The Hēathernet Why should the professionals get to do all the talking?

The weekend as one run-on sentence

Whew, after the episode where the iPod was lost at the Groton Public Library (which happened to be the first time we visited so it's too bad the experience was soiled) we still had plenty of weekend left to accomplish out here in Connecticut: We visited my high school friends Chris and Alexis who just moved back to Groton and we had dinner and played a monster long game of Trivial Pursuit where I was good at the sports questions which is strange because I never was as a kid but that's besides the point (well, points, I'm making this one sentence after all) but that was just yesterday and now it is today where after Michelle came home from work, she has to work a lot of overtime, we went for lunch at one of the casinos and tried out Fuddrucker's which we both agreed turns out to challenge five guys in deliciousness and then we came home and while Michelle hemmed her dress for one of the millions of weddings we have to go to this year I neatened up the living room a bit and when those chores were finished we gave in to our cravings for Chinese food which we have had for weeks so we decided to get it out of the way and boy was that good so things are pretty good already but we just finished up this whole weekend of fun by playing a good round of Lego Rock Band which we just bought on Friday night as a part of our we haven't gotten video games in a while pre-celebration (while I picked up Halo: Reach for myself in a moment of nostalgia for good Oswego days gone by) so in short (wait, no, not short, long) I would understand if you can't understand this sentence one bit but that you could understand that we're happy and tired and that it is time for bed. Goodnight.

Positive notes

I am beating back the crushing, crushing, feeling of defeat that I've got from work today. I want to whine about real life and jobs so bad, but I won't do it. I won't.

Tonight's project then, is to make a list. A list of 10 things that make me really happy. Like, no matter what. Even tonight.

1. Michelle: We met after work at the grocery store for our weekly shop and I arrived at the Big Y in full on mope. A lot of times I work really hard at moping because I want you to notice and feel bad for my but today I didn't even have to try. I was tired and wanted to cry. We took care of that. Michelle was on a mission. Normally deciding meals for two is pure torture (and Ruby Tuesdays is just such an easier option) but tonight our decisions were quick and snappy. Did I say our decisions? I had nothing to do with it this week. Within minutes Michelle was brewing up an idea for a Buffalo Chicken pizza. We picked up some hot sauce cured cheddar cheese, a pack of organic chicken tenders, a bottle of fancy buffalo wing sauce, and a Big Y whole wheat ready-to-rollout pizza dough. This pizza was so delicious it survived the catastrophe of an ungreased cookie sheet and made it to our hungry, happy mouths-- albeit in torn off pieces.
2. Food: I'm always fascinated by the judging that occurs on food contest TV shows. There's always some flavor that didn't quite come out in the cooking, or another that overpowered the dish, or poorly cut meat. I would be incapable of taking a snobby little bite. I eat anything, with anything, any time. I would probably say, "This tastes freaking good, pass the ketchup!'
3. Jack: I'm sorry. I have to take a break from this brief train of thought and comment that my cat has joined me in the office to lay in his bed behind me. Michelle is in the living room watching TV and moments ago he was sleeping behind her head on the back of the couch. He will take turns in each room as long as his humans are split up in the apartment. Perhaps even cuter still he sometimes figures out a half way point between the two of us somewhere in the hallway and wait there for his family to be together again.
4. My car: I have loved all of my cars. I think each successive vehicle has grown larger in size as a testament to my fondness for my mobile sanctuaries. The Element is by far my favorite --| Hang on, Michelle just walked in and I told her what I was working on and why and I got some snide comment about where her place was on the list and then we traded some rude quips at each other and then she left for another room and Jack got up to go sit between us in the hall... see what I'm saying? This is the life. |-- So, right, even though my car costs me over 200 dollars in gas each month I rarely, if ever, covet anything else on the road.
5. Podcasts!: I love commuting for this simple fact: 80 minutes every day to listen to my iPod. I shared The Nerdist already but my favorite has to be The Dan Patrick Show. That's probably because it's not a podcast but a real daily radio broadcast put up on the internets for free. Dan Patrick has taken the great product he had at ESPN and really improved on it by letting his production crew become personalities. His crew has tremendous chemistry and since I have so few dude friends out here in Connecticut his Danettes have become my pseudo-homies. I'm sorry, you find a better word than "homies" there.
6. Jokes! Precisely what they are.
7. Seeing my results: There is nothing in the world quite like imagining an idea and then realizing it. Every time I toss together a website, every time I post a comic, every time I have created a Photoshop for a school project or cheesy Christmas gift-- when I have that moment that I've finished I can't look away. Even these past few days I can't stop calling up my own website to see how different it is.
8. The way socks feel when you put them on late at night after a full day of wearing sandals on the beach especially if your feet got a little wet: Really, most of the time they have to be the most annoying human garment because you always have to find two but in that one moment they are king.
9. The Ahnert Family: No one will argue this. We are one of a kind.
10. And now? My day off begins: I am so glad I don't have to go in to work tomorrow because right now I'm not sure I could. Thanks to this list I'm still excited to wake up tomorrow. The truth is I'm also excited to stop into Target tomorrow. Weezer's 8th, 8th, album, Hurley drops tomorrow. I've already listened to the entire album a few times on Myspace. I think I know going in that this is yet another Weezer album that, while incredibly good in places, once again lacks the slick front-to-back musical packaging that defined both Pinkerton and the blue album. I'll know for sure tomorrow. That's certainly something to be happy about.

