I'm trying something completely different. Since my life has taken a turn for the uninteresting (partially untrue), I'm gonna start writing stupid shit. What follows is the first of what I think will be a (semi-) weekly post riffing on noir writings. It may be stupid and in all likelihood will amuse no one but myself, but well, it's my blog and I've been indulgent up until now, so why fight it?
Also, just to say it, please don't reprint this material without my permission. I retain all copyright on materials I post on this blog unless it is someone else's.
The Phil Collins is bouncing off the hard wood floors as I sit and think about her. Her name wasn't Sudio, but I just wanted to say the word. It had been a week since she left me sitting in my El Camino with nothing left to hold onto except my own sense of self-worth and Phil was there for me again. Just like he had been there for me in sixth grade, when Courtney wouldn't dance with me at the fall formal. And in eleventh grade when Kerry abandonded me for the Eagles Reunion tour. And after prom, when Jane dumped me on the dance floor, Phil Collins was there to hold my head and wipe the tears from my eyes. That's just the kind of guy Phil Collins is. I know guys in my line of work are supposed to be tough, and I am when I have to be, but sometimes just hearing "In the Air Tonight" will make me cry like a little child.
But that's a digression. She left. And now I'm here throwing myself recklessly into my work. They say any distraction is a good one when you're trying to forget someone, but I gotta tell you, scanning over life insurance documents to try and figure out some bullshit about what I can't even remember. I thought I took this kind of work because it was interesting.
That's the night my new client walks into--a boring, semi-depressed affair that I thought I only invited Phil Collins to. He's a slight man, my new client. Everything about him says small, and it only says that because saying timid might be overstepping the bounds. He's wearing a pair of glasses that are barely bigger than his tiny green eyes. His suit is well-worn and he's already loosened his tie after a day that, if I had to guess, was another in a long line of mental and pyschological beatings. His eyes were small, as I said, but they were sharp. There was still a flicker of something in there. It's too soon to know whether it's hope, or brains, or just a couple pints.
"You're [the gumshoe]?" he asked as if the name on the door wasn't assurance enough.
"Yeah." And then a silence settled in for a second. He was either having second thoughts or he didn't know how to start. "Why don't you sit down and tell me your name and your problem and I'll suggest ways I can help."
"Yes." He sat quickly, setting a briefcase neatly beside the chair and folding his arms into his lap as I reached for the stereo and turned the Phil Collins down. "My name is Simon Flettering and. Well. It's my wife, Selma. I think she's left me."
"You're not sure?" I've been dumped many, many times, and I've always been sure that I was dumped. But then, maybe I just dated women who were extremely communicative that way. Maybe.
"I came home from work yesterday and she was gone. Her closets were cleared out and the suitcases were gone. There wasn't a note, but...she wasn't there." His eyes shifted nervously as he spoke. It's never easy to tell another guy you've been dumped. No matter how many times it happens to you, you just hate to have to tell other guys. It's not so much the judgment or the possibility of getting emotional, it's the wierd vulnerability. It's that moment of telling your buddies that there's a way to get to you, right to your core.
"Have you been having trouble lately?"
"A little." Another quiet stretch as he considererd what to tell me and I thought about what the best way to ask my questions was without chasing him, and his wallet, out of the room.
"Can you tell me about it? The more you tell me the better I can tell you whether it's best to search for her or wait for her to return. Or let her go." The last sentence caught him in the gut, I could see it in his eyes. But he got it together quickly.
"Well. We'd been having a lot of arguments lately. She'd gotten herself a new boyfriend and I he was treating her--" He'd said it so casually.
"Excuse me, did you say 'new boyfriend'? As in she's had others?"
"Sure. We're. Well, she has boyfriends and it's okay with me. As long as they treat her nice, which this last guy didn't."
"You're not the jealous type, Simon?"
"No, not really. We're a different type of marriage, [gumshoe]. She has boyfriends and it's okay." His face turned red and his eyes stared out the window behind me at the streetlight that dropped into view from seemingly nowhere. And I thought it was hard to tell another guy you've been dumped.
"Sure. I've read about those in Penthouse."
"Well. Regardless." He swallowed. "This new guy was taking up a lot of her time. And I asked her about it. And there was yelling."
"Uh-huh. How did you ask her about it?"
