Occupation Talk

I haven't written on here in pretty much forever. Not sure if anybody really blogs anymore since everybody loves reading tweets and snaps and other short style communications rather than long, rambling nonsense. Especially this long, rambling nonsense. But, I had some thoughts longer than 140 characters and was in front of the computer so I figured I would type it on out.

Anyway, I was getting ready to go out tonight and was thinking about work (because that's fun to do on a Friday) while in the shower. More specifically I was thinking about work in 2014. I got fired from my job back in February 2014, so since then I have been doing a little bit of this and a little bit of that and a little bit of nothing sometimes too. But where my thoughts were aimed was trying to answer when someone says, "What do you do?" (which is what everybody inevitably loves to do when they first meet someone).

In 2014 I did the following for money:

• Worked at my long-time job (then fired)
• Coached rowing
• Raised bees/sold honey
• Sold a photograph to a corporate office to hang on their wall
• Dog sat
• Hosted at a model home
• Data entry into a CMS database
• Edited documents and web site
• Sold books
• Worked at an auction house
• Created marketing e-mails

Really nothing ground-breaking but also not really to present when asked that annoying "What do you do?" Strange year, that 2014.  We'll see if I can either find something new and easier to explain to others or figure out a way to package up my freelance/contract occupational lifestyle for easier 3rd party consumption in 2015.

I'm doubting neither will happen.

Hugh

Jesus, Hugh Jackman, maybe I shouldn't judge on a crappy commercial during Sunday Night Football alone, but what the hell was going through your head when you signed on to do Real Steel? Maybe it will prove me wrong and/or maybe it will make a ton of money but that shit looks beyond awful.

T Out

Man, I haven't been on here forever.  And when I say "forever" I mean over a year.  Jesus. I keep thinking, "I should get back to blogging" but then never do.

Is blogging even a thing anymore anyway?  I feel like everybody is all tweet or nothing.  Nobody wants to read anything more than a line. I guess it doesn't really matter anyway. It's not like I have a million followers or really even do this for anybody's entertainment at this point.

So, that said ...

I moved fairly recently and in doing so made me realize that I really need to streamline my crap a bit. I have boxes of junk that I moved (some of which was moved at least once already) that I need to go through and more than likely purge.  At least 80% of it can probably go.  Really 100% can probably go but you know, some of it has emotional ties or sentimental value or maybe even real value (someday -- at least in my head) or whatever so I need to sift through before just throwing it all in a dumpster.

One thing I have a lot of is T-shirts. Too many. And T-shirts often have odd sentimental value to me. But they get thin and ill fitting and stained and stretched out. Despite all that I often want to keep them. But I'm telling myself to cut the ties and get rid of them. So some are going. A little at a time. Usually they get one last retirement tour -- a day on the town before they disappear to wherever T-shirts go when they die.

So here's the first of (hopefully many) to be sent off to T-shirt heaven (or hell):

$2,100 a month and all I got was this lousy T-shirt

When I signed my lease at Stuyvesant Town back in September of 2002 this was a welcome gift from the management company. A nice, new apartment, a new direction in life AND a new T-shirt. Excitement was high and I like to reminisce of that day and those times that followed.  But it's time to go, PCV-ST T-shirt.  It was fun while it lasted.

Humans Are Really Crapping Things Up

Maybe I'm a bit early for Earth Day, but you know what pisses me off? That we have something called a "Trash Vortex": http://www.canada.com/technology/science/ocean+garbage+quite+literally/1194398/story.html?id=1194398

Seriously:

• 98 per cent of dead seabirds studied in northern Europe have plastic in their stomachs.

• more than 260 animal species are known to eat or get entangled in plastic, including turtles, fish, marine mammals, even small creatures like mussels, barnacles and beach fleas.

• 10 per cent of all plastic debris eventually winds up in the sea.

This shit has to stop. Destroying everything ain't cool.

Peter Steele

So I went to work today as usual and when we hit a slight lull I was perusing some news, including a dose of the metal world on Blabbermouth.net and saw a headline about Peter Steele that caught me off guard: TYPE O NEGATIVE's Label: The World Has Lost A Charismatic Frontman And A Very Talented Person

Lost?

