorious ass-kissers, and I'm not sure which is worse). The experience helped turn me into a more mature worker(depending on who you ask).

My academic come-back attempt didn't last long, though. My rash decision proved ill-informed: working part-time wasn't going to cut it as my family still needed a full-time income. So, a few months later, I was back at HSA asking RJ for my job back. I didn't get it.

I actually did well most of that quarter, but when I realized I wouldn't be back, I stopped showing up to classes. My father begged me to keep going, to gut it out for the grades(that I didn't think would ever matter) - maybe he did it out of guilt. Young, angry, and stupid, I just didn't care. Like cutting yourself to show someone how much they are hurting you, failing all of my classes was an adolescent, fucked-up way to get back at my parents.

I don't totally regret it, but it definitely wasn't the smartest thing I ever did. Eventually, I found another job.

Working with my father.

¹My interview and the accompanying test I took to get the job was laughable by today's web standards: Table-based layout, Netscape was still a force, Internet Explorer was just beginning to take a foothold and FireFox didn't exist. We barely used CSS. JS took a backseat to Perl and other CGi-based scripting. People thought ColdFusion would be the next big thing. We were dancing without music.

²This is a rarity in the industry these days, as roles have become more specialized. At least outside of freelance work.

³"Bad-ass" usually means it has a crunching power-chord filled riff.

⁴I obviously wrote this while either a)hungry and/or b) stoned. I leave it up to the reader's imagination.

⁵For all the beatings Fred Durst has taken since Rap Metal imploded, at his peak, he was cool enough to have the Wu Tang Clan(an act with an abundance of credibility) guest on "Rolling (Urban Assault Vehicle)" on Chocolate Starfish And The Hot Dog Flavored Water. I listen to this track when I exercise, it's a real heart-pumper. DMX also makes an appearance. I wonder if Fred ever hears from any of them anymore.

⁶This was before the first X-Men movie, and Mike and I loved to speculate on a "dream cast". Patrick Stewart had already been mentioned as Professor Xavier, but no one had ever heard of Hugh Jackman. Mel Gibson was a popular fanboy Wolverine pick, but after seeing pictures of a ripped Danzig, I agreed with Mike that the runty, stocky and scary looking former Misfit was a perfect Logan.

⁷I've written about the Metallica/Napster debacle in my review of Death Magnetic, so I won't get into it here

⁸Except it does, at least in advertising, where I now work. When I first started, I showed up at 8:30 for a week before I realized hardly anyone came in before 10.

That's Not What I Meant

I've been going home a lot lately. Travelling means bringing things; which in turn means forgetting said things. I've lost some weight this year, so my jeans ride a little too low without a belt. Unfortunately, I've left belts at a friend's house in Baltimore, my parents' place, and at friends' in the city. Which left me beltless the other day at the office, my jeans threatening to fall right off my Irish ass(which is an oxymoron), and led to the following exchange:

    Lady Co-worker: You should buy some belts.

    Me(without thinking): Yeah, I keep leaving my belts at other people's places.

    Lady Co-worker: ...

So, now I'm the office man-whore. 

A Good Start

This is how I would like to start every morning: trying to use the sink that's full of my roommate's dirty dishes(from a Monday night party) and accidentally splashing water so it looks like I pissed myself, followed by delayed trains, and then finally getting to work to find someone else has logged into your machine and locked it.

Fun.

Ramblings, Death Cab, and Guilt

Skip to thoughts on Death Cab.

I am lost.

No, I'm not lost. I'm directionless. Searching for meaning. Fulfillment. But where? From what?

Work? Why don't I feel fulfillment from work? Whenever I try to build my identity(yes, that's the word - knowing yourself is important, I've heard) through work I feel foolish. Isn't it common knowledge that most work is bullshit? Who will remember you for the extra time you put in the office? Is that what you want your family and friends to think of? Yes, I do remember hearing this message - mostly from Hollywood millionaires pretending to be middle-class men who should be content with their place in life. Lost family men who've betrayed their families by missing a Little League game or a piano recital(don't kids do anything interesting? fuck, no wonder pretend Dads and Moms don't want to show up to this shit). Men doing their dream jobs telling us to be content without our dream jobs.