"After dinner. She'd made steak and was just about to go see him again, and I asked her about it."
"I see, but what did you say?"
"I just asked why she was seeing so much of him?"
"Sure. Well, why don't you tell me his name?"
"She didn't tell me his name. She just told me he had a huge--"
"Yeah. Well, I'm not gonna go around looking for a guy with some huge junk."
"But you're gonna look for this guy?"
"Seems like. I get $200 a day plus expenses. Why don't we start out with a week and we'll meet again next week."
"That's fine." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a checkbook. It's a beautiful sight to watch someone write you a check. This insurance stuff I'd been working on paid most the bills, but it wasn't gonna get me to retirement. Or a new car, which I needed.
I waited until he handed over the check before I asked if he'd involved the cops yet.
"No."
"Okay. Well. I'll get back to you if I find anything. If not, we'll meet a week from now."
And that's how this shitstorm started.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Semester Out.
And that's the semester...and I gotta say, that was a lot of material we just covered.
My goal going into the semester was to finish all three of these classes doing well enough to get honors qualification from them. You see, to get honors in the program overall, you need to get 7 out of 8 classes finishing at 90% or above. So I wanted to save my one miss for later classes, just in case they were harder or I was working and wouldn't have as much time to devote to them. I think I did well enough to keep things alive, but really, I'm not sure.
In two classes, I should be good. They were hard, but I understood them and they came pretty naturally. In the third, though, it wasn't that easy. And I made some stupid mistakes that may punch my grade just below the line. It didn't help that the teacher had an air of nonchalance that made me feel that he was sometimes mailing it in, but really it was my mistakes that could cost me this one. But, it's all still a learning experience. And I know I need to re-read assignments before turning them in. And make sure I'm fully answering questions.
But, whatever. I think I just turned in a perfect test tonight. And I think that's gotta be good enough for now.
My goal going into the semester was to finish all three of these classes doing well enough to get honors qualification from them. You see, to get honors in the program overall, you need to get 7 out of 8 classes finishing at 90% or above. So I wanted to save my one miss for later classes, just in case they were harder or I was working and wouldn't have as much time to devote to them. I think I did well enough to keep things alive, but really, I'm not sure.
In two classes, I should be good. They were hard, but I understood them and they came pretty naturally. In the third, though, it wasn't that easy. And I made some stupid mistakes that may punch my grade just below the line. It didn't help that the teacher had an air of nonchalance that made me feel that he was sometimes mailing it in, but really it was my mistakes that could cost me this one. But, it's all still a learning experience. And I know I need to re-read assignments before turning them in. And make sure I'm fully answering questions.
But, whatever. I think I just turned in a perfect test tonight. And I think that's gotta be good enough for now.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Ramblings about liquor (or I know there's a coherent thread that could link these thoughts together more elegantly, but...well..)
You know what kind of thinking can get me in trouble? The kind where I think that on Sunday (my 31st birthday), it'll have been a decade since I was old enough to drink. Kids who were being born when I was in third grade will now be able to have their first legal drink in this country. Yeah. I was all nonchalant about the birthday until I thought that beauty up.
^^^^
I had been drinking before I turned 21, of course. I started the summer after I graduated from high school. I think my first drink was at my friend John Notch's apartment. He lived across SE 5th in an apartment complex that had sprung up somewhere in the five years before that summer. I don't really remember what it was I first had. I kind of wish I did, because deciding to drink was such a big deal to me at the time. The oddest thing to think about is how in those 10 years, things that used to seem like the biggest decision in the world are now the easiest. It used to be whether if I started drinking was I going to turn into an alcoholic like both of my grandfathers. Now it's do I feel like and ale or a porter.
And it used to make me feel grown up--in the way that an 18 year old is always so grown up and able to make the tough decisions for themselves. I never would have imagined that 10 years later life would be so much more complex. It's not really harder, because I approached everything like it was the biggest thing and you know, if I'm being honest, I guess it kind of was. I was about to go to college (an experience that absolutely changed my life). I was about to have sex for the first time* (an experience that is similar to starting to drink in that now, it's not so much of a big deal, but at the time every step in that direction was monumental). And I was feeling just as confused and frustrated as I am today.
