Crystal Jackson

Archive for the ‘people be trippin’’ Category

stink eye

In awkward, people be trippin', shopping on January 15, 2012 at 12:44 pm

I always get my weekly grocery shopping out of the way on Sunday morning, no matter how late my Saturday night might have been. If you don’t go early on Sunday, you end up knee-deep in the throngs of slow shoppers. They chat in front of the produce scales instead of weighing their shit and moving on. They leave their cart in the middle of the aisle to look at something shiny that caught their eye. They stand three across discussing the merits of this salad dressing versus that. It’s maddening for a person who walks fast and writes her grocery list in the order the items appear in the store in order to eliminate unnecessary browsing. Sounds fun, huh? That’s why I go alone.

Because it’s early and I pretty much literally roll out of bed, put on clothes and head to the store, I don’t make much eye contact while I’m shopping. Not looking to get into a conversation with the chipper lady who’s been up since 6 or the crusty old man who can’t find the chutney.

I was nearing the end of my weekly chore this morning when I broke my rule. I was on the main aisle and needed to turn left to get some detergent. There was a guy coming my direction whom I needed to let pass before I could move forward. I glanced up, and he was looking me dead in the eye. Giving me the stink eye. He looked at me like I’d just puked on his grocery basket or called his mama a whore. I’m looking at him, probably with surprise on my face, and he’s staring at me as he continues pushing his shopping cart, having to turn his head as he goes by in order to maintain angry eye contact. This went on for a few seconds, which is fairly intense for this type of interaction.

It was so weird, I sort of wanted to turn around and follow him to see what the deal was. Instead, I kept walking.

Awkward.

 

open letter

In running away, things that surprise me, people be trippin', open letter, Houston, random on January 10, 2012 at 9:09 pm

Dear Man Jogging Down I-10 Around 7PM Tonight During Heavy Traffic,

I saw you for the first time a couple of hours ago on my way home from work. I was driving my car on the freeway when something caught my eye. It was something that moved unlike a car. A bit of whimsy in the midst of smog-inducing, butt-numbing traffic. It was you, jogging down the shoulder of the freeway as if you had been loosed upon the tundra after a period of confinement.

You were in my sights for no more than a moment or two, yet I still took in the details of your being. You were wearing a white shirt, black shorts and exercise shoes of some flavor. Your clothes were snug, as if you wanted nothing to slow you down. You had good form and appeared to move quickly, though not as quickly as I was, even in traffic, sitting on my ass in my car, listening to music, looking at you. I wonder how many other drivers almost popped their necks, jerking their heads to look to the right. At you, jogging down the shoulder of the freeway as if you were on the first leg of a short run.

There exists the possibility that your car broke down and you’d forgotten your cellphone, so you were forced to let your feet do the jogging. But you weren’t in work attire (unless you work as a model for bike shorts). And you weren’t moving like someone who had the misfortune to break down on the freeway. Granted, I’ve never seen anyone jogging away from their abandoned car, but I would imagine there would be a resigned hunch in their shoulders, a “why me” sort of gait. But you, you were jogging down the shoulder of the freeway as if you were in the midst of an urban workout that requires adrenaline and a death wish. Or as if you were running from zombies–a cautionary tale for the rest of us. No, I know what it was.

You were jogging down the shoulder of the freeway the way I would jog to a wine and puppy party.

Whatever your destination and whatever your reason(s), I hope you made it where you were going. Thanks for making the drive home more…confusing.

but he carried a little black bag

In awkward, people be trippin', stupidization on October 13, 2011 at 1:37 pm

I'm ready to give you your exam, everybody

An 81-year-old man in Florida struck a deal with prosecutors to avoid trial in a case of door-to-door breast fondling. Seems the old coot went around an apartment complex offering “free breast exams.” One of the women who thought this was a great idea (yes, there was more than one) said that he was carrying a little black bag, so it seemed legit. Um, yeah, if you’re living in the 1880s and need a doctor to place some leeches on your forehead to suck the bad thoughts out so your crops will grow again and Paw’s dry socket will heal. The only people carrying black doctor bags these days are hipsters.

She smelled a rat when he fondled her breasts instead of “examining” them and his hands moved to other, non-breast, parts of her body. He was in another woman’s apartment by the time the cops came. Who knows how many women might have fallen for this had the first lady not called the po-po. How are there this many stupid people in one place? Was their apartment complex built on a nuclear waste dump?

When asked for comment after the deal was struck, one of the victims said, “I’m not really worried about what happens to that crusty old man. I was recently contacted by a prince in Africa who needs me to help him transfer a large sum of money. With the reward he’s offering, I’ll be sipping piña coladas by the beach for the rest of my life.”

Okay, that last thing didn’t happen, but the rest of it did. What a country. In communist Russia, you have to fondle doctor’s breasts.

okay, we GET it

In awkward, people be trippin' on July 17, 2011 at 12:16 pm

Stopped at Walgreens in the middle of the day yesterday to pick up a few sundries. Cruising down one aisle I had to squeeze past an old dude who was taking up a lot of space as he perused the condom and lubricant section. Good for him, I thought (with perhaps a slight shudder) and kept walking. A few minutes later I ended up in the check out line behind him. The girl scanned his three items – a big box of condoms, some shave gel and that hot/cold lubricant stuff I’ve seen ads for (hot for him, cold for her) (or maybe it’s the other way around). She placed everything in a small white plastic bag. He was slowly counting out his money – all ones – and said that he didn’t want the bag. The girl looked at him like really? and slowly brought the items back into daylight.

He’d taken up all the space on the counter with his display of dollar bills, which he was oh-so-slowly counting and recounting, so the girl had to hold his Saturday night special in her hands until he was done (that’s what she said). He kept looking around to see who was watching. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I made sure I was looking elsewhere when his head swivelled around (that’s what… nevermind). Read the rest of this entry »

take a letter, Maria

In fighting stupidization, people be trippin', the internets on May 25, 2011 at 12:38 pm

Address it to my PO Box (3861 Houston 77253)…Include a self-addressed stamped envelope…I’ll send you a Fight Stupidization sticker. That’s what Debra did, and she will get her sticker this week. Debra was, in fact, the VERY FIRST PERSON to send mail (on purpose) to the Fight Stupidization mailbox. Debra, if you’re reading this, thank you. I hope you enjoy your sticker.

In other news, there have been some amazing search terms bringing people to this site lately. I feel compelled to share just a few from the past 30 days.

  • kids make comments that make me want to punch them
  • puke on her desk, cut off my balls, changed to a fighter jet, bombed the russians, fly to the moon, explode, like a baws
  • was lucille ball a crackhead
  • everytime i go for a pap smear i feel embase becau gas com out
  • things that will cause your eyes to get misaligned Read the rest of this entry »

quite peculiar in a funny sort of way

In food and drink, people be trippin', theatre, work, writing on May 5, 2011 at 1:58 pm

My new play The Singularity came in second for the Leah Ryan prize. Very cool.  I love this play more than anything I’ve ever written. I’ve submitted the script to a few workshop opportunities around the country and am currently trying to get some of my Houston peeps together for a reading. The play has only been read in its entirety by the voices in my head. It would really benefit from three-dimensional, flesh-and-blood artists reading it and giving feedback.

As a rule, I never mention my job in my blog, but two things today merit mention. One, as I walked in this morning, I crossed paths with (and said hello to) two astronauts who were in the building for a taping. That was cool. When I was a kid, after I realized you couldn’t be a magician for a living, I wanted to be an astronaut. Almost as likely.

The other surprise happened when I opened the work fridge to put my lunch inside. This greeted me on the top shelf: Read the rest of this entry »

and now for something completely different

In awkward, luddite vs. iDevice, people be trippin', the internets, things that make me happy on April 21, 2011 at 2:19 pm

dumb dumb
Standing half naked in a dressing room stall yesterday, I heard a woman talking to her child the next stall over. The child wasn’t behaving, so she asked him if he wanted a “spank spank.” He did not. A moment later she asked,  “Did you lose a shoe shoe?” He did. She helped him put it back on. “Why don’t you play with your train train while mommy gets dressed?” What the fuck fuck, I thought. And maybe also said out loud.

running sausages
I was hanging out with a dear friend and her old friend from middle school a couple of nights ago. As is typical when old friends get together, my friend and her buddy were talking about the good old days. The old friend casually mentioned that my friend was a mascot in high school. I didn’t know this. I hate mascots and have outlined the many reasons why here. My friend was not a costume-with-the-big-head type of mascot, though, so we’re cool.

As the three of us were discussing mascots and my, perhaps irrational, hatred of them (the old friend is a psychoanalyst) (so, you know, that was fun), I got entirely too excited talking about the running sausage mascot that got smacked with a bat at the Brewers game years back. Do you remember that? Here’s a link to the news story. You should watch it now. I’ll wait. “No one’s laughing now,” the reporter says. “I am,” I say, through tears. Never has the word “sausages” been used so many times in a news story. Genius.

As I described the sausage smacking situation to the psychoanalyst, whom I’d met literally minutes earlier, I could feel my face and neck getting hot. Not because I was embarrassed. Because I was so excited to share the story with the uninitiated. (The “I’m not a bad person” disclaimer:  the woman wasn’t hurt beyond a skinned knee and maybe a bit of post-traumatic running sausage disorder – totally worth it for the joy she provided so many.)

