Happy Halloween on its way

Here we are five days into October and I’m overly excited. Halloween kicks off a series of holidays that last until February. The month ends with Syfy’s Ghost Hunters conducting a live investigation.  I haven’t missed it in three years.  This year I hope to watch it again. Some of the other cable channels like TCM and AMC kick off the month with horror movies throughout the month. My DVR is on overload. There is no other holiday, not even Christmas, which makes me feel like a kid like Halloween does.

Right now Im watching, It! Terror from beyond Space, courtesy TCM.  I can goes days watching black and white movies. Tuning into color hurts my eyes after awhile. I hope I never grow up, its too much fun otherwise.

Thanks Rod for my time in the Twilight Zone.

The TV projects only in black and white. For the day, hi def, spectra color and 1080 means nothing to me. I sit and watch the Twilight Zone marathon all day. I can’t resist. Cancel the New Years party because TwilightZone is on. People who know me know I won’t go. They are more than welcome to come over, but I’m not leaving unless your TV shows bright in late 1950’s images of another dimension.

2011 has so far produced two marathons. The Fourth of July, the most hallowed of national holidays was spent in front of a black and white television. Sure the commercials are in color, the only thing reminding me it is not 1959 and Rod Serling is not standing off to the left narrating to viewers of my impending doom. In all honesty it did happen one year. After seventeen consecutive hours of the Zone, I finally fell asleep at 2:30 am. Sometime around four I awoke to see Rod standing in my bedroom. He was holding a cigarette and talking to an audience. I sat up and said, “If you’re here, then that means I’m about to enter…” I shook my head and rolled over burying my face in the pillow. I could not finish the statement in case it was accurate. Had I unlocked the key to imagination or fallen into the space between light and shadow? I didn’t want to know.

So here I sit, fourteen hours in and I can’t stop. All the color, hi def 1080p hurts my eyes at this point. With each episode I take in the wisdom of the writer. I could rattle off my favorites like “Obsolete man” or “To Serve Man” and “I shot an Arrow” but I won’t go into why I like them. All I will say is that every year, sometimes twice a year, I get sucked in and can do nothing else but watch and listen. Many people think it is time wasted. I say if I’m not watching, that is time wasted.

Thanks Rod.

Slow acting ADD?

One year into my new job and I am comfortable. I’ve reached a level of knowledge that enables me to get through the day with few snags or challenges because I have seen it before. At eighteen months things begin to change. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the loss of a coworker. Maybe that lack of challenge is creeping in and I am bored. Maybe I have some kind of slow progressive ADD.  I like a steady pace but boredom is not what I am looking for. By two years into my job I am ready to leave. The fun is over and I want out. At this point I am so settled in it is difficult to envision me doing anything else. Six months goes by. Now at two and a half years I grow steadily angry with my condition. So I start looking for something new.

What does this say about me? Is such a thing as delayed ADD? (That’s what I call it)

I spent 7 years drifting through college, going one semester and not the next and years at part time student status. My major changed. First it was business because I wanted to open my own store but had no idea what I was going to sell. Then it was history, philosophy and finally religion, then back to history. I committed exactly two years and got the degree. Grad school hung on the horizon but I just spent two years committed to one discipline. I was thinking of religion again, but chose to write and work a job.

That job lasted four years. Two of which were exciting. The last two, though I had good times, was over all depressing. I gave up trying when the realization that it would take more effort and time then I was willing to put in. “This is not my career.” I kept telling myself. So I continued to write.

I’ve been casually writing now for some years. With multiple works published (Click here to see a few) I have achieved something. I haven’t quite categorized that success yet. I will say I have reached to two year mark in really trying to get my work out there. So now with no other job than to sit and write all those stories I struggled to get out while working a forty hour a week job and dealing with all of life’s others obstacles and I’ve barely written a thing.

I spend my time antiquing these days. Buying at auctions and trying to flip or quadruple what I buy. Studying catalogs and hitting up ebay to check going rates for 19^th century hand written receipts or old toys still in the box. I write on occasion.

Two years from now I could be back in school. I could be running a small business. I could…well it doesn’t matter because I have slow acting A D D.

Gym Class

One time in gym class, 11^th grade I think, I was singled out with another guy by the gym teacher, Ms. Palmer. We were to be the team captains and told to pick our teams for basketball. I didn’t think teachers could still do that but I went along with it.

I had first pick. I looked along the line up and selected my buddy Dave. He was a long haired stoner with little coordination but he was my friend. The other captain, a jock of sorts, immediately picked the big guy who was a lineman on our football team. I perused who was left and selected a well rounded Jewish girl. When I pointed and called her name she hesitated. “Me?” she asked with a pointed finger into her large chest. I nodded and looked over to the other captain. He let out air through his teeth like he had a valve stem in his mouth. So the baseball player was picked by the opposing team. I selected the nerd and he picked the girls basketball co-captain. I picked the “karate” expert with the home made dragon tattoo who was often seen in the corner practicing round house kicks. He got the track star on a team that went to state the year before. With each athlete selected for the opposing team the jeers and snickers grew. It went on like this until there was no one left.

The gym teacher looked the teams over and shook her head. She knew it was stacked and she knew why. My point was made.

As the two teams separated insults flew from out opponents. We were going to get clobbered they explained in their Neanderthal speech patterns. We huddled up and I made a great speech. Something about showing them who we really are and we could do this. I didn’t mean it; this was my own social experiment. Everyone stood around, none believing the dribble coming from my lips. Dave looked over at the other team formulating a real play and said, “Or we could just lose.”

