Here We Go, Again...

Once again, I'm left with a blank space for a web page. I made an adjustment to the index template, republished it through Movable Type, and voilà—nada. Which isn't to say that I don't have anything to say, it's just that it seems to be the same old crap I have regurgitated before, and I hate being redundant, contrary to the fact that other people have told me that I repeat myself. That's OK. I'm perfect just the way I am...at least that's what The Path is trying to teach me.

So, let's see...what's goin' on?

Since my last entry of 02 AUG 2006, and since I didn't even have a link to August's archive page, let's start with August.

If I could remember August.

Right now, the only thing I can remember is going to see Peaches and Eagles of Death Metal at the Fillmore. OMG, EODM was to die for. Let me say it again. They were fucking brilliant. Loves it like you have no idea. Dude is hot. Peaches was a trip. Thanks for that. Crazy! I have the ticket stub, so maybe I'll get all creative-like and post it as proof. Like, that's the reason I do it, to prove to you all who think I'm a couch potato that I'm not.

And to further prove that I'm not a couch potato, my TiVo stopped recording shows on me, and I almost wet myself. "Holy crap! Did it break?" I whimpered. No, silly, it's full! The 80-hour device has recorded so many episodes of Star Trek (in various flavors), The X-Files, and CSI (the original, Las Vegas–based drama, complete with hunky, gorgeous George Eads), in addition to Project Runway, Barefoot Contessa (my new favorite) and America's Test Kitchen, that it can't hold any more! Whoa. Dude. Like, I've got to sit down and start watching TV again. And so, like, when do I have time to do that?

And that's why I'm not a couch potato.

Goll, what else. I'm looking at the calendar above my desk to see if I can jar any other memories loose. Give me a sec.

Went out to drinks with SBC (not the cursed "SBC"; SB-C, the one I work with). We went to Lavanda to start our evening with a cocktail and found that they were having a mini-wine tasting from a vineyard up north. Good stuff, and we ended up spending the night there. Danny, the French barman, was ultra-charming in his petit accent français, and that made us want to stay longer. We always do that...start at Lavanda and then stay there. Wine is so good. And I love saying "Lavanda." It sounds like the name of an exotic, mysterious woman from across the sea one would meet in a smoky, dimly-lit bar. "I am Lavanda." But it probably means something more earthy, which isn't as fun.

No vaccinations. Lots of blood drawn, though. Next vaccination is the last one, in December. The first two were of one type of vaccine, and they were administered with a precursor to the hypospray, I'm sure I said that already. (See! Redundant! Can't help it.) The last shot, of a different type of vaccine, will be administered with an old fashioned syringe, the needle of which will no doubt be in excess of the measurement scale of needles and will cause great pain and suffering. I started this trial for two reasons: one, to give to a worthy cause; and two, to conquer my fear of needles. The latter is not as easy as I thought.

Had my 100,000 mile service at Cowden Automotive. I used to take my old ’89 Golf there to be fixed, and it seems that I always had it towed in. There was always something catastrophic happening which required a tow truck. And I always left paying closer to four figures than should be legal for a car of that age. This time, I went in, talked to Paul (who is still gorgeous), and left about eight hours later paying less than I was quoted on the phone. Yippy! And it's all good. Remember way back in March when I thought my life was over and my car was dead? And remember when the dealer told me that the catalytic converter was broken and would cost me over two g's to fix? I mentioned that to Paul, and he found out that the converter is fine, and that the dealer was just trying to screw me out of some hard-earned cash. He (wouldn't and) didn't say that, but I (would and) did. Blow me, Broa——never mind, no bother in giving them business again. So that leaves me all set for my trip to Palm Springs in October.

Maybe one of the most brilliant of all the things that happened to me in August was the most awesome pair of shoes that I found and bought. I was on one of my many treks through the city, this time on the N line coming home, and I saw a guy with this great pair of shoes. He was pretty far down the train from me, and duh, like I have the nerve to talk to a stranger, so I couldn't tell what brand they were. A couple weeks later, I'm looking for another pair of shoes, and lo and behold, there is the same pair that the stranger on the train was wearing. Yay to the nth degree. Like, I almost wept. So, casting all good judgment to the wind, I ordered them, and within days, they were on my feet, looking faboo and making me feel like a million bucks. I love love love them. Really, I do. But I don't know if I should wear them with white socks anymore.

Last weekend was the Hairrison Street Fair, which coincided with Labor Day Weekend. I didn't go, but was oh, so tempted. Instead, I traipsed around town, freezing my ass off, letting my TiVo fill up, and breaking in my new shoes, the Newports, not the Bronxes. The Keen Newport is the perfect sandal for me. They are open and breezy on my feet, but there is a toe cap which covers my toes (again with the redundancy), which is what I want because I'm a little freaky about my toes. So I can wear sandals again and enjoy it. Plus, they look good and they're damn comfortable for walking all over hell and back. Did I mention how much I love them?