Next tweet
You’ve probably seen the link to that can be my next tweet elsewhere (twitter, specifically), but if you have an active twitter account, this is a fun exercise. It predicts what your next tweet might be, based upon your past tweets. Here are a few it predicted for me (my real tweets make only slightly more sense):

  • No) ritual de burger – blog post: randomness of Mick Jaggerish thing going to use my friends’ facebook?
  • Ha! Front hard.
  • Also – blog post: you see on like you in Houston today? about diminishing Houston to watch the big girl.
  • That article makes me alone with language)!
  • Burger – blog post: happiness vortex.
  • Belaboring the good poboy. Not old school Antone’s, but sometimes I would just shower less. Ha!
  • Fight stupidization on where I had a conversation over here. Be happy, bitches.

Indeed. Hilarious and oddly illuminating. Be happy, bitches.

teenage diplomat

In civility is dead, Houston, people be trippin', things that make me want to punch someone in the face, travel on April 20, 2011 at 8:41 pm

(I’ll be back to dick jokes in the next post, so forgive me this droopy one.)

It began as usual. On the drive home after work last week, I stopped at the corner near my office. The last light before the freeway. The same woman was there with her change cup, just as she’s been every day since shortly after I started working this job. She waved, as she always does, and I waved back, as I always do. And I experienced the same conflicting emotions that I feel every day as we exchange pleasantries, wishing I could help her and not knowing what to do. I do nothing.

When she first showed up on this corner about three years ago, she looked to be close to my age. Average weight, average height, above average temperament.  In fact, I think she was the originator, at least in this area, of the panhandle wave.* Now everyone is doing it. Since her arrival, her skin has become reddened and dried by the wind. Her face has taken on the sunken appearance of someone who’s lost all their teeth. Her body mass has melted earthward from what is most likely a diet of nothing but fast food. But she still waves at every car, and sometimes she smiles. That last happens less and less often, though.

[*side note: I like the panhandle wave because it allows you to acknowledge the fact that a human being is standing there, even if you choose not to give them money. Otherwise, you're forced to try to look busy, have prolonged uncomfortable eye contact with someone just outside your car window or dig around for the cash you never seem to have, shrugging your shoulders in sympathy and awkwardness. The wave says, "I see you. I don't have any money to give you, but I recognize your humanity and wish you well." Maybe that's overstating it, but you know what I mean.]

So I was sitting at the light last week, having given and received my daily wave, when I noticed another panhandler on the other side of the street. I’ve never seen anyone else working this intersection. This other girl was young and healthy looking, clean blonde hair dancing in wind. She was wearing a flannel shirt and short shorts behind her hand-lettered cardboard sign (which I couldn’t read). It didn’t compute. Then I noticed the camera crew. Yeah, she and a couple of friends were making a film, and from the way she was wagging her ass and laughing between takes, I don’t think it was a serious documentary about the homeless problem in Houston.

I looked at the dumbass chick, just across the intersection. I looked at the tattered woman, just outside my car window, who was most likely in the background of their shots. I couldn’t understand how the kids with the nice video camera could be so oblivious of the situation they were, what, mocking? documenting? reenacting?

Maybe they weren’t oblivious. Worse, maybe they just didn’t give a shit. I stifled my strong desire to get out of my car and kick each of them in the ass, realizing a lot of my frustration has to do with the situation. I’m sad for this woman to be in the shape she’s in. I’m disappointed with myself for remaining on the sidelines, doing nothing except waving like an impotent monkey and then driving off. I’m worried that as the economy continues to be shit (or get shittier than shit), more and more people will find themselves in the same situation.

I don’t know what the kids were up to. And I don’t know what the future holds for the woman who waves. I doubt it is very bright. She seems to be on the downward slope of her story. The denouement. And there’s nothing I can do to help her. So I witness her decline, and when she stops showing up, I’ll notice. It is, literally, the least I can do.

When the light changed, I drove on.

So it goes.

Friday list

In lists, people be trippin', sartorial issues on October 8, 2010 at 2:02 pm

 

tee shirt prototype

 

- Yes, we have a fight stupidization tee shirt! There is only one so far. I wanted to wear it first to make sure the words don’t go too far across the chest and are legible. I opted to do gray instead of black since gray tee shirts age better than black but fulfill a similar role in the wardrobe (not being white or a bright color and going with pretty much anything). I think I’ll probably have black and gray printed up for the first big run of shirts and will add white next summer. We’ll have a few to give away at Cultured Cocktails on December 2nd and will start selling them on the website later that month. Of course you’ll know about that as soon as it happens because I’ll write about it here.

- I follow Seth MacFarlane (creator of Family Guy) on twitter. He recently mentioned Neil DeGrasse Tyson and referred to him as a “great drinking buddy.” I can’t imagine having happy hour with those two. My brain would explode with the awesomeness. (Side note about reading MacFarlane’s tweets – I hear and picture Brian (the dog on Family Guy) when I read them.) (Side note about Neil DeGrasse Tyson – I got to meet him in 2008 when he came to Houston for a HoustonPBS Elevate lecture, and of course something funny happened. I can’t believe I didn’t write about it in my blog, but I just checked and couldn’t find anything. So I’ll share that story soon in its own post.)

- I’m on a listserve for playwrights around the country to share production opportunities. Many of us have been on the list for a number of years, and we’ve started getting to know one another. Most of the “knowing” is limited to “that guy lives in Atlanta” or “that chick writes kids’ plays.” There’s this one guy – he always comes across as a really nice, kind-hearted person – who occasionally posts more information than necessary. In any situation. Ever. His most recent contribution:

All of you have heard of the Cat of Nine Tails. That’s a kind of flogger. One of my S/M specialties is flogging a naked guy shackled to a St. Andrews cross until his back is full of welts and most often bloody. I’ve got a dozen floggers from very soft doe hide to very rough wildebeest. In there is also a braided cat and a flogger with rubber tendrils that really cuts. It’s an art and obsession.

[crickets...] As you can imagine, no one responded (at least not publicly). This was totally out of the blue. I mean, we weren’t discussing S&M. Or cats. Or hobbies…or even M&Ms…

your mileage may vary

In civility is dead, family, people be trippin', relationships, things that make me want to punch someone in the face, tip on October 4, 2010 at 12:10 pm

All these horrible stories about bullies and kids committing suicide this past week made me think back to the days when I was in the emotional, hormone-laden whirlpool that are the pre-teen/teen years. I remember back in junior high when a guy in my grade or maybe the next one up kept playing grab-ass with me. His hand was an unwelcome visitor on my body, and I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. The boy, a big country bumpkin, was much larger than I was. And I was “a girl.” So I talked to my dad about it, and he gave me advice that has stuck with me (and come in handy) ever since.

He said:
The next time he does that, look him dead in the eye and tell him, “If you EVER touch me again, I will kick you so hard in the nuts that you won’t be able to have children.” The key, I was told, was looking just crazy enough to do it, seeing as this jerk was twice my size.

My dad’s an intimidating guy, so I figured he knew what he was talking about. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Ol’ turnipseed grabbed my ass the next opportunity he got, and I responded with the suggested words from my father (which I’d rehearsed in my head from the moment I heard them). Though I can tell you with some certainty that I am a horrible actor, I made it work that day. I had fire in my eyes with just a touch of the crazy, and that big boy never laid a hand on me again.

I’m not trying to suggest that these kids can silence their tormentors with threats to their balls. I’m sure – in the case of young men who are being bullied for being gay – threats to other guys’ balls would only exacerbate the situation. But I am gently suggesting that we should do whatever we can to empower children on the front end. Protect them, of course, but also let them know that they are strong and capable and can be fierce when the moment calls for it. It may not keep them from being bullied, but it may keep them from feeling like suicide is the only way out of their situation.

High school does end, though at times it feels like it’ll go on forever…

contradictions

In luddite vs. iDevice, people be trippin', spooky, theatre on August 26, 2010 at 1:14 pm

I’m working on the next theatre project, and it is very tech-centered. My approach to theatre thus far has been quite the opposite. In fact, every production we’ve done could have been presented in a living room or the backyard of a bar. Some were, in fact. I rarely use lights, never use sound cues, don’t have scenery and barely have sets. In an attempt at growth (or as a prescription for potential stagnation), I’m thinking about doing something quite different.

As I write this, it occurs to me that I’m going to do a theatrical production that mirrors the inner conflict I’ve already chronicled here – my desire to live in a cabin in the woods yet remain electronically connected. How interesting.

Does this count as a self-indulgent post? I mean, more than usual? I’ll change the subject.

I worked from home yesterday. One of my coworkers spent part of the day retrieving items from an estate that was left in its entirety to Channel 8. That’s a dedicated viewer. Some of the items were brought into the office. I did not know that this had happened because I wasn’t in the office yesterday.

This morning, my tunnel vision and I entered my office. I set my shit down, sat my ass down and woke my computer up. Then I very casually glanced out of my window, which, rather than looking out on a verdant meadow or distant mountain, opens into the rest of the office. My breath caught in my throat and tried to elbow my heart, which had just leapt up there, out of the way. There was a three-foot tall doll (“with real human hair”) on the table just outside my window. It was not just staring at me – it was peering into my soul.