Perhaps if your work is your dream(and therefore important to you), it's OK. From Children's Magician to CEO, I bet both know themselves pretty good through their work. It's part of who they are. Is my job part of who I am?

Maybe there is a problem with my assumptions(which are always dangerous); maybe when you go looking for work that is meaningful you actually rob it of any chance of giving you fulfillment. You can't get by on the "idea' of important work, because you've abstracted it too much. It should just come naturally; what you would be doing anyway.

And if that's true, then what would be important, fulfilling work to me would be reading, writing, watching movies, and doing whatever comes next...

...that's not a fucking job! That doesn't sound like doing anything, let alone an occupation. It's just hanging out.

So yeah, I won't find fulfillment -- at least not total, zen level fulfillment -- through work. At least not yet. That doesn't mean I can't find a certain kind of satisfaction. Hard work can be it's own reward, if you don't take it too seriously. That lesson only took twenty-nine years to learn...

...I'll bet women respond to men who don't do this kind of over-thinking; men who just get things done without wondering what does it all mean?

Is that what the red-head¹ was trying to tell me?

"I'm attracted to a guy who is in control..."

I could tell from the tone of her voice what she meant. I could take that tone and march it around New York and it would match frequencies with the vibes those men put out, buzzing in attraction. And even if one was a children's clown, they would be in control. More control than I'm in, that's for sure.

Like I said, I'm directionless. Each morning I start being tossed about by myself, wondering where I'll bounce myself to next. I have no control over myself - and what else should I be controlling? Maybe this lack of control is why I listened to that damn Death Cab for Cutie album more than once...

I'll admit, I don't particularly care for the last Death Cab album(or the band itself, for that matter). Sure, "I Will Possess Your Heart" is a decent song but I prefer the radio edit version, not the rambling, pointlessly long album cut. I tried, believe me I tried to like them but after a while the lead singer's whiny chirp of a voice grates on my nerves. See, I don't even know his name! Yet I feel compelled to have an opinion about his band, or face losing my music credibility. So I listened to that last album(something to do with stairs), and I listened, and I kept listening even though I strongly disliked what I was hearing. And then, for the last track, someone reads the fucking credits. That's the soundtrack to a hipster circle jerk. Who the fuck thought anyone would want to listen to the album credits? If I like your band, I'll read the fucking liner notes, OK? Christ people, have some faith.

ANYWAY, control, direction..how do I right a rudderless ship? Stop making obvious metaphorical writing choices? Couldn't hurt.

I'm reading more, listening to more music, trying to find out what I like, what I am like and in the end, trying to become someone I would like to meet, hang out with, shoot the shit, invite to a party, and possibly meet up for a late night fuck. Who knows?

And it feels a little wrong. Hasn't Judd Apatow and Zach Braff saturated the market with this crap? Isn't this whiny-white-male-disillusioned-and-lost bullshit been done to death? It's so out. And, unfortunately for me, manic pixie dream girls don't really exist. They're just manic.

Well, even if it's out of fashion, it's still where I am. And it's probably why I liked "Definitely, Maybe"², watch How I Met Your Mother, and listen to Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over"³ late at night like it's a profound act.

Still, I feel a little guilty that if I had a vagina I'd have much less shit in popular culture to identify with.

Could I identify with "Stay Positive", the latest from Hold Steady? Are Craig Finn's lyrics gender-crossing? He does sing about Boys and Girls in America, after all, not just boys. And it would be really easy to say "Here's One For The Cutters" should resonate with women(thought it feels dirty). Still, they are heavily classic-rock influenced, not the most popular genre of music among women(I actually had one girl tell me she wouldn't date a man who listened to Lynrd Skynrd). But that's all based on stupid stereotypes. I'm the only person I know who cut themselves and I didn't even listen to Bruce Springsteen until a girl got me into him.