^^^^
I remember my girlfriend at the time taught me the helpful rhyme, "Hard before beer, you're in the clear." And it's counterpart, "Beer before hard, you're in yard" (presumably throwing up). Though, I've never thrown up in a yard. In an alley once, but that's a different story. I later learned the more sensible "Beer before liquor, never sicker." It's a better rhyme and I can't help but think Alexander Pope would approve of this a little more.
^^^^
I turned 21 in London, where the drinking age is 18, so I'd been drinking legally for 3 or so months before that. Still though, there's something awesome about turning 21 and being surrounded by friends and doing something special. We went to Wagamama's in Soho (which I hear is still there, by the way), an awesome noodle bar. They say they can help you live a better life, which I don't know about really. But the food tastes good.
Anyhoo. That's where I had sake for the first time. And really the only time until recently.
^^^^
Like I said, I don't remember what my first drink was (though it was probably a Heineken knowing what John was into that summer), but I do remember sometime that summer I started drinking Mountain Dew and Vodka. Together. Before you go out and make yourself a pitcher, let me just say it's not a drink that holds up to more sophisticated pallets. But jesus, I used to love those things. What the hell was wrong with me that I thought putting those two things together was good?
*As I've cryptically mentioned before on the blog, I was molested when I was younger. I've always struggled with does that count as "the first time"? I can see it either way and I change my mind about it, but today I'm counting this as the first. Possibly because it makes my point** a little better.
**I could be flattering myself by thinking I have a point.
^^^^
I had been drinking before I turned 21, of course. I started the summer after I graduated from high school. I think my first drink was at my friend John Notch's apartment. He lived across SE 5th in an apartment complex that had sprung up somewhere in the five years before that summer. I don't really remember what it was I first had. I kind of wish I did, because deciding to drink was such a big deal to me at the time. The oddest thing to think about is how in those 10 years, things that used to seem like the biggest decision in the world are now the easiest. It used to be whether if I started drinking was I going to turn into an alcoholic like both of my grandfathers. Now it's do I feel like and ale or a porter.
And it used to make me feel grown up--in the way that an 18 year old is always so grown up and able to make the tough decisions for themselves. I never would have imagined that 10 years later life would be so much more complex. It's not really harder, because I approached everything like it was the biggest thing and you know, if I'm being honest, I guess it kind of was. I was about to go to college (an experience that absolutely changed my life). I was about to have sex for the first time* (an experience that is similar to starting to drink in that now, it's not so much of a big deal, but at the time every step in that direction was monumental). And I was feeling just as confused and frustrated as I am today.
^^^^
I remember my girlfriend at the time taught me the helpful rhyme, "Hard before beer, you're in the clear." And it's counterpart, "Beer before hard, you're in yard" (presumably throwing up). Though, I've never thrown up in a yard. In an alley once, but that's a different story. I later learned the more sensible "Beer before liquor, never sicker." It's a better rhyme and I can't help but think Alexander Pope would approve of this a little more.
^^^^
I turned 21 in London, where the drinking age is 18, so I'd been drinking legally for 3 or so months before that. Still though, there's something awesome about turning 21 and being surrounded by friends and doing something special. We went to Wagamama's in Soho (which I hear is still there, by the way), an awesome noodle bar. They say they can help you live a better life, which I don't know about really. But the food tastes good.
Anyhoo. That's where I had sake for the first time. And really the only time until recently.
^^^^
Like I said, I don't remember what my first drink was (though it was probably a Heineken knowing what John was into that summer), but I do remember sometime that summer I started drinking Mountain Dew and Vodka. Together. Before you go out and make yourself a pitcher, let me just say it's not a drink that holds up to more sophisticated pallets. But jesus, I used to love those things. What the hell was wrong with me that I thought putting those two things together was good?
*As I've cryptically mentioned before on the blog, I was molested when I was younger. I've always struggled with does that count as "the first time"? I can see it either way and I change my mind about it, but today I'm counting this as the first. Possibly because it makes my point** a little better.
**I could be flattering myself by thinking I have a point.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
New stuff...
1. Being unemployed sucks.
You probably knew that, but I thought it worth reiterating and expounding. It sucks for all the things you would think. The not having money. The feelings of aimlessness and worthlessness. These you could probably guess at.
