Friday, June 30, 2006

Crazy Ants

The ants turned out to be what the exterminator affectionately refers to as crazy ants, which look a whole lot like carpenter ants, only with longer antennae and a gimpy gait. He blew the fog of death into the walls, which spewed into our cabinets, covering plates, glasses and food alike. The wife however is quite pleased, even as she washes and I dry, that our house may yet stand for another thirty years.

This whole publishing business has thrown me off my stride. Now I care--really care. Before it was just a dream, something that would happen someday. Work is harder to concentrate on. I keep checking my email, making lame excuses to go upstairs. Still no verdict from deathlings, just chill silence. It could mean anything, but my imagination doesn't have to stretch taut to find a plausible explanation. My wife says that no news is good news, but I say they could just forget they ever knew me. Nothing is signed. All I have is a congratulatory email.

Of course I'll update when I hear back--if I hear back that is.

*** Update ***

I heard back. In the words of the immortal Todd Beamer: Let's roll!

Thursday, June 29, 2006

You Guys are the Best

It's days like yesterday that make me realize how much support I really have. Thank you all so very much for stopping by to remind me. There was a theme across the comments: don't forget the little people. How can one little person forget the people he looks up to anyway? If I do make it someday, it will be because of the support I got right here.

Totally unrelated, a deer just walked across my front yard, but was gone before the kids flattened their little faces to the windows. Add that to the ever growing list of wildlife we live amongst.

So, get this. The contest I entered that is yielding my first publishing credit--I asked the editor via email what place I took, since the acceptance letter indicated that my story was to be featured. That could mean anything. The reply was this:

There were 80 submissions; you received First Place and "The Big Show" Second Place.

I had a hard time getting to sleep last night.

**** Update ****

I've contacted Deathlings and let them know that the story has been up on this blog. Thank you for the advice everyone. My fate is in their hands right now. This isn't exactly an online publication, but I will respect their decision when it comes. If I did it once, I can do it again.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Great News!

The editors at are going to feature my short story Damned Carnival in their Summer/Fall 2006 "Funhouse Mirror" issue. After two or three times reading the email, I finally understood. I am going to be published.

This is a great first step. And what sweet validation for all my efforts. This is a gentle pat on the back, like the "good job" I would get from my father that puffed me up so.

At times like this, I swear I have a guardian angel.

I've said it before, but thanks again Flood. You know what for.

Oh, and get this. I get paid three cents a word, which amounts to just under a hundred bucks. Now I can build that addition--not. Seriously, though, how cool is that? The first time I got paid to wear a loud cowboy shirt, play my guitar and croon to a scattering of farmers and crop dusters, I didn't cash the check. It lives behind glass surrounded by wood borders and hangs on my wall. But that was only twenty five bucks. With this I'll treat the family to a day of food and fun.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Always Bugs

We live in the country. This means wildlife of many sorts--snakes, mice, foxes, coyotes, rabbits, opossums, moles, skunks, squirrels, chipmunks. But for the first two, my wife is ok. Bugs however are unacceptable. This morning there is a lumpy pile of carpenter ants swarming on a tray of ant poison, so I just let it be. I forgot to leave a warning note.

I just got the call. To her credit though, she is maintaining her nerve. Just let them take the poison back to the nest. It will be over soon.

If you haven't done so already, check out Jason's contest. Today is the last day. There are some pretty disturbing stories there, so if you are faint of heart... Good stuff there. Check out Flood, Toast, Jaye and Schprock's entries. And of course my own! Jamie Ford, the winner of Jason's previous contest, has a late entry that impressed me too.

** Update **

This is funny. An old post of mine was just viewed by someone who searched google with the terms: Shit where you eat office romance. The very end of the resulting post ends with almost those exact terms. The post is called office romance, and the ending says:
My dad always said, don't take a shit where you eat, the wise old sage that he is, but I prefer something with a little subtext: never dip your pen in company ink.

Jeez, I wonder if I've been found out!