I cried out, “What the fuck is that doll?” with not a slight amount of anxiety. My coworkers were amused. Seems they were all scared of it too but had already had their individual experiences the previous day. I am not exaggerating when I say that this thing literally had my heart rate up. I jumped up from my desk, grabbed the doll and immediately found a new home for it (the locked office of the coworker who’d brought the thing in). I can still smell the mothballs and nightmares on my hands from handling the thing. Maybe I’ll try rubbing my hands on my kitchen sink when I get home.

Palin around with (language) terrorists, or words have meaning

In douchebags, luddite vs. iDevice, people be trippin', stupidization, writing on July 20, 2010 at 11:15 am

Sean and Stig fought stupidization in a parking garage in California

Lots of people are jumping on Sassy Palin for tweeting yesterday that Muslims should refudiate a mosque near the World Trade Center location. As a person who writes a lot, I don’t find it at all odd to mis-type a letter (in this case, replace the f with a p for repudiate), but that doesn’t seem to be what happened here. Once people started mocking her on twitter, she deleted that tweet and changed it to “refute.” Um, closer? She then went on to say that Shakespeare made up words all the time, so get off her back.

Huh. First of all, I’m amazed she spelled the Bard’s name right. Second, why is she unable to ever EVER accept responsibility when she fucks up? I mean, getting a letter wrong, or even getting a word wrong, isn’t a big deal. People tweet all kinds of stuff that is screwed up by their iPhone auto-completing the wrong word, creating a scandalous or unintentionally funny tweet (imagine mistyping, “washed my puppy today – my kids were trying to help but got soaked!”).

She could have used the web browser on her phone to google the definition of refudiate, then, not finding one, corrected her tweet with the right word and moved on. Or she could have made a joke about clumsy thumbs. Instead, she tweeted the same thought three times, finally addressing the “refudiate” issue by suggesting that she, like the most prolific writer in the history of the English language, is creating new words for the lexicon. Because she’s such a word girl. If she were creating a new word, she wouldn’t have deleted the original tweet in the first place and then retried it two times with other words. And if she were so interested in language that she would be the type of person who creates new words, she’d probably be able to name a few publications that she reads beyond Lipstick and Ammo.

This brings me to a greater point about stupidization (which first appeared in my blog in June of 2006 and is purposely used knowing it’s not a “real” word) (I’m just like Shakespeare!). Stupid people act like being well-read is something that only effete liberals in New Yawk City do while drinking coffee made from beans that were pooped out by a weasel onto the Sunday edition of the New York Times and ground into a beverage by illegal aliens who are stealing all the good jobs. Stupid people see the pursuit of knowledge and information as being something negative that real, honest to goodness Amurcans don’t have time to do, what with killing the terrorists and watching Midget Dance Contest and wearing flag lapel pins made in China. Stupid people are so deathly afraid of being found out, they craft ridiculous excuses for the mistakes they make instead of saying, “Hey, I typed one letter wrong on Twitter. Get a life, you jackals.”

But the problem here is, it wasn’t a mistyped letter. It was the exposure of someone who values talking points over in-depth knowledge, visceral emotion over reasoned thought and hateful close-mindedness over global awareness. Not everyone in America is a white, straight Christian conservative. Refudiate that, Sassy.

you say potato, I say don’t point that crazy at me

In food and drink, luddite vs. iDevice, people be trippin', the arts on July 13, 2010 at 1:07 pm

the view from the sanitarium

  • I realized/remembered/was reminded yesterday that I can deal with crazy and I can deal with aggressive, but I really have a hard time dealing with crazy AND aggressive from the same person at the same time. It gets my back up. And makes me aggressive. But not crazy.
  • Happy to hear that Joe’s is back in business. I loved their cheesesteak and look forward to being reunited with it.
  • If The Wizard of Oz were made today, instead of sweet little Judy Garland in the lead it would be someone like Miley Cyrus, and she’d be wearing short shorts and cowboy boots while nipping out a tube top (but would, of course, have a “heart of gold”). The Scarecrow would be JayZ, the Tinman would be Lady Gaga and the Cowardly Lion would be The Rock. I would not see this movie.
  • For two days of my recent vacation, I made beaded jewelry. As I was working on, like, my 10th or 11th bracelet, it occurred to me that it was like I was in a sanitarium where they give you crafts to occupy your time while your brain heals. I guess that’s sort of what vacations are for, right? I blame this thought on you, D.D.
  • When logging in to an account on my phone, I accidentally typed “cryhack” instead of “cryjack.” Sometimes I wonder if my brain is fucking with me.

seven year bitch (not really)

In hermit, people be trippin', relationships, stupidization on May 30, 2010 at 2:16 pm

As of this weekend, James and I have been together for seven years. That’s a long time. To celebrate, we went out to dinner. A foursome sat down at the table next to us, and one of the men proudly proclaimed to have “both Aspergers and ADHD.” He appeared to be with his mother. The other couple might have been his sister with a guy she hasn’t been dating for a long time OR his sister with a guy she HAS been dating for a long time but has kept away from the Aspergers/ADHD brother for as long as possible. Other than seeming to be rather self-involved and obnoxious (saying the word “mayonnaise” in every permutation he could think of, over and over), the guy was just like any other boring 45-year-old balding white guy on a double date with his mom.

Aspergers is one of the disorders du jour. In my over-simplified understanding, it is something that is not as serious as autism and is mostly centered around having shitty social skills. If the latter is the key to diagnosis, we all suffer from Aspergers here and there. Case in point: I went to a barbecue yesterday. There were quite a few people I’d never met before at the party. Though they looked like perfectly lovely, intelligent people, I had little interest in talking to them. One woman approached me, James and Robert and engaged us in a chat. We talked to her for a while. After she walked off, I realized that I just wasn’t in the mood to meet new people.

Do you ever get like that? Sometimes I really enjoy talking to someone whose bullshit I don’t know and who doesn’t know my bullshit. Then at other times, I’m reminded of that Seinfeld where Jerry talked about not really being interested in getting any new friends. That the friends you have at, say, 30 or 40 are pretty much the people you’re stuck with, and you’re no longer “interviewing” new people. I guess it just depends on my mood. I used up all my chatty stuff when we had our show last weekend and didn’t have any juice left. And I’m not saying any of these people wanted to be my new best friend. I’m just saying that I didn’t have the brain juice to have conversations with strangers and was more inclined to shoot the shit with the guy I live with and one of my oldest friends.

This doesn’t mean I have Aspergers. Maybe just that I have Assholers.

don’t think I won’t cut you

In people be trippin', stupidization, theatre, things that make me want to punch someone in the face on May 23, 2010 at 9:51 pm

To call the parking lot at AvantGarden a clusterfuck is being too kind. It supposedly accommodates two rows of cars with enough space between to back out, but even in my compact car I find it hard to leave. It takes about ten back-and-forths to finally free yourself.

After our show last night, Dennis found that he was blocked in by two vehicles. First was a very large pick up that was parked perpendicular to all of the other cars and was blocking in four cars. Then, next to Dennis’ vehicle was a car that parked in a no-parking area (there’s a tree in the spot that makes it such that only a smart car or scooter could fit). So its ass was sticking out into the free zone, further blocking him (and other cars) in.

The staff at AvantGarden tried to find the owners of the cars, but no one claimed them. So the only thing left to do was to have the bitches towed. As we waited for the tow truck to come, a man approached the pick up with some drums. We asked if it was his vehicle. He said it was his friend’s. We let him know that they needed to move it because a tow truck was on the way, and the guy immediately let us know “there would be a big problem” with the owner of the truck if a tow truck came. He was being very “hard” about the whole thing. Dennis and I had passed our point of tolerance, and we let him know that we “already had a big problem” with their shitty parking job. I guess two middle aged theatre people aren’t too scary because this guy kept talking shit. Then his big bad mofo friend came to the truck and talked more shit.

Seriously? You’ve blocked in four people, and you think it is asking too much to move your vehicle so the people who’ve been waiting for over 30 minutes can leave? Is there no civility left? (Because there’s certainly plenty of melodrama still around…) AvantGarden is a very interesting space to hang out in – in addition to the fringe festival the past few days, there have been fashion shows, DJs, bands and I guess a drum circle of assholes. Makes for an ecclectic scene both inside and in the parking lot.

Anywho, we had another full house last night. And it was actually a bit cooler since it was cloudy all day. So other than the parking lot sitch, ’twas a lovely evening of theatre. We have one more show tonight at 9PM. Please join us. Just do yourself a favor: park in the neighborhood and walk a block or two.

quickly (overheard at lunch)

In food and drink, people be trippin' on April 13, 2010 at 6:26 pm

Overheard at lunch today (from the older, effeminate, East Texas gentleman at the next table):

I saw a woman yesterday who had the biggest, widest, heaviest, largest, fattest, most humongous ASS (he turned “ass” into three syllables) I’ve ever seen. (long pause) She could have used her panties for a parachute. (long pause) I’m sure she had to have her jeans special made.

This from a chubby man who couldn’t stop looking at himself in the mirror (he did have lovely feathered gray hair) and whose waistband was inching toward his armpits. Not exactly a glass-free house for his stone throwing.