You know what, to hell with feeling ashamed of what I like.

¹The red-head isn't actually red-headed, technically. But my mind plays tricks on my eyes.

²My man-crush on Ryan Reynolds is also a factor.

³In a true sign of being able to bullshit, I know that Crowded House is supposed to be an underrated 80s band with a worthy catalog that goes way beyond this one hit single. And I'll say that. But this is still the only song of theirs I've heard.

A Riveting Experience

I recently attended a mandatory training/orientation meeting. The subject was security, and free snacks were provided for the hour and half ordeal. Here are my carefully written meeting notes:

That brownie was excellent.

A Theory

Everyone is familiar with the "Fuck It" theory: during a night out there comes a point when - instead of exercising good judgment and going home - you say "Fuck it!" and order another shot of Jack for you and all your friends¹. We've all had those moments, when drunk logic trumps actual logic. Then you agree to go to Atlantic City, streak through Midtown, convert to Scientology or some other such nonsense. Last night I was in the middle of such a moment when a co-worker introduced me to an addendum to the "Fuck It" theory, the "Fuck It Fuck It" theory.

The thinking goes that as you get older, you start to realize you can say fuck it to your previous fuck it: Sure, I could keep drinking, bar-hop until four in the morning while making embarrassing drunk texts, singing at the top of my lungs to songs only I can hear, and come into work smelling of skunky beer mixed with bodily funk, sure I could do that...but maybe I should just finish this drink, go home, jerk off, go to sleep, and that's all I'll do². You know, fuck it, fuck it!

Maybe or more elegant name would be Suck it, Fuck it!, but I'm not sure. I'm also not sure what the average age of getting to the FIFI stage is, but I'm not there yet. I went through with the original fuck it, though the results were a little more mild than past incidents. No asking random bartenders and random passersby where the hell I was, just a little tired today.

¹"Friends" has a loose definition during a Fuck It moment, and often includes random strangers, sworn enemies, and inanimate objects.

²My apologies to Quentin Tarantino.

A Small Fish

I'm sitting at my desk, taking in some morning comics and scanning the headlines, when a realization hits: I don't fit in here.

This isn't all bad. It's good to experience new people, new things; you can't always be in a comfort zone. One part is bad, however. In fact, when I actually put words to why I was feeling a little out of place, it wasn't just bad, it was eye-openingly awful. A shiver ran down my body, my spine twisted and contorted when I thought: Everyone here is so young.

What. The. Fuck. I'm young. 28 is still young isn't it? Sure, I wasn't 10 when the Spice Girls first toured like the girl who sits two spots away. I didn't graduate college in 2006 like some members of my team(or in 1993, like some others...so there's still time). I mean, it's not like I'm wearing a Mission Of Burma or Ramones t-shirt that I actually bought at a Ramones or Burma concert. Now that guy is...older.

And there are plenty of other people older than me, too, but now I'm closer to the middle range than the younger range. I've always, always, been the youngest person at work, excluding my first job at a Loews Theater. Now for the first time, I'm not. And that's just really, really fucking weird.

The other part is how, well, rich everyone else is. Or at least their background is rich. I think the best word is "international". Globe trotters, they went to private or boarding schools, have friends in Australia, France, England, and California. They have "taste". They follow - but also start - "trends". In fact, everything about them should be in quotes, because it always seems so strange to me that it needs to be held up and examined at arms length. Like a strange artifact or a crying, crapping newborn.

Of course, not everyone is like this. Just enough to let me know I'm not the norm anymore. In DC/Maryland, no one was like this.

I'm not sure if the next part comes with the rich part, but everyone here is very, very used to success. High profile clients, huge projects, big names; all the norm. Apparently, I just lucked out getting this job - whereas I was just pulled out of a random resume pile from Monster, everyone else I've talked to had to get a recommendation. Was a mistake made? Do I really, seriously belong here? I wonder.