Face naked!

Eventually the day comes where the curiosity overwhelms me. I shaved off my facial hair today for the first time since February of 2006. Unlike some of my other bearded brethren I begin to wonder what I look like under there. This year it was knowing I've lost 35 pounds in 2010 and I wanted to see if my face looked thinner.

In my opinion I came away disappointed. Maybe this time I'll learn. The face I see in the mirror today is the same one that made me grow out my beard in the first place. I'm going to begin growing it back, uh, now.

What do you think?

Top notch Photoshop work right here.

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Last day of my six day work week tomorrow. Too bad I expect to get several healthy lectures from various bosses tomorrow. One more gauntlet to run and sweet Tuesday relief.

Today

I have an early and interesting result from this project.

I was set to begin post number three with more trivial information and personal news and notes. Something along the lines of-- I'm working this weekend and here are my thoughts on that or a commentary on my approach to leftovers. Then I realized my plans would have simply ignored that today is September 11th.

Quickly my writing has found direction. Ignorance has always played a part in my September 11th history. I'll share how that works. Also, a week ago, 9/11 came up in conversation as I traveled with friends. Somehow we started a memory sharing roundtable, a conversation I have been a part of not more than a handful of times. I don't believe I've ever written down my experience from that day. Next year is the big anniversary, 10 years, but if I'm still posting in this blog a year from now I hope I'm reminiscing about how much progress we've made healing our broken relationships with our Muslim American friends. Today is a good day to do this.

I had class on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, 2001. I wasn't there. I was in my twin extra long bed, probably under an unzipped sleeping bag but not on any kind of tucked sheet-- and I was asleep. I never liked to use the term "skipping class" because to me that implied some sort of malice, some sort of intent. I used the more sheepish phrase, "missed it."

As I was missing class I was missing something else. I would go on missing it until a little after twelve noon. When I finally awoke it was about a quarter to and when I rolled out of bed I was most likely already wearing clothes I considered good enough for venturing into public. The walls around me were the white cement walls of 347 Emerson Hall on the Ithaca College campus. I was a Sophomore by my credit count but about a seventeen year old in terms of maturity and still without a declared major. This was the second year I shared one of these rooms with my best friend from high school. By some housing glitch Ian and I had been assigned this "senior dorm" with private shower and bathroom as we entered as Freshmen. We lived a wonderful, secluded life. There were crayons for drawing in the bathtub, a cardboard box covered in checkerboard tape called "The Space Cube," and plenty of space for friends from high school to visit. We knew we were lonely, too, but as our third semester together began we knew that we were beginning to crack that social code. It's why I was in such a rush to get on my way out the door.

On any other morning I would have headed straight for the keyboard of my trusty HP Pavilion Desktop Computer (Macs suck, dude!). I ignored it today. I knew I was late for social lunch. Yes! Ian and I had a time on Tuesday and Thursday where we would meet in the main dining hall with a couple of classmates of his. Maybe it was only a half hour over stewed beets but there were jokes and there was venting and it was something that was ours, that we had found and made. I slept through class but I didn't want to be late for this.

