As I haven't talked to most of you in quite some time, i thought i'd let you know the direction my life is currently taking (professionally, this time).
Foremost, our "investor," Colin Grayson, backed out on us without so much as an explanation. I can't describe the frustration of being told this thing was moving forward, we were to start collecting paychecks, quit our jobs....only to be followed by two and a half MISERABLE weeks of trying to track this bastard down. Just to give you all an insight into Colin's character, my last communication with him about this was at the end of this two week period, he said he had the checks in hand, was going to shower, and would call me back in twenty minutes. He never did. Nor did he answer the phone when i called him numerous times. ARRGH. But enough of that. The good news is that Dave is pursuing another option at this point, and if it works out, we'll be secured in a VERY prime piece of Birmingham real estate.
Should that stuff not work out, you'll all be glad to know that i'm pursuing other, more reasonable options. I had a follow-up interview today with U.S. Foods for a training position which pays somewhat modestly but leads to a career. The training is for a territory manager position, a commissioned sales job, and just the sort of thing I would excel at. I hope. My best man Brian has been with this company four years and enjoys a pretty decent quality of life, so this would be a great opportunity.
I'm also awaiting a follow up interview at Santa Fe Cattle Company, a relatively new regional restaurant chain, where I interviewed for a management position. The pay is better off the bat, but the stability is less than at U.S. Pros and cons are a bitch, i'll tell you that. It would almost make it easier if I just plain don't get offered one of the positions (but I interview so well!!).
There are other opportunities on the table as well, both of them sales positions, and both of them on the near horizon. More on those as I pursue them.
All this growing up has left me weary.
Much love to those, etc..
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
about to have had it.
For you new readers, i present to you the first some-odd chapters of my fledgling novel. I just hope i haven't deleted the illustrations from photobucket yet.
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01
So this is how I'm supposed to touch you. With pen and paper. Ink. Typing ribbon. Little slivers of graphite so slender you can shove them under your fingernails for a sharp pain. Chewed pencils. Forty pound proof. Wide and college ruled. Bar napkins and the backs of business cards. Restroom walls. Printers that shudder and bump as they spit out my life story. Unread. And just when it was starting to get interesting.
02
Yesterday or a week ago, I shop. Rows of canned goods and boxed foods stretch to the limit of vision. I fill my cart without looking, indiscriminately toss cans in. It isn't so much buying food as painting. The colors on the labels lay in sharp relief to the dullness of the metal. Orange. Green. Silver. I guess I'll be having peas and carrots tonight.
I round a corner. A gleaming tower of imperishable meat product scrapes the ceiling, the sky. I get a running start and fling headfirst through the display. My head hits the ground first. I hear a crunch. My nose, or a tooth. Or both. My entire head is a filing cabinet slammed shut. Then I'm pelted with falling cans of Spam. They break like water across my back, my legs, my ass, some from eight feet, others from a mile up. From the sky. This is a baptism. I'm a new man. Yeah, right. It's a diversion. A way to pass time, and as the store manager runs over screaming at me the whole time he saw what I did, and what the hell is wrong with me, I roll myself over, pull my disability card. I hand it to him and give him a shitty, gap toothed, bloody grin. From now on I'll have to shop at Wal-Mart.
03
When you've retired at twenty eight the world is your oyster. Lying dormant for so many years, it has slowly calcified that accidental grain of sand that has become your life. Your own personal and perfectly boring pearl, watch it shine. So I try to keep myself busy. Keep my mind from eating itself more than it already has. I steal. I crash golf carts into trees. I cut myself or poke with needles or buy more refills for a mechanical pencil I don't have. Anything to stay occupied.
04
Another thing I did, I put on my old uniform, the one with the epaulets and funny lopsided hat. I always hated that fucking hat, it never fit me and always made my face look like it was on crooked. I put it on and rubbed the entire thing with peanut butter, hat, jacket, pants and all. I went to the garage and opened a forty pound bag of bird seed and doused myself liberally. I walked six blocks to the park, laid down, and waited.
It didn't take long. Within seconds the first curious pigeons were pecking at my legs, my chest, my head. It didn't hurt, it sort of tickled. Word spread fast and soon I was covered with birds. I swear I even saw a squirrel. While the birds found no food on my face, they still used it as a perch. I was a living tapestry of feathers. Yeah, right. I was an asshole covered with flying rats, and as soon as I was sure a crowd of people had gathered, I shot up off the ground, dozens of pigeons bursting into flight, a cloud of flapping chaos in front of me, I ran yelling like a madman at the first little girl I saw. She shrieked in terror, and no kidding, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted. Mission accomplished. Thank you sir.