It'll all work out though. I keep this line close these days:

"This is New York City/If you can make it here you can make it anywhere" - NY Weather Report, Talib Kweli - Ear Drum

The End?

The big, long project is over. We've had some positive press, a good reception from the client, and only some minor browser bugs(Safari and IE6, I'm looking at you...). Go check it out, and buy some books, for god's sake :)

So will I be returning to regular blogging? Maybe. Or, more accurately, yes and no. I'll be posting more regularly, that's for sure, but I'll also be taking time to work on the site that will eventually replace this one. It will be my own creation, and should go live in early 2008. It will be part blog, part music writing, part photos, part resume, etc.

In the mean time, though, it's good to be back.

Hey There...

I promise I'll be back some day. Probably after 10/01, when the huge project I'm working on finally rolls out. Then, back to semi-regular posting and ranting...

Career Choices

As a child I wanted to be many, many things. My first choice of career, that I can remember, was Jesus Christ. More accurately, I wanted to be the first guy to never sin since Jesus. Sadly, I realized I had ruined that, already, while still stuck in the single digits. I briefly considered being a missionary, but shortly after being told my best friend was going to hell for being Jewish, I stopped being Catholic. So that was out.

After my religious falling out, I wanted to be a video game counselor. It seemed reasonable: I loved video games, I was good at video games, and according to The Wizard¹, you could sit in a cubicle and assist autistic kids over the phone. What kid doesn't want to do that? Then, I wanted to be a comic book artist. Then a lawyer. Environmental Lawyer. Movie Critic. Journalist. Screenwriter. Sports Journalist. Then when I realized I would need money(and what was wrong with having lots of it), corporate lawyer.

As it turns out, I am none of those things; I am a web monkey. Which isn't a bad thing, really. Do video game counselors even exist anymore? Did they ever? Not that it wouldn't be cool to be a comic book artist, movie critic or ESPN talking head. Or a professional basketball player. But I strayed. What I should have done was get the lead in a romantic comedy or sitcom. I should have been an actor. Then I could be anything I wanted.

I keep seeing previews for The Bill Engvall Show, where Engvall gets to be a therapist. Alan Thicke played a psychiatrist, Bill Cosby an MD(he did serve at a Navy Hospital, though); in fact, doctor seems to be a very popular fake career. Lawyer is well represented, though it's hard to find too many that look like Calista Flockhart or Laura Flynn Boyle. Or Dylan McDermott, for that matter. Sarah Jessica Parker was a journalist. Cirroc Lofton(Jake Sisko) was a basketball player.

It must be awesome to pretend to be something really cool. In his movie career, Adam Sandler has been a singer, professional golfer, college football player, legal genius, a marine veterinarian, pizzeria owner, professional football player, architect, and a firefighter. What will he be next? What else did he want to be when he was a boy?

John Cusack has been an amateur kick boxer (he actively trains to this day), professional baseball player (a role he somehow managed to play before being a high school kid in Say Anything), a physicist working on the Manhattan Project, a professional hitman, a US Marshall, an air traffic controlle r(eh?), a record store owner, and even a freaking cowboy.

Why, why didn't I study drama?

Just Need Some Sleep

Why do people peer down subway tunnels like they have fucking night vision goggles on? Back away from the platform, you perching little-shits. The train will get here when it gets here.

OK, I'm a little pissed. I had another late night at work. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm moving in with my girlfriend, I'd never see her. Or anyone, for that matter. My sole human interaction would be with my co-workers, fellow commuters, and my good friends at TBS and Adult Swim(basic cable only).

In some ways, working late feels like part of the NYC initiation. You walk faster, get a tiny apartment, eat a lot of Chinese take out, and you work until your fingers bleed.

In other ways, it makes me want to break my keyboard over my knee and shove the head of the annoying woman who sits behind me through my monitor. She has this voice, this annoying, spine-stiffening, gravelly white-bread voice and she speaks with almost no inflection, just a mild, rising tone throughout every asinine utterance.