I opened the door to the wide hallways of Emerson. They were as grey, quiet, and septic as ever. Today there was an odd buzz in the air. I couldn't place it until I noticed that all the great blue metal doors to the other rooms in the hall were actually propped open. It's normal for most college dorms to have an open door vibe but it was definitely a rare sight in the collegiate retirement home known as Emerson Hall. I could hear televisions going but no voices. Just a buzz. I ignored it and headed out.

When I arrived at the dining hall I don't remember anything out of place. The walk to the lower quad, the students walking, the line I waited in. All normal. Maybe quiet, but normal. The regular lady was behind her cash register and she swiped my card without comment. As I got my food using my standard strategy, the shortest line wins, I did notice that TVs were on carts out in the dining room. These were reserved for special occasions, like the Superbowl, or an ICTV special event. I ignored them, and sought out my friends.

Ian's new friends were a pair of wise-cracking cynics. They were quick to hate on women and not afraid of stereotype comedy. We felt like it was a front, that if you opened a real conversation with you could dive deep into a topic. Plus, the wise-cracks were funny. That's maybe the first thing I couldn't ignore. The actual emotion on their human faces. It wasn't quite somberness, and it wasn't quite fear, but it was something, and I could see it. I was still bent on blustering through this day, bold, brash... ignorant.

"HEY GUYS," I feel like my voice is so very loud in this dining hall, "WHAT'S WITH EVERYBODY!?"

It is silent for a long while. I'm smiling and no one else is. I find the moment keeps me standing there still as a pillar, looking down at three bewildered faces.

A half smile appears from one of the wise-crackers, it's definitely fake, an effort to be who he was the day before.

"You don't know?" he says, then he makes an upward flicking motion with the index finger towards the nearest television, "Just watch a while."

I do. I settle in, blindly finding my seat beside them with my eyes on the screen and nowhere else. It's here in my memory where I don't remember anything. I know I watched but for how long is gone. What I might have said next is gone, too. The rest of the day is also erased all the way up until I find myself on the dark, dewy campus lawn in a small prayer circle made of Ian and members of the Baha'i club.

I know what I watched was horror but for me; it was already horror on tape. Images played on a loop that were hashed together in slick news packages and flashy interactive timelines. Someone else's story. Lego bricks. A seismic cultural shift that occurred while I was off planet.

I was an alien. Days later walking into Manos Diner I was making jokes in poor taste. Weeks later I was deriding the fears of friends dwelling in other American cities. Years later...

This time last year I was into my second week of working at Flanders Elementary with second graders. These children were born in 2003. I marveled two things. First, the boys in their Sox and Yankees gear live in a post Aaron Boone/Bloody Sock era. Second, for them, September 11th is only a story. "The day the towers fell," one of them told the class, with urgency.

They know it's a story that happened before they were awake, but they know how important it was.

I do, too.

Daily Post: Give it a go

No idea if this will work. I've been inspired to make a daily commitment to write something everyday. Even if it is just dear diary style whining drivel it will be much easier to provide content than try to sit down on a less steady basis and sum up everything that happens in the spaces between.

The opening game for the 2010 NFL season is on the TV while I wind down from my night shift at Target. Two points here. The NFL does not excite me anymore. I now work Target full time. This was disclosed via Twitter but just in case, I make a living now as the Instocks/Backroom Team Leader for the same Target that made it possible for me to move out here in the first place. I've been in my new position for... wow, five weeks already? Sharing my experience will be tricky. It's early, I'll say that. I'm not meeting my own standards for success. I'll say that, too. Also, I'm miserable there. I'll admit that could somehow change.

I get to operate powered equipment, though. That's pretty bad ass.

I need to go get the plants on the porch watered before bed. They won't last another day.

The awesome

Are we really going to take it as seriously as I make it sound? Mm. Not really. That doesn't change how proud I am of the result.

You can now visit Nebulae Apothecary's home on the web. I encourage you to do so!

The art of being struck by the foot of another whilst already laying prone

The alternate title of this post was, "Why can't we have nice things?"

Or possibly even, "Damn, this sucks."

Finally just, "!&@#," was considered.

