Don't cover your head under a pillow. Show some honor and stick your neck out; for the Samurai of the San Juan take no prisoners.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005


stick 'em up! Posted by Hello

Desperate Times Call for Depraved Grammar!

Well here I am making my first blogg entry thanks to one of my closest friends Jason at Conscious Since 77 .

Suck in air and take the leap.

Today is the last Wednesday of my side-quest into the world of retail. Two weeks ago I show up at work ready to do my thing, which is dust boxes and apply stickers to the hate-covered orange beams at The Home Depot™…

You can do it? We can help?

I call Bullshit; lets not go down that road just yet.

… Things were going fine until my boss shows up. He’s a nice guy who I like, despite his Evangelical ways. As we went over which boxes where the dustiest and the best way to apply a sticker to insure proper adhesion and visibility my mind went blank. White sheet over the body blank.
“I have to talk to you, man.” It just came out, right in the middle of his sentence. “I can’t do this anymore, but I won’t screw you over. This is my two weeks’ notice.”
While his eyes were still blinking as his brain tried to understand where the conversation had taken such a dramatic turn, I dumped all the frustration that I had been feeling since taking a shitty job at THD, on him. It was an overdue acceptance of guilt and self-hatred. I’m just not good enough to succeed at anything. I have passed through the belly of the Beast and taken residence just before the puckering exit. Well here is my laxative and I could care less what I’m going to find on the outside. I’ll either rise or get flushed.

You see, I have been picking up side-jobs for a local newspaper to supplement my income. The pay hasn’t been great but I find that I enjoy the work; I love the work. It’s like feeding my brain. But of course, I am now faced with the possibility of utter failure. Starving in the street with nothing but my tattered copy of The Elements of Journalism to keep me warm.

So here is where I leave you, worried for my life and desperate to hold my hand. Sorry, I just can’t get Bush’s love session out of my mind!

Ciao
Nate