Zeroth First for a Second: *Author deemed A-lister*

Showing posts with label *Author deemed A-lister*. Show all posts

Friday, November 5, 2010

Belated / Grover Difps

Oct. 7th (my birthday):
Hooray for me! What a lucky man I am. A wonderful family who loves me dearly. A roof over my head. A fridge full of food. A damn good dog. What's this? Cards from both my beautiful wife and breath-taking daughter? Not just your run-of-the-mill Hallmark bullshit either. These are handwritten! From the heart. My two-year-old daughter even tried to sign her name. Love that. Gotta catch myself lest I cry here. This is going to be a great birthday.

Oct. 8th (birthday +1):
Odd that I didn't get a gift from my wife yet. I mean the card was nice and all but what husband doesn't get a gift from his wife on his birthday? Things we kind of hectic yesterday. I guess she's just waiting for the right time. That perfect moment. Tomorrow is Saturday. We got nothing going on. I'm sure I'll get my present tomorrow. No need to get worked up.

Oct. 9th (birthday +2):
I know. She must've ordered something online - waited until the last minute. Happens to the best of us. Not to say that springing for express/overnight shipping in order to get it here by my birthday wouldn't have made sense. . . but I guess she decided to save some dough and go with ground. Tough but fair.

Oct. 10th (birthday +3):
No mail today. I'm sure it will arrive tomorrow. Or maybe she plans on taking me shopping today so I can pick out something myself? Yeah, that's it. I'm not the easiest to to shop for after all. I'm sure we'll go this afternoon.

Oct. 11th (birthday +4):
What the fuck? What's the grace period for getting a birthday gift from your spouse? It's been 4 days. You'd think she would have at least said something by now. "Sorry hon, didn't get a chance to get you anything yet but I've got something great picked out in my head. Just need to pick it up after work tomorrow." How hard is that?

Oct. 12th (birthday +5):

Not getting a gift on our anniversary was one thing. We had an agreement. Only cards. No need to splurge on gifts so soon after fitting the bill for the back yard landscaping. But this is my fricking birthday, woman. No way she interpreted the one-time-anniversary-no-gift policy as extending to all future holidays/special occasions. That was made perfectly clear.

Oct. 13th (birthday +6):

I remember her asking what I wanted and I said 'I have everything I could possibly need'. Who takes that literally? All dad's say that. It's part of our code. We say we don't want anything and then we get surprised with something. A crappy tool, a tie, a new dress shirt, at least something. Maybe I was supposed to fill out a list like a fucking 8-year-old. Unbelievable.

Oct. 13th (birthday +7):
I need to concede myself to the fact that she has simply forgot. She's got a lot on her plate. She's a pregnant kindergarten teacher with a 2-year-old that attaches herself to her leg the moment she walks in the door. If getting her husband a birthday gift somehow slipped through the cracks in between being a lunch monitor and reading bedtime stories then so be it.

Oct. 14th (birthday +8):
I take it back. This is ridiculous. I should drop a hint or something. Mention how a coworker bought me a new stapler or some shit. That way she'll at least have to address it. At this point I don't even want a birthday present. I just want her to acknowledge that she chose not to buy me one.

Oct. 15th (birthday +9):

Got a package today. . . from my in-laws. New socks. And a card. Well if my wife needed a hint then this is it. Her parents have officially outperformed her in terms of birthday gift offerings. And they won with a pair of socks. If this doesn't jolt her into action, nothing will.

Oct. 16th (birthday +10):

Maybe she's waiting for me to say something. Like it's some weird pregnant woman hormonal thing. She's feeling vulnerable and protective of her immediate surroundings and she needs me to take the initiative, be the leader, blaze all the trails. I will say "Honey, in regards to my birthday and lack of gift thus far due to your fragile state; I will be requiring a box set of 'The Wire' as well as a new messenger bag. We will now sit side by side and order these items on amazon using your credit card." That's just crazy enough to work.

Oct. 17th (birthday +11):

Yeah I can't say that. She'd tear me a new one. This is some bullshit is what this is. I bust my ass everyday at some bullshit job just so I can pay for some bullshit mortgage for a piece of shit apartment not to mention fucking tuition to some bullshit preschool just so my kid can play with blocks all day and I don't even get a god damned birthday present!?!?! Bullshit!!!

Oct. 18th (birthday +12):

What am I, 12? Flipping out over a birthday present? Take a deep breath. It's not that big of a deal. I've had 30 odd some birthdays and I'll have 30 odd some more. A couple weeks from now I won't even remember this. Relax. So I didn't get a birthday present. Big deal. Life goes on.

Oct. 19th (birthday +13):
I will buy myself something. Something great. Something absurd. I will go all out. We'll see how she likes that.
"Are those. . . cowboy boots?"
"Thanks for noticing. That they are. And you know what? They were expensive. Best ones I could find. I think they have real gold on the tips. And you know what else? I'm not even sure I like them. I've always wanted to see if I could pull off being a guy who wears cowboy boots around and I just decided today to fuck it all and buy a pair. Because that's how I roll baby. I see something I think I might want and I fucking buy it! No, I won't be able to wear them to work."

