And work has come to a stop... I believe that I'm going to hit the mountain for some night skiing tonight, see if that yields a wonderful time.
As of late, I haven't been posting with much regularity to the blog ... it's a good thing that there's virtually an audience of one. That being me. Nevertheless, I vow to stay up to date.
Tomorrow I will post an intro to a new story. That's right, it's anticipation.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Yarp.
The trip to LA was exactly what the doctor called for, if I had a doctor that had prescribed said trip. My time was used efficiently and I was able to see all those that I wanted and had a good time doing so. For those of you who are reading this, thank you.
Back in Seattle, I am now sitting at the desk of my new job as an Interactive Producer for the advertising Draft/FCB. Let me say: so far, so good. I'm in what I like to call "sponge mode" currently as I am taking in everything, soaking it through each and every pore. From what I can tell, I'm going to like it here.
I've been in the Seattle area since the beginning of January but I honestly don't believe that I've been able to plant my uplifted roots. Now, with the job and hopefully (soon) a new domicile, the roots of Steez will soon enter the ground and complete the transplant process.
Here's to it.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Fortuna Smiles.
There are those days, weeks, periods of time in which it is clear to an individual that things aren't "going their way" or "they can't catch a break," etc ...
The time that I am in now, the present (some would call it)... is not one of those periods of the aforementioned.
Fortuna smiles, full stretch, not only on myself but the others of the Stoolman clan.
That is all.
The time that I am in now, the present (some would call it)... is not one of those periods of the aforementioned.
Fortuna smiles, full stretch, not only on myself but the others of the Stoolman clan.
That is all.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Internutz
The life of the unemployed is an interesting one, one that I’ve become far too familiar with in the last year (or so) of my life. When in a position that I current am, an individual needs to keep themselves busy. Dedicating hours a day to the job search, sending emails, starting and not finishing stories, staying on top of opportunities, keeping track of the actions of your recruiters (and staffing agencies), starting a blog, writing in a journal, downloading music, etc… If you can coordinate to do some (if not all) of these things outside the confinements of the house that you’re crashing, then I believe you’re bound to keep your sanity intact, for the time being.
With this in mind, your livelihood can be directly connected to the strength of your internet connection. Living a one-bar connection? You’re living a one-bar life.
I’m currently in a new coffee house (mind you, I have relocated to Seattle and I’m fitting nicely into this stereotype). It is called Kahili and evidently their coffee is “a taste of paradise.” Whereas yes, they did serve me a mighty fine Americano… I always thought paradise would have a hint of coconut. Kahili’s atmosphere is much more contemporary, spacious and sporting a plethora of wall outlets… however MY FUCKING INTERNET CONNECTION is far from stable and I’ve been rendered nearly paralyzed, in a no-bar life.
Give me the stares of judgment from the crotchety bastards at Tullys across the street.
Give me the ability to listen to their elderly book club discussions.
Give me my damn, stable internet connection.
That is all.
With this in mind, your livelihood can be directly connected to the strength of your internet connection. Living a one-bar connection? You’re living a one-bar life.
I’m currently in a new coffee house (mind you, I have relocated to Seattle and I’m fitting nicely into this stereotype). It is called Kahili and evidently their coffee is “a taste of paradise.” Whereas yes, they did serve me a mighty fine Americano… I always thought paradise would have a hint of coconut. Kahili’s atmosphere is much more contemporary, spacious and sporting a plethora of wall outlets… however MY FUCKING INTERNET CONNECTION is far from stable and I’ve been rendered nearly paralyzed, in a no-bar life.
Give me the stares of judgment from the crotchety bastards at Tullys across the street.
Give me the ability to listen to their elderly book club discussions.
Give me my damn, stable internet connection.
That is all.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Peep this hole.
The thing about a blog is that there is always a plethora of topics of which one could write on. This means a particular subject should and will always be picked by the blogger (I’m not writing anything but the obvious here) whether it’s something that their interested in or, perhaps selected at random; an arbitrary choice.
Today, I think that I’m going to go with a free write. No particular subject, just whatever synapse fires for me, at that moment.
Feeling deep will only take you to the depth that you didn’t want to reach. That’s the thing about curiosity, about probing… even when you discover something positive, a wonderful sensation, it’s not enough to stop (well, unless you have a designated set of parameters with a defined goal. You know, like a science project). With this in mind, please picture a hole in the ground. It’s not even all that enticing of a hole but the fact that your arm knows no defined stretch (keeps on and on. Extending. Shit, even snaking to the hidden infrastructure of the hole, below surface) is enough of a reason to see what this hole holds.
