Cross Roads

1:38am sep 16 2010

Why keep a Blog?

I suppose I do it to maintain a frail connection to writing. To language. I loved language and literature. I enjoy analytical reading and discussing symbols and themes. writing too.

What happened?

I graduated. Nobody was interested in literary critiques or theory. I saw no jobs at the BA level -none, that is, that tailored to my interest. proof readers. I'm terrible at detail work. editing/publishing. I wanted something more academic. Teaching. I discovered that no place wanted some one with four-years of interdisiplary study with out teaching accreditation.

Why not freewrite? journalism, or fictional work?

Attempts at creative writing were abysmal. I found too quickly that I had no subject for which I had passion. perhaps I'm too high-minded, but I could not bring my self to write articles about thing for which I did not care. As it turns out, I am a stubborn wordcrafter too. I could start. But I never allowed myself to generate enough material to work with before I tried to revise it. Ultimately, I became discouraged. I convinced my self I was a terrible writer - a self-fulling prophecy compounded by my refusal to practice or even seek out side inspiration.

Is that why you returned to College?

I guess. I felt, after two years floundering and living off my parents' money, that i was most productive in the influence of an academic setting.

Did you want get a Masters in English?

yes, no. I wasn't sure what focus - what drive I had to justify further education. I didn't want to fall into the trap of continuing schooling for the lack of an other interest. I wanted to want to be in school.*shrugs* Truth is, I didn't try. I submitted one application -late- to University of Iowa. but mostly I was scared. scared to try. just like with my writings i was scared to put all that emotional effort - a significant portion of my being- to the judgment of the masses. My own fragile ego and insufficient self-esteem predicted my doom, my failure. In part, failure to find a job translated into failure to be accepted. So I took an easy way.
Another degree?
yes. I reenrolled as an undergraduate. at a school known for it's exceedingly low expectations. (but you didn't hear that from me).

You said you were scared. Is that the reason you choose Iowa State University?

No. By now I feel much more confident I my abilities. Actually, I found myself living in Ames because I was living with my love, Ruby. It was too late to apply for a postgrad position, you see. Nor did I find the opportunities at ISU that compelling.  Further, Ruby keeps talking about moving to Germany. I figured I could stay in Iowa for a year (two at most) and while I look for a nice Masters program, I could brush up the ol' GPA. and, hey, why not explore some other interests while I'm at it?

And how do you feel now?

Introduction

I'm not sure how many reader are familiar with The Bright Orange Thread.

Anyway, I have a new addition to my household. A delightful, super fuzzy kitten.  He has taken the moniker, Mugen (Officially Mugen-kun).

The first hurdle this little guy must cross is the ever vigilant eye of Big Sister - Pepper, I mean.  She is less then ecstatic about this little visitor. At first, she did what a cat does when her home is invaded by a stranger. At first, he was sequestered in a different room so that all she could do is growl and hiss that the door. Gradually (not that gradually, actually it was in two days) she would sit, pearched, and stare at him. Slowly, he worked his charms on her.

Now they are the best of pals and spend time playing and frolicking [photo not found].

Fleas

I guess i really am a flea-bitten hippie now. It started harmlessly enough, Pepper went too long without Frontlone treatment. So we treated her when these horrible insects appeared. They, of course, like all sentient creatures in dire situations, were forced to find a new home: me. I found anit-bug/anti-flea stuff - mycodex- and sprayed the house. It promises "to break the flea life cycle and controls reinfestation for up to 210 days." This was three or five days ago. Today, I believe, it couldn't get worse. Flea bits are hundred times worse then mosquitoes, thistle, maybe worse then ivies of varying toxicity.

