Friday, June 29, 2007

From Mezz0:


Infinite Jest

“Mario, you and I are mysterious to each other. We countenance each other from either side of some unbridgeable difference on this issue. Let’s lie very quietly and ponder this.

I’ve been reading this novel, a magnum opus, and perhaps a lasting work of genius called “Infinite Jest” by David Foster Wallace. It has been my evening dose of pleasure, humility, and pleasure in humility. His craft is top notch, and if I shared his divergent thought process, I wouldn’t bother getting out of bed in the morning, rather, I would entertain myself with thoughts for the next 16 hours, and then pass out into a world of dreams banal in comparison.

I’m through recommending books to anyone ever again because it’s a no-win situation, and nobody reads these days anyway. So don’t read this book. Instead, read this excerpt of the aforementioned book, and then rot your fucking brains with whatever is on television:

An oiled guru sits in yogic full lotus in Spandex and tank top. He’s maybe forty. He’s in full lotus on the towel dispenser just above the shoulder-pull station in the weight room of the Enfield Tennis Academy, Enfield MA. Saucers of muscle protrude from him and run together so that he looks almost crustacean. His head gleams, his hair jet-black and extravagantly feathered. His smile could sell things. Nobody knows where he comes from or why’s he’s allowed to stay, but he’s always in there, sitting yogic about a meter off the rubberized floor of the weight room. Tank top says TRANSCEND in silkscreen; on the back it’s got DEUS PROVIDEBIT in Day-Glo orange. It’s always the same tank top. Sometimes the color of the Spandex leggings changes.

This guru lives off the sweat of others. Literally. The fluids and salts and fatty acids. He’s like a beloved nut. He’s an E.T.A. institution. You do like maybe some sets of benches, some leg-curls, inclined abs, crunches, work up a good hot shellac of sweat; then, if you let him lick your arms and forehead, he’ll pass on to you some little nugget of fitness-guru wisdom. His big one for a long time was: “and the Lord said: Let not the weight thou wouldst pull to thyself exceed thine own weight.” His advice on conditioning and injury-prevention tends to be pretty solid, is the consensus. His tongue is little and rough but feels good, like a kitty’s. It isn’t like a faggy or sexual thing. Some of the girls let him, too. He’s harmless as they come. He supposedly went way back with Dr. Incandenza, the Academy’s founder, in the past.

Some of the newer kids think he’s a creep and want him out of there. What kind of guru wears Spandex and lives off others’ perspiration? They complain. God only knows what he does in there when the weight room’s closed at night, they say.

Sometimes the newer kids who won’t even let him near them come in and set the resistance on the shoulder-pull at a weight greater than their own weight. The guru on the towel dispenser just sits there and smiles and doesn’t say anything. They hunker, then, and grimace, and try to pull the bar down, but, like, lo: the over weighted shoulder-pull becomes a chin-up. Up they go, their own bodies, toward the bar they’re trying to pull down. Everyone should get at least one good look at the eyes of a man who finds himself rising toward what he wants to pull down to himself. And I like how the guru on the towel dispenser doesn’t laugh at them, or even shake his head sagely on its big brown neck. He just smiles, hiding his tongue. He’s like a baby. Everything he sees hits him and sinks without bubbles. He just sits there. I want to be like that. Able to just sit all quiet and pull life towards me, one forehead at a time. His name is supposedly Lyle.

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From The Youngest:

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

From The Youngest:
Senator Bill Frist is a Big Fat Idiot

Monday's drive in to work was one of those king-hell commutes. When I got in line at the 5 minute stop light, which I work into the commute time, I realized that I was about four times further away from the light than I usually was.

4x5 = a 20 minute stoplight

Frustrated, I grabbed a cigarette...only to realize that I had only two more remaining. Buying a pack of smokes takes five minutes.

25 minutes late= phone call notifying boss-man

I called and continued onward...finishing my last cigarette as I pulled into the Walgreen's parking lot. I asked for a Camel Light hardpack and handed over my Visa Check Card.

