While at work, I don't want to have to "overhear" anyone's conversation that includes the words, "It's because you're a Cancer, honey, it's your hard shell..."
Thursday, May 16, 2013
I'm just saying.
If your daily conversational style requires that you constantly use terms like "the bottom line is," "the point is" and "the idea here is," doesn't that mean that you need to improve and simplify your communication skills? I mean, if you have to constantly ask for confirmation that your listener understands what it is you're telling them, couldn't you do a better job of making the prime point, whatever it is?
Or is this just the sign of rampant condescension?
Or is this just the sign of rampant condescension?
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Feels like the (cough! cough!) first time
I've been hearing commercials on the radio for a new product called "Enjoy" Electric Cigarettes. I haven't done much (any) research, so all I know is what they tell you in the commercials (and then only the bits I can remember), which is that you can't buy them if you're a minor (that's got to be a good thing), that nicotine is addictive, and that they are some sort of "electric" cigarette. What the hell that means, I have no idea. Do you plug it in or are they battery powered? Then they have Foreigner's "classic" "Feels Like the First Time" playing in the background.
I did do a little half-assed research into Foreigner, and I had no idea that some guy in the band used to be in King Crimson. Shocking! And I found out that "Head Games" (one of my favorite dirty little secret songs) was a Foreigner song! I had no idea. Also, Foreigner seems to take themselves very seriously.
Anyway, my point is, I think that's a funny song to use in this commercial, because, as I remember it, my "first time" smoking a cigarette wasn't anything to brag about or remember fondly. It involved a soft pack of Pall Malls (I've told this story before; I chose Pall Malls because some dumbass kid, who my life would be a lot better had he never crossed my path, told me "Kurt Vonnegut smokes Pall Malls"), the dirt behind my neighbor's shed (they were out of town and I was supposed to be watering their eggplant), and a shitload of coughing. It was not a pleasant (or very smart) experience. Unless I'm significantly lamer than the rest of the world (and it's definitely a possibility), I'm not sure that anybody who smokes is looking back to their first time lighting up through rose-colored glasses with Foreigner in the background. It was around 1987, the chances are very high that I was listening to U2 or Billy Idol.
Anyway, I wasn't a huge smoker, and I finally quit about 10 years ago (because it was literally making me sick, and starting to feel very gross to me, and because I worried about my husband, who smoked more than I did, and when I would relapse, he relapsed even harder; and because there's nothing more stupid than a woodwind player smoking a cigarette), and of that I am proud.
If you're a smoker and you need help quitting, there is LOTS of information and help out there for you. Try starting here: http://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/quit_smoking/, and please, do it for yourself. You deserve a long, healthy, smoke free life.
I did do a little half-assed research into Foreigner, and I had no idea that some guy in the band used to be in King Crimson. Shocking! And I found out that "Head Games" (one of my favorite dirty little secret songs) was a Foreigner song! I had no idea. Also, Foreigner seems to take themselves very seriously.
Anyway, my point is, I think that's a funny song to use in this commercial, because, as I remember it, my "first time" smoking a cigarette wasn't anything to brag about or remember fondly. It involved a soft pack of Pall Malls (I've told this story before; I chose Pall Malls because some dumbass kid, who my life would be a lot better had he never crossed my path, told me "Kurt Vonnegut smokes Pall Malls"), the dirt behind my neighbor's shed (they were out of town and I was supposed to be watering their eggplant), and a shitload of coughing. It was not a pleasant (or very smart) experience. Unless I'm significantly lamer than the rest of the world (and it's definitely a possibility), I'm not sure that anybody who smokes is looking back to their first time lighting up through rose-colored glasses with Foreigner in the background. It was around 1987, the chances are very high that I was listening to U2 or Billy Idol.
Anyway, I wasn't a huge smoker, and I finally quit about 10 years ago (because it was literally making me sick, and starting to feel very gross to me, and because I worried about my husband, who smoked more than I did, and when I would relapse, he relapsed even harder; and because there's nothing more stupid than a woodwind player smoking a cigarette), and of that I am proud.