Monday, June 26, 2006

I Finally Entered

I posted my story today on Jason's blog. Get ready to check it out when he puts it up later today. I'll update when he does.

*** Update ***

Here it is!

Got Me Thinking

I saw two movies this weekend, but I'll leave the most recent for another post. Both made me question the foundation on which I have built my beliefs. Suddenly I feel like I may have to start over. Am I becoming like my father, someone to be labeled a conspiracy theorist, easily disregarded by people like myself, people who haven't figured it out yet?

I have a very serious job. Not the bullshit I do from 7 to 4. No. The job I speak of is the one I do at night when I set the table, clean up after dinner, run the bath, read stories, rush between tee-ball and soccer. To do that job properly is to acquaint myself with the reality of life, how things are run, how things get done. I'm starting to realize that I don't know a thing, and neither does the media--not the media I listen to, not the media that I read.

George Clooney has not been my favorite person. Like most conservatives, I pretty much had him pegged as a looney leftist, who should just shut the cake hole, look pretty and yell "Roll 'em!" Syriana changed that for me.

I'm definitely not going to be running with Cindy Sheehan anytime soon, and I'm not ready to declare Iraq a quagmire or another Vietnam. But let this be my notice to the world: I will be looking real close at the whole situation in the Middle East with a different set of glasses than I have been wearing. And before you think my polarity has been totally switched, just know this: I can't think of a single politician of either party that I believe in my heart prioritizes the concerns of every-day Americans.

One of these days I'll have it figured out. A Eureka! moment just before I flatline perhaps, but there has to be a solution. How is it that we are all screaming No Amnesty and Enforce the Borders, and yet, bills in congress are poised to actually pass? Can you tell me how this is even possible?

Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a cage. I didn't write that, in case you're wondering.

Can the internet solve this somehow? By circumventing the bottleneck that keeps valuable information from us. Syriana is basically saying that we kill foreign leaders that don't agree with our demands until one is left standing that plays ball with our government. Not so hard to imagine really. I begrudgingly admit that this sounds and awful lot like, you are either with us or against us.

I'm pissed and tired, and feeling helpless. Perhaps tomorrow I will play the glad game. Until then, well, see you then.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Lost Nail

My youngest son had his finger shut in a door yesterday and lost the whole nail. The part under the skin too. He was calm when I met up with the family in the emergency room, but when he saw me he reached out and sniffled.

The beotch doctor told me that it may never grow back with a stone face, then lingered with the is-there-anything-else look. I felt like punching her for her worn out apathy. We might be cattle to you bitch, but that's my son you are regarding like bacteria in a petrie dish. Three hours and they sent us home with a bandaid.

I finished my Midnight Road entry for Jason's short short contest, but I want to look it over before submitting. The deadline is the 28th, so what's the hurry? Maybe I'll write a few more and pick from my favorites. I liked my second entry in the Two Lights contest better than my official entry anyway.

Have a good weekend all.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

His Latest Addiction

In short, my brother almost went to jail for ten years but for the grace of God. It all hinges upon the mood of the judge, and a host of other factors, but the former trumps all the latter. He got 90 days in rehab, but after 30 they let him go to work during the days. Now he is on anti-depressants to keep him more even, which takes the place, hopefully, of the drugs, which were needed before to bypass the extreme lows.

Now he has a new addiction. The Gym. I work out too. Once or twice a week, sometimes none. I won't be competing anytime soon. My bro however is going five times a week, and according to him, is getting "ripped." I just hope he forgives me for all those merciless tickle sessions. Piano. That was the biggie. Oh, and Wonder Punch. Piano involved pinning him on his back, straddling his chest so that his arms were trapped at his sides, then poking at his chest like piano keys, while merrily singing the Meow Mix commercial jingle. Wonder Punch was a clever derivative of a cartoon that nobody has heard of called Wonder Bug. I do this to my children today actually. It's a fancy name for a twisty fist in the belly.