Sigh, again, late night.

So, yeah, we have an apartment. That's good news. The bad news is I still get mail with my ex-wife's name on it. My girlfriend can be very understanding, but getting a routine reminder of my ex is not something that I think she will tolerate. Thing is, the ex-wife's name still appears on some mail that comes from my bank. Hopefully, after some paperwork I've filled out and mailed, it will end before the end of the month.

In less personal news, it's been a good year for music. I've been listening to the new Spoon, Ryan Adams, Silverchair (seriously), Battles, Common, Art Brut, Stars, and Paul McCartney albums. I'll be writing in more detail about some of these later, but I recommend all of them. The Live From The Paradiso EP from the Cold War Kids is also worth picking up and includes a great cover of Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come".

Well, I'd better get to bed. Another long day(probably) awaits.

On My Way Up

I've been doing a lot of work at a client downtown in a huge multi-story office building, working on the ninth floor. Every day on the elevator ride up, I pass heaven. Or at least the closest thing in the Internet world, Google.

Google has offices on the fourth floor, and they are hard to miss. The elevator doors open and you're bathed in a warm, soft light, a choir of beautiful blond angels sing the Hamster song, and you see the only page with info on your ex is some stupid college alumni page. Oh, and there's a huge Google logo over the desk. There's an abacus near the receptionist for some reason. One of those multi-colored expanding plastic balls sits on the floor, as if to say, hey bitches, we're Google and we have so much money nothing has to make sense.

Beyond that, I have no idea what it's like. Only the lucky people who work for Google do. They all look pretty happy. They all have iPhones. I'll bet they have unicorns, ambrosia, and free snacks, too. Must be nice.

Thank God It's Sunday. Oh Wait...

What a week. As the entire world knows(because anything that happens in New York is very, very important), flooding brought the Subways in Manhattan to a standstill. Torrential rain the night before -- three inches in an hour, apparently -- caused the severe, unexpected flooding. I slept through that, and awoke to a sunny, albeit damp, morning. Finding my Subway stop ridiculously crowded, I was perplexed.

I tried buses. I tried other Subway lines. I considered taking a cab, then remembered that they would all be taken and it would take forever to get downtown. So I walked to work. About 30 city streets/blocks, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I had some good tunes from the iPod("Free Bird" is great walking music), and New York is always scenic. Sometimes the scenery smells, curses, elbows or runs you over, but it's scenic nonetheless.

The rest of the week wasn't nearly as entertaining. I did have to work Saturday, but at least it was quiet.

This week, however, should be very, very interesting. My girlfriend and I have to find an apartment. I have deadlines piling up. I'm already planning on buying some comfort booze for when I slip into my apartment, concluding each grueling, stressful day. This is the worst time of the year to look for an apartment.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

In the last two weeks, I've gone from this:



(the Nike 500 miles run club) to this:


I can't claim any real innocence; after all, I asked for this job, and I really want to do well. I've been staying late of my own volition.

Still, it's kind of striking. I haven't been to the gym in over a week; I haven't seen my girlfriend in almost two weeks; I've been putting in ten and twelve hour days(or more) - it gives pause, to say the least.

After dinner with a close friend -- who warned me of his similar experiences at his last job -- I've decided I need to set some better boundaries at work. There has to be a balance. If I learned anything from The Karate Kid, it's the need for balance. If you have no balance, you end up in a freezing lake. A very important lesson, second only to "if you do Karate 'I guess so', squish! - just like grape!".

I do love my new work. It's stimulating, creative, and for the most part, fun. I'm still getting used to this new, strange city - and it's success-driven work culture.

"If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere". That's what they say about New York. Maybe, just maybe, if I get the balance right, I will make it. Then this will be me:

I May Have Spoken Too Soon

Ugh, I feel sick. I've been eating more fruits and vegetables, drinking water, and exercising in a vain effort to prevent any illness. Maybe I can still win, but today feels like it could be the tipping point towards failure. Sheesh.