"I'm sorry, your card isn't going through...I'm going to have to..."

"Run it again," I demanded, "that card is hooked up to my checking account, my credit is valid, run it again!"


The man did as instructed, solemnly waiting for the same rejection message.

"Sir, it's not going through, I'm going to have to keep your..."


I snatched my card quickly out of his hand and darted out of the store and into my minivan.

Fuck! how am I going to make it through the day without cash, food, and smokes!

I continued on my drive in to work. Quickly realizing that I needed to phone my bank, I called in and was told that my card was on hold due to.....fraud detection...will I hold to transfer....OK...pulled a U-turn and headed back towards Walgreens.

"At least this should be fast," I thought.

I racked my brain trying to think of any big purchases or travel that would have set off the alarms. Nothing came to mind."Hello Mr. Youngest, the reason your card has been placed on hold is...do you gamble at online gaming sites?"

Panic.

Oh Fuck no! Not today! Not Monday! Why would they stop letting me use my card now! Can they legally seize my money? Oh lord, no! How am I going to eat!

My mind quickly recalled the previous night. I had a bottle of whiskey and was testing my luck, multi-tabling in expensive tournaments. Towards the end of the night, my poker account ended up at $0.37. I tried to deposit more money and was denied for the first time ever. That didn't stop me from trying 5 more times, though. 5 more times on each of the five major online poker websites. I was denied no fewer than twenty-five times.

"Mr. Youngest? Are you there?"

If I deny it, I'm also confirming that someone is placing fraudulent charges.

"Yeah, umm, occasionally."


"It shows here that you made several recent attempts to deposit money at a variety of online gambling sites?"

**silence**

"Well then, Mr. Youngest, I need to inform you that we do not allow deposits to any online gaming websites. Ultimate Bet. Full Tilt. We do not allow deposits to any of them."


"Mmhmm."

"OK, I'm going to go ahead and lift the hold on your card then."


"Great! Can I use it, like, immediately? I need to buy something," I said as I walked back into Walgreens, pointing at the pack of Camels.

"Yes sir, you should be all set. You do understand that you will not be able to make any more deposits to these websites in the future?"


"Uh huh"


Relieved, I grabbed my smokes and huffed down one more on the last leg of my drive, heading into the office at 8:55.

Phew

It was a relief to have my purchasing power back in my wallet again. My favorite American hobby, though, was being threatened by whatever dirty republicans at my bank were in league with Bill Frist. No republican ever stopped this resourceful googler, though, and after a few more failed attempts at third party credit card processing companies I returned to Walgreens today.

"Hi, could I get a Camel Light hardpack...and one of those $100 Visa Gift Cards."

"That'll be $108."

I handed her my Visa Check Card. She then gave me a $100 Visa Gift Card with no name and no address connected to it. Somehow this is legal to use at all major online poker sites.
So in the end I got what I wanted. Money to gamble with...$100 that will offer more thrills than TV, Nintendo Wii, Nintendo DS, Command & Conquer, HDTV, and a quart of whiskey could give me...combined.

So fuck you, Bill Frist! You and your feet-fucking republicans can't hold down the Little Bastard!

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Tuesday, June 26, 2007

From la primera:
welcome

* please excuse the references to musicals. I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't help myself, somehow. if you read this and don't know what I'm talking about, just know that you are one of the lucky ones. *

