King of Tangential Thinking

Right now I'm wondering whether it's a good idea to change the name of this blog to KOTT - the King of Tangential Thinking. Like the Beach Boys, I get around...in a topical sense, and I think that the variety and irreverence of the writing here is its strength. Plus, a name change at this point isn't something bound to spark outcry from the Internet community. This certainly could be the moment to set myself up for the big-time, with a simple acronym that even the most stubborn technology-phobe could punch in his IE (since that person wouldn't be using Netscape or Mozilla) and allow the thoughts to embrace him. Anyway,...I'll stick with the Climber now because it's a great name and I'm rambling. Time to focus.

Today, we're discussing my second summer job -- passing out flyers on the UC Berkeley campus. I didn't know what the flyers were advertising until I got the giant stack. Speed-reading, you all. What the hell is speed-reading? Is Ice Climber stubborn like the IE user from the previous paragraph? Is my pessimism toward alternative learning techniques unwarranted? Am I trying to raise the Flesch Reading Ease value for this post? Somehow I just know that speed-reading courses have never helped anyone learn better, except that they may prompt students to read more...not faster. Anyway, there was a free seminar where they could coax you with statistics and then the real shit cost $90.

Flyering: The sneaking-into-classrooms-after-the-buildings-are-opened-but-before-students-arrive part actually isn't that bad. You have to run around to get into as many classrooms as possible in a 30-or-so minute period, but you're alone in the early morning (early birds know the early morning has unique characteristics that make it a truly enjoyable time of day) and aside from dodging janitors and security it's pretty relaxing.

Part 2 tomorrow...

Working in the Warehouse

Before I begin, let me ask...does anyone remember that store The Wherehouse?? They sold music and movies, just like Sam Goody and Musicland. Wait!! Do Sam Goody and Musicland exist anymore, either?? Maybe Tower Records caused those stores to fold. Or maybe they absorbed them. But isn't Tower really far in the red? Where people getting their music and movies? It can't all be from the Internet. Oh yeah...Wal-Mart. Ugh.

I have a great deal of respect for my ex-girlfriend. She's down-to-Earth and 99% honest. At her job she deals with bigots no the phone who don't know what color her skin is and she has a great deal of pride and tolerance for others. That said, I think there is a liquid quality to her life; it is constantly changing. She's the Larry Brown of smoking-hot chicks...antsy at the proposition of staying in one place too long. It's evidenced in many parts of her life but perhaps most interestingly in her MSN Messenger Screen Name. It must change every day. Can someone do a study on this? Can the frequency of one's screen name changes be linked to the impermanence of one's life? Did I use the correct word there? Or maybe I'm still looking for an excuse for our breakup. Dammit.

!!Special message for 21-27 year-old Seattle area women!! -- Don't be alarmed by breakup laments. Ice Climber is redoubling his efforts to meet you! He can be found cruising Brooklyn, Roosevelt and University avenues on weekdays and in downtown Seattle on weekends! But wait!! You can increase your chances of meeting Ice Climber in person simply by clicking the comment link and leaving a message. Don't delay! Take the initiative and scale the mountain today!!

Alright, so onto the warehouse that is supposed to be the focus of this post. Let me tell you straight off, packing boxes in a warehouse is work that not everyone can do. Anyone can do it for an hour or two, but when lunch comes and it's only 30 minutes and you realize you're only halfway done for the day...IT'S A BITCH. I doubt there is a better way to describe it. Then at 5pm you're done and the relief sets in...you finally have the chance to go home, lie down and rest. But since you pack boxes in a warehouse for a living, you don't have a car and you've got to wait at the bus station for the bus that comes out to the industrial section of town (It doesn't come every 15 minutes) and catch that to the train station and take the train then walk home. Then plop down and get up at the crack of dawn to do it all again. I'm sure right now some of you are saying "Welcome to reality, snowman. Hey babe, would you grab me a freakin' beer?" I mean, what can you do? Work fast and tire yourself out and come home with lacerations. The lacerations are no small thing; you'd be complaining, too. Work slowly and prolong the agony. The agony that you're stuck inside on a bright summer day. The agony that lunch and transportation significantly cut into the jackshit you're earning. The agony that the consumers purchasing the Travel Trio won't ever consider that a person, not a machine, packed those bags...and that person packed more bags than the consumer realized existed. The agony that the guy packing next to me insists he buying Warriors season tickets, yet thinks Larry Hughes still plays for the team. The agony that Warriors fans celebrated when the team acquired Larry Hughes. The AGONY that the guy packing next to me suggests I beat my next drug test by microwaving some pre-acquired urine from a friend for 25 seconds...I mean, if we put our heads together I'm sure we could think of a better way to pass a drug test!!