Oct. 20th (birthday +14):

I'm going about this all wrong. The key here is communication. I'm married to this woman. She's my life partner. Through thick and thin. I should simply sit her down and tell her how I feel, like a loving husband should. Tell her that I realize it's just a stupid birthday gift but that it actually means a lot to me. Tell her that not getting a present really hurt my feelings. I'm an adult for cripes sake. A grown man. Time to start acting like one. There's no reason this misunderstanding can't be settled with a civil conversation.

Oct. 21th (birthday +15):
You know what? Her birthday is next month. How exactly am I supposed to handle that? At some point I have to ask her what she wants for her birthday? That's a hard question to ask without sounding condescending given the current circumstances.

Oct. 22th (birthday +16):
Fuck that. I won't even ask her what she wants for her birthday. I just won't buy her anything. Two can play this game. Let's see how she likes counting the days before her "big" day when she'll get her present then finding herself counting the days after her "big" day as they pass without getting a gad damned thing. Check that - I'll buy her a card.

Oct. 23th (birthday +17):
Hold on. Instead of getting her nothing I'll buy her a whole shit load of birthday gifts! Ha!! Spa passes, flowers, new shoes, mani pedi gift cards, a fucking iPad, you name it. That'll show her. You buy me nothing. I buy you EVERYTHING! It'll make her feel like shit. Now who's on top, sister? I AM A GENIUS!!

Oct. 24th (birthday +18):
In the meantime I can totally keep this whole situation in my back pocket. Pull it out next time she asks me to do anything I don't want to. "You know what? I don't think I'll be attending the kindergarten fall craft festival. I think I'll stay here and watch football. We can CONSIDER IT MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT!" "You know what? I think I'll be eating all the leftover Chinese food myself. CONSIDER IT MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT!" Yeah, that's the ticket.

Oct. 25th (birthday +19):
Wow. If there was even a shred a doubt before. . . I mean, it's official. It's been like 3 weeks. My wife did not buy me a birthday present. That is reality. Yet it doesn't seem real. Maybe if I say it out loud. . .
"My wife did not buy me a birthday present."
Wonder if that guy heard me. Weird thing to say out loud to yourself. Yet it had to be done. So I can accept it. And then hopefully move on. Sort of feel like I've entered a new era here where bitter disappointment is the norm. A whole new realm. No turning back now. Bridges have been burned. Lines have been crossed. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Oct. 26th (birthday +20):

What's this? Oh, thanks babe! You shouldn't have. No, no, I like it I like it. My old messenger bag was all beat up so this one is perfect! Yes, I like the color too. That's very sweet of you. I love it! It's just the kind that I wanted! You know you didn't have to get me anything though.
I love you too.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

A good lie / Pervis Nessle

Stable marriages are built around small, impenetrable lies. Sad as it may be, it’s a necessary evil to keep both man and wife on the favorable side of the sanity line. This much he was certain of. Whether or not this particular lie qualified as necessary was debatable. In fact, walking into the bar, the exact reasoning behind the lie momentarily escaped him. As he scoped the front room, then back, for the ideal spot to sit, he re-justified his reasoning and once again felt satisfied. He had a need, a right, to take a couple hours tonight for himself. If a well prepared lie was all that stood between him and that, then so be it.

The lie was this: His wife was under the impression that he was obligated to attend an after work function to see off a coworker whose last day was Friday. Some bar in midtown. No, they weren’t great friends but it was important that he make an appearance. Everyone else was going. He wouldn’t stay long, just a couple of drinks. He felt bad that he couldn’t come home straight after work to help out with their daughter. He knew she’d been a handful as of late. If it were any consolation, he could pick up dinner on the way home.

All bullshit.

All except the baby being a handful that is. That part was true and was the primary reason he sought some solace. The rest, a well orchestrated lie. The bar he sat in wasn’t in midtown and didn’t contain any coworkers. He was only a few blocks from home and the place was empty save for a couple guys at the bar watching a soccer game with no volume. He bought a beer and took a seat in the back room, by himself. He took a sip, then another, before setting the glass on the table and triumphantly leaning back in his chair. Damn he was smart. Not only had he managed to steal a few precious hours for himself, but he had a legitimate excuse to get a little drunk and have a cigarette or two. Choosing a bar close to home was an ingenious, last minute wrinkle as it also allowed him the luxury of loosing track of time to a certain degree. If after, say, three beers he got a call from his wife wondering if he was coming home soon he could say "I'm on my way" and still have time for another full beer before he would be expected to make it back all the way from midtown.

He took out a notebook and started jotting down various story ideas and musings that may or may not be brilliant. Most petered out after a few sentences. The few that lingered inched closer and closer to full-out masterpieces a beer and a half later. And that was the whole point, really. To allow himself to feel like a genius for a brief and stolen stint before returning to all his inadequacies, waiting at home.

His phone rang. It was his wife.

The baby was sick. Throwing up every ten minutes. Could he come home right away.

“Yes, I’m on my way.”