Pulling out morsel after morsel, gem after gem, warm feeling after warm feeling… Is and will not be enough for the individual. It’s not until the first sign of a negative that the hole will begin to lose its luster. The proverbial hand on the stove, a critter bite, excavation of a human skull, an ugly look, a hurt feeling. Dig long enough and pain will be yielded. The stretched arm is withdrawn and the hole left to the ground.
So then, where is the line drawn? Is there such thing as a safe journey of discovery? One could say that if you’re not willing to deal with negatives of discovery, journey you should not. Who knows?
Speaking of holes… Who has seen a “glory hole”? (Disclaimer: Seeing a glory hole and an resulting jokes, laughter or vomit is not the same as being a patron of said hole of glory) I’ve seen two, one easily more disgusting than the other, thanks to a seemingly recent use.
I think that it’s something that everyone should encounter, at least once, while visiting a highway rest stop (you know, the gay bath houses of the 90s). But, when I think about it, that might not be that easy of an achievement. I’m going to go ahead and guess that there are significantly less female restroom glory holes, it just kind of defeats the whole purpose of (maybe) gay truckers and sneaky dentists and their anonymous activities.
You know what, I’m going to stop speculating on this subject. Thanks to not eating breakfast, 16 oz. of an Americano and this particular subject … my stomach is not feeling all that solid. At least I didn’t eat some vitamins.
Final thought is this, curious or not … don’t confuse a hole of curiosity for one of anonymous sexual deviance. Well, I guess, unless you want to make the two the same.
Womp.
Today, I think that I’m going to go with a free write. No particular subject, just whatever synapse fires for me, at that moment.
Feeling deep will only take you to the depth that you didn’t want to reach. That’s the thing about curiosity, about probing… even when you discover something positive, a wonderful sensation, it’s not enough to stop (well, unless you have a designated set of parameters with a defined goal. You know, like a science project). With this in mind, please picture a hole in the ground. It’s not even all that enticing of a hole but the fact that your arm knows no defined stretch (keeps on and on. Extending. Shit, even snaking to the hidden infrastructure of the hole, below surface) is enough of a reason to see what this hole holds.
Pulling out morsel after morsel, gem after gem, warm feeling after warm feeling… Is and will not be enough for the individual. It’s not until the first sign of a negative that the hole will begin to lose its luster. The proverbial hand on the stove, a critter bite, excavation of a human skull, an ugly look, a hurt feeling. Dig long enough and pain will be yielded. The stretched arm is withdrawn and the hole left to the ground.
So then, where is the line drawn? Is there such thing as a safe journey of discovery? One could say that if you’re not willing to deal with negatives of discovery, journey you should not. Who knows?
Speaking of holes… Who has seen a “glory hole”? (Disclaimer: Seeing a glory hole and an resulting jokes, laughter or vomit is not the same as being a patron of said hole of glory) I’ve seen two, one easily more disgusting than the other, thanks to a seemingly recent use.
I think that it’s something that everyone should encounter, at least once, while visiting a highway rest stop (you know, the gay bath houses of the 90s). But, when I think about it, that might not be that easy of an achievement. I’m going to go ahead and guess that there are significantly less female restroom glory holes, it just kind of defeats the whole purpose of (maybe) gay truckers and sneaky dentists and their anonymous activities.
You know what, I’m going to stop speculating on this subject. Thanks to not eating breakfast, 16 oz. of an Americano and this particular subject … my stomach is not feeling all that solid. At least I didn’t eat some vitamins.
Final thought is this, curious or not … don’t confuse a hole of curiosity for one of anonymous sexual deviance. Well, I guess, unless you want to make the two the same.
Womp.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Where is Rory? An intro.
"Where is Rory?" is a story that I began writing toward the end of November. I think that it's safe to say that I haven't touched it in just over 2 months. While going through my writings folder I saw that I had transcribed a little bit of it and have decided to give it a little air and see if I can rekindle my initial vision for it. More of this story exists but it is in a notebook that is not currently in my possession (My first step, in writing, is hand writing in (usually) a Steno Notepad). In it's finished (or at least further fleshed) form this story will tell a tale of parallel universes, set in a time-frame of the late 19th Century.
Where is Rory?