I ran the rest of the way home, a few errant pigeons still pecking at my shoulder and back as I went. Two days later I had to see the doctor as one of the scratches on my face had become infected. I told him what happened but he didn't really hear it, just nodded and uh-hummed and asked me if my head or back still bothered me. They didn't, hadn't in months, but I nodded and uh-hummed and yessed myself into more hydrocodone.
05
Way back when....
I saw you lying on the bed. Wasting time. Remote in your hand. I sat on the edge of the bed. You didn't move. I said, "babe?" and put my hand on your cold leg. You didn't move. I pulled the sheets back, I said, "babe?" and shook. You didn't move. Your eyes were open. But your mind was shut. I dragged into the living room, poured myself another drink, and quietly cried myself to sleep. When I woke, it was raining.
06
My memory has been strange the last few years. It's not that I have trouble making new memories, (that movie, you know?, with that guy?, he couldn't remember--that made me laugh) or that i've blocked out my past or anything like that. I just can't remember everything all the time. That's why I try not to tell jokes. I get halfway through and forget the punchline and have to stop from embarrassment. Later, sometimes two weeks or so, the punchline will come to me unbidden and alone and i'm left wondering why the hell i'm thinking of a sugar-frosted duck.
I have better luck with names and faces, i'm usually pretty good at remembering those, but I do have my slips. It seems like if I don't catch your name the first time I meet you I'll never learn it, so I make up nicknames for just about everyone I meet. That's how i often find myself hanging out with Chicken Leg, The Grinch, and Private Private.
07
08
And not just the visible spectrum, either.
I dream in UV,
Fucking infrared,
oh the things I dream.
The unfortunate thing is that there are no names for these colours, and as soon as I open my eyes they're gone anyway.
Goddammit.
09
I think at this point we're scratching the tip of the iceburg. I'm starting to trust you a little, and maybe just maybe you're starting to like me. Or if not like me, then at least empathize. So I apologize for what's going to happen. From here on out things are going to be a little more hectic. Disorganized. Unhealthy. You see, I had to get you on my side first, now I can open up a little. Let you in. From here on out there might be scribbles, or drawings, or pictures, or more typing. Most likely alloftheabove. And ultimately, I don't care if it's jarring and you don't like it. I'm jarring, and people don't like me, and what is this but a mirror? I hold myself up to the page and capture as much as I remember and write it down, or draw it.
My metaphor is weaker than my smile.
You don't like it.
And just when it was starting to get interesting.
10
Another this I did was for one whole month i didn't leave the house. Thank the internet and online banking and seventeen news channels with streamers across the bottom that make you feel like if you blink you missed that crucial piece of the puzzle that would tie it all together. There is only so much before you're dying for fresh air. After a week i was insane. Another week and I was cured. The next week I never left the tub, not once. Not that I remember anyway. During the last 10 days, I not only bit off my fingernails, I bit off most of my right pinky.
On the last day, I broke the top knuckle, and one of my teeth. My finger was a shredded mess of blood and bits, it hurt so bad I couldn't touch it but I kept biting.
The next day, and stitches, and the doc nods and uh-hums and yesses me in to more hydrocodone. I'd hate myself if it weren't for the drugs.
11
I'd hate the drugs if it weren't for myself.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
01
So this is how I'm supposed to touch you. With pen and paper. Ink. Typing ribbon. Little slivers of graphite so slender you can shove them under your fingernails for a sharp pain. Chewed pencils. Forty pound proof. Wide and college ruled. Bar napkins and the backs of business cards. Restroom walls. Printers that shudder and bump as they spit out my life story. Unread. And just when it was starting to get interesting.
02
Yesterday or a week ago, I shop. Rows of canned goods and boxed foods stretch to the limit of vision. I fill my cart without looking, indiscriminately toss cans in. It isn't so much buying food as painting. The colors on the labels lay in sharp relief to the dullness of the metal. Orange. Green. Silver. I guess I'll be having peas and carrots tonight.
I round a corner. A gleaming tower of imperishable meat product scrapes the ceiling, the sky. I get a running start and fling headfirst through the display. My head hits the ground first. I hear a crunch. My nose, or a tooth. Or both. My entire head is a filing cabinet slammed shut. Then I'm pelted with falling cans of Spam. They break like water across my back, my legs, my ass, some from eight feet, others from a mile up. From the sky. This is a baptism. I'm a new man. Yeah, right. It's a diversion. A way to pass time, and as the store manager runs over screaming at me the whole time he saw what I did, and what the hell is wrong with me, I roll myself over, pull my disability card. I hand it to him and give him a shitty, gap toothed, bloody grin. From now on I'll have to shop at Wal-Mart.