. . . Whether that was another lie was now the matter at hand. If he truly was 'on is way' he'd be home in less than ten minutes, an impossible feat if he indeed was coming from midtown. And while his hasty return would be appreciated, it would no doubt raise questions of how he'd made it home that fast. If he was to stick with the plan, he'd have to wait at least a half hour before leaving to maintain his pristine 'coworker after-work party' alibi.

He mindlessly tapped the phone still in his hand. He took another drink with the other.

The sanctity of this lie, and all others to follow, or the immediate welfare of his firstborn? ? ?

- - -

Two beers and forty minutes later he paid his tab and left the bar, head held high, as proud as he'd walked in.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The tomato incident / Eugene Itsokay

Sophomore year of college I lived in a rundown house with seven friends. Not yet blessed with the capacity to purchase groceries at regular intervals we lucked out as the building directly across the street offered a student meal plan. For a parent-fitted monthly fee all we had to do was muster the energy to put on some pants and a fully prepared breakfast, lunch, or dinner was a mere 50 feet away.

The place had a buffet style, all you can eat, punch card policy. Each time you walked in you gave your name, presented your card, and got checked off. It didn't take us too long to figure out that the way to get the most bang for your buck was to make it there for breakfast, stuff your face with eggs and hash browns, then smuggle out food for lunch and/or dinner. Multiple meals for a single card punch was the goal. Since the breakfast bar offered a nice spread of bagels and cold cuts the 'ole "fully loaded bagel sandwich tucked into the hooded sweatshirt" became a daily staple. I took great pride in this sandwich - toasted bagel with turkey, ham, roast beef, mayo, mustard, lettuce, and tomato. Take it home, wrap it in tinfoil, pop it in the fridge, head off to morning classes and come home for lunch to enjoy 'Divorce Court' and my bagel sandwich. It was a daily routine. I had a pretty good thing going.

One day I came home from class, flipped on the TV, and bit into my precious bagel sandwich only to realize something was missing. No tomatoes. I thought back to that morning's breakfast and could swear I added the sliced tomatoes same as I had every other morning for the past several weeks. There'd be no reason I wouldn't have. Some asshole had stolen my tomato slices. On the surface it didn't seem that big of a deal but the fact that one of my roommates took the trouble to carefully unwrap my sandwich, deconstruct it, remove the tomato slices, rebuild it, and rewrap it the same as before hoping I'd never notice bore a level of brashness and entitlement I couldn't leave unexposed.

"Did someone take the tomato slices off of my sandwich?"

The question was answered with guffaws and fierce dismissal. Who the fuck would bother taking a couple soggy tomato slices off your stupid sandwich they said. I was an fucking idiot they said. Shut the fuck up and eat your fucking sandwich they said.

I couldn't let it go. Months later, drunk at some bar I'd routinely pull roommates aside and sequester them. "Look man, about those tomato slices. I know you didn't do it but c'mon. It was Jimmy, right? No? It was Garrett then? Dude, I'm not even mad about it anymore. I just want to know who did it." No one was talking. They grew sick of the interrogations and retaliated with vulgar insults of varying accuracy. I conceded that I'd never find out what happened to those tomatoes.

Ten years since that troubling day I'd all but forgot about the sandwich. It was my wedding day. I was starting a life free from such controversies. 'My' tomato slices were now 'our' tomato slices. I could finally move on. The night was coming to an end. The dj was in the homestretch. Those who weren't dancing to "You Shook Me All Night Long" were busy gathering their suit jackets or heels. I was debating the pros and cons of one more beer when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to receive a heartfelt embrace from Jeremy, a close friend, a trusted confidant, and sophomore year roommate.

"It was me," is all he said. It was all that had to be.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Excerpt from the Sistinass Sessions: Handy chop 3000 / Cecil C. Spenders

[we join professional pitchman Cecil C. Spenders in the midst of a fervent one for the unique attributes of the handy chop 3000]

. . . and the best thing is ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t matter how many times you use the handy chop 3000, how many times you wash it or take it with you on family trips or lend it to a friend in need it will always weigh exactly the same. We can guarantee absolutely no surprises in the weight department.

Here I have a brand new handy chop 3000 I put together just a few moments ago using the step by step color illustrated instructions included free of charge. My lovely assistant Flo here has one she’s owned for quite some time. Flo can you please hand me yours? It looks great by the way. Ever give you any problems? Well of course it’s bound to lose some if its chopping ability. But has the weight ever fluctuated on you? Of course not. But of course, folks, I can’t expect you to take our word for it so let us immerse the proof into that bubbling cauldron of pudding as they say.

Now I’m holding the brand new handy chop here in my right hand and the one Flo has owned for. . How long Flo? 5 months! How about that! I’m holding the one Flo has owned for over 5 months in my left hand and you know what? I can’t tell the difference. They weigh exactly the same. Flo why don’t you give it a try. There you go. Get a feel for it. That’s right. What’s that you say? Well of course they weight the same. Isn’t that amazing!