I clicked and read and sure enough lost was right. Peter Steele was dead.

I can't say I was ever a huge Type O fan, but I certainly liked some of their stuff. They also crossed paths with my life.

First, when I had just met her, my ex-wife was really into Type O Negative. She had a shirt that she had received for her birthday right around the same time as I met her. I'll always remember its black and green. Type O Negative wasn't what I would consider her usual musical taste but she liked them. Liked Peter Steele.

So Type O Negative or not, we started hanging out and about six months later we wound up venturing down from Poughkeepsie to NYC to see Type O Negative at Roseland. It was around Halloween time and if memory serves me correctly Electric Hellfire Club opened and there was a brief, surprise appearance by the Misfits. Type O Negative blew up some pumpkins on stage and there was a toilet paper roll fight at one point as well. It was pretty fun.

Before that show, while sightseeing* I stopped at every record label I could find and dropped off resumes. There was a lot of walking but one label actually mentioned needing an intern. Unpaid, but good experience and travel expenses were paid for. That label was Roadrunner Records -- coincidentally (or not) Type O Negative's label.

So I quit my deli gig, moved from Latham to Poughkeepsie and started riding Metro North down to my internship at Roadrunner three days a week helping out in their publicity department. While there I met Peter briefly when he came in. He was one of the few musicians I met during that time that seemed like he was in a different league. Not "just a regular guy" as most were. He was certainly down to earth, nice (especially considering I was an intern) and clearly funny (naming an album The Origin of the Feces is nothing but funny), but he had that deep voice and was physically daunting. Really daunting. He was a presence whether on stage, sitting in a cubicle at an office or hanging out on the Frying Pan at a holiday party. He also was in Playgirl around that time so I saw a lot more Peter Steele than I ever really needed to.

Only 48 years old. Pretty sad. A sad event that hit home more than I would have anticipated.


A statement from Roadrunner and some videos too (including Halloween classic, Black #1 -- way better than Twilight or Vampire Diaries if you ask me):  http://www.roadrunnerrecords.com/blabbermouth.net/news.aspx?mode=Article&newsitemID=138554


*why is it not siteseeing?

Another Lame Recap Post

I know I've said it a million times already, but I really need to start blogging more.  I have been doing things and then when I finally get around to writing (like now) it seems so long ago that I say "screw it" and don't bother with the details.

Notable occurrences (just for the record):

Went to see Jimmie's Chicken Shack and it was canceled.  The venue wasn't even open.  I still don't know if it was the band or the venue.  Either way, it was pretty annoying.  A total lack of communication other than a sign on the door. Then, with the following day off from work and already out I proceeded to go to a new wine/martini bar that opened near my house and got ripshit drunk.  Partially because of me, but also due to the bartender throwing some free drinks/shots my way.  Jesus, what a hangover.

More exciting than my drinking and my hangover, but also involving both of those things, I went to NYC.  It was my first legitimate visit in quite awhile.  I think only my third visit since I left (and one of those was for legal matters, so not really fun).  It made me miss the old place, but I was also reminded that it's a island of insanity that I don't necessarily need. I was very back and forth on my feelings towards the big city the whole time I was there. That whole love/hate shit I have for pretty much everything.  Highlights include: inquiring at one parking lot for pricing and finding out it was $54 a day (and not parking there), The Spotted Pig, a party at my friend Todd's, bagels (good ones), little sleep, drinks everywhere (until 4am), Holiday Cocktail Lounge, sharing a couch with a big dog at some clothing store in SoHo while other shopped, Tribeca Tavern, Peruvian food, pickles, doughnuts, bialys, the NYC half marathon and the good ol' Twilight Diner in Pennsylvania.

Upon my return I had a dentist appointment.  That went well.  No cavities.  Oh, and a free toothbrush and whatnot.  That's always good.

I also watched laser eye surgery.  I started getting sweaty and sick feeling though so I stopped.  Too much touching of the eye for my brain's liking I guess.

And that's all I've got at this point.

Dogs With Attitude

Apparently these dogs in Tennessee have been listening to some N.W.A. as they are all about F**k Tha Police. 






Or at least F**king Tha Police car's bumper.