I spent the day after I took the new job cramming as much of my old classroom as I could into U's truck.. I wanted him to skip work to help me move, but he couldn't get away. (or so he claimed...) I drove it to my new school 20 minutes down the street, on the other side of the freeway, as it were. and the tracks. turns out the trolley's just a stone's throw away, and is compelled to make that "clang, clang, clang went the trolley" sound each time it goes by, which is every 15 minutes during the day and every 7-8 minutes during peak hours that include the early morning, which coincide with the first two hours of school -- normally the most productive time of the day. and they really do go "clang, clang, clang" which I'd never really cared to think about before.. the first 10 or 12 times, I registered vaguely, "oh, this school is by the trolley." but now that I've heard it 20 or 30 times, I'm thinking, why don't I find a good sized rock and see if it really is just a stone's throw away? I'm thinking, how am I ever going to get used to or somehow cover up that sound? I'm thinking, please, please, please, let me never get a headache while I'm here. I'm thinking, no wonder this school has an API score of 1 -- who can think, much less learn or take a test with that incessant CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG

in any case, on my arrival I was greeted, for lack of a better word, by B, the custodian. something tells me that B's the kind of guy that likes to mess with folks, especially folks like me -- innocent-looking, a bit high-strung, the kind of folks you can get a good rise out of..
"hi, I just wanted to ask -- do you have a dolly, like a rolling cart around here..?"
he looks around out of the corners of his eyes. "look, if you're trying to do something like this, you really ought to go talk to the custodian about it first, but if you ask me, I think he's lookin to shoot you, so if I were you, I'd just turn around and go the other way..."
"hmmm." I nod thoughtfully. "all righty. so, is there a dolly around here that I could use, please?"
"well sure, there's one right over here." he gestures towards an L-shaped something that's entirely smothered in duct tape and I realize there are wheels on the bottom of it. "don't overload it."
"right. thanks... oh, and do you have a ladder around here that I could use?"
"man, you just never quit, do you? what are you tryin to do, here?"
"I'm just trying to move in as fast as I can.."
B, in his own time, gets out the ladder, shows me how to use it -- make sure it's flat and level, move it from place to place.. shows me how to lock and unlock the doors, shows me how the lights work.. apparently, he believes that without these careful explanations I will be left falling from the ladder, standing in the dark, locked out of my own classroom. even after he finishes, I know he's never far, because periodically I can still hear him shouting faintly, just as I'm about to put a tub full of books on the dolly: "don't overload it..."
a few hours later I'm ready to head back to the old classroom for another load, and B comes by to see me off.
"all right, then.. go on.. and you don't need to come back here, neither.. you can just stay back there where you came from." he shuffles away, shaking his head.

ah... H School is already starting to feel like home. I think I'm gonna like it here.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

From The Youngest:
The Next Top Chef Likes His Fish Fresh
**La Primera actually posted, interested parties should continue to scroll down, rather than immediately finishing my post and lighting a cigarette to complete that nice feeling of satisfaction you get after reading my entries**

"Ahhhh, Red Snapper! Mmmmm, very tasty. Okay, Weaver, listen carefully. You can hold on to your red snapper...or you can go for what's in the box that Hiro-San is bringing down the aisle right now! What's it gonna be? "

"I'll take the box. The box!!"

Fresh fish and television go together like sushi and sake…baseball and beer…peanut butter and jelly…politicians and psychosis.

Armed with these analogous truisms, I decided to follow Master P's suggestion and give the reality cooking competition "Top Chef" a chance to reel me in. After watching for a few minutes, I couldn't help but picture what chef Gordon Ramsey from Hell's Kitchen would be saying, "Too FUCKING salty you stupid donkey!"

Well, he might say something like that, but then he'd eventually say something like what I was thinking, "Holy shit, I know that guy. That's B. Malarkey!"

I used to deliver fresh fish to all the high class dining establishments in Minneapolis. That included the city's finest seafood restaurant, The Oceanaire. After wheeling it up to the second floor, baked out of my mind, Brian Malarkey would inspect the fish and then sign for it...initialing his first name to draw attention to that rediculous last name.

He had an interesting habit of picking up each individual fish filet and looking at each one closely. When he found a "bad" one his face showed the signs of disgust and richeous indignation. "That's crap," he'd say, then he'd violently throw the filet back in the box, along with all the other filets that passed his inspection, and demand that I return them all.

I once fought back, suggesting that they all looked delicious to me. He reacted strangely. His mood switched immediately to nervous dispair. He started wringing his hands and quickly sat down, rocking back and forth in his seat...his eyes began to well with tears.