But there are other things that suck about it too. I don't know if it's just me, but I don't feel bad about being unemployed. And that makes me feel bad. I don't miss my work. At least the work I've had in the past. They were growing experiences and I don't really regret them, but if I had the choice between those jobs and what I'm doing now (which is waiting for a temp gig to start and going to school and maybe getting a volunteer opportunity), I would chose this. And I feel really guilty about it.
I feel guilty for blogging (though I haven't done that much). I feel guilty for using my time to read anything that isn't schoolwork and I feel guilty if I go running or something that makes my feel better.
So, I don't let myself do any of them. It's like I have to punish myself. Not quite hairshirt-type punishment, I'll grant, but this is how my subconcious works. When I had to spend a day at the unemployment office, I hated it of course, but I also sort of felt this is what I deserve. It's not like the firing itself was bad enough for my transgressions (being paid too much to do stupid crap), I should go to this office and be treated like an utter loser devoid of any standing in the community other than that of a drain.
This is how my mind works...and it's not good. But there you go.
2. I'll be 31 very soon. Not nearly as momentous or daunting as last year, but it's still worth noting, I am not dead.
3. I'm going to endeavor to keep this blog more current than I have during what I will now call "the dark period", except for an upcoming trip to Thailand.
4. This point is mostly for anyone in Thailand who has some pull. Um. I'm glad the airports have been vacated by protestors. That's a plus. But, if you guys could have your government together and settled by the time my wife and I go there for our honeymoon, that'd be super. I'm not saying go to an dictatorship or anything drastic, just, you know, kind of have it decided and non-voilent and western-loving (or at least western-money-loving) by the time we get there and for the duration of our stay, that'd work well for me. It's maybe a little sad that I'd be okay with a little less democracy for the Thai people if it means my honeymoon can be relaxing (for me), but hey, if the last 8 years have taught me anything it's to sell out rights for comfort. And well, these aren't even my rights, so I can care even less, right?
5. Despite the above rantings, I am okay. I'm not happy, but I'm not morose. I'm enduring. And hey, I'm going to Thailand in a bit, so things aren't so bad.
You probably knew that, but I thought it worth reiterating and expounding. It sucks for all the things you would think. The not having money. The feelings of aimlessness and worthlessness. These you could probably guess at.
But there are other things that suck about it too. I don't know if it's just me, but I don't feel bad about being unemployed. And that makes me feel bad. I don't miss my work. At least the work I've had in the past. They were growing experiences and I don't really regret them, but if I had the choice between those jobs and what I'm doing now (which is waiting for a temp gig to start and going to school and maybe getting a volunteer opportunity), I would chose this. And I feel really guilty about it.
I feel guilty for blogging (though I haven't done that much). I feel guilty for using my time to read anything that isn't schoolwork and I feel guilty if I go running or something that makes my feel better.
So, I don't let myself do any of them. It's like I have to punish myself. Not quite hairshirt-type punishment, I'll grant, but this is how my subconcious works. When I had to spend a day at the unemployment office, I hated it of course, but I also sort of felt this is what I deserve. It's not like the firing itself was bad enough for my transgressions (being paid too much to do stupid crap), I should go to this office and be treated like an utter loser devoid of any standing in the community other than that of a drain.
This is how my mind works...and it's not good. But there you go.
2. I'll be 31 very soon. Not nearly as momentous or daunting as last year, but it's still worth noting, I am not dead.
3. I'm going to endeavor to keep this blog more current than I have during what I will now call "the dark period", except for an upcoming trip to Thailand.
4. This point is mostly for anyone in Thailand who has some pull. Um. I'm glad the airports have been vacated by protestors. That's a plus. But, if you guys could have your government together and settled by the time my wife and I go there for our honeymoon, that'd be super. I'm not saying go to an dictatorship or anything drastic, just, you know, kind of have it decided and non-voilent and western-loving (or at least western-money-loving) by the time we get there and for the duration of our stay, that'd work well for me. It's maybe a little sad that I'd be okay with a little less democracy for the Thai people if it means my honeymoon can be relaxing (for me), but hey, if the last 8 years have taught me anything it's to sell out rights for comfort. And well, these aren't even my rights, so I can care even less, right?
5. Despite the above rantings, I am okay. I'm not happy, but I'm not morose. I'm enduring. And hey, I'm going to Thailand in a bit, so things aren't so bad.
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