I've Got Your Flare Right Here.

Douchy Imported Manager In Training: (approaching me doing the "cowboy guns" bang-bang thing with fingers) Hey hey! There she is! Miss Doesn't-Wear-A-Name-Tag! Miss, gee I don't know, Wears-A-Hat.

Miss Wears-A-Hat: Um. No.

D.I.M.I.T: No? No what?

M.W.A.H.: No, I do not wear name tags.

D.I.M.I.T.: (overexagerated pouty face) you dooon't? You do know it's part of the dress code? (taps own tag knowingly)

M.W.A.H.: I am way too cool to wear something so douchy. Way.

Other Delivery Guy: (dies in a puddle of laughter behind D.I.M.I.T.)

Fin.

Monday night was a night of pizza delivery in which every single pizza was at least an hour late. This was influenced by both Monday night football and every single schmo in the greater RoFo area stuck at home handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, and the fact that there was only one other driver besides myself. Afterward, I sat down and wrote my place of employment a little note. I wonder if they were able to read the subtext. I'll spell it out to you here, just in case.

10/31/05

Dear ::Pizza Hell:: Management Team,

It is with a heavy heart (fuck you) and deep regret (fuck you) that I must offer my resignation (fuck you). Let this missive (fuck you) serve as my two week's notice (fuck you).

My last date of available employment at this fine establishment (fuck. you.) will be Thursday, November 17. Thanks for all the good times (fuck yooou). These memories will last a lifetime (no, no, fuck you).

With much regard (and fucking of you),

Morgen :-)

What do you think? Too subtle?

---

On Tuesday, the only sane member of the management team approached me, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, and said "Ok, ok. I'll let you quit if you agree to stay on the schedule for a few days a week. How's that?"

Um....what?

and suddenly, my job is Just. That. Annoying.

Pizza Slave: Will this be for drive-up window or delivery?
Customer: Are there any specials today?
Pizza Slave: Not that I am aware of.
Customer: (in baby-cute pout) OOOooooohhhhHH! No specials for Tuesday??
Pizza Slave: ......No.
Customer: (still pouting) oooohhhhh....alriiiiiight....(mercifully hangs up)

That's right. Whine in my ear and there will instantly be specials. Specials for Tuesday.

High-Maintainence Customer: And can I have all of the meats and cheeses for that salad on the side?
Pizza Slave: Sure.
Crusty Lumped-Up Manager with Pit Stains: Pizza Slave!! Can you please tell me how the hell am I supposed to put all this shit on the side?
Pizza Slave: I don't know. That's what she wanted.
C.L.U.M.P.S.: HOW the FUCK am I supposed to put it on the SIDE for a TO GO salad??
Pizza Slave: *blink* I don't know, CLUMPS, I'm sure you'll think of something.
C.L.U.M.P.S.: (in a voice that customers can definitely hear from the dining room) YOU TELL ME HOWTHEFUCK I'M SUPPOSED TO DO THIS!!
Pizza Slave: I DON'T REALLY CARE, CLUMPS! It's not my PROBLEM!
C.L.U.M.P.S.: (in high, mocking voice) ooooh, its not my proooblem!
Pizza Slave: You're WARPED.
C.L.U.M.P.S.: oooooh, you're warped! *waddles off like the lumbering hose-beast that she is*

Adults should not speak to each other this way. I might as well be dealing with 14 year-olds with emotional problems.

And the kicker. The moment when I started thinking that maybe my career as a Pizza Slave has run it's course:

Inept Store Manager: And, as a thank-you for taking on all of these hours I suddenly dropped in your lap because Joe the asshole driver quit, I'm putting you in for a raise!
Pizza Slave: Oh yeah?
I.S.M.: Yeah! I think doubling your work load and putting you on nights with no warning is worth giving you a raise to $6.25/hr.
Pizza Slave: *is at a complete loss for words*
I.S.M.: Is that okay?
Pizza Slave: *wonders how she can explain to I.S.M. that putting the word "raise" in front of a ten-cent pay hike does not make it a gift. wonders if I.S.M. is trying to insult her on purpose. wonders if she is supposed to say "thank you" in a situation like this. wonders how long this pause has actually gone on. wants to laugh in I.S.M.'s face SO badly. instead of saying "thank you," unexpectedly says,* well, whOOOOOhOOOOOO!
I.S.M.: (who's mouth has actually dropped open) ....won't that help you out?
Pizza Slave: Oh. Yeah. It will help me out. A lot. *starts walking away*
I.S.M.: Well, I can try to ask for $6.50, if that would be better?
Pizza Slave: No, no. I'm good. Thank you.