03
When you've retired at twenty eight the world is your oyster. Lying dormant for so many years, it has slowly calcified that accidental grain of sand that has become your life. Your own personal and perfectly boring pearl, watch it shine. So I try to keep myself busy. Keep my mind from eating itself more than it already has. I steal. I crash golf carts into trees. I cut myself or poke with needles or buy more refills for a mechanical pencil I don't have. Anything to stay occupied.
04
Another thing I did, I put on my old uniform, the one with the epaulets and funny lopsided hat. I always hated that fucking hat, it never fit me and always made my face look like it was on crooked. I put it on and rubbed the entire thing with peanut butter, hat, jacket, pants and all. I went to the garage and opened a forty pound bag of bird seed and doused myself liberally. I walked six blocks to the park, laid down, and waited.
It didn't take long. Within seconds the first curious pigeons were pecking at my legs, my chest, my head. It didn't hurt, it sort of tickled. Word spread fast and soon I was covered with birds. I swear I even saw a squirrel. While the birds found no food on my face, they still used it as a perch. I was a living tapestry of feathers. Yeah, right. I was an asshole covered with flying rats, and as soon as I was sure a crowd of people had gathered, I shot up off the ground, dozens of pigeons bursting into flight, a cloud of flapping chaos in front of me, I ran yelling like a madman at the first little girl I saw. She shrieked in terror, and no kidding, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted. Mission accomplished. Thank you sir.
I ran the rest of the way home, a few errant pigeons still pecking at my shoulder and back as I went. Two days later I had to see the doctor as one of the scratches on my face had become infected. I told him what happened but he didn't really hear it, just nodded and uh-hummed and asked me if my head or back still bothered me. They didn't, hadn't in months, but I nodded and uh-hummed and yessed myself into more hydrocodone.
05
Way back when....
I saw you lying on the bed. Wasting time. Remote in your hand. I sat on the edge of the bed. You didn't move. I said, "babe?" and put my hand on your cold leg. You didn't move. I pulled the sheets back, I said, "babe?" and shook. You didn't move. Your eyes were open. But your mind was shut. I dragged into the living room, poured myself another drink, and quietly cried myself to sleep. When I woke, it was raining.
06
My memory has been strange the last few years. It's not that I have trouble making new memories, (that movie, you know?, with that guy?, he couldn't remember--that made me laugh) or that i've blocked out my past or anything like that. I just can't remember everything all the time. That's why I try not to tell jokes. I get halfway through and forget the punchline and have to stop from embarrassment. Later, sometimes two weeks or so, the punchline will come to me unbidden and alone and i'm left wondering why the hell i'm thinking of a sugar-frosted duck.
I have better luck with names and faces, i'm usually pretty good at remembering those, but I do have my slips. It seems like if I don't catch your name the first time I meet you I'll never learn it, so I make up nicknames for just about everyone I meet. That's how i often find myself hanging out with Chicken Leg, The Grinch, and Private Private.
07
08
And not just the visible spectrum, either.
I dream in UV,
Fucking infrared,
oh the things I dream.
The unfortunate thing is that there are no names for these colours, and as soon as I open my eyes they're gone anyway.
Goddammit.
09
I think at this point we're scratching the tip of the iceburg. I'm starting to trust you a little, and maybe just maybe you're starting to like me. Or if not like me, then at least empathize. So I apologize for what's going to happen. From here on out things are going to be a little more hectic. Disorganized. Unhealthy. You see, I had to get you on my side first, now I can open up a little. Let you in. From here on out there might be scribbles, or drawings, or pictures, or more typing. Most likely alloftheabove. And ultimately, I don't care if it's jarring and you don't like it. I'm jarring, and people don't like me, and what is this but a mirror? I hold myself up to the page and capture as much as I remember and write it down, or draw it.
My metaphor is weaker than my smile.
You don't like it.
And just when it was starting to get interesting.
10
Another this I did was for one whole month i didn't leave the house. Thank the internet and online banking and seventeen news channels with streamers across the bottom that make you feel like if you blink you missed that crucial piece of the puzzle that would tie it all together. There is only so much before you're dying for fresh air. After a week i was insane. Another week and I was cured. The next week I never left the tub, not once. Not that I remember anyway. During the last 10 days, I not only bit off my fingernails, I bit off most of my right pinky.
On the last day, I broke the top knuckle, and one of my teeth. My finger was a shredded mess of blood and bits, it hurt so bad I couldn't touch it but I kept biting.