I had to try really hard not to laugh out loud as he vvvveeeerrrrrryyyyy slowly moved through that list of adjectives. I knew it would end with “ass,” but he managed to build an enormous amount of suspense on his way there, pausing a bit between each word. Bravo, sir, bravo.

comments policy

In douchebags, people be trippin', stupidization, the internets, things that make me want to punch someone in the face on April 9, 2010 at 2:59 pm

When I set this blog up five years ago, anyone could comment on my posts. Anonymous, spambot, real human person with a soul. Then the “investigative news story” about Houston Arts Alliance rolled around, which included yours truly and painted me as some sort of lefty pornographer, so I had to change the comments policy to approval only because I started getting a number of lurid come-ons and wingnutish insults. And you know that each and every nasty comment came from the same entity – anonymous.

I guess you could say I have a “thing” about people leaving anonymous comments. Some of you who comment here don’t put your given name, but you do choose something that still tells me who you are. That’s fine. And some comments come from people I’ve never met. That’s fantastic. But anonymous? Me no likey. Yesterday, I decided to change the comments policy back to open season. And last night this blog received an anonymous comment. That didn’t take long. And, as is the way with most anonymous comments, it was a little…argumentative. Nothing big. Just a slight poke in the side. I didn’t respond.

Do I have a distinct point of view politically? Yep. Does it come out in my writing? Sometimes. Am I looking for an anonymous commenter to show me the light? Nope. Do I invite people with different points of view to comment here? Sure. But put your name down, for one. And don’t expect me to have a change of heart or argue with you, for two. (Unless I’ve had a lot of coffee – then I might be up for a fight.) I’m not writing things here in hopes that I’ll change someone’s mind about an issue or get them to do what I would do in a given situation, nor should you expect the opposite. I’m reaching out to you, finding connections, trying to make you laugh, occasionally venting about things that drive me crazy and mostly leaving a trail of breadcrumbs that I can trace back to see where I’ve been. That’s all. No more, no less.

I appreciate each and every one of you who takes a few minutes to read this bullshit every couple of days, and I love getting comments. But if you’re going to take the time to write one, tell me your name. Maybe we can have a conversation.

Signed,
Crystal Fucking Jackson

youth

In people be trippin', relationships, work on April 7, 2010 at 3:31 pm

I worked remotely today (the wave of the future), which meant I spent the first part of the day working from home in my pajamas. For the last couple hours of work, I’ve been sitting at Onion Creek. I’m meeting people here for happy hour, so it made sense to get here early and knock some work out first. Now I’m between “work” and “happy hour,” so I have a few minutes to write this. Instead of that play I need to finish. As my father has pointed out before, whenever I have a play deadline, my blogging goes way up. Because I know I need to write, but I follow the path of least resistance. Until it’s balls out, at which point I will crank that shit out. I hope.

One bit of people watching: a guy came in to meet two girls. He smiled at both and went inside to get a drink (they already had drinks). When he came out, the way he smiled at one of the girls told me that she was the one he was here to see. Then he sat down next to the other one. And the way she smiled at him, I could tell she thought he was here for her. And that made her happy. I quit paying attention to them until just a moment ago (the beginning of this paragraph) when I noticed the girl he liked was not sitting there. It was just him and the chick he was sitting next to. And she is pissed. Her chest and neck are red, and she’s obviously bitching about something. The other girl is on her phone in another part of the place. The mad girl keeps looking at her boyfriend, waiting for him to say something. He’s just staring at the table, either unwilling or unable to say whatever it is she wants. Uh oh. She’s going off now, getting louder. He’s running his fingers through his hair. Now the girl on the phone is back at the table. The mad girl is trying to get her attention (the universal “he’s being an asshole” pouty girl look), but phone girl seems to be having her own drama. On the phone. Which is just as loserish as the fighting in public couple.

Man, I don’t miss my 20s AT ALL.

don’t go in there!

In people be trippin', stupidization on March 26, 2010 at 2:45 pm

I’m having some people over this weekend to help me end my 30s on a drunken note. I was just mentally taking a trip through my house thinking of final preparations that need to be made before we have company, and I was reminded of a party from long ago. I lived with Ed and JC then, and we had a big Christmas blowout. Aware of the fact that some people are nosy and will look through yo shit, including your medicine cabinet, we decided to rig the cabinet in our main bathroom.

I don’t remember everything we put in there, but I know for a fact there were suppositories, a length of rope and a pair of handcuffs that didn’t have a key. That last fact ended up being important when one of my inebriated friends (who shall remain nameless) rambled out of the bathroom with his hands cuffed together. “Ha ha, where’s the key?” he asked. Yeah. So, drunk myself, I had to use a knife to free him from his metal wrist prison.

We won’t be rigging the medicine cabinet for this party. If someone wants to see where I keep my toothpaste and eyebrow tweezers, more power to them. Just hope they ignore the rope.

oh black water, keep on rolling

In people be trippin' on February 23, 2010 at 1:46 pm

My neighbor has a pool filled with what appears to be black water. It may be something more viscous than that because I’m pretty sure it’s where he puts the body parts after killing people with the bell of his tuba. Wait. Let me back up.

When we moved into this house, the Jacksons (my parents and brothers) helped us haul a bunch of our crap over from the Heights. We’re all type A, so the loading at the old house and unloading at the new house happened very quickly and with much swearing. We had time to stroll through the back yard of our new house a bit when we were done, which I hadn’t had a chance to do prior to that because of all the packing. I’ve mentioned previously that we have almost a full acre, unusual for city livin’, so there’s a lot to see. I can’t remember if it was Dad or one of my brothers who noticed the, uh, tuba in one of the numerous sheds/trailers/shanties in our next door neighbor’s back yard.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with playing the tuba, and a tuba was used to hilarious effect on that episode of Family Guy, but there’s just something…wrong about this guy’s tuba. It’s just sitting there, piled on top of a bunch of other crap, in the far end of this dude’s yard. Taunting me through a window of one of his many trailers. It’s too shiny for something that seemingly has been left to rot. It calls out “blow me” when you come within a few feet of it. Maybe I imagined that last part. But the rest is true. So my question is, why is it shiny? I’ve never heard the neighbor play it. In fact, I’ve never really seen him do much in his back yard – DURING DAYLIGHT hours. I have no idea what he does at night. It’s as dark as the country when the sun goes down. I’m left to surmise that the tuba is shiny like that from the neighbor wiping all the blood off after nailing someone on the noodle with it. In the middle of the night.

Each morning for the past week or two, after doing her business Dali (James’ big, crazy ass dog) sits just on this side of the guy’s fence, over near the death pool, and barks. Continuously. She’s not standing near the fence barking at a cat. No, she’s just sitting there, letting her general displeasure be known to the neighborhood at large and our neighbor in particular. You’re welcome!

I think she’s on to him. If only she knew more English to clue the rest of us in on it.

yin/yang

In people be trippin' on August 11, 2009 at 2:42 pm

- Sometimes when I’m listening to really mellow classical music in the car, I feel like Hannibal Lecter (you either know the scene I’m talking about or you don’t – I couldn’t find it on YouTube). Not like I want to kill and then eat people (or vice-versa). More in the sense of: I’m listening to what should be soothing music, yet there is a winding up of energy in my body that wants to burst out. Only my winding up is released in a totally non-violent manner – usually a shower of words/thoughts thrust upon unsuspecting coworkers or blog readers. This does not happen when listening to classical music that is full of robust energy/emotion. Just the quiet stuff. Perhaps I should change the station.

- It’s a yin/yang thing. I have a distinct memory of sitting with my friend Jim at Diedrich’s Coffee (RIP) doing the NY Times crossword one late morning when a friend of his who’d just finished teaching a yoga class stopped at the table. She was so fucking zen, her words didn’t come tripping off the tongue – they sort of dripped off. One droplet at a time. And then took about 30 seconds to fall to the floor. While on an intellectual level I could appreciate how relaxed and at-one-with-the-universe this chick was, she made my heart rate increase. Seriously – I felt a direct rise in my energy to balance the black hole she was creating. Perhaps this is why I like people who think fast and talk fast.

blah-di-blah

In lists, people be trippin', the internets on June 15, 2009 at 6:09 pm

- The former Pig Stand on Washington Ave. is about to open up as a two-story sports bar. Ye gads.

- Finally found a use for Twitter. I was going home from a meeting last Monday night when I encountered a roadblock on Montrose at Waugh. While sitting there not moving, I logged on to Twitter to see if anyone had posted information about what was happening. Someone had. So, while I have little interest in learning what my lovely friends ate for lunch (though I still love you), I do appreciate using the site as a way to obtain immediate news (and share when I’ve written a blog because it brings me new readers). The only way to manage the online part of my life is to pick and choose what I spend my time doing (both reading and writing). I’d rather spend 15 minutes writing a blog entry than 15 minutes writing 100 Twitter updates. And that’s okay. The only other option is to go totally luddite in a cabin in the woods, and I’m not at that point. Yet.

- On the way home from grocery shopping Sunday morning (before 10AM), I saw a motorcyclist pulled over on 610 near the Woodway exit. He was standing next to his motorcycle…wearing a rifle. Is that legal? To ride around on a motorcycle with a rifle strapped to your body? Seems it should at least be in a carrier or something. Maybe it’s not as intimidating when he’s in motion because his hands are busy operating the motorcycle. But driving by someone who could shoot you with one easy movement is not a comfortable situation in which to find yourself. I realize, of course, that living in Houston means that I’m probably never very far from people with guns. It was just such an odd thing to see on a sunny Sunday morning.