I bought some cold medicine from a nearby Duane Reade, took some, and left the box at work. So, soon I'll rest and forget about all the work that still has to be done. At least, when it's finished, I'll have something great to show for it.

Hopefully.

I'm watching the World Series of Pop Culture, and I have to route for Westerberg High, in honor of The Replacements' lead singer Paul Westerbeg. Great name for a trivia team. Of course, Carlton Banks dance academy isn't too bad either. Appropriately, Westerberg High won the music category. Also, I find it not only hilarious that "sugartits" was an answer, but that VH1 had to bleep "tits".

This weekend I'll be visiting the family and taking part in Magic: The Gathering World Wide Game Day. Yep, I'll be waving my freak nerd flag high. Should be a relaxing, fun time.

Tomorrow is the photo shoot,; hopefully I'll feel better by then. Until then, here are...

The De-Stressing From Work Hits Of 7/11

1. "Stars and Sons", Broken Social Scene
2. "Life Of Pain", Black Flag
3. "Seen Your Video", The Replacements
4. "Strawberry Fields", Ben Harper
5. "Bartering Lines", Ryan Adams
6. "Fly That Know", Talib Kweli (feat. MF Doom)
7. "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy", Queen
8. "Stay Positive", The Streets
9. "Little Cream Soda", The White Stripes
10. "The House That Guilt Built", The Wrens
11. "Rolling Back", My Morning Jacket
12. "What's Going On", Marvin Gaye
13. "Time Of The Season", The Zombies

Courtesy Of The Make A Wish Foundation

I'm blatantly aping a great writer when I say, I am not qualified to live here.¹

Here not being the city of New York, but rather the Upper West Side, or UWS² for short. This is a place for blue-blooded WASPS, not a guy whose Prince George's County accent routinely comes up("I ain't got no cash, shiiit..."). The streets are lined with the upper-middle class, their stores, strollers and dogs. The nearest grocery store is more expensive than anywhere I shopped in DC, and I used to live near the Watergate Safeway. Sure, it carries frozen pizza, but only in personal size. It also carries brick oven frozen pizza, which defies explanation. The McDonald's downstairs delivers, and it has to, because no one who lives here goes in for anything other than a McFlurry, and those they eye with delight the way they might sample an exotic treat while on some far off safari sabbatical.

Finding myself here, I wonder; I ponder; I ask myself:...how did I get here?

Even at work, it seems, I find myself in another world. If I overheard a conversation at my old job, it was about babies, television, current events, and pop culture. Now, if I overhear a conversation, I don't know what it's about, because it's in French. Which is great, but still makes me feel like JoJo the idiot circus boy, who won a contest and gets to work at an ad agency and shack up in Miff and Buffy's neighborhood.

¹Chuck Kolsterman.

²I only know this because my GF pointed it out when Craigslist apartment ads began to confuse me.

Friday, Thank God

What a long week it's been. Work has been draining, but ultimately rewarding. I've finally been moved away from all the floor-ripping and empty desks, and now I sit among actual human beings. The only bad part is I'm in the section of the building that is having it's bathrooms remodeled, so I have to go down a floor to use the facilities. That, and now I sit within a few arms lengths of the producer of my current project. My boss, basically, but it seems weird to call him that since I potentially have many, many bosses. Not that he is a bad guy or a slave-driver or anything, it's just...not my style.

I've discovered, much to my delight, that I live within a few blocks of both a Loews Theater and a Barnes & Noble. I'll be spending a lot of time at both this summer. I already paid the B&N a visit, buying a couple of books on New York, some titles for work as well as a new Nirvana biography. Summer reading at it's best(except for the work books).

Speaking of my neighborhood, it amazes me how relatively crowded the streets are after nine. It always looks like a party just let out somewhere. One more thing to get used to. Along with the fact that I somehow didn't realize that my new apartment does not have a microwave. Instead of instant oatmeal, I have three to five minute oatmeal. Which is just as good, except for the additional cleaning.

