J’s Neighborhood

1400 -- the number of pages I printed out in documents and presentations yesterday
9 - 6  -- the hours of the day it took to produce these image heavy POSes on my generic HP color printer
4  -- the number of times I had to beg the people at Staples to bind them for me on 'rush' close to closing time
1 -- the number of times I thanked god I was showing a lot of cleave while at Staples
9 -- the time I finally left work
9:30 -- the time I realized I left my bus pass at work
9:30 -- the time i went OHHHHH SNAP in a crowded bus terminal in front of many, many other commuters (for 930, that's so bizarro)
2.25 -- the amount of change i was able to scrounge out of the bottom of my purse to get home
1 -- the number of times i found my pass while scrounging for my keys when at my front door

4 -- the number of hours of sleep i got last night

730 -- the time i got arrived into work this morning
9 -- the last time i ate something
8 -- towncar/limo trips that were booked by me at some point during the day
630 -- roundabouts the time i realized i was not going to get out at a semblance of ontimeattitude because of
4 -- potential cars that management could have left said presentations in when they realized they had done so
1 -- the number of limousine companies i fired
1 -- the number of new limousine companies i hired

90 -- the number of minutes it would take for the driver to return the presentations to the office
60 -- the number of minutes i waited for a messanger to arrive to take the presentations to the waldorf
20 -- the number of minutes that had elapsed from when the packaged was handed from the from door staff to the messanger without contacting me and letting me know it was gone
12 -- the number of text messages exchanged between myself and my friend stacy, trying to coordinate if i was coming over after work to help her move furniture yet
? -- the number of text messages it will still take to resolve this problem
8 -- the time the presentations arrived from the driver
8 -- the time i became so incoherent from low blood sugar i was shaking all over the place on the elevator ride down
2 -- the number of patties in a turkey burger i ordered for delivery
1 -- the number of ketchup packets they gave me
infinate -- my amount of sadness over lack of ketchup

24 -- the number of minutes past 9 it presently is
1 -- the number of motherfucking cars I am getting to take my ass home

3 -- the number of times the company credit card just got declined
1 -- big ol' sigh.

Some time after Scotch and I got engaged, we were chillin' together somewhere and discussing the many improbable triumphs our relationship has seen. We marvelled at just how much fucking FUN we have together, and how happy and comfortable we are together. We boasted to ourselves about how, even during tough times, our enjoyment of and love for each other comes so easily. We began to feel like maybe we were cheating or something. Relationships aren't supposed to be this much fun, right? All you ever hear about is how much work they are. Now, don't get me wrong... we have to work at ours too. We've worked a tremendous amount on it. But, it's that kind of work that you love, partially because it's fun work, and partially because you know the payoff is huge. Anyway, as we got further in to our engagement and closer to our wedding day, we started to wonder if some authority figure was going to intervene and come up with some reason we wouldn't be allowed to be together.

"I'm sorry, folks, but the Department of Health has determined that you two simply don't detest each other enough to be a married couple. You're going to have to find more suitable mates."

We frequently joked about how there was no way we were going to get away with locking in eternal happiness. Why should we be so lucky? We imagined guys in black suits with dark glasses and earpieces suddenly grabbing one of us and throwing them in a van, never to be seen or heard from again.

The prophecy almost came true when, on their way to the ceremony, Nadia (the Maid of Honor) and Scotch were pulled over by the most unforgiving police officer in Hawaii and detained for a long time, while being berated for a variety of offenses, including crying over being late for one's own wedding. Meanwhile, my Best Man and I raced across the island to make up time lost to a faulty alarm clock. Storm clouds literally opened up a deluge of rain as we picked up the Most Awesome Flower Girl Ever on our way.

We all made it, of course. The weather cleared up and it was, honestly and without exaggeration, the most beautiful and amazing day I've ever seen. We said our vows (in Hawaiian and English), exchanged leis, exchanged rings, kissed, and sealed the deal. We made it, and nobody can fuck with that now.

Shortly after the ceremony, Scotch reminded me to check out the inside of my ring. I excitedly removed it, squinted, and read the most perfect and clever inscription:

It's really very simple.

Being a writer is a shitty job.  People think that writers should just write for the pleasure of it, and therefore writing is a job they won't pay you for.  Not true.  People think they can just sit down and decide one day to be a writer.  Not bloody likely.  People also think they can control what other people write.  You can't.

I've always said that if you know a writer, you will eventually find yourself in one of Mork's reports back to Orson.

Does Mork care if you are in the report?  Nope.  Does Orson think it's wrong for people to interfere with Mork filing his report?  Hell, yes.