The wind blew. The wind blew enough that it made that curtains flap, flap just a little. The candles on the nightstand flickered, tempting to extinguished by the same wind. Darkness had fallen a handful of hours before and all the house’s occupants, aside from Rory, were sleeping.
“I wonder if the candlelight bothers her,” he thought to himself after Ingrid stirred.
“Maybes she’s cold.”
Climbing out of bed, careful not to disturb, Rory discovered how cold the late-night floor was. Fumbling for his robe, in the dancing light, he tripped over Hermes. The old dog’s abrupt wake-up call was enough to force a soft “boof” past his whiskers. Frozen in his tracks, now without his nightcap, Rory waited to see if the dog’s noise had been enough to awaken Ingrid. He knew she had a terrible time sleeping these days and the sleep she did have was certainly not that of high quality, as she often awoke, terrified and asking for Harold.
“mwuaahh…” she fumbled out her mouth. “mmwuahaaa” came again and then she was silent.
Still frozen, Rory could hear her deep breaths return. She was asleep, most likely never awoke. Now with his an increased heart rate, Rory did not like his chances of sleep upon returning to his spot in the bed.
“I need sleep, the sun will rise soon and there are chores to be done before heading to the shop” he reminded himself, making way across the room to the open window, to the waving curtains.
“Jesus it’s cold” he thought as he tightened the tie of his robe. “Why the hell did I leave the window open in the first place?” Rory quizzed as he latched the window closed.
He shivered and turned for the return trip to bed. After carefully hurdling Hermes and placing his robe on the rocking chair beside the bed, Rory climbed back into his now not-so-warm spot in bed. Leaning over he blew out one candle of the two candles and reached for the second. It wasn’t until the breath traveled from his mouth to the flame that the room became dark. The dancing little man of fire was still visible to Rory when he closed his eyes. Lids shut, the fading image gave way to an explosion of light. The entire room lit up as if it were neighbors with the sun.
The light pierced Rory’s eyes and seemed to penetrate him to his core. Hot, searing, focused pain.
“Ahhh!” he screamed aloud. The light and pain relinquishing their hold as he breathed the last breath of the scream. Darkness returned in a pure form.
“Rory? What is wrong?” asked a panicked and awakened Ingrid.
When Rory opened his eyes, the dancing fireman had returned only this time he was held by a frightened Ingrid. The flame all but licked her face, not revealing it all but enough to see how startled she was.
“Rory, are you ok? Rory?” asked Ingrid.
“Yes, yes. I think so.” He answered.
The house remained silent. Either the children were not awakened because they are used to startling sounds coming from their parent’s bedroom during the night, or they now lie in their beds, frightened.
Where is Rory?
The wind blew. The wind blew enough that it made that curtains flap, flap just a little. The candles on the nightstand flickered, tempting to extinguished by the same wind. Darkness had fallen a handful of hours before and all the house’s occupants, aside from Rory, were sleeping.
“I wonder if the candlelight bothers her,” he thought to himself after Ingrid stirred.
“Maybes she’s cold.”
Climbing out of bed, careful not to disturb, Rory discovered how cold the late-night floor was. Fumbling for his robe, in the dancing light, he tripped over Hermes. The old dog’s abrupt wake-up call was enough to force a soft “boof” past his whiskers. Frozen in his tracks, now without his nightcap, Rory waited to see if the dog’s noise had been enough to awaken Ingrid. He knew she had a terrible time sleeping these days and the sleep she did have was certainly not that of high quality, as she often awoke, terrified and asking for Harold.
“mwuaahh…” she fumbled out her mouth. “mmwuahaaa” came again and then she was silent.
Still frozen, Rory could hear her deep breaths return. She was asleep, most likely never awoke. Now with his an increased heart rate, Rory did not like his chances of sleep upon returning to his spot in the bed.
“I need sleep, the sun will rise soon and there are chores to be done before heading to the shop” he reminded himself, making way across the room to the open window, to the waving curtains.
“Jesus it’s cold” he thought as he tightened the tie of his robe. “Why the hell did I leave the window open in the first place?” Rory quizzed as he latched the window closed.
He shivered and turned for the return trip to bed. After carefully hurdling Hermes and placing his robe on the rocking chair beside the bed, Rory climbed back into his now not-so-warm spot in bed. Leaning over he blew out one candle of the two candles and reached for the second. It wasn’t until the breath traveled from his mouth to the flame that the room became dark. The dancing little man of fire was still visible to Rory when he closed his eyes. Lids shut, the fading image gave way to an explosion of light. The entire room lit up as if it were neighbors with the sun.