You can see here that Flo’s handy chop has some wear and tear around the corners and the like. Looks like a number of the blades are bent and the casing is cracked in several places. The colors aren’t as bright and vibrant. Granted, it may not work as well as it did on that first day but, perhaps more important, it weighs exactly the same and takes up the same amount of space in the universe!! Do you want to know why folks? Ha ha I thought that you might. It’s because the brilliant folks at HandyTech Unlimited have devised and patented a revolutionary process they call the law of conservation of mass. No other chopping mechanism on the market today has it. At least not that I'm aware of. It means that the properties of the handy chopper 3000 that cause it to have a weight and gravitational field will remain constant over time. It cannot be changed as a result of any, and I mean any, processes. Now that may sound like a lot of scientific mumbo jumbo so I’ll put it in terms of the layman.

You may be able to smash the handy chop 3000 into several pieces using a hammer or blunt object of some sort. You may be able to melt it or set in on fire using a blowtorch or with the assistance of some sort of flammable liquid or gel. I’m here to tell you that all this will do is rearrange the handy chop 3000 into different types of particles or convert it into alternate forms of energy. At the end of the day these particles or pieces can be regathered, the ashes or fumes can be harnessed into a containment unit of some sort and you will see that, scientifically speaking, the handy chop 3000 categorically cannot be destroyed. The mass of the reactants must equal the mass of the products, folks. I’ll say that again. The mass of the reactants must equal the mass of the products. We have HandyTech Unlimited to thank for that and we can all reap its rewards by buying the handy chop 3000 today!

We’re opening the lines now.

We’re ready to take your orders.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

50 Grand / Lois Mooreless

I took one of my old posts and used xtranormal.com to turn it into a little movie type deal. I think it worked out all right.

Enjoy.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Up, and how not to give it / Wes Brushy

No one remembers the moment they gave up on their dream. If you ask them they'll tell you it was a gradual thing, that the desire and drive just sort of petered out over time as other priorities such as money or children or other things often categorized as "life" slowly overtook the part of the brain that had previously held the schematics for the next big invention or business idea or song lyrics or what have you. That's convenient and that's bullshit.

The same way Tom Hanks can look back and pinpoint that audition or meeting or phone call that ultimately cleared the thorny brush blocking the path toward whatever it is he is today, Dom Fanks can look back and zero in on the day he didn't follow up on that connection, or didn't bother to do the math to see if he could afford veterinarian school, or canceled that last gig because what was the point anymore. The key is to be ultra aware of these moments because they are sneaky little bitches. They come disguised as seemingly easy decisions wrapped in common sense. It's easy to spend more time with the family or pay the heating bill as opposed to pursuing something more self fulfilling and selfish. It's easy because common sense tells you it's easy. Well common sense it just that, common.

So be selfish, do the wrong thing, be irresponsible, because the people who don't and who aren't are the same people who forgot the moment they gave up.

Good luck.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Face time / Martha Plimpton

Question: Who has seen* my face the most? Me, my mom, or my wife?

*Pictures / photographs do not count. Must be live viewing of actual face or reflection of face e.g. mirror.

____________________________________________

Analysis:

Me:

1. Bathroom mirror time

a. standard bathroom breaks

average of 7 seconds per bathroom trip (average of 5 trips per day) = 35 seconds per day.

11,898 days (current age) - 2,555 days (first 7 years of life where I really didn't look in the mirror after using the restroom) = 9,343 days X 35 seconds per day = 327,005 seconds I've seen my own face in the mirror after using the restroom.

b. morning preparation & tooth brushing

(hair styling)

current average time each morning styling hair = 16 seconds X 5.5 days per week (each week day 25% of weekend days (I often wear hats on weekends)) X 49 weeks per year (big fan of hats on vacations) X 9.5 years of my professional working career = 40,964 seconds.

average time each morning styling hair prior to my professional working career = 35 seconds per day (went through a crazy gel and mousse stage) X 5.75 days per week (was not quite as big a fan of hats) X 52 weeks per year (no vacations) X 15 years (from age 9 to 23) = 156,975 seconds.

40,964 + 156,975 = 197,939 seconds seeing my own face while styling hair.

(tooth brushing (morning))

average of 120 seconds per tooth brushing session X 19% of brushing time actually looking in the mirror (I like to wander around while brushing) X 6.7 days per week (I've been known to skip a morning now and then) X 52 weeks per year X 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) = 238,306 seconds.

(tooth brushing (evening))

average of 120 seconds per tooth brushing session X 28% of brushing time actually looking in the mirror (I tend to look in the mirror more at night) X 5.7 days per week (I've been known to skip an evening now and then) X 52 weeks per year X 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) = 298,771 seconds.

197,939 seconds styling hair + 238,306 seconds brushing teeth (morning) +298,771 seconds brushing teeth (evening) = 735,016 seconds I've seen my face in the mirror during morning prep and brush time.

c. general preening

pre-puberty; average of 10 seconds per day X 4,745 days (first 13 years of life) = 47,450 seconds.

puberty to marriage; average of 240 seconds per day X 5,840 days (age 13 to age 29 (age I got married)) = 1,401,600 seconds.

post marriage; average of 27 seconds per day X 1,384 (days I've been married) = 37,368 seconds.