I did find a remedy (kinda). While hydrocortisone based products reduce itching and irritation by immunosuppression, products like Afterbite™, mostly Ammonia, reduces itchiness presumably by lowing the skin PH. I come to this conclusion because baking soda (CHNaO₃) is a fantastic treatment for wasp stings. Anywho, I was reading a book about curative baths and they suggested a tincture of black tea to ease the skin. Ok it's not really a tincture, but a tea bath - a slightly brownish tannin heavy solution of bathwater. I tried both types of baths. Yesterday the baking soda and today the tea. It's definitely weird to have your bath water smell like delicious breakfast tea. I was supposed to use 2oz of dry tea leaves but i only had one tea bag left and no scale. So accuracy is out the window in these experiments. Also, I neglected to record or mark a bath-water level.

The baking soda bath definitely made me feel slightly better.If only for 45 minutes. The tea bath was much more relaxing. I also noticed with grim satisfaction many (5) drowned fleas. Tomorrow I guess I'll have to come up with some more aggressive solutions.

I hate parasites. especially ones I notice or leave incriminating evidence of their leechiness. Sure, i might no need all my blood; but i certainly don't need hundreds of horrible bites always arranged in groups. if i were a more creative man i'd come up with a decoder for reading the crytic messages the fleas are leaving in their bite patterns.

I think the worst of it is that neither Pepper nor Ruby seem to be suffering as much as I.  She's very intent on not scratching and Pepper, well, she's a cat. You can never really tell if she cares or notices the bugs. I've been thinking if I'm going to live with body lice I should eat them when I find them. It only seems appropriate. Vengeance, really, an eye for an eye and the like. Bite me, bugger, I'll bite you right back.

I've always romanticized about being a pirate. I guess this is a step towards living the dream. Yet without a ship or a crew I'm only a roof-over-my-head away from being a creative homeless guy. I just hope

until better daze, Marcus

Yikes! a whole day slept away? I could do worse

I was planning on writing about Ruby's glorious return from Germany. Spain's will-be triumph. I was going to talk about our home after leaving for Michigan and returning to find Fleas over running it. My research of current Sci-Fi trends: Mostly across between The Foundation (book); Star Trek TNG (TV); and Freelancer (game). Speaking of distractions, why does the hospital close at 4:30?

Anyway, all of that aside, I've found plenty to keep me a float. None of it worth while - worth reading about, I mean. typical day-today affairs - rationing rum and retarring the ship and the like, Arg. Actually I've had to struggle to find the time to write, which is curious as usually I do everything i can to keep my self from the enjoyable (yet despicable) task. Today I used the hour waiting for an oil change and 24 pt inspection at the dealer to organize some thoughts.

I know this isn't the most interesting of posts. as i intent to mostly speak of myself. But i feel a strange dualism. On one hand I'm utterly depressed about my positions in life and have no meaningful plan to correct this malign. On the other hand. I feel good. mostly Positive and mostly willing  to face the darkening days (daze) ahead. sometimes it's ok to focus on the self and one's own self interests. (i sure hope so)

In an unrelated notion, Congrats to all those who've found their footing in this sea.

Tomorrow's post will be shipwright'd to full sail.

these days

To start, I'd like to thank all the people who let me know that I am cared for.

Like a wayward vessel upon an unforgiving sea, I was tossed about. In my truculent turmoil, I may have mentioned, like a captain far gone on rum, feelings about my relationship(s) that, now in sobriety, I realize now to be ridiculous. But it reveals in me an underlining self doubt. Because of this overly-adventurous-June, my thoughts have dwelled on Ruby and Me much longer then normal. Ruby is far, far less shallow then i gave her credit for in my previous post. She loves me, I am sure, as much as I love her. And our love is no fickle thing. ( understand that is not how i felt in the moment). Ruby is a bundle of passion. She taught me the function of emotions likes I've never thought could be expressed. In her absence, well, like being lost in the southern hemisphere, I could not chart the stars above. 

I've thrown out (stowed, actually) those useless charts and struck out with renewed vigor. I rallied my remnant crew. we have faced a great ship-of-war and lost. We've been tossed around and dead-set with disease. Rickets and scurvy have sapped our spirits; yet, to travel on is a must. for that simple act to endure is to seek freedom. to continue on despite all opposition.