The next day, and stitches, and the doc nods and uh-hums and yesses me in to more hydrocodone. I'd hate myself if it weren't for the drugs.
11
I'd hate the drugs if it weren't for myself.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
ha. ha ha.
Every now and then I see something funny enough to share with the four of you that read this thing. Here's another.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
October 4, 2008
Life is full of hard choices. Sometimes the smallest, most insignificant things can be dreadful to pick between. Pancakes or waffles? This shirt or that one? Name brand or generic? It is amazing that we can obsess so completely over these things that ultimately don't matter. But I digress. Every now and then, you have a choice that is so monumental it will shape the rest of your life, and it's actually made easily.
Long story short (too late) I asked Laura to marry me this past Friday, and it was one of the easiest decisions i've ever made. Of course she accepted, and her family couldn't be happier, unless maybe i was making six figures a year (i'm not). We've already chosen a date (again an easy choice) which you will find at the heading of this blog. So, in a little less than a year and a half from now, Laura and I will tie the knot.
Only three days into this thing and she's already got a binder full of clippings from bridal magazines, has picked her colors, and has chuckled over the fact that her initials will be lbs. I've suggested that she get familiar with the pound sign (which i can't remember the type code for) so she can initial things more quickly. I just know that any day now i'm going to find a piece of wide-ruled notebook paper with various signature options signed across it. Laura Smyer. Laura Jennifer Smyer. Laura Braune Smyer. That last one doesn't sound Germanic at all, does it?
And finally, NO, she's not pregnant. We'll give that one a few years. That way I can be almost sixty by the time he/she graduates.
Much love!
Long story short (too late) I asked Laura to marry me this past Friday, and it was one of the easiest decisions i've ever made. Of course she accepted, and her family couldn't be happier, unless maybe i was making six figures a year (i'm not). We've already chosen a date (again an easy choice) which you will find at the heading of this blog. So, in a little less than a year and a half from now, Laura and I will tie the knot.
Only three days into this thing and she's already got a binder full of clippings from bridal magazines, has picked her colors, and has chuckled over the fact that her initials will be lbs. I've suggested that she get familiar with the pound sign (which i can't remember the type code for) so she can initial things more quickly. I just know that any day now i'm going to find a piece of wide-ruled notebook paper with various signature options signed across it. Laura Smyer. Laura Jennifer Smyer. Laura Braune Smyer. That last one doesn't sound Germanic at all, does it?
And finally, NO, she's not pregnant. We'll give that one a few years. That way I can be almost sixty by the time he/she graduates.
Much love!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
rambling
Seven stones
One for each day and none
For the days after.
I've learned to walk sideways
And the world will not follow suit.
So i'll keep:
The things in my pockets,
A lighter and some loose change,
And slowly poison myself away.
Or maybe that's all for another day.
One for each day and none
For the days after.
I've learned to walk sideways
And the world will not follow suit.
So i'll keep:
The things in my pockets,
A lighter and some loose change,
And slowly poison myself away.
Or maybe that's all for another day.
Friday, June 8, 2007
If they could bar wars.....
So last Friday (June 1) the Alabama Symphony Orchestra put on a show in Caldwell Park, celebrating the music of Star Wars. Needless to say, it was a HUGE geekfest and we all had a great time. Several people showed up in full costume to celebrate, and being the nerds we are, we couldn't help but pose for a few shots. Here's Phil being force choked by Vader:
I was just trying to get away from a snowtrooper, but I rounded the wrong corner:
And finally, Brian shows us why you shouldn't try to spring prisoners, even if they are conspicuously dressed like workers from Chappy's deli:
Man that's fun. Here's a little more Star Wars greatness:
I was just trying to get away from a snowtrooper, but I rounded the wrong corner:
And finally, Brian shows us why you shouldn't try to spring prisoners, even if they are conspicuously dressed like workers from Chappy's deli:
Man that's fun. Here's a little more Star Wars greatness:
Isaac
Just some general information on my new nephew, Isaac Ellis Sawyer. He joined us Wednesday, June 6th shortly before 9 a.m. He weighed in at a little over six pounds and is about a foot and a half long. Here are some pics of the happy family:
more pics and video to come.
more pics and video to come.
Here we go.
Well, here it is...the beginnings of a new blog. I don't know if this will be as wildly popular as the myspace blog, and I don't much care. If you were familiar with that one (blog.myspace.com/madeofmyth) then you can expect pretty much the same sort of stuff here. It promises to be a lot of wild and crazy fun, so don't be afraid to come along for the ride!!
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