But I digress. My brother told me to go to a health store for "herbal supplements", which he claims will help me along quicker. I'm reminded of one of my new expressions from Madagascar: Smile and wave boys, smile and wave.

Well, at least it's legal.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006


I'm surrounded by Chuck's Rhode Island friends. Robert is a future political hopeful, and I'm intimidated because I couldn't tell you who the secretary of state is, or even the vice president, who I think is named for a game bird. Newspapers are boring, and I'd rather spend my time memorizing lyrics to my favorite country songs. He looks at me as if he were standing upon a rampart and I were a peasant with a grievance for the king.

I'm different than most people, I say as if to explain--perhaps to apologize.

We are lounging about in the sparse living room. Robert is sitting on the floor across the room from me. Chuck and Tracy are on the couch. I don't remember the names of the other two. I could care less. They are a couple with strange ideas. The man has curly black mop like a Brillo pad. He's short and hairy and reminds me of a Gibbon. He's fasting to purge himself of carcinogens. She thinks I'm an apathetic scumbag for not caring about the plight of peoples on the other side of the globe. She waxes poetic on serotonin and neuro-inhibitors.

Here's a funny story, I inject when the opportunity presents itself.


I called Dad a half hour later than I should have.

"Where the fuck are you," he politely asked. I could almost smell the alcohol on his breath. His words were slurred.

"I'm over at Mikes. Can I stay longer?"

"I want the fucking car, and you were supposed to be home an hour ago."

I knew better than to argue. "So I'll just come home now then." I said this almost like a question, splattered with guilt, just in case there was a slight chance.

"Get your ass home, now."

We rented the upper half of a split level duplex. I wasn't particularly quiet about coming through the front door, but ever since I read the Lord of the Rings, I had developed a habit of walking silently like Aragorn. My feet made no sound on the carpeted stairs as I climbed. I rounded the corner at the top and froze like a bank teller at a hold up.

My step mother used to be a dancer in Vegas. She had long brown hair with blonde highlights, and a voluptuous body reminiscent of the Marilyn Monroe era. She and dad must have had a fight one night, because she was on the couch the next morning. Her flannel shirt was unbuttoned. One side hung open and hugged the contour of her breast, exposing her stomach and the narrow valley between her breasts. I must have stared for five minutes, toying with the idea of helping it the rest of the way open, simultaneously disgusted with myself for such a thought, yet ionized by hormones I was only beginning to understand.

Standing atop the stairs, I saw her once again in a compromising position, this time on the floor of my living room, with Dad on top of her, his big white ass moving slowly up and down in the valley of her open legs. Neither was aware of me. He was mumbling and she was moaning. I turned around and hid at the bottom of the stairs, cursing myself for not going to my room. I toyed with the idea of leaving, but my dad would kill me. In the end, I tiptoed back upstairs, risked another look, then went to my room.

They never saw me.


Robert is staring at me with amusement. You're right Scott. You are different.

They're all laughing at me now. Cruel faces. Even Chuck and Tracy, who are my friends, are enjoying my humiliation. Their eyes are searching my reaction, which is cold appraisal. They are wondering whose side to be on. I know now that I don't have a friend in the room.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Thanks Flood

A special thanks to Flood once again for taking the time to interview me. I feel like I'm turning a corner. There are several ideas that I have floating in my head for novel length stories, so maybe it's time to start one. For the past couple weeks I've been tapping away at a short story, but the characters are becoming quite developed, and I'm at a loss to even introduce the antagonist yet. I've only written two thousand words, but it seems to be building instead of concluding.

By the way, I have to quote Mr. Schprock's comment to my interview. He really should have a column in the newspaper:

This is one of the best damn interviews I have ever read--and I include the legendary 1970 Tiger Beat interview of David Cassidy when I say this. Flood, you didn't ask Scott what kind of tree he would be, but I consider that only a minor slip. If I wasn't already a loyal reader of Scott's blog, I would be now.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: he's the best damn commenter in the blogosphere.