If you're a smoker and you need help quitting, there is LOTS of information and help out there for you. Try starting here: http://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/quit_smoking/, and please, do it for yourself. You deserve a long, healthy, smoke free life.
Monday, May 6, 2013
"I love the smell of bookstores in the morning."
Over the weekend, Patrick and I took Jules to a local Long Beach bookstore where our friend Jeff was playing with one of the ensembles he's in. We'd never been to this bookstore, which is crazy, because it's about 1.5 miles away from our house (and next to the bike store, which we both have been many times). It's a little funky used bookstore, apparently small enough for one employee at a time. That one employee, when we first got there, resembled Ernst from the movie "The Hotel New Hampshire," blond, handsome, with a thin little mustache. The guy who came in after him had dirty fingernails and a bit of a tremor.
As a long-time, former bookstore employee, I think I've pretty much seen it all, at least as far as the type of people who work in bookstores goes.
While we were waiting for the band to get ready, I wandered around the bookstore a little bit. They sell used books, and the space is pretty small, so it was easy to see everything in a short amount of time. The book I picked up rather haphazardly at first was Rob Lowe's autobiography. What can I say? I knew I didn't have a lot of time. Sort of magically, I turned, at random, to the chapters where he writes about "The Outsiders." I'd forgotten he had been in that movie, which is one of the very few instances I can think of where the movie was as good as the book. I'm in no way commenting on his performance as an actor. I didn't read the whole story he wrote about that movie, because Jules wanted to be held. Maybe I'll find it at the library. Then, I discovered (in a box) Anne Rice's "Sleeping Beauty" trilogy, and just the sight of those quality paperbacks, with the original (as I remember) covers, took me straight back to 1991, when I was working at Crown Books in Culver City.
Everyone is (or was) all excited about the book "50 Shades of Grey," which I haven't read, and don't intend to read. I haven't read a lot of erotica, but the shitty reviews (or, I should say, the reviews that reveal that it's a shitty book) of "50 Shades" are enough to keep me from checking it out. Not one person has told me to read the book because it's well-written, and I don't have a lot of time for books as it is: why would I waste my time on one that's terrible? Anyway, I had read the Anne Rice books, or at least the first one, back in 1991, while working at Crown, hiding in the corner to the right of the cash registers.
So here's the thing about working in a bookstore, or at least, a bookstore with a corporate headquarters: you really aren't supposed to read the books. At least, not on the floor. This was the rule at all the bookstores I ever worked in, and, aside from not being on time for work very often, the rule I broke the most. Truly, I almost got written up at Rizzoli (or was threatened with it, though, I don't think anyone ever got written up at Rizzoli) for it. I wish he'd done it, because what the hell, right? There are worse things I could've done (and were surely done by my co-workers, some of whom were blatant drug users and outright thieves).
Here's another thing you should know about working in bookstores, should you be looking for that kind of job (and good luck to you, because there sure aren't many bookstores left): people who profess to "love the smell of bookstores" almost never get hired. That type of person, who has a romanticized notion about a building that most likely hasn't been properly vacuumed in years, where the smell of the "books" is more likely a moldy carpet or the other employees, is probably a little bit crazy. We know that, those of us who work in bookstores. We know that "old book" smell is probably the receiving clerk's lunch. From two weeks ago.
Yes, books are awesome. Yes, buying, selling, handling, talking about books, opening the new shipments up for the first time: that's pretty fucking rad. But we didn't wear those aprons at Crown for nothing: it's a dirty business sometimes, and you need to know that you're going to be crawling around on your hands and knees, rearringing the travel section a lot of the time. But the thing that's truly wonderful about bookstores is the people, and that's what I miss the most. I'm pretty introverted: I'm not very outgoing with strangers, and I can be a little awkward, but I loved ringing up people and handling their books and the act of the sale itself, the sound of the cash register, or the credit card machine, and then packing their books up, and wondering about the person buying them (what made them pick these two books?), asking if the writer was any good if I didn't know, supressing a chortle if I did know that the writer sucked. I loved all that, I love straightening a section (I used to say, "I'm inflicting the alphabet on this section!") and cleaning it up.