- There are a shitload of cameras on I-10 between Studemont and Washington. What’s that about? I’ve been noticing cameras more and more in this city. We’re turning into London. Mind the humidity.

- One of the new theatre groups I’ve been working with (Horse Head Theatre) is this week’s Cultured Cocktails featured artist. Happy hour is from 5PM to 10PM this Thursday (June 18) at Boheme on Fairview, with a portion of the proceeds going to Horse Head. I’m excited because I hear the place has good sangria. I love good sangria and am even sort of fond of shitty sangria.

stories, one short and one long

In people be trippin', stupidization, travel on June 10, 2009 at 2:41 pm

SHORT
On my walk this morning, I saw a pair of glasses in the street. The frames looked okay, but the lenses had fallen out and were broken into many pieces. Odd, I thought. Then, just twenty feet later, I saw a spilled bottle of Axe Body Wash. So maybe the commercials are true? You put that shit on, and the crazy bitches come running.

LONG
Haven’t had time to blog about the trip to California, but I would like to share one story now. James and I were sitting in a little coffee/bakery place on Columbus Avenue that was right under our hotel. We were still a bit groggy, trying to shake the cobwebs from the previous night’s activities, when we heard, “YOU BETTER GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY.” We knew that wasn’t directed at us because A) we never get harassed for money when we travel, either because we look like we live there or we’re scary, and B) this bitch was really, really mad. Most panhandlers in San Francisco in my experience are either totally insane or trying to be clever (As in, propping a sign up against their dog that says “I need money for weed.” ha ha. Then get a job, stinky.)

We look up to see a middle aged woman in a green tennis dress jumping out of her Mercedes SLK. Then we see the guy, he’s named Gary, as we’re soon to find out, walking up the sidewalk wearing a backpack. Gary gets hip to the crazy in the green dress and tries to go back the other way. “Don’t you walk away from me, Gary. I want my fucking money.” That should have been in all caps because this bitch be CRAZY, yelling at the top of her lungs. Gary doesn’t say much, which infuriates crazy even more, so she continues. “I sent you a fucking email telling you that you better have my money. Where’s my fucking money, Gary? I’m going to tell Paolo, and he’s going to take care of your ass. You fucker.” Seriously – I’m not exaggerating how much this woman cussed during her tirade. And it was all unabashedly LOUD on a pretty populated street, albeit fairly early in the morning. This continues for a full minute or two, directly in front of us, her screaming and Gary just standing there retracting his balls.

She flips around to get back in her car, tennis skirt flying in the breeze, and sheepish Gary gets into the passenger side and sits. I thought she was seriously going to bust a vessel in her brain, she got so worked up. He’s trying to calmly tell her where the money is (or whatever, we couldn’t hear what he was saying), and she is having a FIT. She makes him get out of the car and then takes off like a rocket that runs on crazy bitch fuel.

Our analysis of the situation: Gary is her ex-husband. He cheated on her, so she hates his guts. He was late with the alimony payment, probably because he has a new girlfriend (or boyfriend), so she’s threatening him with the guy they used to buy their coke from.

Either that, or it was some bizarre form of street art. Whatever it was, we tried to keep from laughing and keep our heads down for fear she’d send Paolo after us, too.

morans

In people be trippin', stupidization, the internets on March 5, 2009 at 3:37 pm

I tend to ignore most apps and invitations on facebook. The invites for a water balloon fight, the pokes, the prods, the games of hot potato. I’ll occasionally join a group that catches my fancy, but that’s about it.

One of my facebook contacts – someone I went to high school with who obviously doesn’t know me at all – sent me an invitation to sign a petition to put Jesus back into the public schools. Because that’s what’s going to make that happen. A bullshit petition on facebook.

(Side note: When will these “my God is the RIGHT God” asswipes realize that you can’t shove religion down people’s throats? Or that there are many other flavors of religion besides Christianity in this country? I know, I know. There’s no point in getting into that argument. You either get it or you don’t. But come on.)

Anywho, I decided to check out the Jesus/schools page. I scrolled down through a few of the comments and was struck by the theme that immediately presented itself. Here are two un-doctored comments from the first few entries I saw.

I agree to put Christ back in the schools. Who was the moran who wanted him out?? They must be very sad and lonely… Pray for them so that they may find our Lord.

free education from beurocracy and make it free for all.

I would suggest that these two geniuses need to worry less about to whom people are praying and pay more attention to their ability to communicate effectively. They obviously spent more time in school praying than they did learning their lessons.

Oh, wait. Maybe not. Because I’ve noticed a trend on facebook as I get reacquainted with people from high school. The kids who were the craziest back then, the ones who were lucky to make it to graduation without dying or losing a limb or pregnant, those are the ones who now are conservative bible thumpers. Funny how that works.

Morans.

oops

In people be trippin', work on January 29, 2009 at 10:49 pm

I volunteered to make a few follow up calls for the station today, contacting people who called in to one of our recent digital transition shows with questions about getting a converter box, setting it up, etc. I’ve mostly spoken to some very lovely elderly folks who seemed quite tickled that someone from the TV station was calling them. Very sweet. So when I got on the phone with a recently retired lawyer who was pretty hip to the jive, I guess I overcompensated with the chit-chat and wasn’t as careful with my words. She lives not too far from where I do, and she can’t get Channel 8 on her new converter box. I have the same problem, and it’ll remain an issue until the transition happens and we’re broadcasting at full digital power. So she and I were shooting the shit about what a pain in the ass it is to not be able to get Channel 8 (I didn’t mention that I actually get it on satellite). Then I said, “I think it’s a conspiracy.”

The jovial mood of the conversation came to a screeching halt and she said, “WHAT?” As if I’d confirmed something she’d been thinking for quite some time. I quickly backpedaled and said that I was just kidding. But the damage had been done. I’ll bet she’s googling that shit right now.

Oops.

a couple of funnies

In people be trippin' on January 22, 2009 at 3:25 pm

First, please visit the Bald Heretic’s blog and check out this video. The clip is about 3 minutes, but you really need to watch the entire thing to get the effect of the commercial that follows. Hilarious in a horrible, horrible way. Especially the part in the cubicles. I’ve said too much. Just watch it.

Second, the email below was sent to the entire staff last night after a bit of thievery had been discovered from one of the office refrigerators. The author of the email is a friend of mine who’s not normally crazy, so that makes this email all the better. The subject line read: “I am appalled.”

Yesterday, a dear friend presented me with a nice bottle of champagne for my birthday. In an absolute idiotic moment of trust and confidence I left the bottle in the bottom of the fridge near the membership area.

Imagine my absolute surprise when I went to retrieve MY gift and found it missing but did find the remaining pink ribbon. Seriously what does this say about us??!!

If you are ‘that one’ I am requesting that you step up and do the right thing by replacing it. No questions asked!

P.S.- if you are ‘that one’ and don’t replace it you should know that not only do I practice black magic and I know people! (notice there’s no smiley face emoticon here) Ain’t kiddin’ I am vindictive!!!

Holy shit, that’s funny.

Fight stupidization on the nightly news

In douchebags, people be trippin', stupidization, the arts, theatre, things that make me want to punch someone in the face on November 9, 2008 at 11:05 pm

If you’re like me, you probably don’t watch the local news. I had to watch it tonight because I knew I was going to be on it.

No, I didn’t finally run willy-nilly through the streets, branding people’s foreheads with Fight stupidization. while yelling about the gentrification of the Heights. That is kind of expected. The reason I was on the news tonight – in an “investigative” piece no less – is because someone thinks that my playwriting ain’t art and, in fact, should not be supported by taxpayer dollars (specifically last year’s grant from the Houston Arts Alliance).

From the sleazy way that Dwayne Dolcefino talked about me, you’d think I was writing hard-core porn. Of course, he’s basing his opinion on ONE line from my last show. Why only one line? Because I only mentioned one line – the most bawdy of the evening – in my final report to HAA. Yes, that’s right. He didn’t have a hidden camera set up at DiverseWorks to catch all us subversive artists in the act. He decided to put my likeness (from my website) (two pictures, by the way), my name and even my motto on the nightly news because of ONE FUCKING LINE.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great line. I’ll share with you exactly what he read in my report:
This monologue features a character from a town about fifty miles outside of a large, southern city. The man grew up with a homophobic father who constantly told him to “watch out for the queers.” Though the character cannot admit it to himself, he is gay. His opening line (I’m not a queer, but I want someone to fuck me in the ass pretty much as soon as possible.) was intended to surprise the audience and set the tone for the rest of the show. It did so, very effectively. The monologue was not written to shock or be titillating. Instead, it showed us a very conflicted man who grew up bashing gay men but who now desperately wants to be loved by a man. He cannot admit this to himself, so he creates an entire “queer conspiracy” to explain away his actions.

There you have it. I’m sure Dwayne read the full paragraph, so I can only guess that he willfully ignored what I said after the line that got him so excited. Because if he digested the rest of the paragraph, he might have understood that I used a device – similar, in fact, to the over-the-top drama he utilizes in his reports – to grab the audience’s attention. Many people suffer from the misapprehension that female playwrights are only going to talk about women’s issues (periods, breast cancer, rape, bad hair days), so I purposely grabbed the audience by the figurative balls (see, there I go again) to let them know that this wasn’t going to be a weepy chick play. Then I got on with the show.