Janey suggests that I just forget about genre and never consider it again. Funny, that seems to go against everything I've read. It sounds good though, liberating actually. Don't worry about it. Write it down. See where it goes. Do not be shackled by the rules of the chosen genre. Just do it. Nike.

Tomorrow I am going to talk about the time I caught my dad and mom having sex. Wednesday is my highest traffic day, so I’ll try to make it a good one. And don't forget to look in on Jason, who is sponsoring another writing contest. The Two Lights contest was a screaming success, not only for Jason, whose statistics spiked through the clouds, but for everyone involved. I met some great people and made great connections.

Monday, June 19, 2006

I've Been Interviewed

Want the straight scoop on the man behind the blog? Check out my interview on Flood's blog today. I am quite pleased with it actually. And what a break from blogging it gives me today. Now I can cruise around and visit you all instead!

Friday, June 16, 2006

Please Write Back

This is exciting. I contacted Washington State University via email, asking if they have information on the whereabouts of some of my old college buddies. I received a reply a week later, indicating that it isn't their policy to give out that information, but I could send a letter that they will forward. I had given a list of names. One of them was Jeff's, another Jennifer's, and another Megan's, who married Jeff out of college. They couldn't find Jeff, which I expected, but they found all the others.

I'm going to write a long letter to each, with pictures of my family. It's too bad that I didn't maintain any sort of contact with anyone. In Jennifer's case, I never even considered it. She dated the most popular and beautiful men at school, and I couldn't bear to think of myself as a "friend." But that's what I was, and what a foolish stance to take. It's a lot easier to think clearly when you're married, after the testosterone cloud parts and seeing is actually possible.

I spoke with Megan years after I left WSU, right after I graduated Potsdam and had my first programming job. As I am so inclined with all the people that knew me back then, I told her that I had turned out ok after all. To that she replied, "I always knew you would. It was either that, or crash and burn. How it played out is no surprise to me."

Thanks Megan. As hopeless as I was, you still believed in me.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

No Reply

Every once in a while I get the urge to get in touch with my old college roommates and friends, to let them know I turned out ok. I get so wrapped up in this single-minded purpose that I forget to wonder how they are doing. My living has afforded me a wonderful home and a family well provided for.

When I left school, I hardly had a friend left. My money and luck had run out. I'd dropped out of my second fraternity and had nowhere to live. I was sneaking into the dining hall and using anyone's guest pass that had any left, and was sleeping on the floor underneath the bed in Kevin's dorm room. I couldn't give up. To do so would mean going home to Dad again. That I couldn't have. But finally there was no choice.

I found Kevin on and wrote him a message. He wrote back a couple weeks later and gave me his number. When I called, nobody answered. I tried again. And again. Finally I was forced to accept that he changed his mind, and so I stopped trying.

But I did write one more email.

I want to thank you Kevin for taking me under your wing at college. Mostly though, I just wanted the chance to say I'm sorry. Sorry for taking advantage of my friends, for being a drunk, a bull in a china shop. It's embarrassing to think back on the person that I was. But I was a boy, much younger than my years. I've come a long way, and have made something of myself. You won't see my face on the cover of Forbes--more likely on Better Homes and Gardens perhaps--but I'm happy and living responsibly. Thanks for helping me through that rough transitional patch of life. You will always be fondly remembered as a part of the solution.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Match Point

I saw an excellent movie this weekend, from writer and director Woody Allen called Match Point. If you are at all like me, then I'm surprised that you made it this far. How many times do we need to see the Woodster stutter and moan about his latest neurosis? Right? The good news is: he tastefully left himself out of this one, choosing instead to sit in the director's chair where he belongs.

Match Point is a brilliant piece of work. I don't claim to have seen all of his previous works, but I've seen more than my share. This movie is nothing like anything I've seen of his before. As the credits rolled, my wife and I looked at one another, totally stunned. That was a great movie, we kept saying, as if we didn't believe it. We didn't. The ending was outstanding, right up there in my book with the Sixth Sense. You might laugh after seeing it for this comparison, but I stand by it.