To survive is not enough. In this weekend i visited many friends. I bore witness to the lives these people, all brilliant and intelligent minds, had carved. Some seeking -something- they could not yet define. Others unable to dream greatly for burdens of surviving blinded them to potential. I can no longer be a part of the latter. I see know why, almost automatically, I worked. Because i did lose something: Ambition. My dream deferred (i hope i can use that term without sounding disingenuous) by my own hand. Yet, at the same actions I began (unconsciously) to alter my coarse.These strange waters in which i sail made have brought more than misfortune; they brought new, unexplored challenges. islands of unknown riches and people. New foes to share the thrill of piracy.

All adds to the color of my canvass.

Again, I must give special thanks to Jizzy (Jessica "Jizzy" Smith) for convincing me to seek out shipmates. Even now i see a light piercing the black horizon; star. Deneb. Hoist the sails, we make for the southern line. To every night a dawn.

I know it is cliche, but I feel it appropriate. After all, cliches gained notoriety for no insignificant reason.

-Marcus

Le Sigh

This week, for me, has been terrible. I got a staff infection and my face swelled up like a basketball. My computer's mother's turned into charcoal over night. I got fired from Ge-Angelo's. I could go on discussing my woes. So I will.

But whatever issues that occur here, on this blog, are relatively minor compared to the troubles across the world. I simply need a place to vent my frustrations. This wasn't what i had in mind when i started blogging. It's hard to resist the pull to talk about the trifles in one's own life. even as i write this i think about Ruby in Germany baring witness to the slow demise of her Oma. (Oma is German for Grandmother) Oma is a strong hearted person. A stroke has stolen her movement and age sapped her physical strength yet still she trudges on in her life with all the pertinaciousness of a waterbuffalo through impassible swamp. what's more, she does it with good humor and optimism. If we could all be so fortunate.

Back to me, then

I finally lost my job at Ge-Angelo's.

The thing that bothers me the most, I think, about being fired is just the way it happened. I was professional in everything i did. I have kitchen experience. I know how a kitchen needs to run. I wasn't eating on the line like other chefs. I wasn't licking my fingers while plating deserts. I understood the importance of presentation. I washed my hands between each task. I tried to communicate to people, but I'm just not used to yelling. We never had to yell at eachother at Monica's. I'm short, so it's hard to reach the items on the upper shelves where everything i need to do my job seems to be stacked. I tried to get along with the other chefs. I just could not make connections with people. Frankly I felt unliked; I don't think anyone respected me.

I was fired because this the third time Ryan had to talk to me. this time it was about dishes. I cleaned dishes at Monica's and I cleaned dishes at Bagel Beanry and I clean dishes at home. I know how to clean dishes. Hannes and Nick were helping me put dishes away 'cause we got swarmed. They had a responsibility, too, to make sure they were clear of spots and grime before being put away. If there were dirty dishes being put away they were also apart of it. . According to Ryan all the fucking dishes were dirty.I guess because i the designated Dish Monkey it falls to me. I dunno. They weren't dirty when they came out of the sanitizer. Maybe that's broken, Ryan.

Some part of me says I shoulda argued with him. That I shoulda pointed out all the possible problems mentioned above. But i just stood there and listened to him I denied some parts of what he said but I didn't give any strong argument against it. It was the same as the other two times. There were reasons why.

It's hard. You know, you get swamped and it's hard to come up with coherent thought in the moment.

What if I did? What could I gain? Save a job I don't like working for a guy who doesn't like me, always looking for the next chance to fire my ass, no chance for promotion, little opportunity for a raise and no job satisfaction?

At least it would've been a pay check.

I dunno. what bothers me is now i have to look for another job and i don't know if i can use this guy as a reference.

It's just that i feel like every time I try to do something everything goes bad. I went yesterday to get my college stuff in order and i get fired. the day before i cleaned my place and i got a staff infection. My face is swelled up like a basketball. I can't think with out hurting. I tried to transcribe some work from my notebook to my computer for Revisioning and my motherboard turned into charcoal. I'm afraid that if i clean my car the engine's gonna explode.