<------The Youngest, last September

"Hey, take it easy B. Malarkey," I said soothingly, "I was just messin' with ya."

He quickly stood up and slapped my face with a violent blow, the richeous indignation was back. His eyes showed tyrannical fury. Then he moved in close to me and began waving his arms in the air all around me as if casting a spell, all the while chanting strange words in a loud, shrieking voice. I slowly backed out of the kitchen, leaving the fish behind.









The next day, a quart of fish juice spilled in my van during a high speed delivery. A mystically fishy scent remains to this day.

Now he's competing against other chefs to win fame and fortune.

In the last episode, B. Malarkey actually won a barbecue challenge to avoid elimination with the help of his seafood sausage. He referred to it as a Chino Latino inspired dish. Chino Latino is another quality Minneapolis restaurant. I delivered them fresh fish as well. Chino Latino never asked me to return anything and I never saw them cast a single spell. It's also the last place that I ate sushi in Minneapolis.

Ahhhhh, Minneapolis…you are my red snapper, you are my surprise mystery box.

**After minor research, it appears that B. Malarkey started in Minneapolis and then moved to California to help open a new Oceanaire. There is no update since then that I can find in his bio. I can tell you this , though, he was back in Minneapolis last summer. I never forget a signature. Plus he's cooking dishes inspired by a Minneapolis restaurant.


"You took the box? Let's see what's in the box!"

"Nothing! Absolutely Nothing! STUPID! You're so
STU-PIIIIIIID!"

















Anyway, I find all of this incredibly inspirational...

Haiku Time!

Little salmon roll
Why do you sit there so raw?
My joke was not mean

Oh, tuna you live
among white rice and seaweed
Don’t splash in the soy!

The eyes of the chef
Look hard for imperfection
Does he know I'm baked?

Jesus liked to fish
And was a fisher of men
Not big on hunting




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From Mezz0:
Dental Shenanigans

Dear Old Dentist Friend,

How’s your baby girl doing? Good, good to hear. Listen, I’m going to get right to the point.

As I explained over stiff drinks and Texas Hold ‘Em in Vegas, I haven’t had dental work in over five years. I know that I should probably have my wisdom teeth removed, a cap on the tooth I cracked in half on a stray guinea pig bone, and whitening due to enormous quantities of coffee and chewing tobacco consumption, but I’m kind of feeling jerked around by DDSs these days.



Last weekend, I was skimming the weekly coupon offers and ran across a great deal: $30 for x-rays, an exam, and cleaning. I scheduled my appointment, and drove to the run down strip mall where the office was located. After signing and dating a dozen forms, and paying my $30 in cash up front, a black man called my name. I know. Statistically, this is the only black male dental hygienist in the United States, period, so it was an honor to have my x-rays taken by him.

After the dentist reviewed my x-rays and teeth, a fourth party entered the room and showed me my plan. $4400 for laminate veneer whitening, $950 to cap the guinea pig tooth, $200 to fill my wisdom tooth, $155 for “Full Mouth Debridment,” and $125 for “irrigation”. I turns out the “cleaning” offered in the $30 package deal was a bait and switch tactic, not a real “cleaning” that we consumers of dental care expect.

So I agreed to pay the $155 + $125 for the real cleaning, and explained that I would discuss the rest with my fiancé. The scraping was done by the dentist leaving my mouth a bloody mess. She interrupted to negotiate with me over the pricing of the cap, and asked if she lowered the price if I would be interested in getting the mold cast that very day. When I declined, she pursued scraping with a vigor that bordered on aggression. After tearing the shit out of my gums, the hygienist sloppily buffed my teeth which reminded me of a five year old attempting to mud exposed drywall screw heads. The whole “cleaning” process took 15 minutes.