So, I walked past the used copies of the Sleeping Beauty trilogy a few times. I thought about how much I enjoyed Anne Rice's other books (not all of them!!!!), and how I thought she did vampires so much better, with way better writing than anything I've seen since, and I thought, I should check these out (again). I remember being young when I read the first one, and feeling shocked at the things she was writing, but now that I know about her (and life) a little more, I wonder if there's a hidden value in that, if there's something in reading these books beyond the initial, secret thrill. Somebody out there, probably lots of somebodies, has figured it out already, because there are so many smart people in the world, and I'm not necessarily one of them. Still, I think they'll be fun to read. Anyway, the books were cheap. They were practically giving them away.
I'll let you know if I figure it out.
As a long-time, former bookstore employee, I think I've pretty much seen it all, at least as far as the type of people who work in bookstores goes.
While we were waiting for the band to get ready, I wandered around the bookstore a little bit. They sell used books, and the space is pretty small, so it was easy to see everything in a short amount of time. The book I picked up rather haphazardly at first was Rob Lowe's autobiography. What can I say? I knew I didn't have a lot of time. Sort of magically, I turned, at random, to the chapters where he writes about "The Outsiders." I'd forgotten he had been in that movie, which is one of the very few instances I can think of where the movie was as good as the book. I'm in no way commenting on his performance as an actor. I didn't read the whole story he wrote about that movie, because Jules wanted to be held. Maybe I'll find it at the library. Then, I discovered (in a box) Anne Rice's "Sleeping Beauty" trilogy, and just the sight of those quality paperbacks, with the original (as I remember) covers, took me straight back to 1991, when I was working at Crown Books in Culver City.
Everyone is (or was) all excited about the book "50 Shades of Grey," which I haven't read, and don't intend to read. I haven't read a lot of erotica, but the shitty reviews (or, I should say, the reviews that reveal that it's a shitty book) of "50 Shades" are enough to keep me from checking it out. Not one person has told me to read the book because it's well-written, and I don't have a lot of time for books as it is: why would I waste my time on one that's terrible? Anyway, I had read the Anne Rice books, or at least the first one, back in 1991, while working at Crown, hiding in the corner to the right of the cash registers.
So here's the thing about working in a bookstore, or at least, a bookstore with a corporate headquarters: you really aren't supposed to read the books. At least, not on the floor. This was the rule at all the bookstores I ever worked in, and, aside from not being on time for work very often, the rule I broke the most. Truly, I almost got written up at Rizzoli (or was threatened with it, though, I don't think anyone ever got written up at Rizzoli) for it. I wish he'd done it, because what the hell, right? There are worse things I could've done (and were surely done by my co-workers, some of whom were blatant drug users and outright thieves).
Here's another thing you should know about working in bookstores, should you be looking for that kind of job (and good luck to you, because there sure aren't many bookstores left): people who profess to "love the smell of bookstores" almost never get hired. That type of person, who has a romanticized notion about a building that most likely hasn't been properly vacuumed in years, where the smell of the "books" is more likely a moldy carpet or the other employees, is probably a little bit crazy. We know that, those of us who work in bookstores. We know that "old book" smell is probably the receiving clerk's lunch. From two weeks ago.
Yes, books are awesome. Yes, buying, selling, handling, talking about books, opening the new shipments up for the first time: that's pretty fucking rad. But we didn't wear those aprons at Crown for nothing: it's a dirty business sometimes, and you need to know that you're going to be crawling around on your hands and knees, rearringing the travel section a lot of the time. But the thing that's truly wonderful about bookstores is the people, and that's what I miss the most. I'm pretty introverted: I'm not very outgoing with strangers, and I can be a little awkward, but I loved ringing up people and handling their books and the act of the sale itself, the sound of the cash register, or the credit card machine, and then packing their books up, and wondering about the person buying them (what made them pick these two books?), asking if the writer was any good if I didn't know, supressing a chortle if I did know that the writer sucked. I loved all that, I love straightening a section (I used to say, "I'm inflicting the alphabet on this section!") and cleaning it up.