Toad Escapes Basement to Wreak Havoc; Lounges

Really. This monster amphibious creature clawed it's way from the under-verse of Carl's basement,



commenced a search-and-destroy mission upon all human life above ground, raining chaos and misery wherever its dour glance happened to fall, required us all to call it "Commendant of Wartcropolis, Bearer of Doom, Ancient Master of the Unholy Nether-World Beyond,"



and then took a little rest, requesting cucumbers for its eyes and a mamosa.

Resignation

Mo: Hi.
Moville: Hi.
Mo: How've you been?
Moville: Do you really care, or are you just making polite conversation?
Mo: Oh, don't be like that. Of course I care!
Moville: You don't post pictures, you dont write...what's a blog to think? I mean, my whole exsistence turns on a word-hell, even a visit from you, and as far as I can tell, You have forgotten that you even created me!
Mo: No! No, I haven't forgotten! I've just been a bit...
Moville: Busy?
Mo: Yeah. Busy.

Mo: I really do mean to write...
Moville: But?
Mo: ...but I have nothing worth writing about.
Moville: Oh, please. Like you ever hand anything worth writing about. "Red Beans 'n Rice?" "Office Haiku #3?" All you ever bring me is little bits of nothing, so if you have nothing to write about, you should be all set to go! So get to it! Let's try, "Toad Escapes Basement to Wreak Havoc; Lounges."
Mo: Well, that's it exactly. This is a great place for fluff, for the odd bits of funny flotsam jumbling up my head. But I don't seem to have any of that floating around up there just now. Do you see?
Moville: Not really.

Mo: Well, um...OK-Have you ever felt so dully resigned that all of the glittery fragmented possibilities of "what is" and "what could be" sort of fade out of focus and die?
Moville: Resigned?
Mo: Yeah. Resigned to your crappy job, to your ugly car, to the fact that you took the turnpike instead of 309 but it's too late to turn back, to you whole dusty life, slowly grinding forward day by predictable day? Resigned-when you thought there would be more, but have accepted that there is not, and don't even really think about it anymore?

Moville: ......

Moville: I am an imaginary bit of stationary whose sole purpose is to record and serve the thoughts of a single sniveling human animal. A human animal who, by the way, is a terrible speller. Who might step in front of a bus tomorrow, leaving words everywhere more correctly spelled, but also leaving me alone and adrift in a soup of impulses and unfriendly spammers, or worse, erase me on a whim because I don't "reflect her, you know, creatively." I am a few pages of electronic code that is sustained by and dependant upon the competance of programmers and disinterest of hackers. I have no mass. I'm not even speaking right now. You are just talking to yourself and pretending that I exist so you can feel like you told someone who cares. No. I know nothing about resignation. Why do you ask?

Mo: I don't know. I thought maybe you'd understand.
Mo: I guess not.
Mo: You don't have to be a jerk about it.
Mo: I know you are, but what am I?
Mo: All right, I'll be back soon with some pithy scrap of nothing to justify your world.
Mo: Don't force it. You'll just embarrass yourself.

I'm just talking 'bout Harry.

Cause he's one bad mother-

-Shut yo mouth!

He's a complicated man!

-Potter!

I just saw the new HP movie trailer last night. It happens to be coming out on my birthday. I know they did this just for me, because I am awesome. Thanks, HP people. I love you so.

Won't Someone Think of the Red Beans 'n Rice??

I've listened to a lot of the talk over whether or not to rebuild New Orleans. There are many compelling reasons to just declare it a dead zone and move on with reality. I mean, the billions and billions of dollars it will require for the clearing of rubble, the demolition of ruined buildings, the restoration of power and communication lines, the complete overhaul of water and sewage systems, it goes on and on... And all of that is only after the water is pumped out, the bodies carted away, and protective measures taken against the city flooding again.