The theme of the movie--yes, I said theme, and yes I actually identified it--was luck, and its unheralded role in prosperity and despair. You see this theme at play throughout, in conversations and in action.

You may think, after watching the first half hour that you know how it will play out; but that is the power this picture holds over you. It denies what you know, defies your expectation, and keeps doing so until the end.

The characters defy modern stereotypes as well. It seems that in today's world, everyone has to be depraved in some fashion, that nobody can just be who they seem to be. Gone are the Capra days of the well-intended, the happy, the polite. Allen again breaks new ground, or old ground if you will. Of course, not all the players fit expectations, but who's who is part of the fun.

From a writer's standpoint, this is one of those head slappers. How in the hell did he do that? This is the best movie I've seen since, since... I can't remember.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

A Day At The Zoo

Not much time. I'll visit as I'm able.

Yesterday I was at the zoo with my son's Kindergarten class as a chaperone. Each volunteer got his or her own kid, and one other for good measure. We sat together on a school bus. While I read a book (Old School--again), Jackson and his little friend wrestled, screamed, spat and burped all the way there. Of course I did my part as a responsible adult. When his friend burped the alphabet, I was very complimentary.

Chaperones were to worry only about their chargees. Is that a word? Or am I just integrating Smokey and the Bandit into my lexicon? I saw her before we got on the bus, and I just knew. Knowing this, I took my chargees and sprinted into the zoo before it was too late. It always happens to me, because I am so nice and unpretentious, that the freakiest moms tune into my frequency and stick like flies to a sticky ribbon trap. Then I bumped into her. From them on, I had my very own remora. "Hey, we've seen the lions and the tigers already. But no bears yet! Oh my. Bwa-ha-ha-ha haaaaaa!

Ok, I'd love to chat, but I have to get some work done. For real.

Monday, June 12, 2006

World Cup Day

Tee-ball got rained out, but the sun came out on Sunday. It was World Cup day. My team represented Italy in the parade. The Jamaicans actually wore Marley dreadlock wigs. I did indeed step in as coach for three twenty minute games. The first game was against what I have considered the best team in our league. They have one kid who plays two years ahead of his age. Once he gets in the open you can just add one to their score. We lost five to two. The kids were disappointed, but I told them honestly that I was very proud of them. They played so hard that the ball was mostly lingering on the other side of the field. Were it not for their star player and his breakaways, it would at least been close. I could have made it closer by playing one of the kids back as a preventative measure. Ooops. Forgot.

The next game we won and the kids loved it. For some reason, one of the girls on our team became inspired by the soccer spirit and scored three goals all on her own. The last game was a tie. We had it wrapped, but some kid that was no bigger than my two year old ran circles around everyone and rifled the tying shot into the net.

Not a bad way to end the season. I don't want to brag, but here I go. The only other game we've won all season was the one I coached. The team that beat us five to two this weekend was the team that earlier in the season completely dominated, scoring in the teens, prompting the coaches to add another player to our side in the hopes of slowing them down, which it didn't. That's why I told the kids that I was proud of them. They played tough and made a great team work for it.

My son was a whiz on defense.

Today I am chaperone to Jackson's kindergarten class at the zoo. Tomorrow I'm a full-timer.

Friday, June 09, 2006

Coming Up

Next week is my first days of full time. The people around me have changed, now that I've been pulled into the fold, the erstwhile hired gun finally convinced to don the badge. A certain easiness has developed, a smile, a pat on the back, lunch inquiries. People are seeing me for the first time, through sleepy eyes. I'm different too, and find that the meetings are actually fun, a chance to sharpen my wit--and be involved and take ownership of my work.

My officemate Dave, the one I've had trouble with in the past, congratulated me on taking the post. He had trouble hiding his disappointment. When I told him, I could see that invisible inner-eyelid shut and his eyes flutter, even as the words came from his mouth. Later he admitted that he had hoped to take over for me when I left. I can appreciate the sentiment, and his honesty in telling me.