I can't seem to get away. I wanna tell somebody off. Yell my feelings. I can look 'em in the eye and think it but the words just aren't there.

I miss Ruby. She could put this into perspective.

I fear that she deserves better than me. I feel like I can't provide a lifestyle for her. She deserves more than a shitty place in a shitty town paid for by a shitty part-time job. Someone to be with who can fight for himself. Even if it's about something he doesn't think is that important. Just stand up. Don't take being told your terrible at what you do!

Fuck Ryan! I'm a great chef. I'm an amazing sauteer. I love tossing some pasta or some vegetables. Flavoring things! I love creating dishes that satisfy and challenge the pallet. It doesn't always work out great. hey, cooking is about experimentation. But when it does, yumm!

You know, the first month i worked there i tried to do everything by their (Ryan's) letter, by his law. That didn't work. I got reprimanded for working that way because there is not priority. And he keeps his recipes secrete! How can I make something on the fly if i don't know the ingredients? So then i tried being creative. do it the way i would do it if it were my place. I utilized the skills I developed from previous work experiences. I got reprimanded for that. it wasn't the method he wanted even if the results were the same. So then i said fuckit. I'm just gonna show up and do it and not care and not make it something personal. I got fired for that!

I just don't know anymore.

What a Week!

It has been a wild week of emotional and physical rolling coastering (but, sadly, not literal).

It was mother's day Sunday. And Graduation for ISU on Friday. Between the two, the restaurant was packed. on Saturday we sat 260 tables. many of 6 person parties. An adventurous evening in the kitchen. I was in at 10am (Geangelo's opens at 4pm) for prep work. 11 on Friday by the time i got home. I s'pose the pay will be worth it. though, unlike Monica's, I get no compensation for how well we do each night. (not exactly an instinctive to work hard). I don't put myself out like i did at Monica's - I just don't enjoy the environment, the food, or pretty much anything about the place. I need the money. So for now I'm trapped. At least the cooking part is delightful. I'm learning alot and I've disposable income such that i don't hafta leach off my parents. It's curious, being employed, that is. I've begun carrying cash. I love Cash. I love having cash because i hate Credit. I hate using credit and debit cards. I hate the insanity of economics. As a side note, I think -nein- believe that automated stock trading is abusive to our apparently delicate economy. It's all too much, this economic idea of instant, invisible trade. I'm beginning to hate it all. Hang on a moment, 'cause I'm working towards something here.

  A woman in need of help came across my path. By desperate sharpie on gritty green poster board i knew she asked for help. I gave her a fiver. for yesterday nights grew cold. a midsummer frost. Her hands were cold - thawing chicken. She said any money could buy her a meal -food she said. That day. Tomorrow? Would i have a Fiver tomorrow? Will she?
  Money can't help. Only delay the inevitable. She needs a home, steady income, confidence, some place to warm frozen chicken flesh.
  Later, as i stared into a pizza. Cheese melted just right. laden with cut green peppers, spicy ham, tantalizing mushrooms and thick savory sauce. Steam, flavorful steam drifted from it - mouth watering. My stomach gnarled -growling- in my belly. I thought of her cold hands reaching - clutching- my fiver.
  $10.20 for a pie, .99¢ for a drink. A buck fifty in gas to avoid sleeting rain (same price as bus fare). Twenties and fifties lined my wallet with today's pay.

Slow down, you move too fast

As I've announced (or meant to announce) i'm seeking to down-shift my life. into a more managible and approprate gear for my current life path. (should i go in to car puns now?) i'll talk about my life and the effects of Slwingo the  fuck down.

Firstly, At work. working is a curious thing, some say they try to rob us of our cognitive-ness. Work does not make us sheep. but not not hinkting does.  I have a terribly naive nature - a fact that has alluded me for many yeasr prioir to this post. the more i obvere people (now) the more i can see patterns in behavor. the longer i obverse a persone the more i understand thire pattern.