47,450 seconds (before age of 13) + 1,401,600 seconds (between ages of 13 and 7/21/2006 (marriage date)) + 37,368 seconds (marriage date to 5/05/2010)= 1,486,418 seconds I've seen my face in the mirror during general preening.

2. Other reflection sightings (besides bathroom mirrors)

average of 0.87 seconds per day seeing own reflection in store/building windows, lakes, large puddles, rear view mirrors, and turned off TV screens X 11,898 days (current age) = 10,351 seconds I've seen my face in other reflections.

327,005 seconds of mirror time after using the restroom

735,016 seconds mirror time during morning prep and teeth brushing

1,486,418 seconds of mirror time during general preening

10,351 seconds seeing reflection in non-bathroom mirror surfaces

2,558,790 = 42,647 minutes = 710.8 hours = 29.62 days I have seen my own face.

____________________________________________

My Mother:

1. Prior to kindergarten

a. First three months of my life

average of 4 hours (14,400 seconds) per day looking at my face X 90 days = 1,296,000 seconds.

b. Months 4 - 12 (the rest of year 1)

average of 1.5 hours (5,400 seconds) per day looking at my face X 275 days = 1,485,000 seconds.

c. Ages 1 -5

average of 45 minutes (2,700 seconds) per day looking at my face X 1,460 days (4 years) = 3,942,000 seconds.

1,296,000 seconds during the first three months + 1,485,000 seconds during months 4 - 12 of year one + 3,942,000 seconds during ages 1 - 5 = 6,723,000 seconds my mother saw my face prior to kindergarten.

2. Kindergarten through High School

average of 11 minutes (660 seconds) per day looking at my face X 5,110 days (14 years) = 3,372,600 seconds my mother saw my face from kindergarten through high school.

3. College years

a. during school

average of 5 minutes per month (300 seconds) looking at my face X 40.5 months (9 months of school per year for 4.5 years of college) = 12,150 seconds.

b. during holiday breaks

average of 6 minutes per day (360 seconds) looking at my face X 63 days (14 days of holiday breaks (7 for X-mas + 4 for Thanksgiving + 3 for homecoming) X 4.5 years of college))= 22,680 seconds.

c. during summers spent at home

average of 4 minutes per day (240 seconds) looking at my face X 180 days (2 summers spent at home = 90 days (3 months) X 2) = 43,200 seconds.

12,150 seconds (during school) + 22,680 seconds (during school visits) + 43,200 seconds (during holiday breaks when back home) = 78,030 seconds my mother saw my face during my college years.

4. Post college

a. visits to New York by Mom

average of 15 minutes per day (900 seconds) X 8 days per year (2 visits per year averaging 4 days each) X 9.5 years = 68,400 seconds.

b. visits to Mom during the holidays

average of 15 minutes per day (900 seconds) X 6.5 days per year (2 visits per year averaging 3.25 days each) X 9.5 years = 55,575 seconds.

68,400 seconds (New York visits) + 55,575 seconds (trips back home) = 123,975 seconds my mother saw my face since moving to New York after college.

6,723,000 seconds looking at my face prior to kindergarten

3,372,600 seconds looking at my face from kindergarten through high school

78,030 seconds looking at my face during college years

123,975 seconds looking at my face since moving to New York

10,297,605 seconds = 171,627 minutes = 2,860 hours = 119.2 days my mom has seen my face.

____________________________________________

My Wife:

1. The courting phase

a. week days

-conversation

average of 27.5 minutes per week (1,650 seconds (10 minutes per day X 2.75 days per week (did not see each other every week night))) for 128 weeks (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 211,200 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 2 minutes per week (120 seconds (43.6 seconds per day X 2.75 days per week (did not see each other every week night))) for 128 weeks (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 15,360 seconds.

-random glances

average of 22 seconds per week (8 seconds per day X 2.75 days per week (did not see each other every week night)) for 128 weeks (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 2,816 seconds.

b. weekends

-conversation

average of 170 minutes per weekend (10,200 seconds (85 minutes per day X 2 days per week (Friday night to Sunday night))) for 128 weekends (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 1,305,600 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 6 minutes per weekend (360 seconds (3 minutes per day X 2 days per week (Friday night to Sunday night))) for 128 weekends (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 46,080 seconds.

-random glances

average of 1 minute per weekend (60 seconds (30 minutes per day X 2 days per week (Friday night to Sunday night))) for 128 weekends (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 7,680 seconds.

211,200 weekday seconds conversing + 15,360 weekday seconds staring/admiring + 2,816 weekday seconds of random glances + 1,305,600 weekend seconds conversing + 46,080 weekend seconds staring/admiring + 7,680 weekend seconds of random glances = 1,588,736 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'courting' phase.

2. Moving in together phase

- conversation

average of 8 minutes per day (480 seconds) for 872 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 418,560 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 1.5 minutes per day (90 seconds) for 872 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 78,480 seconds.

-random glances

average of 25 seconds per day for 872 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 21,800 seconds.

418,560 seconds conversing + 78,480 seconds staring/admiring + 21,800 seconds of random glances = 518,840 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'moving in together' phase.