He talks too loud, and too much. Not a good combination. The fact that he responds to criticism, deftly given of course, is a good sign. He has a good heart--I think. I wonder if he was raised by his mother.

At a meeting yesterday, our manager mentioned another Dave at our company. My Dave said, "I'm assuming you are not talking about me, right?"

"No, the other Dave," Ted said, "Sorry, I know it's confusing. There's another Ted at this company too, and I never know if they're talking about me."

I added, "I know. Everytime I hear someone yell, 'Hey Asshole!'..." I did a pantomime, jerked my head around, searching for the unseen caller. Then I threw my hands out, palms up, with a lost look on my face. Mike was also in the meeting, who has shared some of that guy talk with me (remember, physics, the properties of physics?), repeated everything I said and broke into hysterics. Ted grinned at me like a proud father, and Dave looked, shall we say, unamused.

That's why I like it here.

I'll be coaching tee ball on Saturday if it dries up, as the regular coach is out of town. I also get another crack at coaching my son's soccer team for three mini-games on Sunday, as the real coach has other responsibilities surrounding related events. Cool. Let's see if I can't squeeze our second victory out of these little tykes, the first coming the last time I subbed.

I will build an army, and rule the vorld!

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Love Is In The Air

You have to stop by MagnetBabe's blog and read her engagement story (Scroll back down a post to see the ring.) That's right, I said engagement. So congratulations are in order.

Miranda is also getting married, and has a baby on the way. She has been so kind as to show us some pictures of herself in the full bloom of her pregnancy.

Welcome to the club you two!

Wow, huh?

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Puppy Poo

If you are here from blogexplosion--scroll down.

Sorry Kat, but I still don't have any pictures. I'm too busy cleaning up her shit to feel all warm and gushy to take a picture. Too bad, because she has already grown a bit.

Oh, what am I talking about? Read the title.

I once posted that having a puppy was in no way comparable to having a new baby. Is it too late to take it back? In a lot of ways, it's worse. At least with a baby you can strap a diaper on and do the sniff test. She has to be taken out every hour in this pouring New England rain, and even that is no guarantee. Sometimes she just holds out to come back in a lay a lunker in her favorite spot--a little patch of rug with her smell molecularly fused into the fibers.

There is a fourteen day return policy...

*** For all surfers from blogexplosion. ***

What kind of blog entry would inspire you to leave a comment? What are you looking for? You probably don't want to hear some geezer complain about cleaning up dog shit. But I am assuming you are here to draw traffic to your own blog. So far this is what I've noticed: out of 90 expended blogexplosion credits, I've gotten only zero comments. I realize what that looks like, but I'm not boring--er, at least I think not. If I had to guess, my blog requires more than just a cursory glance to be interesting to someone, and even then would only appeal to an older audience. I'm going to experiment with different kinds of posts, so your opinion would be helpful. What if I posted a picture of bare breasts, so that there would be a little tit for tat?

*** For everyone ***

For that matter, what makes great blogs great? Crisp evocative writing for sure. Eye-catching theme. Witty repartee. Maybe something interactive, that involves the readers more. Focused subject matter, such as politics, entertainment, one that bashes an officemate, or follows the antics of a promiscuous woman. What is your absolute favorite blog and why?

Tuesday, June 06, 2006


Jeff. The reason I understand resentment and envy. I'm no hypocrite. Not about this.

College was my escape. More than this, I was reborn. Not in the religious sense. I was seeing the world with my own eyes, taking my first awkward steps, stumbling gratefully alone. I was eighteen going on twelve, resentful of my lack of maturity, angry at its consequence.

Jeff was twenty five with a world of experience behind him. He spent summers fishing in Alaska, working on oil rigs, and had a pilot's license. If I dreamt of doing it, he already had. He had the perfect GQ look of the time. His roguish red hair was perfect, and his smile and easy laugh was a reward for a joke well told. And was he ever cocky. There wasn't a girl on campus that he couldn't have, according to him. Rejection to him was simply repartee, a provocative feint.

