lemme know what you think
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Aging
Nothing in this universe is permanent. Everything changes. Subjects to the inexhustiable effects of time. even blackholes, quasars and other phenomenon where in time and relativity are supposedly altered are themselves subject to change over time. Gods and Timelords alike are so ancient and so long-lived that they seem immortal. they, too, will eventually lay down to rest.
I recently returned from a trip to Omaha. Time has given me the opprotunity to reflect on my trip. Time is on my mind. I visited old friends. In Omaha and Iowa City we reconnected over the vastness of Time and space that had seperated us since college. My how life changes us. Once we were radical, spirited and energized youth machines of promise and ideals. Tamed by age. No. We are still spirited radicals of ideal and promise. But nights spent discussing taxes and marriages instead of Family Guy episodes and Magic: the Gathering cards. No raucous beer songs. Belched, warbled notes eriely absent from these temperate nights of late. 10 dollar beer tabs and 42 dollar meals instead of the other way around.
The camaraderie is not tamed. However, the mindless hedonism replaced by utilitarian philosophy. I suppose it is well; though i must admit some sorrow on my part. I've never looked to death or age or pondered much about either. Until recently i've never though of myself as a man, aged. I've simply grown over time. Prehaps i've learned more - wizened, as it were - i can drive a car and think critically to name a few acquired skills.
I recently returned from a trip to Omaha. Time has given me the opprotunity to reflect on my trip. Time is on my mind. I visited old friends. In Omaha and Iowa City we reconnected over the vastness of Time and space that had seperated us since college. My how life changes us. Once we were radical, spirited and energized youth machines of promise and ideals. Tamed by age. No. We are still spirited radicals of ideal and promise. But nights spent discussing taxes and marriages instead of Family Guy episodes and Magic: the Gathering cards. No raucous beer songs. Belched, warbled notes eriely absent from these temperate nights of late. 10 dollar beer tabs and 42 dollar meals instead of the other way around.
The camaraderie is not tamed. However, the mindless hedonism replaced by utilitarian philosophy. I suppose it is well; though i must admit some sorrow on my part. I've never looked to death or age or pondered much about either. Until recently i've never though of myself as a man, aged. I've simply grown over time. Prehaps i've learned more - wizened, as it were - i can drive a car and think critically to name a few acquired skills.
While in Omaha I stopped by the Joslyn Art Museum. I adore art. The musem is fantastic. It's modest collection is well worth the 10$ entry fee. While wandering the annuls of....
Friday, December 23, 2011
Holiday card
Friends! Family! Romans! Country persons
Lend me your ears. Or eyeballs, as it were. I hope this letter finds you well. According to my Mom, these letters should be about me telling you about my adventures these past 12 months. I can’t say that I’ve ever been very good about talking about myself, but we’ll give it a try.
Anyway Pepper and I have settled into Cleveland very well. It is a grand town (city) and I’m looking forward to exploring it more. Making friends is hard. Incidentally, I’ve recently recommitted myself towards completing a manuscript. In addition the allure of higher education dangles in front of me: Graduate School. Though, admittedly, I’m still undecided. Will I attempt to relocate once again? Or stay in the Ohio-lands? A great many challenges await. In the mean time I struggle at Target. Working the backroom, throwing boxes and maintaining inventory maybe the most intense job I’ve ever tackled. I won’t bore you (or myself) by describing it. Suffice to say, it has been a worthwhile experience and fantastic exercise!
With love, Marcus
Friday, September 30, 2011
legit post
A writer is a temp-let through which the human experience is interpreted through an individual. Be it fantasy, fiction or even the truth (()_o) through narrative, poem or coherent language, the author reveals more than intended.
or something.
Incidentally, I was not devoured by the ghost of Dave, Grand Specter of Wendy. And I would like to take a moment to reassure the public, of whom I am apart, that there is no cabal of sinister fast food mascots.
This message approved by the Colonel
~~
or something.
Incidentally, I was not devoured by the ghost of Dave, Grand Specter of Wendy. And I would like to take a moment to reassure the public, of whom I am apart, that there is no cabal of sinister fast food mascots.
This message approved by the Colonel
~~
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Adventures in the Timeline of Marc
...It is closing time at Wendy's. the outside lights are dim, it's 12:01 and a single car pulls to the window.
"WE ARE CLOSED." a polite voice whispers. The grill is still hot, with pattied meat well cooked. Fries bath in salt under warm sunlight. The mop stands like a spear in Adam's hands. It was later, that the time came to count discards and begin the arduous task of cleaning. First I collected the beef patties from the flattop and stored for tomorrow's chili. Wendy's continued to impress me with it's near-lack of food waste. In past jobs we've been forced to cart away pounds of rotten dishes, veggies and soups. Here we sold such quantity that 'left-over' was also a meaningless. So, I was then that I took the waste, after previous nights management permitted free sandwiches to her hard-working staff post hours. Seeing three pieces of fairy cooked grilled chicken (well past the 4 hour mark) that could be torn a part and boiled into next-night's meal.
I gave Linda the count, "Four crispy chickens and I took the grilled." I said cheerily.
She stopped entirely as if struck, turning slowly we connected eyes. "you can't do that."
I paused. I had suspected the previous manager's policy of over cooked sandwiches was not entirely sanctioned. See, at Monica's we had the luxury of eating damaged, burned or extra food. But only after hours. we were also given allotted shift meal )provided we had a busy night). But knowing, as I do from stories from my ex, ruby's tales of managerdom at Joann Fabrics, I predicted that Wendy's has a strict, you want it, you pay for it attitude towards freebeing employees. Personally I feel that the workers, as part owners, community members and operators of Wendy's have a right to food that we cooked, though purchased by the franchise, is by now unsellable, in the eyes of the owners, fit for the roaches in the dumpster. Thus, I did feel quite confident in intervening in the process of grill to trash. Being fired was the worst outcome.