Plus, the bottled water supplied to us during breaks was expired. Expired bottled water?! Is there anything that can be said besides "Dude, WHAT THE FUCK?!" That shit must have been 10 years old! Huh? Of course I drank it!

So, that's what it's like packing boxes in a warehouse. I did it for seven days. Those of you doing it any longer...I'm thinking about you.

Summer 1, WhatUpThen 0

I know that 99.9% of those reading this page are close, personal friends of mine. But whether you are someone I talk with frequently or a 63-year old grandmother from Fullerton who just happened upon this page while planning your extreme sports vacation, I appreciate you taking the time to read. So, I'm back at my computer to continue Ice Climber for an indefinite period. Keep checking back and be irresistibly entertained.

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So! My summer was rather miserable! How was yours?! I worked three of the worst jobs imaginable...packing boxes at a warehouse, passing out speed-reading flyers at UC Berkeley and the absolute freaking bottom, telemarketing ("Good evening, are you the lady of the house?"). I have comedic horror stories about each one so maybe I'll make those blog topics for the rest of this week. Stay tuned.

What else? I'm totally not ready for school. Having difficulty deciding what to take and how much of it to take. Got a thesis to write that I should already have started. I'm living in the same apartment complex but I could swear my new room is smaller than last year's. On the bright side, this is my last year of school and using my secret weapon (e-m-p-l-o-y-m-e-n-t) I should be able to make it just a little more exciting than last year.

Crap Summer Item #3? I'm in the middle of getting PAINFUL rabies shots because fucking Lassie has separation anxiety. While walking through a Costa Rican thunderstorm wearing sandals and soaked pants and carrying a duffel bag full of clothing, goddamn Lassie Jr. decided to escape from his yard and run up to take a bite out of my ass. Okay, it was my leg but it was a pain in the ass. And hassling with the owners and the vet and the first doctor and the second doctor and the nurse and the embassy and the third doctor and the doctor in California and the doctor in Seattle...I mean, WHAT THE FUCK?!?! And how do people without health insurance survive? The hospital up here charges $250 per rabies shot. $250 EACH!!! You need five shots if you've been bitten to protect you from an absolutely fatal disease. So, because Manuel Rojas of el Alto in Guadalupe in San Jose, Costa Rica couldn't keep his dog on a leash, a hypothetical person would be faced with a) paying $1250 to not die, b) dying, or c) not paying and hoping like hell a stellar pet owner like Mr. Rojas takes his dog to the vet regularly. You say leash or death. Leash, please.

And, of course, the motherfucking bunker-buster...my girlfriend left me this summer. I mean, just totally left me for another guy. It wasn't a gradual and expected thing like when my aunt died this summer while I was visiting her; it was a hit-from-behind, devastating, can't-do-shit-about-it thing like when I lost a day on my short vacation because the plane was delayed causing me to miss the only flight to San Jose. Needless to say for those of you who have experienced this before, the breakup is the most rattling of the events. And summer is over, but I'm still rattled. She and I have reached a tenuous (?) resolution, but I don't know how it will resolve. How can a person ever forgive and forget a punishment he did not deserve?

BUT ENOUGH COMPLAINING!!

BEC has been my slogan for the past couple of weeks and I haven't lived up to it. Yet, the school year is starting; this is my domain. I always say that I don't have problems, the guy who had to pay for his rabies shots has problems; the guy who telelmarkets for a living has problems, and so on. The time has come to make a little luck for myself and laugh off the summer. Did I do a good job of making you laugh and feel sympathetic at once? If so, then just keep returning to this blog and reap the fruits of my labor as I close this seasonal chapter and open up a bright new one. Bitch.