As for the condescending way in which the news program treated “art,” some people get it and some people don’t. I at least hope that a few of the people in the news room got a kick out of my dirty little line. The audiences sure loved it.

Can you imagine if I’d said yes to Dwayne’s request for an interview? I’ll bet he would have made me read the line to him. Over and over and over.

[I'm not linking to the story - if you want to see your pal Crystal on the "news," go to ktrk's website and head to the "undercover" page. I'm going to go wash my hands now.]

“pro”

In douchebags, people be trippin', stupidization on October 15, 2008 at 8:19 pm

I like how McCain keeps talking about people who are “pro abortion.” As if there are females out there who intentionally get pregnant so they can then go experience the joy of having an abortion. You know, ’cause it’s so much fun. Like shopping for your first bra or giving your first blow job, it’s a right of passage that girls giggle about on the phone. In fact, mani-pedi parties are out for the pre-teen set and fake abortion parties are in. Pass me the turkey baster.

He’s really got his finger on the pulse. The slowly decaying, close-minded, simpleton, redneck, dumb fuck pulse.

sexist baby clothes

In family, people be trippin', sartorial issues, shopping on September 25, 2008 at 6:28 pm

Babies babies everywhere… I’m going to a friend’s baby shower this weekend. Then I’m throwing another friend a shower in October and doing one for my sister-in-law in November (yes, Tohner’s wife is pregnant – first grandchild for my parents and first kid in our generation of Jacksons, so this is BIG news) (but not NEW news – I just try not to talk too much about other people’s stuff) (most of the time). In preparation for all of this baby celebrating, I just did some shopping at BabiesRUs. It was a bit overwhelming.

First, there was the chick who was treating the help like shit. “NO, you’re not listening to what I’m telling you,” she said. She looked as though she’d just gotten off work from her pole dancing job. It’s funny to be in a store with all this baby shit and see a skanky chick walking around with white pants over a black thong. The shirt was see-through too. Of course. I think see-through shirts come free with the boob job, but I’m not sure. Second, it was hot as hell in there. Maybe they were running off a generator – the traffic light nearby was out, too.

I’m amazed at how sexist baby clothes are. Outfits for little boys are covered with tractors and tools and dinosaurs and people doing things. Outfits for girls are covered with fairies or cupcakes or…dots. I know this is not an original observation, it’s just not something I deal with a lot. (I usually give books when I go to baby showers – Where the Sidewalk Ends is one of the regulars). I’m sure little babies don’t remember whether they had construction workers or lollipops on their infant clothes, so the designs are really for the adults who are dressing/looking at the babies. I just think it’s a shame that boys have… action, and girls have…food. They could at least have girl clothes featuring someone baking the cupcakes.

And yes, I realize one could give a little girl an outfit with tractors and frogs on it. But I think a purchase like that has to be made by the parent, not the smartass friend.

[still no internet at home]

fuckin’ A

In Houston, people be trippin', stupidization on September 23, 2008 at 8:55 am

I’ve been a fan of Houston mayor Bill White for some time now. He’s made tangible (good) changes to this city. He doesn’t come across as a career politician but rather is closer to our ideal image of what a public officer should be: Someone who truly wants to make a difference because it’s the right thing to do. He’s not a camera hog like Sheila Jackson Lee (notice she was in front of the cameras a lot at the news conferences the first couple of days after the storm, but once the reporters started taking FEMA and other officials to task, she miraculously disappeared). He’s a guy who’s trying to get a job done.

And he’s been kicking ass through this hurricane situation. I think that if he could personally go out and reconnect everyone’s power, he’d put on a hard hat and do it. That’s why this story is so fucking ridiculous. Mr. White was frustrated by the snail’s pace of the relief effort, so he used “salty” language – I’m pretty sure it was the word “fucking” in reference to some trucks. As in, “You need to be getting these fucking trucks out of here.” So the two workers (women, of course, because we girls are just too sensitive to hear such language from you fuckers) complained — all the way up to the governor of their state (Georgia). So the Georgia guv called the Texas guv to discuss this “incident.”

Seriously? Here’s a quote from the Chronicle’s story:

In a written response to the two Republican governors, White said that he grew frustrated last Tuesday when he visited the distribution sites and found they had nothing to hand out to the thousands of people waiting in line.

“I did use words that I have never used in the Sunday school class I teach, but which were closer to the vocabulary General Patton used when he was trying to keep his army moving,” White wrote. “I apologize to anyone who believed my anger was directed at them.”

Hhmmm. Is this about saying the f-word (and by “f-word,” I mean FUCK) (fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck) to a couple of workers in the heat of the moment during a very trying situation, or is this about the fact that White’s star is shining a bit too brightly throughout this ordeal, and the party of Rove is trying to knock him down a peg? White has been a badass throughout, never straying into the ridiculous territory of Ray Nagin’s “chocolate city.” He’s coming through like a champ, and I guarantee you he has fans across the political spectrum. That always scares the people in charge.

Go, Bill, go. Fucking right on with your bad self.

well, fiddlesticks

In douchebags, people be trippin', stupidization on August 14, 2008 at 8:21 pm

I found this article in today’s Chronicle of particular concern. Not only as a person who sprinkles four letter words over her speech, but also as a person who enjoys her civil liberties.

A woman was at Wal-Mart with her mother buying supplies right before Edouard was supposed to hit (she lives in La Marque). She said to her mother, “They’re out of fucking batteries.” A nearby fire marshal told her to “watch” her mouth. That is a directive that can only be said by parents to their children. Pretty much everyone else should abstain because it’s condescending and obnoxious. She walked away from the dude (who could blame her – would have been tempting to punch him in the nuts) and he told her to come back to him. She didn’t comply, so he PULLED OUT HIS HANDCUFFS. Made her go outside to his car so he could write her a citation. For saying fuck to her mother. In a Wal-Mart.

Of all the unlawful things happening inside a Wal-Mart, someone saying a bad word in a private conversation is pretty low on the list. Obviously this guy completely overstepped his bounds. Must have been feeling a bit impotent so he needed to boss someone around. I just hope he gets in trouble rather than setting a Joe Horn of the Language Police precedent.

Speaking of language, I don’t do a lot of text messaging. Most of my friends are of a certain age where we don’t have the need to text each other. The only time I’ve found it useful is if I’m in a situation where I can’t talk – maybe at a place where the music is loud or in a restaurant – and I need to communicate with someone at that very moment. It can be a pretty cool tool then. But I find texting rather trying because I have to write in complete sentences (including punctuation). What a pain in the ass. I can guarantee you that I will never write: wht time r u going to get hr? It would make my head explode. [for the literalists, if you're wondering why my head didn't just explode typing it in my blog, it's because I had my fingers crossed...]

Text messages = Newspeak.

poor guy at Xerox

In people be trippin', work on July 8, 2008 at 9:21 pm

Days after I started my current job, an email went around to the entire staff (University-wide) about a phone scam. Someone would call claiming they were from Xerox, and they would…I don’t know. I don’t think the email specified what the scam part of it was. It just basically said that if you get a call from Xerox, get off the phone or your genitals will shrivel.

I forgot about that email the first time I received a call from Xerox. Being the dutiful employee I am, I let the caller know that I was not the contact person for equipment issues (they wanted a “meter read” heh heh) but I’d find out who was and have that person return the call. I’d only been here for a couple of weeks at that point, so I sent the email to a few people around PBS in hopes of reaching the right person. I promptly received a reply from one of my (dour) coworkers that simply said, “This is a scam.” A vague bell went off about the vague email I’d received, so I blew off following up with the 800 number.

From that point on – basically the past six months – I’ve received at least one call per week from Xerox. Sometimes they’d leave messages, sometimes we’d chat. Depending upon my mood, I’d either say, “You have the wrong number,” or “I’ve asked repeatedly for my number to be removed from your system.” The person on the other end of the phone would either apologize for bothering me or just hang up. I figured, if this were a legit business call, they’d stay after me. Must be a scam. Right? A polite one, granted, but a scam just the same. This started really getting on my nerves recently because enough already. Last week, when a chick from Xerox called I said, “I know this is a scam. Please stop calling me.” She said “Okay” and got off the phone.

When I received a call from Xerox today, I sort of lost it. I’m not in a bad mood or anything – in fact, I’m in a pretty good mood today. I guess maybe I’m in a piss-and-vinegar sort of mood, which means that I’m having a lot of fun with life today even if the people around me aren’t necessarily having the same experience. So this dude (Jeremy) calls wanting to read my meter. So I read him the riot act. Told him that I am tired of these phone calls every two days and…well, I don’t need to type out the vitriol. Rather than hanging up, Jeremy explained to me that this was not a scam and that he really, really needed a meter reading. So I started grilling him about the information he had – what person was he calling, what is my number, what is the billing address, do you service your machines? (yes, we were there in May), then why didn’t you get the freaking meter read in May?, etc. I never once cussed. It was business bitchy rather than personal bitchy.

As our conversation continued (it went on for a good long while), I noticed that his breathing was getting shallow. I shit you not. I could tell he was really upset. Uh oh. People who pull phone scams for a living a) don’t stay on the phone with someone who isn’t a good target and b) don’t have enough of a soul to get that worked up. I started experiencing nagging doubts. Perhaps this guy was legit. Or, at least he thought he was legit.