"I can pay for it." I offered, perhaps I could keep this job after all. With a second job on the horizon and school still 4 months off, I might test my ability to run two jobs at once, and save my position as Wendy's Crew.
Linda shrugged. And I felt a tingle of anticipation, a shrivelling, worrisome sensation in my sprunjer.
Silence.
Yet, It wasn't the repercussions that I thought of from taking discard meat from Wendy's that worried me, but the ominous way she slouched her shoulders and shook her head and said "I'm sorry. and they have you on Camera." She pointed to the dorms upon the ceiling, I waited for something to happen. Nothing. We finished closing, and still not a word after the lights flickered off. While wiping down the stainless steal I speculated what being fired was like. It had happened before, in such a terrible manor that I had grown steal over my heart. Though I felt the cause to be unjust; I loved working Ge-Angelo's but I never did befriend the owner, I was too unready in his eyes (perhaps I was - I was the only one in the kitchen without aspirations of Chefhood. I worked simply for a dime whilst I looked for careers outside a kitchen). I reasoned being fired because I took food one might scavenge from the trash, counted as trash, and, momentarily, still counter-bond. Then why the horrified look and the dejected nod. the sorrow in Linda's big brown eye? surely she did not believe anyone could love a job so much to be crushed by the prospect of an other's forced absence. Well, I began to think of other scenarios. Maybe she'd fire me at the end of close, maybe Ed, the General Manager would do it the next day I worked. The idea of having to wait another day to be laid off didn't seem to be that bothersome. I began to images wild scenarios, the police showing up in a strobe-light lit cars of red and blue. The heal risks of 4 hour plus chicken. The ghost of Dave appearing that night to haunt me. A dark cabal of fast-food owners adding me to their assassination list.
___________________________________________________________
I am typing this so the word will know my story.
I hear the creak of floor boards and the chilling cry cold wind on the windows.
IF I survive the night, I shall post anew.
"WE ARE CLOSED." a polite voice whispers. The grill is still hot, with pattied meat well cooked. Fries bath in salt under warm sunlight. The mop stands like a spear in Adam's hands. It was later, that the time came to count discards and begin the arduous task of cleaning. First I collected the beef patties from the flattop and stored for tomorrow's chili. Wendy's continued to impress me with it's near-lack of food waste. In past jobs we've been forced to cart away pounds of rotten dishes, veggies and soups. Here we sold such quantity that 'left-over' was also a meaningless. So, I was then that I took the waste, after previous nights management permitted free sandwiches to her hard-working staff post hours. Seeing three pieces of fairy cooked grilled chicken (well past the 4 hour mark) that could be torn a part and boiled into next-night's meal.
I gave Linda the count, "Four crispy chickens and I took the grilled." I said cheerily.
She stopped entirely as if struck, turning slowly we connected eyes. "you can't do that."
I paused. I had suspected the previous manager's policy of over cooked sandwiches was not entirely sanctioned. See, at Monica's we had the luxury of eating damaged, burned or extra food. But only after hours. we were also given allotted shift meal )provided we had a busy night). But knowing, as I do from stories from my ex, ruby's tales of managerdom at Joann Fabrics, I predicted that Wendy's has a strict, you want it, you pay for it attitude towards freebeing employees. Personally I feel that the workers, as part owners, community members and operators of Wendy's have a right to food that we cooked, though purchased by the franchise, is by now unsellable, in the eyes of the owners, fit for the roaches in the dumpster. Thus, I did feel quite confident in intervening in the process of grill to trash. Being fired was the worst outcome.
"I can pay for it." I offered, perhaps I could keep this job after all. With a second job on the horizon and school still 4 months off, I might test my ability to run two jobs at once, and save my position as Wendy's Crew.
Linda shrugged. And I felt a tingle of anticipation, a shrivelling, worrisome sensation in my sprunjer.
Silence.
Yet, It wasn't the repercussions that I thought of from taking discard meat from Wendy's that worried me, but the ominous way she slouched her shoulders and shook her head and said "I'm sorry. and they have you on Camera." She pointed to the dorms upon the ceiling, I waited for something to happen. Nothing. We finished closing, and still not a word after the lights flickered off. While wiping down the stainless steal I speculated what being fired was like. It had happened before, in such a terrible manor that I had grown steal over my heart. Though I felt the cause to be unjust; I loved working Ge-Angelo's but I never did befriend the owner, I was too unready in his eyes (perhaps I was - I was the only one in the kitchen without aspirations of Chefhood. I worked simply for a dime whilst I looked for careers outside a kitchen). I reasoned being fired because I took food one might scavenge from the trash, counted as trash, and, momentarily, still counter-bond. Then why the horrified look and the dejected nod. the sorrow in Linda's big brown eye? surely she did not believe anyone could love a job so much to be crushed by the prospect of an other's forced absence. Well, I began to think of other scenarios. Maybe she'd fire me at the end of close, maybe Ed, the General Manager would do it the next day I worked. The idea of having to wait another day to be laid off didn't seem to be that bothersome. I began to images wild scenarios, the police showing up in a strobe-light lit cars of red and blue. The heal risks of 4 hour plus chicken. The ghost of Dave appearing that night to haunt me. A dark cabal of fast-food owners adding me to their assassination list.
___________________________________________________________
I am typing this so the word will know my story.
I hear the creak of floor boards and the chilling cry cold wind on the windows.
IF I survive the night, I shall post anew.
Friday, August 5, 2011
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