I hope, because this is your profession, you do not find this story tedious because now I have a few questions to ask:

When I visited a dentist six months ago, he told me that I had four tiny cavities in my molars, probably from grinding my teeth. This new dentist suggested that I was very likely to get a cavity any day in my wisdom tooth, and should probably fill it as a preventative measure, but said nothing about the other “cavities.” Do I have cavities or not? I’ve always understood cavities to mean “a sizeable hole” that 9/10 dentists would agree was either there or not there as opposed to, say, chakras, which would most likely be difficult to attain consensus between various spiritual practitioners.



Should cleaning take longer than 15 minutes, and involve significant blood loss?

Are all you people two bit crooks?

One more quick anecdote in case you are interested. The tooth pain that drove me to the dentist six moths ago turned out to be caused by clenching my teeth during waking hours. Once I made an effort to unclench my teeth during concentration, periods of stress, and vigorous masturbation, the pain went away.

All the best,

Mezz0

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From la primera:
teaching
yesterday, I was part of a panel of 8 teachers interviewing 21 people, one by one, for four teaching positions. the entire process took 11 hours, including the discussion at the end and reading exerpts of "From Good to Great" at the beginning. as we were all filing out, I was last, and the principal looked up at me sternly from her large wire glasses. "so, I hear from the principal at H School that you're applying for a position there..?"
"yes!" I did a little victory dance. (but only in my head)
I stopped breathing, nodded. "mmhmm"
"so, is there something you need to tell me...?"
"no, just wanted to check and see what was out there!" I force myself not to giggle nervously.
"-- because we're trying to make these hiring decisions by friday, and this is already tuesday."
"okay. I'll think about it tonight and talk to you more about it tomorrow."
she watches me closely as I sidle out of the room.
"you know -- so that way you know what's going on soon, and I have time to.. think."
one nod.

on the way home I pull into a parking lot and start making a list of the pros and cons of working where I do. in the end I have 4 things on the pro list. 16 on the con.

the next morning I go over everything on the con list, point by point, behind the closed door of her office. I am reasonable, professional... she is complimentary, speaking to me in an openly positive way about my teaching for the first time in the year and a half I have worked for her. usually she just doesn't speak to me at all, occasionally writes me a little post-it note with something p0sitive, which turns out to be a "form letter note" that I see in the exact same wording on the desks of other teachers.

afterwards, I feel relieved, but resigned.. like they always say, "you can't teach an old administrator new tricks..." or something. that afternoon I don't want to go to my scheduled interview.. I call M, my friend from work, she says to go -- why not?

at the interview, four people are interviewing three people at the same time -- not the ideal format, but what the hell. I am okay, but not great... I am too aware that it has all been said before.

I wonder what I will have to do next if they call me back -- teach a lesson for them? interview again?

three hours later they call to offer me the position. I call my teaching friends, my dad, a former supervisor who's been teaching in the same district for 40 years. it slowly becomes clear that my mind has already made itself up.

the icing on my giant cookie? it's a traditional school year, so I'll have the whole summer off.

now to tell my "old" principal.... something tells me that she isn't going to like this..

and there we have it. 6 hours from "I don't think I'll go to that interview after all" to "I have a new job!"

Sunday, June 10, 2007

From Mezz0:
Startup.com Part I - Challenges



I’ve completed the first month at my new job, which I will henceforth refer to as The Underpants* Project (TUP). On my first day, I was introduced to the company’s financial accounts, which were a mess.

“You majored in economics (Nero pronounced this “ekon-oh-mix”), you should be good at figuring this out.”

I didn’t tell him that I have absolutely no experience with business finance, I hated my high school accounting class, and am still struggling to figure out what financial documents I should be creating and/or monitoring.

But we’re getting there. I have all but separated the CEOs personal from business finances. I have everything on electronic bill pay, and a new system for accounting that allows us to actually see what income is coming in, what expenses are sending money out, and what future expenses are coming up. Now I am starting to bore myself. Vamp! Vamp!