I Hate my Job

Of my newest line of employment the world should know. I think I posted a note about Ge-angelo's newest hireling (me). No? Nevertheless, I hate working there. I dislike it so much. I wonder: did i ever feel the same about Monica's during my first week of employment? I don't know. If so, how long until her faults and flaws and failing dissolve from frustration to fun? 

Perhaps, for Ge-angelo's, never. I don't like my boss. I've not truly met my co-workers. Ah, it is all coming back like a rancid beef burrito from the nite before. (it's up-chuck) These are the same ambiguous feeling i held about Monica's years ago. And there the similarities end.

A consultation: a full bottle of Landlubber Rum (thank you, IRS for not begrudging me the mere 2,000 some odd dollars i made in 2009 and returning me cash monies (buy US saving Bonds)). the weight of a full 750 ml feels good in my palm. And I reflect on the congruence between me and it. As it empties and I fill. And more and more does it reflect me and I it.

Slow it down some

Recently I've become engaged to a new financial source. I've attained a day job.
A night/weekend job, to be presice. As i were in Iowa City, this some-times-er comes is in Food. I love Food. So, I don't beleive it's a step back (not a step foward, though.) Ge-Angelo's is Ames' Answer to Monica's. While both are fine Italian Eateries it would be unfair to compare the two.

I'll make this post short because there are other things distacting me.

cya next time,
- Marcus

something old, something new

Hello, readers!

The elders of you might notice something new at the bottom of my posts these days. well, today, actually. Because, starting today, i've signed up for a program called Adsense. it essentially allows Google(tm) to use their data-mining software and post relevant ads on this space (where i've determined them they should go like). it's not as Orwellian as it sounds. the third party that Google sells my space to pays me for hits generated on my properties (tho, i'm prohibited from telling you, faithful readers, to explore these ads). However, i haven't a clue what the payments will look like. I suspect not terribly significant - not such that i could quit my job at any rate.

That said, i've been resistant to Adsense since i heard about it almost a hundred posts ago. I don't like the idea, even if the Ads are unobtrusive. But i need money. and i need to be able to make money from my writing. Through this very indirect method i can at least start. *hope, hope hope*

Ok, that's enough banter.

To the problem at hand. I've been doing terribly few fiction writings of late. I'd hoped that this space would be used for more...artistic feats. the catharsis that is personal writing is very nice. like masturbating slowly with cucumber-melon lotion (don't knock it until you've tried it). I'm not the only one! anyways, as nice as it is, it's not productive.

As such, instead of quaint details of my life, I'll be posting more news and reviews. (hey, that rhythms, awesome!) So tune in tonite (tomarrow)for my belated review of Stephen King's The Dark Tower.

read, writing and play
with love,
-Marcus Miranti

P.S. Oh, plz, plz post comments. I love feed back.

boy are my arms tired

just flew back from Michigan.

back in Ames and i feel...
...uh, well i feel, at any rate.
they say that pain is your friend
because it reminds you
that you're not dead... yet.

more about my amazing adventures next post (tomarrow.)

love and goodnite,
-marucs

a day in the timeline of Marcus

/I find myself wondering through the mist of life. like a child into the fray i rush to play.
/To often do i look at my fellow rough housers and perceive the problems in my life as problems in thiers. i wish i could say it wrong to believe this is truth worldwide. I've not traveled far from my mother...land. but now i watch my Brothers and Sisters and, yes (because of my age), the Childern of Sam prance with eager vigor. and conspire with vehement wickedness.
/Prehaps it dates me to say: no Child of Sam seem to save. today, we spend. spend. spend. gone are the expansive stashies that i recall from my Brothers of my youth. take it, use it now. what happens next? no worries, you'll get more.
/we jump about with the attention span of the play ground. running arms flailing with ---- (no) care from game to unfocused game. Scandle to travisty to ever escalating scandle. "walt whitman", as a very wise goat one said, "was not limited to a hundred and 140 characters!"
/...I recall with a jovial memory, the child (quite problibly of Sam). a sun-browned boy with skin a smooth as Skippy(tm) proclaim during a game of tag: "how 'bout if there's no base" (or maybe he said 'safe'). it's a thought that stuck with me. I never saw him again, that Son of Sam, child of my Brother. but the perplexity on his playmates faces said: 'what (as all immigrant childern ask) why would you want to play with not a safe place to run - to retreat to?