3. Marriage phase

- conversation

average of 5 minutes per day (300 seconds) for 642 days (period from date we were married (7/21/2006) to date our daughter was born (4/23/2008)) = 192,600 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 11 seconds per day for 642 days (period from date we were married (7/21/2006) to date our daughter was born (4/23/2008)) = 7,062 seconds.

-random glances

average of 25 seconds per day for 642 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 16,050 seconds.

192,600 seconds conversing + 7,062 seconds staring/admiring + 16,050 seconds of random glances = 215,712 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'marriage' phase.

4. Since the birth of our child phase

- conversation

average of 4 minutes per day (240 seconds) for 742 days (period from date our first child was born (4/23/2008) to today (5/05/2010)) = 178,080 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 2.5 seconds per day for 742 days (period from date our first child was born (4/23/2008) to today (5/05/2010)) = 1,855 seconds.

-random glances

average of 25 seconds per day for 742 days (period from date our first child was born (4/23/2008) to today (5/05/2010)) = 18,550 seconds.

178,080 seconds conversing + 1,855 seconds staring/admiring + 18,550 seconds of random glances = 198,485 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'since the birth of our child' phase.

1,588,736 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'courting' phase
+
518,840 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'moving in together' phase.
+
215,712 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'marriage' phase.
+
198,485 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'since the birth of our child' phase.
=
2,521,773 seconds = 42,030 minutes = 700.5 hours = 29.19 days my wife has seen my face.
____________________________________________

Results**:

1st place - My mother (119.2 days)
2nd place - Me (29.62 days)
3rd place - My wife (29.19 days)

Current pacing is as follows:

My mother: average of 15 minutes per day (900 seconds) X average of 14.5 days per year (8 days of her coming to New York + 6.5 days of me traveling home) = 12,600 seconds per year / 365 days in a year = average of 35.5 seconds per day.

Me: average of 35 seconds per day after bathroom trips + 11.8 seconds hair styling (40,964 total seconds / 9.5 years of professional working career / 365 days) + 21.8 seconds tooth brushing (morning)(238,306 total seconds / 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) / 365 days) + 27.3 seconds tooth brushing (evening) (298,771 total seconds / 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) / 365 days) + 27 seconds per day preening + 0.87 seconds per day seeing own reflection in store/building windows, lakes, large puddles, rear view mirrors, and turned off TV screens = average of 123.8 seconds per day.

My Wife: average of 4 minutes per day (240 seconds) in conversation + 2.5 seconds per day staring/admiring + 25 seconds per day of random glances = average of 267.5 seconds per day.
____________________________________________

Conclusions:

I trail my mother in total face time by 7,738,815 seconds. Each day I catch up by an average of 88.3 seconds. If I ever hope to catch and surpass her and move into first place (assuming my mother lives to the current life expectancy of an American female of 80.1 years (after which time I'll be catching up by an average of 123.8 seconds per day)) I'll need to maintain my current pacing of 123.8 seconds per day for another 64,424 days (6,673 days (number of day between today (5/5/2010) and my mother's calculated demise (8/11/2028) of outpacing my mother by 88.3 seconds per day + 57,751 days of outpacing my mother by 123.8 seconds per day) or 176.5 years. This would happen on Saturday, September 23, 2186.

Likelihood = negligible

The most startling and exciting finding would have to be how close my wife and I are in terms of total viewing time of my face. Since first meeting 8 1/2 years ago my wife is currently trailing me in total Rich face time by only 10 hours, 19 minutes, and 12 seconds (37,152 seconds). She also happens to be outpacing me by 143.7 seconds per day (267.5 - 123.8) so at this rate she will pass me and move into second place in 258.5 days. Sometime around noon on Tuesday, January 18, 2011.

Likelihood = imminent

**Important to note that these results are specific to the author, Rich Zeroth, and are not meant to reflect universal or broad truths and/or application. I encourage readers to conduct their own 'face time' analysis and would strongly recommend interested parties to take special note of unique circumstances in their own life that may yield to vastly different results than mine over time (e.g. having a stay at home mother until the age of 5 (where my mother no doubt built her insurmountable lead), the habit of wandering around when brushing my teeth rather than staring in the mirror (a primary reason why my wife will pass me on 1/18/11), and the ever dwindling rate at which my wife has looked at my face from dating through parenthood (perhaps your wife or husband hasn't displayed the same adverseness to eye contact over the years).

Friday, March 12, 2010

S.T.R.A.W. origins / Hugo Eyestay

[Two guys sitting at a bar]

Tim: Ugh.

Dave: What's the problem, Tim?

Tim: Nothing.

(uncomfortable silence)

Dave: C'mon man. Something's up. Lay it on me.

Tim: It's just. . . I mean. . . Look, we've been coming to this beverage dispenser for a while now.

Dave: (a little to proud of himself) Many many years.

Tim: And we sit at this table, we talk about this, we chat about that, we have a few laughs. . .

Dave: That we do.

Tim: It's just that. . . and I don't mean to complain. . .

Dave: Spit it out man!

