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Iron Fist

notepad

Perhaps the least productive part of any business day is the meetings we are called upon to attend.  I say ‘least productive’ in the sense that very little actual work is accomplished, most meetings seemingly designed as some sort of experiment to see how much boredom a human being can stand.  You may have a job at some sort of utopian organization wherein important things are decided in meetings, plans of action drawn up, realistic timetables established, sandwiches and beer are served by strong-armed Germans, etc  - none of this happens at my place of employment.  I am no longer invited to meetings where I have some interest in the topic being discussed: although I have learned not to preface my comments with “here is why what you are proposing is a horrible idea and is going to screw us in the long run”, common sense and efficient problem solving are not especially valued at my job site.

Meeting are rather productive, however, in that I usually bring a notepad with me wherein I pretend to be taking notes, but in actuality am creating personal to-do lists, completely fictional to-do lists, writing out lines of dialog between two spontaneously generated characters, and drawing pictures of sword-wielding alien warriors (think Tars Tarkas).  It is also a great opportunity to work on my improvisational skills, when I suddenly become aware that I might have been asked a question and need to respond in a way that 1) implies I was paying attention to the meeting, and 2) is funny enough to distract people from realizing that (1) is false.

At a recent meeting I was thumbing through the pages in my notepad, looking for a page that had enough free space for me to draw the rocket ship I had been thinking about, when I came across a page labeled “Meeting Minutes.”  Knowing that it was extremely unlike me to record minutes during a meeting, I looked through the page to see what I had written down.

14:00 — Meeting begins.

14:03 — tremendous understatement

14:15 — wanton ignorance

14:16 — shameless pandering, noises indicating understanding where none exists

14:30 — brief outbreak of silence when my supervisor asks some intelligent questions.

14:33 — as no one here has any answers, posturing resumes.

14:40 — horrible decision made, based mostly upon events depicted in the most recent “Die Hard” movie.

Looking below that, I saw that I had scribbled some notes, which included a bulleted list:

Current rage/hate level is at nearly 700.  I would gladly stab at least two people at this fucking table in the neck.  Listening to these people talk about this is like watching an idiot run into a wall repeatedly.  I would much rather eat a cinder block smeared with poisonous mushrooms than sit here.
Also would prefer:

  • getting shot in the stomach with a shotgun.
  • perform “Riverdance” on a stage full of broken glass.
  • get a fake tan by scorching own skin with a propane torch.
  • wrestle a squid.

Relieved that I had not wasted valuable meeting time taking down anything related to business, I turned to the next available blank page, and began to draw a space ship, getting attacked by a squid.

man cold

I went home sick after only a few hours of work today.  As much as I enjoy kvetching about nearly everything (cf. my Twitter stream), being sick is one of the few things I won’t bellyache about (though I will post about it… er, maybe twice.).  The reason why is because I don’t want to be diagnosed with a stereotypical Man Cold:

(Oh, and speaking of Twitter: a few people have told me now they think my tweets are funny, which amuses me because I’m used to keeping myself entertained and cackling at my own jokes, so for other people to find them funny is kinda cool.  That being said, if you’re picking up what I’m laying down, can y’all help a brother get on Favrd one of these days?)

seriously, bro, you don’t look so hot

sign FAIL

I have to wonder about what those two questions are.

extra sensory

I was playing Mario Kart for everything I was worth, which wasn’t much after my last heavily fortified glass of sangria.  It also wasn’t helping that as I tried to maneuver my racer through a shopping mall, I kept trying to get a good look at my watch.  A sharp turn finally came up, and as brought the Wii steering wheel hard to the right I looked down and caught sight of the display.  7:58.

Calculating:  Two blocks to the nearest bus stop, 3 minutes.  Worst case scenario, I’ve just missed the Number 14.  30 minute wait, followed by 20 minutes to downtown transit mall, walk five blocks to catch the MAX…  ”Hey, Niels, how you doing?”

“Pretty good,” he said, focused intently on keeping his turtle on the race track, barrelling through another power-up.  ”How do I use that star I just picked up?”

“Whatever that button is under your right thumb.  Listen, I’m probably going to bail out after this race.  I can go walk and catch the bus if you want to stick around.”

“Well.”  He took in his most recent victory, being celebrated by countless cheering little digital beings.  ”Nah, I think I’m about ready.  I can give you a ride.”

“You sure?”  Recalculating: 12 minutes by car back to my house, 9 minute walk back to the train this time of night, worst case: I just missed the Red Line, 15 minute wait…

“Yeah, I probably don’t need another drink.”  And so we dropped our magic plastic steering wheels on the couch and wandered out to go find our hosts.

“Tyler! Hey!”

“Hey, guys.  Did you try the sangria?”

“Yeah.  Jeez, but those pieces of fruit really soak up the alcohol.  I probably shouldn’t have eaten so many.  Listen, we’re heading out, but thanks for having us over.  This was a great barbecue.”

“What?”  He threw his hands up in the air.  ”You guys can’t leave already!  It’s early yet!”

“Yeah, sorry.  I’ve…ah, got to be someplace.”