One thing I'm very glad my apartment has, is a working air conditioner. The New York sun isn't at Heat-Death-Ray readiness yet, but it's getting there. With only one room to serve, my AC unit will have no problem keeping me cool all summer. Hopefully.

One thing I thought about, late last night before I fell asleep, was the movie Big. I'm sure someone else has said this before, but don't you think it really weirded out the Josh's mother when her son grew up to look just like the guy she thought kidnapped him? Or did Josh go out of his way to grow a beard/mustache? Also, could you convict Elizabeth Perkins character of statutory rape? Or would the illusion of age be enough to dodge the charges?

I need to sleep more.

The View

The view from my new apartment. I'll have to enjoy this, since it's only for the summer. I had to work late tonight, but at least it's rewarding work. Plus, the week is half over. Come on weekend!

Another Empty Room

My new job in NYC has been great, for the most part. As with any new endeavor, there was -- or rather there still is -- a period of adjustment. For one thing, hardly anyone comes in before ten. Happily, jeans and a t-shirt are accepted as a web developer's standard uniform; just as it should be.

Of course there are the standard NYC/DC differences. Sometimes I still reach for my MetroCard when I'm about to exit a subway station, forgetting that it's not necessary here. Seeing promos for the Yankees and Mets, instead of my usual summer stalwarts the Orioles(and now the Nationals), is a little weird. Office-wide e-mails seek takers for extra Red Sox/Yankee tickets, not Redskins/Cowboys. PathMark replaces Giant. Overall, though, it's been a smooth transition, aided by my many visits over the last two ears.

Some things have remained the same. For one, I'm still in the middle of an office move. Apparently, my new employers are transitioning a lot of people to a new building(thankfully, it's just across the street). I was seated among the people slated to move, because apparently, no one had any idea what to do with me.

My first day, everything was normal. People seated all around, working, talking, etc. My desk-neighbor shared the same name as me, which led to some hilarious instances of me whipping my head up when people called for him. Well, it was funny to me.

By the end of the first week, four people, their computers, desks, and phones were gone. The following Monday, everyone but four people(of about twenty) had been moved. My doppelganger desk-neighbor was gone, as was his desk, and my chair. I borrowed an errant one from the empty expanse of the once populated room.

Now, there is no one here except me and a woman whose job it is to, as far as I can tell, sit behind me at a desk -- sans computer -- and periodically tell me about doughnuts and juice available in the kitchen.

My Desk Without Me In It

Before I left for New York, I had a glimpse of what my life could have been.

On a whim, Brian and I visited DOT's new building. It was my last day, so I figured why not; I could see what I'd be missing.

The old building sat right atop the L'Enfant stop and was, in every way, a typical Federal building: rooms full of cubicles and offices saturated in boring tones of gray and taupe. The new building was only two more stops down the Green Line, at the Navy Yards stop. After a loud ride full of freshly released school kids, we climbed out onto New Jersey Avenue and found, much to our surprise, a very modern facility waiting for us. A circular bay of huge glass doors; a giant DOT seal on the lobby floor; actual Security turnstiles; two huge atriums(one of which houses much improved cafeteria and snack shop facilities); and huge, clean, talking elevators. Was I missing out?

Apparently not. Cubicles had made way for a honeycomb of workstations, clustered together with no thought given to privacy or headaches. People had been grumbling about this since the workstations had been revealed almost a year ago, and they've been vindicated. I don't know how good vindication feels when you

At that moment, though, we were hopefully optimistic. Or at least Brian was, since it was probably my first and final time there.

The web team had been prepping to move for the past two weeks. Crates were packed, computers, monitors, keyboards and mice labeled. Here, names were taped to every one's new assigned desk. Including, curiously, mine.




A strange site, considering I'd never work at this desk. I thought about everything I was leaving behind. This would have been security -- for the most part -- and stability. This could have been my life. I sat in it, just so I could say I did it once. It was comfortable...perhaps too much.