They Call Me The Workin’ Man

I volunteered to work Thanksgiving and the Day After this year. 6-3 on Thanksgiving, 6-6 on the Day After.

Reasons?

The days are usually very slow, so I’ll get a lot of work done on the Houses edits.

Also, Perot pays double time and a half for working holidays.

*sings*
I guess that’s what I am.

fuck

It really wasn’t a big deal. Not a big deal. Just a slight inconvenience, really. I’m not upset. I’m not. It’s all right. Just lost a week’s worth of work on Houses. But that’s all right. Really. I’m okay. I’m okay.

fuckfuckfuck

I’ve been doing work on the book at work. Moments of silence. I write a few hundred words at a time. Short subjects. Every day, I usually get about 1,000 – 1,500 words. They’re not always good, but I always salvage a good idea out of it.

Thursday night, I head down to Wal-Mart to pick up three bookshelves for my room. I’ve got books scattered all over the house and they really need to come up off the floor. So, bookshelves. Big, heavy boxes. helps me out. He lets us borrow his big SUV to move those big heavy boxes.

Big, heavy boxes.

That night, I put together one bookshelf and a half. ( helped.)

The next morning, Friday morning, I get up, put on a pair of jeans, pull my keychain ou…

fuck

The little chain I keep the thumb drive on? The one with the copy of Houses on it?

It’s gone. The chain snapped. Gone.

fuckfuck

Okay, it should be around here somewhere. I check the floor. I check the desk. I check…

fuckfuckfuck

It’s gone. I have no idea where it is. It could be at Wal-Mart, could be in ‘s truck. Could be in the driveway.

It could be anywhere.

It’s all right. I have a backup. It’s a few days old, a few thousand words short. But damn, when you have to re-do something you’ve already done, it’s always hard. Trying to capture what you had before. Best just to forget what I did and start over.

I’m not upset. I’m not. It’s all right. Just lost a week’s worth of work on Houses. But that’s all right. Really. I’m okay. I’m okay.

fuckfuckfuck

That was Friday.

I didn’t write a word all day.

Now, Saturday rolls around. I’ve looked in the driveway, I’ve looked in ‘s truck. I’ve looked in my room and the living room and… it’s just gone. Fuck.

The phone rings.

“John,” says. “I found your thumb drive.”

“Holy shit! Thank you!”

“You’ll never guess where it was.”

“Yeah?” I ask.

He laughs. “It was on my back bumper.”

“WTF?”

“Yeah. Between us driving around and dropping off Steve and everything else. It was still there. I’ve got it right here.”

fuck

fuckfuck

fuckfuckfuck

Your Choice

This weekend, if you choose to see a film, you have many choices.

You could visit the 3D animation carmel popcorn Beowulf. Sure, it looks beautiful, but then again, so did Revenge of the Sith. Sure, it has fully naked Angelina Jolie, but then again, you can get that for free on the internet. And not just a CGI version. I mean the real thing.

Or, you could visit a movie that treats its audience with an absolute ruthlessness. A film that never approaches the words “kind,” “life-affirming,” or “uplifting.” A film that treats you like an adult. A film made by men who understand the sublime truth that can be demonstrated with silence, shadow, and patience.

No Country for Old Men opens wide this weekend. You will squirm in your seat. You will wince. You will react. This film will not leave you alone. And in the end, it will betray you with a heartless cruelty.

Your choice.

21st Century Shaman

The IT Tech is the 21st Century Shaman.

We go to his tent on the edge of our village. It is dark. Strange lights, strange sounds, strange smells. He is not like us. He is different. His long hair. His wild eyes. A secret language that no-one understands.

He comes to us after sufficient pleading, after sufficient subjugation. He brings his magic book. He brings his magic tools. He speaks to the invisible spirits that guide our life. He appeases them with proper sacrifices. A secret language that no-one understands.

And when he is done, he leaves our village and returns to his home. The place of strange lights, strange sounds, strange smells. And we hope we never have to call upon him. But we are glad he is there. To protect us from the evil spirits that make our lives miserable. With his secret language that no-one understands.

____

(Perot is going to pay for my A+ Certification.)

No Country for Old Men

I love The Big Lebowski. I love O, Brother Where Art Thou?. I love Barton Fink.

It astounds me that the same two directors made all of these movies. It further astounds me the same two directors made No Country for Old Men.

I will say no more about the film. Many critics have tried to use clever tactics to speak about it without revealing any of the various twists that await you. I will say nothing except this: expect the plot to be the tightest, most intense, most devastating they have ever penned. The tension left me gasping for breath. The reaction from the audience was tangible.

I did not like The Transformers.

I loved No Country for Old Men. And when you see it, you’ll know why.