an echo chamber for one
Once upon a time, there were three little piggies. One piggy built a house made out of straw, one piggy had a house made of wood and piggy had a house made of bricks. One day, a big bad wolf, hungry and cruel, came to the first piggy’s house made of straw. He towered before the door and growled, “Little pig, little pig, let me it!” The wolf waited for a response. There was none. Not to be deterred, he continued. “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and…”
I’ve said at least once before that corporate meetings are God’s way of saying you have too much time on your hands. After almost a year back in the private sector and my opinion really hasn’t changed. Of course, the meetings I’ve attended recently haven’t done anything to change my mind. As “Exhibit A”, I present to you these random thoughts that came to me during a meeting yesterday. And yes, they really have to do with what was actually going on.
Enjoy.
One martini in and things are going relatively smoothly – or at least how I expected it would. Mostly there were people there I knew, or rather, that I knew of in school. All in all, it went pretty painlessly until someone utters five fateful words to me:
I-45 just south of Dallas is a flat straight piece of road that cuts across flat, straight and amazingly uninteresting terrain.
Call it the visual equivalent of Muzak.
Heap many moons ago, I subjected myself to this stretch of asphalt while on a brief road trip with my friend, Hector. Once we had exhausted all our small talk and chitchat about women and work, I turned my attention to the blur of landscape that streaked past my window. It wasn’t long before my mind began to wander.
I remembered a conversation I was having with a girl I used to work with. Sometimes, I’ll forget conversations outright. Sometimes, the memories of the content or people I have them with all blur together.
This one I remember.
Something from the Way Back Machine, updated just a skosh.
I remember it was a Sunday afternoon many years ago as I sat on my bed, somewhere between heaven and hell, briefly wondering what belt went well with a single man and khakis.
Really, it wasn’t a difficult choice; it was one I made day in and day out, but today as I looked at myself in the mirror, I was stuck. I was stuck somewhere between the brown and the black, somewhere between the desirable twenties and the stable forties. I could go either with the brown belt, which like Angie, fit one particular situation or I could go with the black belt, which like Elizabeth, went with everything or I could even go with none at all.
I wish I could say that the analogy about women came to me then but I’m not nearly that clever.
At least I wasn’t then.
One from the Way Back Machine, c. 1995
Another Friday night was winding down at Johnnie’s. It was a few minutes after one in the morning and a steady, light rain tapped impatiently against the big, front window. It added soft percussion to the guitar’s plaintive cry from the club’s speakers. Scott Henderson was behind the bar cleaning bottles and emptying wells. As the newest bartender, he drew all the late weekend shifts. This was his second. And while it was more or less a death sentence to his social life, he didn’t mind. He’d spent most of his bartending years in meat markets watching the pretty people all but copulate on his bar. This small, neighborhood bar, where wood and brass reigned, was a far cry from what he’d been used to, but he welcomed the change.
Yes, I know I’ve been gone for a while now, but it’s not like I’ve been off being a man of leisure, nosiree. The last few weeks have been busy, busy, busy; mostly working with Red Carpet Crash to cover the Dallas International Film Festival. So far, as my first and only festival experience, I have to say that it was pretty amazing. I got to see some great new horror movies – the reviews of which will be gracing these pages in the immediate future.
I’m also going to go back to riding the train on a regular basis again. It’s downright therapeutic and it gives me about an hour and a half to think or write that I wouldn’t have driving to work everyday. Then there’s the additional benefits of it saving me on gas and wear and tear on my car.
Oh, and along with the DIFF reviews, I’ll be getting back to the Master of Horror season one reviews and catching everyone up on some personal news that is mostly no longer news anymore. Stay tuned.