So Katie should be arriving in Minneapolis, technically she is arriving in its smaller but chweeter, hipper, and less erotic sibling, St. Paul, regardless, she will be there any moment. Hopefully her arrival there will bring luck to the T-wolves, who overall licked it last night. I will have more commentary on that tomorrow, preparing for the game, but for now, suffice to say that they sucked.
I got to talk to Sanjay last evening, from whom I hadn't heard in a while. I mean, I had heard from him technically, insofar as he and Andy had left a message for me at 6:45 in the morning on Sunday. I mean, they were in Eugene, so I guess they were only calling at 3:45, but I wasn't gonna answer. Andy called first, then Sanjay. It really was an interesting series of messages, since Sanjay's began just as Andy's was ending. Andy then called Maroney and eventually Sanjay took the phone from him, the end result being that Sanjay left a message simultaneously for me and Maroney. So technically, Maroney and I received the exact same message at the exact same time. I mean, actually, there are two seperate messages, which happen to be the same, its not like they were forwarded from him to me or vice versa, the message was two simultaneous different but identical messages. Anyway, when I did talk to Sanjay, which was last night, I got to hear the stories of the weekend of debauchery which Andy Kemp so often accompanies. We caught up and complained about the fucking misery that was the King's victory. Then the stories of Andy commenced. Its hard to convey an Andy story which you haven't either directly experienced or been told about by Andy himself, but Sanjay did mention Andy's near return to in-car vomiting after playing a game entitled Edward 40-Hands, which is actually just as inventive and interesting as it sounds. Apparently the idea is to tape a 40 of your favorite malt liquor to each of your hands, rendering you an Edward 40-Hands, and to not take those 40's off your hands until they are empty. This of course makes it nearly impossible to smoke or head to the bathroom or whatever and thus encourages a quick drinking process which took its FX on Andy and ended up producing three consecutive messages that night, each of which was just a continuous repetition of a couple different words from my outgoing message. One quick example: "Thanks, peace, bye. Thanks, peace, bye. Thanks peace bye. Thankspeacebye. Thank speacebye." Vary that process in every way you can think of until the message space runs out. I'm sure once I talk to Andy there will be some stories to fill in. Moreover, since it looks very probable that Andy may be headed to Eugene next fall to teach at some CC, there could be many many more stories like this.
I am really in the mood for ice cream, let me tell you, because it is hot like a motherfucker out here in Buffalo. We caved and turned the AC on yesterday before Katie left and I kept it that way until I left for work this morning. For a while I felt like I was just being the fat-sweaty guy who really dislikes the heat that I am, but then, driving home during my lunch I saw the clock-temperature LCD display at the Lockport Foot Care Center down the street (anyone snickering at the idea of a footcare center having an LCD clock-thermometer, let me tell you that the foot-impaired shouldn't be treated any different than the monetarily inclined at banks and such, LCD signs are for everyone if they need foot care or not, so fuck you pretentious anti-footites with your perfect pedicures and your lack of bunions, foot care centers are the fastest growing section of the American economy, over 200 million Americans depend on daily footcare, they are coming, and they will destroy you. I picture the day when people will say "I saw the temperature on one of those LCD signs, you know, like you see at a foot-care center" and I will smile and walk away, like the end of some crappy sitcom.) and that display told me that the temperature was 90 fucking degrees. I may have used this expression before, but I may have not stated it clearly enough, 90 degrees is about 10 degrees hotter than the hottest temperature which should be legally fit for human habitation. I know that these signs are not directly linked to the temperature measurement equivalent of Greenwich meantime, but they can't be too far out of the ballpark can they. I mean, it couldn't have been like 80 and just said 90, no one would stand for that. Anyway, I now feel entirely legit about keeping my ac on and I have no plans of getting rid of it until the fucking weather co-operates. I can wait you out motherfucker, you ain't got nothing on me. I have machines which produce perfectly temperate air and you just have some overblown global warming movie by the guys who made Independence Day, minus Will Smith. That is a little like saying that you have the Blockbuster cast of Sandra Berhnard's one-woman show minus Sandra Bernhard. So my apartment is nice and cold. Katie would be wearing a sweatshirt. A passing penguin asked to borrow a muffler. I warmed up the butter in the refridgerator. I've got a million of em.
Work has been fucking ricockulous recently, I don't think I 've done 20 minutes worth of actual work over the past 24 hours I have spent in that store. Fucking nothing is going on in there. I mean, some of this is to be expected. Its still fairly early in May, most people are in school, alot of proms haven't gone off yet, not too many vacations, anyway, its not a huge time for the photographic industry. A fairly easy day at the photo lab involves the combination of 1-2 people who know what to do, 1-2 people who don't know what to do, and about 80ish rolls of film. On Tuesday we did 62 rolls, there were 5 people most of the time. Today it was Scott (competent) Amy (competent) Sherri (competent) Kelly (competent) and myself, and we did 49 rolls. 34 of those were done before I even arrived at noon. With the quality of the machines we have it really only takes about 7 and a half minutes of work per roll, that broken up into 4 different jobs which each take about a minute and a half each. Even if I did every moment of work the whole day on every roll that was processed from the moment I was there I couldn't have worked for more than 105 minutes. I have a pretty sweet setup, a self-fulfilling prophecy style one where I started sitting on the chair, and sat there so often that everyone now defers the printing chair to me. I mean, I really enjoy printing, its the best part of the gig, but more importantly its a moderately comfortable chair. I can handle anything at work. I can help customers, I can process film, I can ring people up, I can do whatever the fuck they want as long as I am sitting. I have pretty much determined from this fact that even if I end up not having a job that I want as long as I can sit while I am at work, I will be able to make it. I mean, I think I could handle telemarketing, cause people can yell at me all they want over the phone as long as I don't have to hurt my back while they do so.
Alright, Katie is gonna call soon. Keep it.
Peace,
MB-K
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