Everyone’s head bobbed in agreement except white Bruce Lee who said he could take them all on, whatever that meant.

“What if we challenge them to a spelling bee?” I thought it was funny. The heavy girl, the first heavy one I picked, shook her head no.

“Half of them are in my AP English and AP calculus if you’re thinking that way.” She stated.

 I started in with winning one for the Gipper, but stopped myself. I looked them all over and said, “How much do you want to lose by?”

There were a few snickers and smiles as we turned to face certain death. The other team was already lined up on the court. They knew where to stand and what positions to play. We just kind of lined up with the karate kid in the back doing stretches and imaginary jump shots.

Ms. Palmer held the basketball in one hand and a whistle between her lips. I stood across from the other captain at center court. He crouched ready to jump. I had still had one hand in my pocket. Ms. Palmer looked each team over once more. She blew her whistle.

"Hold up a minute.” She put the basketball on the ground with one foot on top of it. “Switch it up guys.” She said pointing at a few select student athletes and those on my team. “You, you and you over there. You three over on this team.” She looked me in the eye and said “Nice try Mr. Wagner.” then the whistle blew.

I was never called to pick a team again. In fact the rest of the year Ms. Palmer selected the teams herself without team captains or student input.

Along the Way...

  Life happens along the way. When I was young I thought I could plan things and make them happen. Looking back I suppose I could have if I had just trusted and held on long enough for it to happen. But as it is life happened to me along the way. While I was out doing one thing, something else totally unexpected happened.

  This is the way life turns out. We look left then right and left again, thinking it is safe to cross. Well sometimes it just isn't safe and we need to scramble across like a live action Frogger. Problem is we all get squashed now and then.

  Along the road of life we can often find examples of life extinct.

living out of a hotel

When I was a kid we moved a lot. There were times we would get to a new city and have to stay in a motel/hotel for weeks. Back then extended stays where not very common especially in the non tourist towns we were moving to. There was never a mini fridge or a microwave to reheat my Applebee’s leftovers. This week I have been living out of a hotel somewhere in the New South in anticipation of moving there. It was supposed to be a 3 day visit, find a place, go home and move. Well with two job offers in one week that plan changed then changed again. Currently I spend my days and nights in a 300 sq foot room, at least I have a mini fridge and a microwave.

Hotels have a certain mystique about them. They house people without homes. Travelers, business men, families on the move, celebrities, people like me. Who are these people and why aren’t they at home? Most of the time hotel guests revolve around business. During the day the halls of this place are empty. I get looks from employees that suggest they thought the hotel was empty, yet here I am.

It has been four weeks since I quit my job. The days start to blur without my day calendar to count for me. In a sense my cubical has grown in size. Now I have a coffee pot and a TV to distract me from working instead of co-workers and their problems. I turn on reality TV to feel more like an office.

My only task for the day is to write. I sit in the room staring at my computer and the blinking curser. I have written some and read some. The thoughts are churning in my mind, spinning a story others may enjoy one day. I find routines help. After the free breakfast I head back to the room with a cup of coffee and a cup of water. I sit and write something before doing anything. So far it is working. The progress is there but I find my mind wandering, forming a scenario where I’m in this hotel because I’m attending conference or con. While I’m in the elevator returning from breakfast I see fans. One gets in the elevator with me. How do I react? I don’t know. So I play it out, deciding to be gracious because I could use every fan I can find.

Reality seeps in as the bell dings for my floor and the shiny metal door slides back revealing the third floor. I walk the hall to my room and grab the ice bucket. It’s a long walk down the other end of the vacant hall to the icemaker. It would be nice to be closer but having worked in a hotel for years I recall that was a constant complaint. Then back to sitting and writing.

At noon I have lunch. Pick a place, any place. Reading fills my afternoon with some writing, a little TV in between the two. For inspiration I stare out my third floor window looking down over the office building across the street. I watch people come and go from their cubicles and offices. They rush back from lunch, trapped by a clock. After they have all gone back to work, I’m bored. I pace around the room or wander the empty halls. The idea I am someone famous like a rock star clouds my mind. Maybe this is how they live while on the road.

Trapped in a hotel room has been very productive for me. It has been conducive for my routines. Four weeks since I quit my job and I am finally starting to get this down. I still can’t tell you what day it is without looking at my cell phone. Despite my small success here in the hotel, I can’t wait to get home and see my dog.

For the office dweller

The days, the nights, just time passage captured by the tare of the daily calendar. That familiar crrrrreeeeeep triggered synapses to fire in John’s head resetting him for a new day.

His cubicle was smaller than a prison cell. Its grey fabric walls and black accented desk was void of life. A gift of office bamboo that was supposed to be good luck, turned brown. A shelf dusted once a week by the nighttime cleaning crew held one picture from 1938 of John’s grandmother and her siblings.

The grey desktop had two appearances. One was chaos, papers that should have been filed littered about, with pens and paperclips filling in gaps of desktop. A legal pad held phone numbers of missed calls, but mostly doodles. A spaceship with its tractor beam locked on to a car going off a cliff.

            One day a week the desk was wiped clean. Papers have the option of filed or tossed in a recycle bin. Pens and paperclips forced in their respective receptacles. It must be twenty minutes to five on a Friday.

            A call came in from the front desk receptionist. Her voice was nonchalant with a hint of deal with this underlying. John had a visitor. He was somewhat relieved because there was nothing left for him to clean at his desk and he had made the decision to stop working sometime before three.