Adventures in a timeline of Marc

*GRUMBLE*

Ok, so you know how t'other day when i didn't post the new Munchausen tale because i was studing for my GREs? Well, as it turns out, i wasn't allowed to take them, 'cause i registered as Marcus Miranti, not William Marcus Miranti (the name on all my I.D.). Not only is it a major set-back for I, I now hafta pay out the ass (~100$)to re-register; during which i'm sure ther'll be problems, 'cause my SS # (not my schutzstaffel number but me social secerity number) will be the same, as with all my other info.
On top of all that, the good folks at ets.org alias: the GRE fucktards, tell me they can't change my name. I s'pose that prevents cheating. nor will they refund me or lemme pay 50$ to alter my information 'cause it's after the test date. But they did tell that in the booklet and online that it sez, persumibly, to "make sure you are registered as your legal name." Well EXCUUUUUUUUSEEEE MMEEEEE for not being able to see warnings that aren't in massive bold lettering. Only, I assume there is such a warning, the operator i spoke with, Shirley, had a hard time telling me where i might find such an admonition. (appearently there's a book?) unfortunately, barreled into the whole 'i'm gonna take my GREs' thing haphazardly. who knows, there might just be a place filled with information like that. Plus, i accepted the terms and conditions agreement, so, legally, they can tell me to piss off. Which they did.

sigh.

Ruby sez that they are in the wrong because i've always associated my self with the name Marcus instead of William. I'm sure that if Shirly knew all about my life, she'd agree.
Sometimes i feel like the whole academic system is a grandiose test meant to rule out the weak. like just being able to take the GREs is a test in of itself.
Or meeby it's just my life.

Anyway, In addition to dealing with that nonsence, i've developed an acute craving for Diablo 2. so my Munchausen chaptorial (serial) has been redused to mere scenes. I wounder if Dickens ever had these kinda problems? like getting distracted from Bleak House reading better novels or whatever victorians did for distraction from tuberculosis and sexual repression.

-Marcus William
p.s. Munchausen updates tomorrow. (or tonite, if my lvl 20 paladin can make it through ACT 2 without being beset upon by vicious Players)

Another Week

another 6 drinks and another week flies by!
i'm beginning to think this once a week thing is too far-in-between. it's another great break-through for me: i'm announcing a bi-weekly update and a bonus up, date when ever the fuck i feel like it.
anyways, this is only really exciting to me.
oh... another piece of news (today is sponcered by the word: "another" btw) i reported a while ago that i've got ADD and i've been suprised by the differencing reactions i've had to stimuli as compared to other people effected by the same stimuli. anyways, i'm trying something new: where i replace the methol- group prescription with another stimulate. ...no, not Crystal meth, but coffee. specifically caffeine. it's only been a day but the effects of three cups of coffee were, from my perspective, similar to Ritalin. curious.
i wanna write poem. i'm plan to entitle it "ode to gin" (at least a working title). something for next week perhaps.

(or later tonite)

-marcus

Horray!

i found me a beer that tastes better as it warms, which is good 'cause i just put Ruby, my GF down fer the night. She's had her wisdom teeth pull and is, well, painfully awake, but blistfully unpained. she's an amazing thing that buetiful creature. it takes her forever to get stoned and half a 12er to get tippizy - the bright side being that she can be higher then apollo on oxicodine and still be like normal. I've often thought she'd be a great dealer if she had the will for it. anyway i party myself at soem BIOSHOCK tonight, tho i know i promised writings. sry.

anyway, grammer national socialist leeg (nazi), try an' catch me!

-boo! ya! marcus