Not to mention the contamination that is seeping into the earth as it sits in a soup of human waste, oil and chemical spillage, and god knows what else. That stuff doesn't go away with a few good rains. I read somewhere that there are places outside of St. Petersburg, sites of old villages and such, where people do not ever go because they can still catch the plague.

Not that I really have a say in the matter, but I had been in favor of everyone just cleaning up the disaster area the best they could, caution-taping the whole place off, and walking away for a few decades. No rebuilding. Let sleeping dogs lie. Until.

Until I was made aware of the fact that Zattarain's is actually based out of New Orleans. It never really occured to me that such a delicious company would not have outsourced it's production to somewhere less voulnerable, say, Chicago. Kansas City. Detroit. ANYWHERE ELSE!

I mean, how could this happen?? One minute we are all munching on jambalaya with chicken, shrimp, ground beef or sausage, and the next minute, realizing that we never really appreciated this versatile, mouthwatering food of the gods while we had it!! So much better than hamburger helper, yet so convenient!! A one-pan, two-step meal for three or four people for under $5, in only 25 minutes! And the spanish rice! SO GOOD FOR STUFFED PEPPERS!! I can't even tell you how many nights we ate the dirty rice in college and were so sooo happy! Some of you were there! You know!

Ok, people, I do not know for a fact that the Zattarain's company was actually affected by the hurricane. For all I know, the factory or plant or whatever is perfectly dry, still churning out boxed rice deliciousness as we speak. But on the off chance that my jambalaya supply will be interrupted in the slightest, I vote yes. YES on the rebuilding of New Orleans. Toxic wasteland be damned! This is America! We have billions and billions of dollars! Who's with me?? Zattarain's...I mean New Orleans forever!!

Rated ARRRRRRRR!!!!!!

Everyone needs a pirate day. On this day, I pimped it, pirate-style.

My Baby

Jaimie's (my) baby turned one on the 25th. With all the Pennsic hangover and whatnot, I haven't gotten around to sharing the cuteness until now. But oh, the cuteness.

They got a cake all for him, just so he could rip into it. It was a big fish (I don't know, they like fish) that said "JR." Frosting. Everywhere.




It was a big day. It's been a big year. I mean, he discovered his fingers and toes, learned how to clap, learned how to say "dadadaDaDaDADADADADAD!!!" whenever mommy is simply not satisfactory, learned how to kiss mommy because she is actually the light of his life, and became entirely self-propelled, willing and able to seek out every bite-sized floor crumb and dust-covered couch flotsam and furniture staple forgodsake in exsistance.

No wonder he's all tuckered out.

if I have to be on a wagon...

...it's going to be of the "band" variety. In particular, the "outrage" bandwagon.

I'm not a self-hating American. I am a bleeding-heart liberal Bush-basher. It's different.

However.

I am having a real hard time with the reporters and commentators who, upon viewing the aftermath of a hurricane and the very human reaction people are having to being homeless and hungry, proclaim with a touch of horror in their voices that they cannot believe they are seeing this on American soil. This, of course, encompasing the natural disaster, the destruction of a beloved city, and the frightening chaos of human desperation in the aftermath. This happens to darker, poorer countries that have no infrastructures anyway, right? This affects exotic faraway lands, and probably is a direct result of those people not speaking English. Didn't everyone get the memo? This is too base...to common for Americans to have to endure. This happens to Indonesians and Chinese and Africans, not us.

We are Paris Hilton at a Supreme Court ruling, stamping our stiletto in protest; "What do you mean I don't get to vote? Don't you know who I am?!?"

There is a great line from Terry Pratchet or someone that goes, "civilization is only 24 hours and two meals away from utter barbarism." I believe that the average American has no idea what we are supposed to do in times of crisis, or what a relief effort even looks like up close, because for most of us, a crisis involves Starbucks running out of caramel drizzel for our machiattos. I am not surprised that relief efforts have been slow and disorganized. We have resources, but a massive disaster is still a massive disaster, even if it happens on the sacred soil of our forefathers. Imagine how slow and futile relief efforts must be in places without mighty American resources.

We can't just give some lip service to UNICEF, donate five bucks to some unfortunate foreign tragedy and go about our business with this one; we have to actually do something, a lot of continuous something. I think the sensation of actual responsibility is shocking to the American system. Responsibility compounded with the reality that for so many, even our best efforts would not be enough.