Underpants Challenges

  • We are in debt. I tried getting a line of credit in order to transfer our ultra-high interest credit card debt, and was given a fiduciary bitch slap. Our rejection stated that we lacked credit history, had three delinquent payments in the last year, and suffered from revolving debt. Luckily, a lot of major financial institutions have customer support via online chat, so I was able to reply O RLY? UR teh l@mer knowing that if there is one think banks respect, it's teh leet hax0rs.

  • One of the company’s three trademark applications was declined a year ago, the two others are in limbo due to insufficient specimens in their applications, and nobody was aware of this until I stumbled upon a few stray documents while cleaning out my file cabinet. Luckily, I can bring my concerns to the Department of Patent Offices any time of day, any day of the week, via fax.

  • TUP was paying Google Adwords for a region we haven’t serviced in more than six months! For several hundred dollars/month! Take your efficient market theories and shove them up your ass, Adam Smith!


  • Two of the seven full time employees suffer from severe illnesses, one of which is degenerative in nature. A couple of Thursdays ago, I went into the office manager’s office to ask her a question and she was supine on the floor under her desk. Yes, I know. We were paying her to convalesce on the clock.

  • We have software due in one month that we were supposed to be working on for the past six. I’m not going to get into details, but remember in college when it was 2:00am, you had a 15-page research paper due in seven hours, you were wall-eyed with caffine, and in the middle of page three, you realize that you were writing yourself into a corner, your sources were not lining up with your thesis, there was no way out, and you had to give yourself a little pep talk to continue? Remember anything like that?

  • So on Friday we brought in someone to potentially help us with our software dilemma. He listened to our situation with patience, and then tactfully, but firmly explained.

    “You are screwed. Nobody can help you. I refuse to make it even worse by getting involved.”

    You might be thinking, “you have already described this challenge in the previous bullet, get to the point!” but you would be wrong. The challenge came when we agreed that Nero and I would be shifting virtually all of our energies into project managing the software deliverable, and letting the rest of the company work on auto-pilot. This past weekend I have been reviewing our contract, and attempting to break it out into separate pieces of development to, as the saying goes, wrap my arms around it. Nero, meanwhile, sent me the results of his efforts - screen shot designs for how our software would look if we ported it to an iphone.


*Time to go to work. Work all night.
Search for underpants, hey.
We won't stop until we have underpants.
Yum tum yummy tum tay!

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Monday, June 04, 2007

From Mezz0:
Ultimate Bigots



I received a response from Ultimate Bet. Is this a form letter, a modified form letter, or perhaps an attempt at talking down a man with dangerous ideas? I personally see this as a first amendment line in the sand. Who's coming with me?




Dear Mezz0,

Thank you for contacting us back.

We understand your point of view; however, we have customers all around the world and we try to make sure that all of them have a good time at our tables.

For this purpose, we have set policies in regards to standardize the use of usernames and strive to control the ones that may compromise or offend the integrity of any of our players. Keeping control of this issue does not mean that we disrespect any existing culture.

Unfortunately, we cannot allow you to use this username on your account. We kindly ask you to understand our position. You are a very valued player for us, and we do not intend to expose you to any inconvenience during your game play at our tables.

We will be more than happy to reopen your account, once you provide us with three new username options (no longer than 13 alphanumerical characters) for us to make the change on your account.

Do not hesitate to contact us back if you require further assistance or additional information.

Best regards,

Andy
Customer Support Department

***Ensure the security of your account! Never give out your password and change it frequently!***

-------------------------------------

So the multicultural angle didn't work. This means one of two things. 1 - they saw right through my transparent attempts at forcing through a vulgar username, or 2 - they hate the Koryak people of Siberia.



They could have saved the carefully measured response and just said, "No." I am, however, a man of principal,* and men of principal do not back down from anonymous email exchanges with customer service representatives.

--Original Message--
From: Mezz0
Date: 06/03/07
To: support@ultimatebet.com
Subject: Re: Rude Username [#5305203]

1) Urophagia
2) ProUrophagia
3) UrophagiaMan

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*Actually, I think a better word to describe me is "unscrupulous"