So I'm going to admit it.  I'm sick to death of the scrutiny.  Quite frankly, I'm embarrassed for you -- that you think you have the right to control the things I say, what I do, what I think, and what I write about.  I'm tired of feigning respect for, and continuing to smile and nod at, the people who just want to judge me.  Worse: when they communicate these judgments to me and then expect me to change to fit their ideas.

I'm taking my control back.  Here's what I've left for you:  your scrutiny, your judgments, and your ideas.  You can have them.  They are, after all, just yours.  I've never shared them.

This is not my first VOX blog post.  I've moved everything into "neighbourhood only" so that I can select who sees what, and when.   How's that for showing some lady balls?   I hope you aren't feeling threatened.  All I'm doing is living my own life.  Which is, like it or lump it, the life of a writer.

If you need access to one of my previous posts, whether through a Google search or a link that one of my friends has shared, just message or contact me, and I'll hook you up.

Whose the Boss, baby?  Me, that's who!  I gots me a seat for the Springsteen/E-Street show tomorrow night, bitches.

Yeah, I'm in the executive suite.  It's no big deal.  One of the greatest poets and icons in working man's rock music, that's all.  Ya know, whatever.

Springsteen

Today, returning from lunch, 2 cars simultaneously swerved over into my lane. They did this because their lane had stopped and they were too damned impatient to wait it out.  I dodged the first one, almost laying the bike down.  As I was getting the bike righted, the 2nd car swerved into my lane.  I seriously thought that I was a gonner. 

I punched his drivers side window partially out of anger but mostly in order to brace myself.  I looked up and cars were coming in the oncoming lane but there was a small window so I swerved across to the sidewalk and prayed that no one was on it.  After that I sat for a few minutes and regained my composure before continuing back to work.

I have 2 things to say:

1. I am very fortunate to have had a clear, albeit small, window of opportunity to get out of harms way.  And......
2. Fuck those assholes that pulled over on me.  May they wear feces as mustaches for eternity.
   

Intro Music:Toulumne
MAIN SET:Sometimes, Trouble, Girl From The North Country, I Am Mine, Deadman, Man Of The Hour, Setting Forth, No Ceiling, Guaranteed, Far Behind, Small Town, Millworker, Soon Forget, Broken-Hearted, GONE!!, Rise, Driftin', Hide Your Love Away, PORCH

1ST ENCORE: Here's To The State, Blackbird, Forever Young, Won't Back Down, Wishlist, Society w/Liam, Throw Your Arms Around Me, No More, ARC

2ND ENCORE:Hard Sun w/Liam and EJ

I arrived in Milwaukee just after 6:30, show time was 7:30. I walked to the Riverside and passed several scalpers. One was selling two balcony seats for $80 (total). Others were selling seats for face value. No one seemed to want an outrageous amount for tickets which was a good thing.

I had my ticket, Right Center Floor, Row F, Seat 11. So I was set to go.

I found my way inside, checked the goods for sale. Thought about it a little and eventually settled on a spotted cow (beer) and went to see just where my seat was. WOW. It was close. Very good seat.

I wasn't frisked on the way in and they didn't seem to be checking for much. I didn't see any signs about cameras but I hadn't chanced it and left the digital at home. Bummer. Because they appeared to be okay to bring into the venue.

The camera would have been great from my seat, that's where I was going with that.

I checked the stage, which was setup for Liam Finn. And wait, who's that on the stage, at the back, on the side, tuning guitars in front of a mac notebook? It appeared to be Eddie. Maybe it was the guitar tech, they look similar from that distance.

I drank my beer, took a couple of iPhone pictures and went back out to check the goods again. I came away with some buttons and stickers for $5 and a $35 (Batman) poster. Very cool.

Liam Finn came on stage with EJ. They were loud for two people with a guitar, some drums, a cowbell, and some other symbal type instruments. They did a lot of looping of effects. Liam would play something and record it and then play it back and record something else and then play both and play something live at the same time. It got annoying. Especially when EJ recorded her laughing and looped that on top of itself about 7 times. Not my type of music.

The curtain closed and we waited.

The curtains opened and there was the stage. A stool, a suitcase, some guitars and other string instuments, a reel-to-reel player, and a few other odds and ends. Ed walked out to standing ovation.

Sometimes was a great opener. Soon after that the idiots started yelling! They were yelling their requests and other stupid stuff and it on Eddie's nerves. He complained numerous times and it would help for a couple of songs, and then kick in again.

My other favorites were Man of the Hour, Guaranteed, Small Town, and Porch. Every song was amazing. Ed's version of Blackbird was awesome.