So, I walked past the used copies of the Sleeping Beauty trilogy a few times. I thought about how much I enjoyed Anne Rice's other books (not all of them!!!!), and how I thought she did vampires so much better, with way better writing than anything I've seen since, and I thought, I should check these out (again). I remember being young when I read the first one, and feeling shocked at the things she was writing, but now that I know about her (and life) a little more, I wonder if there's a hidden value in that, if there's something in reading these books beyond the initial, secret thrill. Somebody out there, probably lots of somebodies, has figured it out already, because there are so many smart people in the world, and I'm not necessarily one of them. Still, I think they'll be fun to read. Anyway, the books were cheap. They were practically giving them away.
I'll let you know if I figure it out.
What do you mean, probably?
I was just now helping my co-worker print something (personal), and trying to be careful not to cough or breathe on her, but then I put my hand down on her mouse, and felt something sticky on the left mouse button.
"What is that?" I said.
"What?" she asked.
"There's something sticky on your mouse."
"Oh, it's probably just coke," she said.
"What do you mean, 'probably'?" I thought.
And then I felt that feeling of absolute revulsion that comes over you sometimes, and I went back to my cubicle and practically emersed my hands in hand sanitizer.
She may find an anonymous gift of Lysol disinfectant wipes on her desk later today.
"What is that?" I said.
"What?" she asked.
"There's something sticky on your mouse."
"Oh, it's probably just coke," she said.
"What do you mean, 'probably'?" I thought.
And then I felt that feeling of absolute revulsion that comes over you sometimes, and I went back to my cubicle and practically emersed my hands in hand sanitizer.
She may find an anonymous gift of Lysol disinfectant wipes on her desk later today.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Stairwell A vs. Stairwell B: Who will be the winner? You? Or me? Or something like that.
"In North America tens of people die and tens of thousand people get injured every year from the falls on stairs." From Canadian Center for Occupational Health and Safety
(I'm sure I could've found a more relevant, and/or dramatically stated, U.S.-centric quote, but whatever. You get the point.)
The building I work in has two stairwells. Stairwell A is located at the main entrance of the building, and is next to the elevators. Stairwell B is located near the parking lot.
Each floor has 24 steps per stairwell, but Stairwell B divides the 24 steps into 3 sets of 8. It's a circular stairwell, with a small landing at the top of each 8. Stairwell A has is divided in 2, with 2 sets of 12 steps.
I was talking to someone in my office the other day about my trick for walking more: I try to take the stairs as often as possible, and I've even started using the basement level restroom so that I get an extra trip.
I prefer Stairwell B for a couple of reasons: 1) it's closer to my office 2) there are windows in that stairwell 3) I get to go outside for a few feet before reentering our building (our building is built into a hill; the basement level is half stuck in the side of the hill). I like the way the stairs are broken up into chunks of 8. For slower people or if you're carrying something, it seems safer to me to have a landing there. Again, I'm sure I could've found something relevant to this topic that bears out my theory, but somewhere in the back of my grew-up-watching-This-Old-House-and-other-various-construction-related shows, I feel like I've heard it said before by people with knowledge on this topic, that fewer steps in a row is safer stair desig. So without corroborating evidence, I believe in it. Yes, I believe! I am a believer in the concept of breaking up a flight of stairs into more manageable, shorter chunks. Hallelujah, I believe.
Why am I telling you this? Because when I suggested that this person take the stairs (she was complaining about not walking enough and missing the sunshine, two issues that a simple walk down the stairs could fix), she freaked out on me.