The light pierced Rory’s eyes and seemed to penetrate him to his core. Hot, searing, focused pain.
“Ahhh!” he screamed aloud. The light and pain relinquishing their hold as he breathed the last breath of the scream. Darkness returned in a pure form.
“Rory? What is wrong?” asked a panicked and awakened Ingrid.
When Rory opened his eyes, the dancing fireman had returned only this time he was held by a frightened Ingrid. The flame all but licked her face, not revealing it all but enough to see how startled she was.
“Rory, are you ok? Rory?” asked Ingrid.
“Yes, yes. I think so.” He answered.
The house remained silent. Either the children were not awakened because they are used to startling sounds coming from their parent’s bedroom during the night, or they now lie in their beds, frightened.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Failed Communication.
Growing up, even before I knew that I had a love for advertising, Super Bowl ads were a much anticipated part of each and every Super Bowl for me. The 90’s did not disappoint and even the first four years of the new millennium were entertaining and well executed. Correct me if I’m wrong, but in the last few years, as the price for airtime increased at an astronomical rate… the quality of ads has decreased a great deal. I know this isn’t groundbreaking analysis but you know, I have been watching.
Last year, for the Colts victory, I don’t remember much. Game and ads alike. Doesn’t mean they didn’t suck.
In my eyes, the victor of a compelling, thought provoking communication was the GMC, "Mountain Top," Hybrid Yukon spot. It’s depiction of a Sisyphus like character and his grueling, rocking rolling pursuit of meaning has a hopeful and bright end that the Greek myth did not. As humans, our pursuit of a green life isn’t in vain and the effort not feigned, as GMC told me … There’s hope, yo.
I liked Career Builder's message to "follow your heart," but maybe that's because I'm unemployed. The boss's plate of Lobster was a nice touch.
(By the way, I just searched the above ad on YouTube to find this comment gem:
ignoresxk1 (3 hours ago)
LOL I THOUGHT HER TITTY FELL OFF )
Excellent.
Any and all Sales Genie efforts made my stomach turn.
Pepsi should be (and I’m sure they are) very ashamed of themselves.
In the end, I like to think that the worst commercial belonged to Sobe's Life Water or whatever their knockoff vitamin water, attempt at product extension, bullshit thing is…
Hands down, if you’re going to be spending the dough to a) buy an ad space during the Super Bowl and b) the music rights to Michael Jackson’s thriller … Don’t fill the commercial with a variety of CGI lizards. (Notice: I'm not even addressing the inexplicable placement of Naomi Cambpell) It’s not even the complete ineffectiveness of this ad or the poor use of their budget that gets to me here … it’s the fact that the talking lizard market is more than well covered by my man, the Geico Gecko (fuck those cavemen).
Are those clams? I love clams.
Last year, for the Colts victory, I don’t remember much. Game and ads alike. Doesn’t mean they didn’t suck.
In my eyes, the victor of a compelling, thought provoking communication was the GMC, "Mountain Top," Hybrid Yukon spot. It’s depiction of a Sisyphus like character and his grueling, rocking rolling pursuit of meaning has a hopeful and bright end that the Greek myth did not. As humans, our pursuit of a green life isn’t in vain and the effort not feigned, as GMC told me … There’s hope, yo.
I liked Career Builder's message to "follow your heart," but maybe that's because I'm unemployed. The boss's plate of Lobster was a nice touch.
(By the way, I just searched the above ad on YouTube to find this comment gem:
ignoresxk1 (3 hours ago)
LOL I THOUGHT HER TITTY FELL OFF )
Excellent.
Any and all Sales Genie efforts made my stomach turn.
Pepsi should be (and I’m sure they are) very ashamed of themselves.
In the end, I like to think that the worst commercial belonged to Sobe's Life Water or whatever their knockoff vitamin water, attempt at product extension, bullshit thing is…
Hands down, if you’re going to be spending the dough to a) buy an ad space during the Super Bowl and b) the music rights to Michael Jackson’s thriller … Don’t fill the commercial with a variety of CGI lizards. (Notice: I'm not even addressing the inexplicable placement of Naomi Cambpell) It’s not even the complete ineffectiveness of this ad or the poor use of their budget that gets to me here … it’s the fact that the talking lizard market is more than well covered by my man, the Geico Gecko (fuck those cavemen).