Once again I took down the information, and rather than deal with dourpuss, I went directly to our IT guy. He called the number. Hhmmm, it seems to really be Xerox we’re calling. He talks to someone and explains the situation, mentioning Jeremy’s name. The woman at Xerox said that Jeremy was actually standing right next to her and did the IT guy want to speak with him. Uh oh. So I told the IT guy to make sure he apologized for me to poor Jeremy. So Jeremy gets on the phone and immediately starts bitching about the conversation we’d just had, and the IT guy tries to explain the situation. We find out that Xerox needs to be calling the public RADIO station rather than the public TELEVISION station, and the reason I didn’t recognize the contact person Xerox has in their records (the chick who used to have my extension) is because she no longer works here AND when she did work here she was upstairs in radio.

Whew.

So once we get that all straightened out, I joke with a coworker about hearing a news story tonight about a guy at Xerox named Jeremy who shot his coworkers while screaming, “This is not a scam!” Yes, I realize I’m way over-inflating my importance to Jeremy the Xerox guy. But I did feel horrible. So I called him. Left a message of apology. He just called back and I apologized profusely. Said that I hoped I hadn’t ruined his day. He said that I had not and that he has phone calls “like that” quite often. Ouch. Poor Jeremy. Just trying to make a living.

did Seinfeld cover this one?

In people be trippin' on June 13, 2008 at 7:33 pm

This had to have been an epidsode of Seinfeld. This woman sat next to me at the workshop last weekend during our lunch break. We were chatting about all sorts of things. We shared some laughs. She laughed more at her own funnies than at mine, which was fine. I wasn’t doing my A material. The thing that bothered me is she’s one of those long-laughers. You know, where something funny is said and you both laugh for a moment but then the other person continues laughing way too long? And it gets awkward for the person who isn’t laughing? Especially because the one who is laughing won’t break eye contact? So, to combat the awkwardness of you not peeing your pants because it’s sooooo funny, you kind of shake your head and say, “Man, that’s funny”? But there are only so many times you can say that without looking crazy so you eventually just find a way to leave the conversation?

Yeah. It was like that.

Put me in a room full of 10, no 100, no 1,000 “normal” people and one crazy one, and I can guarantee you that I’ll end up having some sort of awkward interaction with the crazy person.

blah bluh blah

In people be trippin', travel, work on April 23, 2008 at 2:17 am

Yesterday I drove a golf cart for the second time this month (two different outdoor PBS events) and the second time in my life. For years I’d been wanting to drive a golf cart, and I feared that when I actually got around to doing it, the experience wouldn’t measure up to what I’d imagined (like screwing that guy you had a crush on in high school ten years after graduation – it seemed so much better – and lasted longer – in your mind*). I’m happy to report that both the first and the second time, I had a blast. I don’t know if it’s because so much of the thing is open air or because you can drive on grass and over curbs or what, but it’s really pretty freaking fun. Also, I’m a dork.

Now that I’m more informed about the Grand Canyon, I’m laughing at my earlier statement about wanting to go before it got too hot so I could hike down to the bottom and back. Ridiculous. I’d read that the canyon was a mile deep and thought, “I can hike a mile down and a mile back up.” Didn’t think about the gravity aspect and how you can’t hike straight down a cliff face. Obviously my “hiking” has mostly consisted of city walking. I can hike up my pants purty good… The trails are various lengths, but I think most are between 10 and 15 miles one way. Even seasoned athletes generally don’t do the trek back and forth in one day. Eh, live and learn. One thing I am excited about is that I was able to score us two nights at El Tovar, the historic lodge on the rim. This was no small feat as rooms there generally book at least nine months out. Chalk it up to my obsessive checking of the online reservation service. Over and over. So there are a few benefits to being in front of a computer all day. A few.

Me mum and da gave me an iPod for my birthday last month. I LOVE IT. I’ve been taking it on walks. It has a leash and everything. Seriously, I feel like less of a dork when I’m walking through the ‘hood when I have my earphones in. Like, I’m doing something, man. I’m listening to music. I tend to be a slow adopter of technology. Neo-luddite. So I was dubious about the iPod when it came out. Who in the hell needs to carry their record collection with them? Then I got my car, which came with an “in” for a device like this and thought it might be nice to be able to take a shitload of music with me without having to switch out CDs. But I find myself using it for much more than just the car. When people at work are being too noisy and I can’t concentrate, I put in my earphones and listen to something. I don’t do that too often because it just doesn’t seem appropriate at work AND I might miss overhearing things that I need to hear. For instance, I overheard this last week. I am not saying that I heard it at work. I am saying that I am not making this up.

“Tomorrow is retard day, so I told him to get ready for a lot of hugs.”

If I’d had my earphones in, I would have missed that. And then you would have missed that. And wouldn’t that have been sad?

*not autobiographical – the guy I had a crush on my freshman year in high school ended up liking other guys – I developed better gaydar after that

nuttin, honey

In lists, people be trippin' on January 27, 2008 at 3:07 am

– At lunch the other day, one of my new coworkers was regaling the table with stories about her recent cruise. At one of the ports o’ call, a UT grad had some big display of UT-ness waiting for some of the people on the boat. At the mention of UT, the Aggie at the table practically spit on the floor. She was very riled up. It made me laugh, but since I’m still new at this job, I laughed on the inside. On the outside, I said something about being glad I went to UH and am not emotionally affected by the mention of another university (because I’m emotionally affected by enough other things). Wait, was that bitchy? Eh. Anyway, I don’t get the UT/A&M thing. I guess because even if I’d gone to either school, I still wouldn’t buy into the whole school spirit thing. That’s just not how I roll. Going further, I think UH is a lot like the city in which it resides. Since UH isn’t considered a player, it spends its time thinking about other stuff. Just as since Houston isn’t on anyone’s top ten list of coolest places to live, it expands in other ways (energy, medicine, arts, food). And UH is making some great strides lately. The most recent interesting bit of news is the partnership between the school of theatre’s MFA program and the Alley. It’s a partnership that makes sense, and I have high hopes it will help develop the anemic theatre scene in Houston.

- It takes me 15 minutes or less to get to work in the morning, regardless of the time I leave, yet it always takes 30 minutes or more to get home, regardless of the time I leave. Huh?

- Waiting to hear the answer on this commission is driving me nuts! I only have one week to go, but I’m feeling very impatient. And really, the turnaround time from submission to response is abnormally fast – just under two weeks – so I should consider myself lucky. Instead, I whine. This isn’t about the money, which would of course be great. You’ll know what it’s about when/if I get in.

- I have almost completely cut out drinking. Almost. I have a glass of wine or two here and there, but I don’t get drunk anymore. At the time I decided to give it a rest (a few moths ago), I was drinking almost a bottle of wine a night. Sometimes more. Enough already. The difference in the way I feel is remarkable. So I’m remarking on it. Not trying to be born again sober or anything, but sometimes you don’t realize how bad you feel until you don’t feel bad anymore. Why do you beat your head against the wall? Because it feels so good when I stop.

- A guy I used to work with at Catbirds who I haven’t talked to in six or seven years sent me a message on myspace the other day. He said he thought of me when he was eating chicken wings (which I at first found insulting). He went on to say that I popped into his head because he remembered that I hate it when people stare at their food when they’re eating. You know, like someone’s eating a sandwich, but before every bite they take a lingering look at the thing as if they’re about to kiss it. Drives me nuts (and, frankly, creeps me out). I thought it was hilarious that he remembered that.

wow

In people be trippin', shopping on November 15, 2007 at 12:47 am

Check this. I received a call last Monday letting me know that my new Mazda3 hatchback had arrived at the dealer. My car guy said they were doing the “make ready” that day, and I could pick the car up on Tuesday. So last Monday night, I rubbed on the Miata a bit more than usual in an attempt to say goodbye. Of course, you really can’t ever say goodbye to something you love, even when that something is an inanimate object. The next morning, I got on the phone with the insurance people to get my new policy lined up in preparation for picking up my first new car – ever – later that day.

Then I received a voicemail from my car guy, telling me that my brand spanking new car was in a little “fender bender” in the car dealer’s parking lot and needed to go to the body shop for a bit of cosmetic help. Um, WHAT THE FUCK? Are you serious? The car I’ve been anticipating for FOUR MONTHS finally gets here and is in an accident in the parking lot? Come on, what are the odds? Is the world being run by monkeys?

Remember the first time I tried to buy the Mazda3 hatch – it was this summer and I went to a dealer in Austin because Houston was out of stick shifts. Dad met me at the dealership and remained silent (but deadly) during the first part of the car buying experience, only speaking up when the salesperson spoke an untruth, causing her to flip her whitetrash, shorts-wearing lid and scream, “ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?” as if she was the first car salesperson in the history of the world to be questioned. So we walked and I decided to order a car from a Houston salesperson. One who was wearing pants. [Side note - when I'm making the biggest purchase of my life, thus far, I want to do it with someone who's wearing long pants. I realize it was Austin and life is fucking beautiful there and all that, but put on some big boy/big girl clothes, 'kay?]

So it would seem the universe is conspiring to keep me from buying this particular car. Because I can sure as shit tell you that my first new car will not have been in the body shop prior to my driving it. I don’t want some grease monkey sucking all the new off the upholstery. I told them they could keep my car and refund my downpayment.