Yes, she literally freaked out. I guess she saw someone fall down in Stairwell B (I haven't seen the accident report yet, and yes, those do come through my hands, so I'm not sure what the exact circumstances were. Maybe that person was looking at their cell phone, or their shoe was untied, or they had low blood sugar, or maybe they were pushed!), and she seems to have an unnatural fear now of that happening to her. And THEN she had the audacity to suggest the Stairwell A is safer for exactly the opposite reason I think the other one is safe! (Wait. Did I get that right? Oh, use your own logic and work it out, the point is, SHE'S WRONG.)
Anyway, did I mention that this person, without fail, drives me up the wall several times a day, EVERY DAY? Don't you think that for this reason alone I am justified in my deep and undiluted annoyance with her? I mean, right?
...
To all my friends advocating peace, love, charity and kindness:
I try.
No really, I do.
Okay, fine: I tried.
For a little while, I did. I tried. But then her she had an idiotic computer question, and another issue, and then she stuck her nose in my business, and then she talked to me like I was her child, and then she had more computer problems that an 8 year old could solve and then...
Oh.
Okay, fine.
I will try harder to be kind in the face of rampant idiocy.
Wait.
No, I mean, I will try harder to be kind.
I will be kind.
Starting now, I will be kind.
I will.
(I'm sure I could've found a more relevant, and/or dramatically stated, U.S.-centric quote, but whatever. You get the point.)
The building I work in has two stairwells. Stairwell A is located at the main entrance of the building, and is next to the elevators. Stairwell B is located near the parking lot.
Each floor has 24 steps per stairwell, but Stairwell B divides the 24 steps into 3 sets of 8. It's a circular stairwell, with a small landing at the top of each 8. Stairwell A has is divided in 2, with 2 sets of 12 steps.
I was talking to someone in my office the other day about my trick for walking more: I try to take the stairs as often as possible, and I've even started using the basement level restroom so that I get an extra trip.
I prefer Stairwell B for a couple of reasons: 1) it's closer to my office 2) there are windows in that stairwell 3) I get to go outside for a few feet before reentering our building (our building is built into a hill; the basement level is half stuck in the side of the hill). I like the way the stairs are broken up into chunks of 8. For slower people or if you're carrying something, it seems safer to me to have a landing there. Again, I'm sure I could've found something relevant to this topic that bears out my theory, but somewhere in the back of my grew-up-watching-This-Old-House-and-other-various-construction-related shows, I feel like I've heard it said before by people with knowledge on this topic, that fewer steps in a row is safer stair desig. So without corroborating evidence, I believe in it. Yes, I believe! I am a believer in the concept of breaking up a flight of stairs into more manageable, shorter chunks. Hallelujah, I believe.
Why am I telling you this? Because when I suggested that this person take the stairs (she was complaining about not walking enough and missing the sunshine, two issues that a simple walk down the stairs could fix), she freaked out on me.
Yes, she literally freaked out. I guess she saw someone fall down in Stairwell B (I haven't seen the accident report yet, and yes, those do come through my hands, so I'm not sure what the exact circumstances were. Maybe that person was looking at their cell phone, or their shoe was untied, or they had low blood sugar, or maybe they were pushed!), and she seems to have an unnatural fear now of that happening to her. And THEN she had the audacity to suggest the Stairwell A is safer for exactly the opposite reason I think the other one is safe! (Wait. Did I get that right? Oh, use your own logic and work it out, the point is, SHE'S WRONG.)
Anyway, did I mention that this person, without fail, drives me up the wall several times a day, EVERY DAY? Don't you think that for this reason alone I am justified in my deep and undiluted annoyance with her? I mean, right?
...
To all my friends advocating peace, love, charity and kindness:
I try.
No really, I do.
Okay, fine: I tried.
For a little while, I did. I tried. But then her she had an idiotic computer question, and another issue, and then she stuck her nose in my business, and then she talked to me like I was her child, and then she had more computer problems that an 8 year old could solve and then...
Oh.
Okay, fine.
I will try harder to be kind in the face of rampant idiocy.
Wait.
No, I mean, I will try harder to be kind.