Are those clams? I love clams.
Hater Nation
If you had asked me as little as two weeks ago how I’d respond, how I would convey my thought and emotion following a Patriots loss and I would tell you that… In the event of this outcome, I would pour seething comments, unbridled hate towards each and every member of Belichick’s brood. Now that it has happened, this is all I have:
Fans of the South Park franchise know of the relationship between Satan and his lover Saddam Hussein. Satan as the effeminate leader of the underworld and Saddam as his surly lover who certainly wears the pants. It’s not my doing, other than making this discovery, that the two most important men in the New England franchise bare more than a striking resemblance to aforementioned characters:
I give you:
[Robert Kraft]
=
[Bill "I Spy" Belichick]
=
In related news:
- I will be purchasing a NY Giants hat for the sole purpose of wearing to Mariner’s games vs. the Red Sox, providing me ammunition to throw in the face of each and every member of Red Sox nation that I encounter.
Fans of the South Park franchise know of the relationship between Satan and his lover Saddam Hussein. Satan as the effeminate leader of the underworld and Saddam as his surly lover who certainly wears the pants. It’s not my doing, other than making this discovery, that the two most important men in the New England franchise bare more than a striking resemblance to aforementioned characters:
I give you:
[Robert Kraft]
=
[Bill "I Spy" Belichick]
=
In related news:
- I will be purchasing a NY Giants hat for the sole purpose of wearing to Mariner’s games vs. the Red Sox, providing me ammunition to throw in the face of each and every member of Red Sox nation that I encounter.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Boat Show Extravaganza
Today has definitely been spent in “recovery mode,” thanks to my day full of the Seattle Boat Show (and roughly 25-30 drinks over the course of the day). I’ll select a broad brush to paint this picture, seeing as how I’m certain a more detailed recall is out of my abilities.
I had arranged for limo service to pick me up at the hotel and then later go to the airport for the 8am arrival of my Dad, Uncle and 5 of their amigos. I was late but thankfully Vladamir, the limo driver (and presumed extra from the 2007 release, “Eastern Promises”), had no problem waiting for me. I arrive at the hotel, load the bloody mary essentials requested by my guests and headed to the airport. After spending roughly an hour and a half in the limo, post pick up, the half gallon of Skyy was taxed and it was time to move on, maybe get some food to complement the 3-5 bloody marys consumed by each member of our party. (Thank Christ I decided to up my usual Pepcid intake). After eating, more drinks and a brisk walk it was time venture into the Boat Show. (As background, my Uncle was looking for a new boat to keep in
The following 8 hours went a little something like this: beer, boats, beer, beer, boats, fishing rods, “a break” to get something to eat and a drink, bathroom, hiccups, hiccups, beer, hiccups, boat, boat, boat. I’m not someone who gets the hiccups easily and this is more than okay with me considering the fact that I absolutely loathe the hiccups and my inability to avoid them, once they’ve set their eyes on me. Starting at about 2pm, spanning all the way until I was finally able to sleep… I counted 7 different cases of the bastards. Scare me. Make me drink water upside down (which I can’t). How about a shot of lemon juice/salt/bitters? Hold my breath. How about a swift kick to the balls? You name it, it was tried.
There was no boat purchased.
In other news ...
- I can’t decide who has the better set of “life skills,” Britney Spears or Adam Pacman Jones.
- Johan Santana passed his physical and will received $25mm a year to hurl baseballs for the New York Metropolitans. Good for him. Gooood. For. Him.
- Gordon B. Hinckley, grand poobah of the
- The Ducks snapped their 4 game conference game losing streak. And it was against the dirty, dirty Beavs. Have I ever told you that any and all OSU students or supporters enjoy sex with four legged creatures. The barnyard variety are #1.
- As you know, the Super Bowl is tomorrow. It occurred to me the other day, when asked “who do you want to win?” that even after a moment’s thought I couldn’t come up with an answer. The last time I felt so indifferent about the Super Bowl was the Bucs v. Raiders (yawwwn) game. Here’s my problem, I genuinely dislike the Giants but mostly because of their evil imp of a coach… And I hate the soulless machine that is Bill Bellicheck’s hell circus.
- On a related note, it tickles me to see the reappearance of “Spygate” and the possibility that the Pats cheated, on top of many other times, in preparation for their Super Bowl match up vs. the Rams in ought-3.
To go completely against my comment made above about the Mormon church, allow me to mock them, as a whole:
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