Tim: The beverages we drink. The receptacles they reside in. They're so far away from our mouths.

Dave: What do you mean?

Tim: It's like this. So there's the liquid conveyor-

Dave: Ben?

Tim: Yeah Ben, the liquid conveyor.

Dave: I love Ben!

Tim: Yeah Ben's a great guy. I'd fucking take a bullet for Ben. That's not the point. Shut up!

Dave: Sorry. Go on.

Tim: The liquid conveyor. Ben. He's got all the beverages there behind his embankment. His job is to accept our paper and metal coins in exchange for tasty beverages that are ingested into our primary head orifice, right?

Dave: Damn straight.

Tim: OK good. So if his job is to transport the liquid from the primary canisters behind his embankment to our primary head orifice. . .

Dave: Yeah?

Tim: (rubbing his forehead) Then why am I sitting here staring at a secondary beverage canister, containing all the liquid I exchanged my hard earned paper and metal coins for, literally a good foot away from my lips?

Dave: I'm not following.

Tim: It's because you're not properly assessing the current situation. Allow me break it down for you. Let me know if you agree.

Dave: Hold on. This sounds important. Allow me to hoist my secondary canister up towards my primary head orifice so that I may partake of a sizable portion of the liquid, thereby quenching my thirst so that I may fully concentrate on, and appreciate, the self-ascribed poignant words you are about to utter.

Tim: Please do so. It will more effectively illustrate my point.

(Dave takes a big gulp of beer)

Dave: Continue.

Tim: It's like this. The vast majority of beverages, when distributed for purposes of immediate consumption, reside in a receptacle (making a hand gesture towards his glass of beer) that while adequately harboring the liquid and allowing for convenient transportation and eventual placement on any flat surface, require the partaker of the liquid to expel energy in the manner of lifting the vessel to the partaker's mouth and tilting the receptacle at a precise angle that ensures the liquid gently flows across the tongue toward the back of the throat. Any significant variance of the aforementioned angle may result in too much liquid (i.e. spill (i.e. angle too great)) or not enough liquid (i.e. prolonged thirst (i.e. angle too small)) entering the partaker's primary head orifice which, I think we can both agree, can be classified, and this is putting it mildly, as unsatisfactory.

(long pause as Dave ponders)

Dave: OK. . . Can I say something?

Tim: Sure.

Dave: I think you just blew my mind!

Tim: You're fucking with me.

Dave: No, I'm not dude! I totally hear you! Here I am, needlessly extending my upper appendage over and over again in order to move the secondary canister in a direction opposite of that which gravity would have it move when, in fact, it was the liquid distributor's duty, fucking Ben's job, to transport that liquid into my mouth.

Tim: Exactly! You're doing half his job!

Dave: I'm sitting here hoisting shit like a fucking asshole!

Tim: So you're with me!?!

Dave: 110%

Tim: OK then.

(both Tim and Dave take a big drink of beer)

Dave: So Ben's kind of a dick then?

Tim: No. I don't think so. It's not Ben's fault. It's not like Ben can magically transport the frothy beverages directly to our mouths. In order to do that we'd have to relocate our bodies behind the embankment and invert ourselves so that our primary head orifices could receive the liquid via a direct transport from the primary canister.

Dave: Like a keg stand.

Tim: Basically.

Dave: Yeah that's not really feasible. I mean patrons need to be able to partake of their beverages from the various chairs, stools, and tables located throughout the establishment.

Tim: Right. So the problem is not with Ben. We like Ben.

Dave: I'd fucking die for Ben!

Tim: The problem lies within the energy wasted in the act of repeatedly extending out upper appendages toward the secondary canister that's a full 30.48 centimeters away, and then navigating that canister in a direction opposite of which gravity would have to go, all the way to our parched lips.

Dave: It's that distance from our lips to the secondary canister that's the real problem.

Tim: Yep.

Dave: Have you considered reversing gravity?

Tim: I certainly have. Looked into it big time. Did a deep dive. It's not easy. I'll leave it at that.

Dave: Liquid teleportation?

Tim: Equally difficult.

Dave: Shit.

(long pause)

Dave: What about an apparatus?

Tim: How do you mean?

Dave: An apparatus that somehow connects the secondary canister to our primary head orifices thereby alleviating the need to expel precious energy fighting gravity and physically transporting the beverages to our waiting lips.

Tim: That the liquid can travel through.

Dave: Like a tube.

Tim: Yes! Yes! A fucking tube or some sort! Brilliant. . . But wait. . . No. . . No this isn't going to work.

Dave: Sure it will.

Tim: How? With batteries or something? I mean will you have to plug this tube into the wall and walk around the place with an extra long extension cord? Walking around like some jackass with a tube with a cord? I mean the liquid isn't just going to travel from vessel to orifice at our beckoned call. It'll require some sort of machinery and engineering to force the beverage's proverbial hand. If you have to take the time to charge your tube battery or fire up its diesel engine that defeats the whole purpose. It needs to be easier than extending our upper appendage and hoisting the secondary canister, not harder.