It was a great show. I'm very glad that I went. I'm sorry that the idiots took over with their yelling and I got tired of seeing the camera flashes. But some of that is to be expected at a concert. I don't think Ed will doing the solo tour again too soon.

JS Online Review
Riverside cancels scalper tickets

and I met with the creative director of the magazine I shoot for.  This month I get to do the fashion shoot and we're doing eyeglasses.  I know, at first I was like, wait, I get to do fashion, but it's just eyeglasses? fuck?  but shut up, at least it's something, and I intend to make it incredibly full of awesome.  Don't underestimate and don't haterate.  anyway, a week ago she was dead set on not using models, just using backgrounds or mannequins or whatever, but now we're doing models.  so HA! take THAT!

and then it was very hard for me to make myself come back to work after lunch, because talking photo shoots with a creative is 1342q432x preferable to sitting in this steaming pile of corporate hippo shit.  When is my kid going to be old enough and self-sufficient enough that I can do stupid shit again like quitting a job with nothing else lined up and just existing on a hope and a prayer?  I wanna do THAT.

Rarely, if ever, do I provide a warning to a post here at the Chicken. But, I am doing it now.

You are being warned that if you scroll down on this post you will see a very close-up picture of my bare ass. This is for a reason and you will see if you continue on this page. Again, this post contains a photo of ass up close, my bare ass, as in no pants, no underpants, nothing. You can see my ass crack. I didn't blur it out.

Again, just so everyone is absolutely fucking clear, this post has a photographic image in it, taken by Mrs. Chicken, of my bare ass at a very close range. I am a 225-pound man. If visions of ass flesh and crackery freak you out, move along. Go to zappos.com and buy some fucking Crocs or some shit, OK? But I don't want to hear one person bitching about "ewww" or "gross," as it relates to my bare ass, or its crack, which you will see on this post if you scroll down.

Ahem.

I fell on my rump so fucking hard last weekend, I felt it actually warrants a photo. Foremost, this was nobody's fault but mine. It was the Friday night of our weekend in Torch Lake. Yes, I had consumed alcohol, but I was hardly drunk. I was buzzed, but not even close to being shitfaced. It was about 11 at night and I failed to realize that dew had covered the property. Around the bonfire, my view of the bright, gorgeous moon in the sky was somewhat blocked by a tree line. So, I took my freshly made drink down to the dock for a better view. The steps leading to the dock are very secure and easy to negotiate. The final step is a few inches higher off the ground than normal steps would be, so a big flat-surfaced, probably six-inch thick rock is placed on the sandy beach as the last step. I've used this dozens of times without incident; others, hundreds of times.

So, here comes me, late at night, ambling down said steps, in a pair of flip-flops no less, my left foot on the last wooden step, my right foot about to come down upon the stone, with all of my weight. When I do that, my right foot slips on the moisture and both of my feet come out from beneath me. I come down, hard, right on my ass, on the surface of that stone, continue to bounce up in the air in the seated position and come to a rest, amid whisky and ice cubes, on the sandy beach. I am convinced I have crippled myself for a lifetime.

Needless to say the area has been tender and sore, but I don't believe there is significiant -- as in "you've broken something Mr. Chicken" -- damage. But man, it hurts like a motherfucker. I believe the imagery -- the one you've been warned about containing my naked ass and ass crack -- speaks volumes.

Bruise

And yes, it was a little chilly in the house this morning.

I guess if the first one was really all inclusive then there wouldn't be a need for a second one but... well... I'm not perfect.  Give me a fucking break.  Jesus.

Sleep over at my house tonight.  Woot Woot! 
I like sleep overs.  Not just because I get laid, actually I think I could survive without the sex tonight, I miss the sleeping together part.  (Who the fuck am I kidding?  I'm GETTING LAID!!!  Woohoo!  And I'm pretty sure I'm done my period!!!) 

This coffee sucks.  I stopped at 7 Virtues on my way up to the T's house to get some coffee and it tastes... like ass.  At least I remembered the name this time.  I've gotten this stuff before but I couldn't remember the name of it so I didn't know to avoid it.

Getting back on track...

• Tidy up my room at Lesley's room.
• Return w4's to work.
• Get gas.
  
• Make cd of photo's for Nate.  (He responded to a photo I sent him... baby steps)
• Go to post-office - Pray ipod is there - Rock out accordingly when it is.
• Make Zucchini Cake with Little T.
• Play cribbage with Little T.
• Enjoy adult time with the T.
• Pay Lane Bryant, At&t, Mah.
• Order more checks.
• Get Oregon License.
  

Jesus, I just got lost on the DMV website.  That thing is intense.
There's more todo but I'm not gonna do it all so who really cares if I actually list it out?