“LAME.”

“I KNOW.  You know where Sibyl is?”

He gestured back at the living room.  ”I think I saw her slip back in there to play Mario Kart with Tam.”

We popped back into the living room, where Sibyl was guiding Luigi around palm trees and sand traps.  ”Hey, Sib, we’re gonna take off.”

“What?!  BOOOOOO!!  You can’t leave yet!  I know you guys don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”  Recalculating: add 4 minutes for the Tendering of the Apologies.

“Come on, we need to do a round of tequila shots.”

“Uh.”  Recalculating: add 2 hours recovery time.  UNACCEPTABLE.  ”Sorry, I can’t tonight.”

“COME ON.  You guys can’t be done yet.  What’s the story?”

“You know, I spent a lot of time outside today, and I’m just sort of feeling-”

“Is it a girl?”

I blinked.  ”What?”

She turned to look at me, letting the Wii steering wheel fall into her lap; Luigi ploughed into the side of the track.  ”Vahid, seriously.  Are you going to go see a girl?”

“I.”  Hands in my back pockets, rocking back on my heels.  ”Um.”  Rolling up onto my toes.  Flat on the floor again.  How the hell do they just KNOW these things?  ”Yeah, Sib, I’m gonna go see a girl.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”  She put the wheel down and stood up.  ”Then come give me a hug.  It’s good to see you boys.”

“It’s good to see you too.  We’ll have to get together soon and have a margarita night like we did last year when strawberries came into season.  I’ve still got that bottle of premium tequila at my house.”

“We need to.  Soon.  Take care.”

“You too.”

As we ambled down the sidewalk to the car, I reflected on what a strange and potent ability this “woman’s intuition” must be.  Could it be taught, this mysterious power to look into men’s souls and know what they were up to?  She hadn’t even been looking at me when she’d guessed why I was leaving.  Why, with such a power, I could rule the earth!  No mortal could stand against me!  Entire nations would be forced to-

“It’s gonna be another scorcher tomorrow, bro,” Niels piped up.  ”Forecast is saying it’s going to be in the 80s again.”

“A day that hot is going to require drinking some cold beers,” I observed, reasonably.  ”You in?”

“Always, my friend.  Always.”

Then again, men aren’t terribly complicated creatures.  Perhaps there isn’t as much to it as all that.

reasons

cafe velo

“Where are you headed?”

I tend to keep my Saturdays for myself.  The long week is for the office, and Friday nights are for goofing off with my friends, and I might even be convinced to see people on a Saturday night if I’m up to it, but Saturdays I tend to keep to myself all day, walking anonymously through crowds, sitting in parks with a good book, holing up in coffee shops with my journal.

“Down to Powell’s, probably.”  Bookstores are another good place for me to go and be alone with my thoughts.  Even if I’m in no mood to buy there’s something comforting about walking among the stacks of books, running my fingers along their spines, breathing in all the words printed on all those pages.  It seems like a perfect place to spend a few hours, especially since the sky is mere minutes from really opening up and drenching us.

“I don’t really have to be anywhere for a while,” Jay says.  I hadn’t planned on meeting him here, but I’d tweeted that I was heading to Farmer’s Market before leaving the house and he’d honed in on me there, and we’d chatted a bit over breakfast purchased from the stalls.  Afterwards I’d walked with him to his truck, where he had just finished buckling his son into his car seat.  ”Do you want to go get a coffee or anything?”

Saturdays I tend to keep for myself, but I don’t get to see my friends nearly enough, now that we’re all playing at being grown-ups.  ”Yeah, let’s do that.”  We hop into his truck and we’re off.

With old friends I think no conversation really ever ends, so I know exactly what he’s talking about when he picks one up where we left it six months ago.  ”If you wanted to write and draw comic books, why’d you pick computer science?”

I look over at him, wondering if there’s a question within a question here.  Most of our college friends that I still kept in touch with had no small amount of burning discontent with our chosen field, chafing against jobs they didn’t find challenging, careers they didn’t find rewarding, yet didn’t seem to know what else to do.  Jay alone out of our group seemed to be the only one who’d found a professional niche he enjoyed.

I decide he’s not asking me because he’s looking for an answer for himself.  I take the question at face value and see if I know the answer.  Because it’s where I fit.  Because it was the hardest thing I knew how to do.  Because I didn’t think I was cut out for med school.  Because I thought it would make my dad proud, and god if that isn’t just a pathetic reason.  Words always come to me later when I write them, but not always when I am driving in the rain, so when I open my mouth to answer all I say is, “I don’t really know.  I used to have a reason, I guess.  But a lot of my reasons changed.  And anyway you and I wouldn’t have met if we hadn’t had that assembly language class.”

He nods, accepting this.  ”You think you’ll look for a coding gig you like?  Maybe move down to San Diego, get that job with Todd?”

“I don’t think so.  In fact I think I’d like to do something else entirely.”

“But what?”

Scribbles in notebooks, pages turned and highlighted, numbers crunched, clockwork turning, figures moving across a map.

“You’ll see.”

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