I will be kind.
Starting now, I will be kind.
I will.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Today's playlist
I haven't done this is in awhile, but today required music, lots of it, and at high volume (due to concentration issues, and the loudness of various and sundry conversations in my office. Did I use "sundry" properly?). Here are some highlights, thank you, trusty iPod:
- Muzzle of Bees, Wilco
- Alabama, Neil Young
- Don’t Fade On Me, Tom Petty
- Life Wasted, Pearl Jam
- Old Enough, The Raconteurs
- I Want You, Kings of Leon
- Use Me, Love & Rockets
- Gimme the Car, Violent Femmes
- Oh! Darling, The Beatles
- Breaking Us in Two, Joe Jackson
- Personality Crisis, New York Dolls
- He'd Send in the Army, Gang of Four
- They Don't Know, Tracey Ullman ("Baby!")
- I'm Not a Punk, Descendents
- I Don't Want to Lose You, The Smithereens
- Wah-Wah, George Harrison
- All I Want is You, U2
- Let Me Lie to You, Afghan Whigs
- Bring on the Night, The Police
- Burning Down, R.E.M.
- Only Lonely, Divinyls
Red, itchy, puffy and hot
On Saturday, I got to participate in a really cool photo shoot at City Garage. My friend Justin Davanzo is a supremely talented photographer, and he gave us City Garage people the opportunity to sit with him. For the actors, I think it was a chance to get some creative headshots and professional caliber photographs taken. For me, it was for fun.
I haven't seen the photos yet, but if I like them, I'll post them here, and will probably even redo the design of this blog. Until then, you'll just have to wonder. I'll also post a link to his page later.
It was a fun experience, and involved a professional makeup artist. Since I very rarely wear makeup, and when I do, the quantity is negligible, to sit in front of a professional (not a Sephora employee) was pretty cool. She did a nice job. The photos were mainly black and white, and so she worked her magic for that specific (what? situation? utility?) _________ (fill in correct word here; I'm too lazy to complete this thought this morning). The makeup she used was MAC. I loved the way she did my eyes. She did a great job.
Afterwards, I washed as much of it off as I could, and went about the rest of my day fine. But when I woke up Sunday morning, my face was hot, puffy, red, and itchy. At first I thought it was my cat allergies, but then I figured out that no, I sleep with cats every night and never have this reaction. At around 10:30 a.m. I took a Benadryl, and almost instantly fell asleep for the next two and a half hours.
The rest of the day I still felt itchy and red and puffy, but I hoped today would be better. I can't take Benadryl while I'm working (because sleeping on the job is frowned on) but I did take a Claritin, and just now I emailed my doctor about it. He told me the Benadryl and Claritin should work, but if not, I might need to come in, and they'll give me a steroid. Not sure I want to do that, so I'm hoping the other stuff works. I feel pretty self-conscious about it but Patrick said it didn't look too bad. Then again, he's not the most observant man in the world, either.
So, I head off into the world today, red, puffy, itchy and hot. Only not in a good way.
I haven't seen the photos yet, but if I like them, I'll post them here, and will probably even redo the design of this blog. Until then, you'll just have to wonder. I'll also post a link to his page later.
It was a fun experience, and involved a professional makeup artist. Since I very rarely wear makeup, and when I do, the quantity is negligible, to sit in front of a professional (not a Sephora employee) was pretty cool. She did a nice job. The photos were mainly black and white, and so she worked her magic for that specific (what? situation? utility?) _________ (fill in correct word here; I'm too lazy to complete this thought this morning). The makeup she used was MAC. I loved the way she did my eyes. She did a great job.
Afterwards, I washed as much of it off as I could, and went about the rest of my day fine. But when I woke up Sunday morning, my face was hot, puffy, red, and itchy. At first I thought it was my cat allergies, but then I figured out that no, I sleep with cats every night and never have this reaction. At around 10:30 a.m. I took a Benadryl, and almost instantly fell asleep for the next two and a half hours.