I got my downpayment back today, allowing me to finally write about the experience. I don’t know what my next step will be, but I’ve given up on buying this car. The only reason I was even going to get a new car in the first place is because I really dig the Mazda3. It doesn’t take a genius (thankfully) to see that it ain’t happening. I mean, I’ve always lived my life by following signs. The signs about this purchase have been pretty freaking clear. I don’t need to go for three strikes. I’m out.

What’s next? Who the hell knows. As much as I love the Miata, I need a backseat. I’ll probably go with a used car. Something with a little bit of flava.

insomnia, fat people

In food and drink, people be trippin', stupidization on July 23, 2007 at 3:07 pm

Sunday’s Dilettante. Please read it so I have justification for spending my Sunday mornings writing this crap.

I always have insomnia on Sunday nights. The little monkeys start running around my brain and I go over all the things that I need to accomplish in the coming week – both job-related and personal. Last night, rather than staring at the ceiling in bed, I watched TV in the living room. I don’t usually watch TV before bed because it often impacts my dreams. Maybe I should be more choosy about my viewing choices and watch things that I wouldn’t mind dreaming about… Eh, I read or write instead.

Not last night. The Learning Channel was airing a show about fat people. No, not fat people. Morbidly obese people. It was grotesquely fascinating. Mostly because I couldn’t figure out how they were making it. One guy weighs 700 pounds and lives in NYC. His family members make a lot of his food for him because they claim that if they didn’t, he’d order for delivery. I wondered how he could do that, since he’s been bedridden for 10 years. Then I saw the bucket. He had a little system. He’d lower the bucket, with money in it, from his bedroom window four or five floors down to street. The delivery person would take the money and place the food in the bucket. He’d haul the load back into his room.

This guy spends $500 A DAY on food. That’s roughly $15,000 a month and $180,000 per year. Though he has family members who are also living with him (obviously, since someone has to change his diaper) and probably pay some or all of his rent, how in the hell can a bedridden person who seemingly does not have any sort of income afford a drug, I mean food, habit like that?
You have to wonder at the emotional/psychological problems that would lead a person to eat themselves into non-relevance. And why does his family cook so much food for him? They showed his dad making his lunch, and he put literally HALF A STICK of butter in the fat guy’s rice. Now come on, you’re not exactly helping the situation, Pops. Give that guy some steamed broccoli and lean meat. If he wants to eat something unhealthy, he can drag his ass out of the bed to do so. And if you don’t have bad foods in the house, he’d have to lose enough weight to get down the stairs and walk to the store. He’d have to get his shit together somewhat, and maybe when he reached that point he wouldn’t want to be so fat.

Or not. Maybe he can make enough of a living whoring himself out for documentaries to get people to bring the stuff to his house for him, whether his family is there or not. Eh.

drunk children

In people be trippin' on May 18, 2007 at 4:39 pm

Houstonist’s public happy hour was last night, and it was populated with the normal randomness of previous HHs. What was most interesting to me about last night, other than the odd trio of district attorneys who attended, was being around two really, really drunk young ‘uns. I rarely hang with people that young, and if I do they can generally handle their alkiehall. It’s a requirement for being my friend. These two were having a tough time (who the hell drinks wine at a place like Kay’s anyway?), and they put on an amazing show. It reminded me of my youth…when I watched other people act like that. I’ve always been a precocious drinker. Well, mostly. There are a few memories that I’m slowly backing away from as if they never happened. What’s funny about that is the majority of those “incidents” occurred after my mid-twenties. Maybe it was hormones or something.

I’m tracking my computer’s journey online. It’s not going to get here until maybe Tuesday. Bummer. I was hoping to play with it all weekend. The good thing is, it’ll be here in time for my trip to Minneapolis. That means I don’t have to go for a week without getting online. Whew.

ouch, that’s my head

In people be trippin' on April 27, 2007 at 4:42 pm

To enter and exit the Alley garage, you have to wave a parking card at a little red light. When the little light turns green, it means you can proceed. To keep out the riff-raff, there’s an automatic white arm-thingy that only goes up once the light is green. I’ve been working at the Alley for almost three years now, and every day as I drive under the raised arm, I wait for it to come crashing down and smack me on the head. I used to think it was because the roof of my car is basically just canvas, but I’ve driven rental cars in and out and still waited for the smack. I do the same thing at RR crossings. Every time I drive over tracks, on some internal level I’m expecting a train to slam into my car. I’m always glad when it doesn’t happen, of course, but I wouldn’t be completely surprised if it did. I think it’s some need to be over-prepared.

Of course, I over-prepare for shit that (hopefully) will never happen but then get cold-cocked by the shit that does. Eh. I never was a girl scout.

ooh

In people be trippin' on February 20, 2007 at 7:58 pm

I knew I forgot to mention something earlier. I went to Daily Grind on Washington Avenue yesterday. First time there. I’d been wanting to go for some time but was always turned off by the crowd that packs that place on the weekend. It’s a funky little operation. Didn’t feel very “Houston” inside, which is nice sometimes. Felt like I was on vacation.

So I’m sitting there having a late breakfast (had the day off) when this guy who’d been sitting in the corner approaches the couple at the table next to mine. He asks the woman if she has any “hand lotion.” He does not say this with the slightest hint of apology. Does not acknowledge that this is a fairly random thing to ask a stranger in a restaurant. She says, “Uh, no,” and he moves on. I brace myself, thinking this weirdo is going to ask me for hand lotion, but he walks past me to the next table.

The fuck? What, MY hand lotion isn’t good enough for your crazy ass? I have a nice little bottle of Aveda lotion in my backpack, but NO. He had to move on to the next chick. Did she have any lotion? Nope. Finally, third time’s a charm, he found a woman who had some. He walked it back to his table where his ashy girlfriend with dry hands was sitting. So I guess he was being gentlemanly rather than creepy. Actually, I think he was being both. A little from column A, a little from column B.

yeah, you little bitch

In douchebags, people be trippin', stupidization, things that make me want to punch someone in the face on January 7, 2007 at 9:56 pm

Yesterday I’m sitting in the front bedroom, early evening, working on my Houstonist column when I see a cracked-out looking white guy walking up the sidewalk. I have both windows completely uncovered to let the last of the beautiful day inside, and this leaves me totally exposed to this dude who’s on the porch. So when he knocks on the door, I can’t just pretend like nobody’s home. The dogs go nuts, and the big dog sounds like she’s a) part devil and b) ready to eat this guy. Both are somewhat true. I yell through the closed door and over the din of the dogs, “What do you want?” He yells back, “Open the door.”

Uh, no. I had an immediate bad vibe when this guy walked up to the house, so no fucking way I’m opening the door.

I say, “What do you want?” once again. He says something about how he’s “looking for work.” I tell him there’s nothing for him at my house and he needs to move on. He leaves, and I watch him walk down the street and around the corner, not stopping at any other house on the block to inquire about employment. I KNEW it. I KNEW there was something shady about this guy. After he left, I started thinking that perhaps I shouldn’t sit here with the shades open when it’s starting to get dark outside because that might be inviting trouble. What bullshit. I’m not going to live my life like that. Fuck it.

So I just got home from Onion Creek, and on the way back I saw a cop car with lights flashing on the side of Studemont. You never really see anyone getting pulled over on that street (knock wood), so I was checking it out. As I got closer, I saw the cop had not pulled over a car and in fact had a guy in handcuffs and was taking shit out of the guy’s pockets. I get closer and see it’s the SAME FUCKING GUY who knocked on the door and demanded me to open it yesterday. He looked up just as I drove by and we made eye contact.

I hope I never see that guy again.

“fuck you”

In douchebags, people be trippin', stupidization on January 5, 2007 at 8:58 pm

Last night I pulled into the little parking lot next to Catbirds. I was meeting my friend Theo for some drinks. She and I hadn’t seen each other since back in the days when we were in the sketch comedy troupe together. We hugged briefly as we said our hellos, and then we headed to the bar. I was just putting my hand on the door handle when the dude standing next to the door asked for some money. I said, “Sorry, man, I don’t have any cash,” which was true. His response? “Lying bitch.”

Sure that I misheard him, I asked him to repeat himself. He did. “Lying bitch.” Without even thinking about it, I yelled “FUCK YOU” at him as I opened the door to the bar and entered. The seven or eight people who were sitting there having drinks had all stopped talking and were looking our direction. I said, “Ha ha, FUCK YOU, that’s how I always enter a bar.” One guy said, “Did you just say fuck you to that dude?” and I said I had (confused about how there could be any confusion about what had just happened). He said he thought that was awesome. I think it would have been awesome if it had earned me a free drink, but what the hell.

So, what’s the deal with the people begging for money becoming such self-righteous assholes? Whenever I’m confronted with someone asking for, scratch that, demanding money (which is multiple times a day, generally), I always am respectful yet firm. It’s all or none – either I give to everyone who asks or I give to no one. That’s too tough a decision to make in a split second, so years ago I opted to quit giving away my money in that manner. There are many other, more legit, forms of charity. That doesn’t mean I’m rude or demoralizing to the people who beg. I just let them know that I’m not going to be cajoled or chided into giving money. No means no. But there’s been some sort of global shift in the attitudes of the people on the street (the non-crazy ones, I should specify). You never really know if they’re truly “street people” or just some random stinky asshole who wants to get high for free. Or a combo of both.

I hope next time I can restrain myself from yelling fuck you when a guy who’s begging for my money calls me a lying bitch, but I’m not going to hold my breath.

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