The genesis of my dismay actually comes from something rather nice. In strokes of absolutely incredible generosity the combined efforts of my classroom teacher and the second grade class netted me eighty dollars in gift cards to Guitar Center. At this point I honestly have just about everything I need in terms of musical instruments, the amp being my last piece, and that fell lovingly in to place this Christmas with an awesome contribution from my father and family. I mean, maybe I could pick up a distortion pedal to be ironic but once I checked with store to make sure repairs could be paid for via gift card I made a point to have a nagging suspicion I had about my acoustic guitar checked out.

That's how I learned that if my guitar was a car... it's effectively been totaled.

Scratching, cracking, warping, burning.

The iPhone doesn't make it abundantly clear but I had noticed small cracks in the finish around the saddle and the saddle itself was rising slightly from its edges. To make matters worse, in the harsh glare of the repair shop, the situation is clearly causing the body to bow out just below the saddle and its even caving in near that top right corner. The humidity is ripping my guitar apart.

It can be repaired. The saddle can be re-glued and fancy innards can be surgically installed. The problem is that the "conservative" estimate I was given sits at least 350 dollars. That would be my best guess as to what my guitar would get in good condition if I was going to try and sell it used (Check that, it's precise!) and it's clearly no longer in good condition.

That's rough.

I thought I was going to have to wrestle over what I was going to do but given I could replace it for the same amount of money or less the cost to repair it seems the way is clear. Enjoy it while it holds itself together until eventually one day it becomes unplayable.

Is there a hospice for guitars?

In the now, in the know

"Comics Week," as it can now be called, was a fun way to keep coming back to the blog. I was sad when it was gone because my mood was improved that whole week because I knew I had creative goals and deadlines, and that eyeballs, however few, would be tuning into my work. In the perfect vacuum created by my hectic work week and my creative team of, well, me; I was bound to run up into the hard wall of a lack of material eventually. Not that I didn't have ideas, I will always have stupid ideas. It was a lack of ideas that justified spending my free time on, let's face it, silly garbage.

LOST ended and I had my thoughts but this Internet thing sure is hard to keep up with. So many blog breakdowns appeared so very quickly after the series finale that adding my buzz to the chorus seems frivolous. Again, like with the comics, if I had something monumental to say I would sit down and put in the time to draft a piece worthy of my efforts and your valuable internet time then I would certainly do so. I'll say this. My impressions were very much overall positive, the finale was both emotional and entertaining, and the series... well, uh, what he said.

What I began stressing and complaining about in December is now only 7 and 3/4 days away. Flanders Elementary shuts down for the summer June 18th. Then summer begins and I still have no plans. The worst case scenario is locked in for now. I already filled out the paperwork that lets Target have my soul back so they can do with it what they will.

Let's stop the whining, shall we? Positive story telling: GO. Just wrapped up a real fun weekend with Michelle. We're still getting used to being Connecticutters but I managed to get my ear to the ground for a couple of events swinging through the casino.

Mohegan Sun puts on free shows in the middle of one of their large slot machine rooms in what is called the Wolf Den. Gloriana, a country pop group that I recognized from an obnoxious promo playing on Target TV screens last August, visited the Den on Friday night. The adventure took us out of our comfort zone because there was ushers for asking questions, strangers for sharing seats, and lines for waiting... with no particular promise of success. Turns out we had perfect timing and got ushered into great seats just 15 minutes after the show began. Perhaps it was the good vibes I was feeling from this good fortune but I found myself really enjoying this group way more than I thought I would. Let's put it this way, any country group showing off slinky dresses on the girls and frosted blonde hair on the guys does not start me with a favorable impression. (I mean, seriously, did you click the link? Even looking at them now after I have a positive review of this group... they kinda make me want to yak.) Turns out the vocal talents you might think are manufactured on the record come out quite natural on stage.

Gloriana on Stage at the Wolf's Den, Mohegan Sun

Also swinging through the Sun was none other than Conan O'Brien and his Legally Prohibited from Being Funny on Television Tour. This night was a lot more expensive than free but Michelle and I have been waiting for this show since I first snapped up tickets in response to a Conan tweet late this winter. See? Twitter is good for something. In this case the show decidedly met my expectations- a different sensation than having my expectations exceeded, sure, but not at all a bad thing. The only let down was when the show ended and I had to go back to waiting for Conan to be on my television.

Now you can go back to waiting for something to read on my blog.