Dave: No dude, it won't. Air pressure. Listen. By attempting to inhale more air with your lips wrapped around the apparatus you decrease the air pressure in your primary head orifice which lowers the air pressure at the top of the apparatus. The force of the atmosphere reacts to this by pushing on the liquid in the secondary canister harder than it pushes on the air in the apparatus. As a result the liquid will travel up the apparatus from the secondary canister to our lips.

(Tim & Dave stare at each other, smiling, slowly nodding, in awe)

Tim: I say we call it the anti-gravity beverage booster.

Dave: How about the tongue tunnel?

Ben: I think you should call it the Supplemental Transport Receptacle Apparatus Wand.

Tim & Dave: Ben!!!!!!

Dave: I fucking love this guy!

Monday, March 1, 2010

The immeasurables / Rodney Booksbehind

Boss: . . . and that's why it's important that we take a step back and reevaluate the whole invoice approval process.

Dave: I absolutely agree.

Tim: Me too. 110%.

Boss: Glad to hear. So Tim, since you seem to be a little more on board with the whole idea I think I'll designate you Team Leader.

Tim: Perfect. I'll promise you'll be pleased with the results. We'll work around the clock and give 120%.

Boss: That's the spirit! OK, next order of business is the Q3 budget.

Dave: Wait a minute. I agreed with everything you said. I think it's a great idea too. Why is Tim Team Leader?

Boss: Well Tim more than agreed with me. He agreed with me plus added another 10% on top of that agreement. You, on the other hand, absolutely agreed with me but stopped there - didn't feel the need to take it to that next level.

Dave: But that's not possible. We both think your idea is exactly what needs to happen. We are even in that regard. If anything I think it makes more sense for me to be Team Leader as I'm more qualified.

Boss: Tim? Thoughts?

Tim: Well Dave is better suited to tackle the project. With that I agree 150%. He's been here longer, he's more familiar with the invoices than I am, and he has a better track record in terms of completing projects in a timely manner that meet your expectations. No argument there. My only question is whether you are looking for the guy who will do exactly what you are asking for in the requested time frame or do you want the guy who will do that AND an additional 25 to 35%?

Boss: An extra 25 - 35% you say? On top of the 100? I gotta be honest with you that sounds even better than the original 110% you promised.

Tim: No, I agreed with you 110%. I promised the team would give 120%. Now I'm saying I'll complete the project within the degree range of 125 to 135%.

Boss: Sounds pretty impressive. Dave, care to counter?

Dave (really agitated now): That doesn't make any sense. Let's say this glass of water here represents all that this project encompasses. The water is the research, the project timeline, the implementation, the trouble-shooting, and the post-launch support. Now I take this glass of water and pour in into this empty glass. I pour every last drop of it. I pour 100% of the water into this new glass. Once all the water is poured the project is complete. There's nothing left to pour. I can't pour more than 100% of the water. As Team Leader I can promise you 100% effort and guarantee 100% completion and ensure 100% satisfaction. Anyone who tells you they can get more than all the water out of the glass is just spouting corporate mumbo jumbo!

Boss: (pondering).

(Tim casually leans across the table and spits into the full glass of water, adding just a little more.)

Tim: 110%.

Boss (pleased): See that there, Dave? It's the small things. The immeasurables. Anyone will tell you that.

Dave: This is ridiculous. Fine. Then let me go on record saying that I disagree with your decision 5000%.

Boss & Tim: Ha Ha Ha.

Boss: Now we all know that's impossible. There's no such thing as 5000% of anything.

Tim: Tops is like 160, 170%.

Boss: Exactly. Which is why I think Tim's our guy for this project. Willing to go that extra mile without being unrealistic. Now onto that Q3 budget. . .

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The words / Monty Hoosegow

He turned his head and looked at the wall. It was the only place it made sense to look. Her words had made their way across the table and were now his to do with what he pleased. He kept them at a safe distance for the time being, choosing to focus on the wall rather than ponder or understand them.

She'd arranged the words in a different, kinder manner than she intended. Such words tend to do that on their own as they are spoken. Any thought of restating them in a more direct fashion was dismissed, however, when he looked away. That gesture left little doubt that any sort of rephrasing was necessary, yet from where she was sitting the words seemed to still hang there, unclaimed, somewhere between her mouth and his ears.

He continued his stare at a blank spot on the wall. He considered shifting his gaze to the bookshelf, or to a picture, but he feared the slightest change of focus might be interpreted as a sign of acceptance. Instead he took those words and batted them around for a bit, to and fro, in a futile act of postponement. And as they danced about he came to appreciate them. For as much as the words now belonged to him, he was at their mercy. They had staked their claim in that room and no amount wall staring could convince them to have never been uttered.

She spoke one more word, his name, which led him to finally meet her eyes. He then opened his mouth and reluctantly delivered his own words, the first of thousands they'd needlessly exchange the rest of the evening that would sprinkle over the undisputed fact they both knew neither could change, that it was over.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

20 wise sayings I just made up that may or may not make sense / Wade Watoosey

"Self contempt is rarely self contained."
- Rich Zeroth - October 15th, 2009

"A great meal always trumps a copped feel."