The rest of the day I still felt itchy and red and puffy, but I hoped today would be better. I can't take Benadryl while I'm working (because sleeping on the job is frowned on) but I did take a Claritin, and just now I emailed my doctor about it. He told me the Benadryl and Claritin should work, but if not, I might need to come in, and they'll give me a steroid. Not sure I want to do that, so I'm hoping the other stuff works. I feel pretty self-conscious about it but Patrick said it didn't look too bad. Then again, he's not the most observant man in the world, either.
So, I head off into the world today, red, puffy, itchy and hot. Only not in a good way.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
How did I lose track?
I know I've written here before about growing up and spending a lot of time with my mom's friend Joy. She opened her home to me and my brothers and sister, and a lot of other kids in the neighborhood, but because I was a little younger than everybody else, I spent a lot of time with just her and her son, Guy.
Joy died back when I was in high school, in Montana, where they had moved. I was a bratty teenager and I didn't keep in touch the way I should have. And then she died. After awhile, Guy moved back to Culver City, and we saw him around - working at Target, or Pavilions. I even went to Universal Studios with him and his friend from his old street. When was that? In the early 90s, I think. But then again, I was a bratty 20-something, too, and lost track of him.
I guess you (I) think people are always going to be around. My brother and sister and I were wondering what had happened to Guy, and so Angie did a little Internet sleuthing. There's not much out there: but now we know that he died in December 2009. Almost four years ago. I've known this since Monday, and aside from the text messages back and forth between her and me and my brothers about it, I haven't talked to anybody about it, because I feel like shit.
So if you've been interacting with me in the last couple of days, wondering what my problem was, well. I've had this on my mind.
We don't even know how he died. In 2009, he was only 41.
This is actually somebody I knew, and spent a lot of time with growing up. We went to Dodger Stadium and rode around with his mom and played catch and Atari games and Monopoly. He loved dogs and I thought he was kind of weird, like an older brother to me. I'm sure he considered me a pest and a nuisance. He loved teasing me because I was so terrible at playing catch. He was a "nudge." I don't really know what he was like as a grown up.
At this point I don't really know what else to say about this. Guy was a friend from my childhood; it was definitely shocking to find out that he was dead. I just thought I'd hear from him again one day. There are all the cliches about telling people how you feel about them because you never know what will happen when that person is out of your sight... I'm not sure that's the note I want to end this on, but it's all I got. If you care about someone, make sure they know it.
Joy died back when I was in high school, in Montana, where they had moved. I was a bratty teenager and I didn't keep in touch the way I should have. And then she died. After awhile, Guy moved back to Culver City, and we saw him around - working at Target, or Pavilions. I even went to Universal Studios with him and his friend from his old street. When was that? In the early 90s, I think. But then again, I was a bratty 20-something, too, and lost track of him.
I guess you (I) think people are always going to be around. My brother and sister and I were wondering what had happened to Guy, and so Angie did a little Internet sleuthing. There's not much out there: but now we know that he died in December 2009. Almost four years ago. I've known this since Monday, and aside from the text messages back and forth between her and me and my brothers about it, I haven't talked to anybody about it, because I feel like shit.
So if you've been interacting with me in the last couple of days, wondering what my problem was, well. I've had this on my mind.
We don't even know how he died. In 2009, he was only 41.
This is actually somebody I knew, and spent a lot of time with growing up. We went to Dodger Stadium and rode around with his mom and played catch and Atari games and Monopoly. He loved dogs and I thought he was kind of weird, like an older brother to me. I'm sure he considered me a pest and a nuisance. He loved teasing me because I was so terrible at playing catch. He was a "nudge." I don't really know what he was like as a grown up.
At this point I don't really know what else to say about this. Guy was a friend from my childhood; it was definitely shocking to find out that he was dead. I just thought I'd hear from him again one day. There are all the cliches about telling people how you feel about them because you never know what will happen when that person is out of your sight... I'm not sure that's the note I want to end this on, but it's all I got. If you care about someone, make sure they know it.
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