Jeff created his own terms, and had a quick wit. Once he said good morning to a young dining hall serving girl. Her features froze. She took a sharp intake of breath as she stared back at him, past him perhaps, as if something important had just occurred to her, and dropped the glass she was holding. The shattering of the glass snapped her out of her trance. Jeff turned to me and said, "I have that effect on women."

And he did.

I didn't just worship Jeff. I wanted to be Jeff. Where I was awkward and shy, he was sure footed and brash. In order to absorb his power, I started competing for the same women, and lost every time. The worst part was, I didn't know when I was beat. As in this excruciatingly embarrassing tale.

I don't remember her name, and that should tell you all you need to know about my motivations. She was tall, probably half a head taller than Jeff, but still shorter than me. She dressed like Joan Jett, black makeup and painted on jeans. For someone so tall, she had an amazingly full body, the kind you would expect on someone more compact. I met her first, which gave me a sense of propriety, although I never actually said it out loud. It was just understood between guys. But when she saw Jeff, there was a palpable change in her demeanor. We all knew it was there. Jeff did of course. But me, I tried to ignore it, as if it would go away by sheer force of will.

She invited us up to her room. Jose was another friend of mine living on our dormitory floor. We were a temporary trio, thrown together by circumstance, and would remain so for the year. The three of us accepted her invitation. Jeff sat next to her on her bed without hesitation. This pissed me off, but I was helpless to intervene. I took a seat with Jose on the bed opposite theirs.

They talked only to one another, their eyes locked and faces pulling closer. I kept interjecting myself into the conversation, ignoring Jeff's annoyed glances. Jose said, "Dude, let's get out of here."

"No," I said.

Then they kissed. "Dude, it's time to go!"


She pulled away from Jeff and said, "I have to go to the bathroom." Then she left the room. Jose gave me an imploring look and finally my obstinacy broke. We slipped into the hall and towards the elevator. I couldn't even look at Jeff.

I heard her voice as the elevator doors shut me out. "Where's Scott," she asked in a tone that I did not mistake for avarice.

"He's gone," said Jeff. He didn't say it, but it dangled in the air.


Monday, June 05, 2006

Full Time

I just accepted a full time job at my company this morning. Maybe now they'll give me a flat-screen monitor. No more worries about impending contract end dates. I've grown accustomed to being here, and there are some good people whose company I enjoy.

Just last week I took a walk with a few co-workers and enjoyed a concentrated bout of guy talk. Believe me girls, you don't want to know. I will say that it takes a long time to reach the level of comfort needed to partake in such banter.

Gotta get some work done. I've been slacking, and now is not the time for the malaise to catch up with me.

Friday, June 02, 2006

The Music's Over

No pun intended, but the rollercoaster ride is finally over. I should partition the story to give you some idea of just how clueless I was staring at the periodic blankness beyond. That was a challenge, but one that I am happy to have overcome.

So now it has been submitted to the editor of you very much Ms. Flood--and I'm waiting for a reply. I've started another short story so as not to lose momentum, even if I have lost enthusiasm. Maybe my best is yet to come.

Interesting thing though. I used 45 of my blogexplosion credits to attract readers to read my story. Not a single one of them stayed. Of course I understand it was very long. Most visitors probably paged down two or three times and said no way! Still, I was disappointed. There probably needs to be service for writers that want the critique of other writers, similar to blogexplosion, where each critique you give guarantees one in return. I really appreciate everyone who took the time to read my treatise. We are all busy people after all.

So, it's Friday already. Wow. This week has flown by. I'm looking at a pretty nice offer to work full time at the company I'm contracting to. If the boss, I mean, uh, if my wife likes the health plan, I'd like to accept. All things taken into consideration, I'll take home more money than I am today. More than that though, I enjoy some of the people I work with. Not everyone, but I'm not foolish enough to think there isn't an asshole in every shop. Once you start running... Well, you know the old adage. Except I have been running--my whole life. It's time to turn around and face the phantom menace.

Have a good weekend!