And that brings me to today, the boring hump day that it is. In one week, I have a special engagement, which will surely affect how I feel about my current position, and that's all I'll say on that matter, but there's definitely light at the end of my tunnel. I cannot wait. Let's hope that it won't take another month to write something. I need to be inspired somehow to be creative again. I used to write all the time, morning, noon, and night, and I don't anymore. How do I get going, even if it's only for me?

It's Mr. Moon Who Plays a Tune

I was going to post one of those cute little lists of the first ten songs I listened to on my iPod this morning, but the list that came up was too embarrassing for even me to acknowledge. No, really, it was. The songs that popped up were of the type that had me wondering where the hell they came from and what state of mind I was in when I added them to my iPod. So, I've started another kind of list, a list of future deletions from the Pod, and we've got eight winners today.

So instead, I'll just share my enthusiasm for Pedro Almodóvar and his films. The Castro Theatre is showing his films all month long, part of a nationwide Pedro fest (Viva Pedro), starting with Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. I had only seen this movie once before, and it was a long time ago, and on VHS, so watching it again and on the big screen was a joy. I laughed, I cried, it was fabulous. Tonight starts All About My Mother, another one I'll be sure to attend. In fact, I'll probably see them all, except maybe Talk to Her, through which I fell asleep the first time I watched it, and the second time, I was kinda like "eh." There isn't any movie of his that I haven't liked, including Talk to Her. I'm especially delighted about seeing my absolute favorite, Live Flesh, on the big screen with Javier Bardem in all of his beefy, burly manhood. And while I'm loathe to dissect the movies and analyze his technique, his hidden meanings, etc., they are unique and unforgettable. A new movie, Volvér comes out on November 3rd, and I am too excited for words. I just watched the trailer again at Apple's movie trailer site—along with an intriguing new film starring Helen Mirren as the second Queen Elizabeth dealing with the death of Princess Diana, appropriately named The Queen—and I'm wet.

Six hours to go before I can make my excuses and get the hell back to reality. Tick tock.

The Door Opened...

I gave my resignation today. My last day at this job is 29 September 2006. It's exactly two weeks' notice. I start my new job on 2 October 2006. Let me back up...

I got an e-mail back in June from the guy who hired me where I am now. He wanted to know if I would be interested in talking to him about publishing. Sure, no problem, let me know when it's convenient for you. And then there was nothing, so I didn't get my hopes up. Then our department admin quit, and three months later was working for the same guy. She and I have kept in touch since she left, and she dropped a little bomb on me a month or so ago. She said that they were looking for a publisher, and my name was written all over it...or something to that effect. I was very surprised to hear it and was told to expect a phone call from the recruiting manager. A week or so later, I got a call from the HR recruiter. We talked for a little bit and then set up an interview schedule. My interview was on the 12th of September, just three days ago. I showed up at 9:00 a.m., and talked to ten different people over the course of the next seven hours. By the time I left, I never wanted to tell my publishing story again for as long as I lived. I know I'm redundant, and I avoid it when I can, but when I'm forced to repeat myself—granted ten different times to ten different strangers—it gives me a migraine. Seems that everyone liked me, and last night, at 9:00 p.m., I got a call from the recruiter who presented me with an offer I couldn't and didn't refuse.

I had written my resignation letter back in April when I thought I was going to leave pharmaceuticals and regulatory publishing for a spot behind the wheel of a big rig (still not an impossible dream). And I don't know what happened, but I thought that I would be better served if I stayed where I was and reaped the benefits of this career. Funny that not even six months later, fate whispered to me that I am in the wrong place and that there's better stuff out there for me. But timing is everything, and this all happened as it should have.

So, the first thing I did when I got to work this morning was change the date on the letter, print it, sign it, and deliver it to my boss. It was short and sweet, not more than four sentences, and she didn't even seem fazed by it. Shit, she stole my damn thunder. There was no drama, no tears, no tantrum, no meltdown, and you know, that was just a silly fantasy anyway. She took it, wished me good luck, and that was it.

I feel relieved, and now I have to tie up all the loose ends that have been dangling for the last couple of months. I've had short-timer's for longer than I knew I was leaving. It's so silly to be ready to leave with nowhere to go. And now I have to go and tell people in person so they don't hear it through the grapevine. There still are a few people I care about here. And there are a lot of people leaving right now. It's weird, and I have to wonder why.

That's all. I'm so ready for the weekend. There's a great sale at Safeway on my favorite kind of soup, and I've been dying to get there and stock up, but I've been too preoccupied with this whole job thing to do anything but go home and watch CSI. And then there's the whole rat thing that I know I haven't mentioned. And I missed Flower of My Secret at the Castro, which is sad because that's one that I haven't seen, and it's not on dvd. But Live Flesh starts tonight and fuck me if I'm gonna miss that!!

Last Dance

I've been meaning to record how fucking strange it is to be leaving a company. I haven't done it in so long that it's almost new. Thursday is my last day. I'm going in for an exit interview at 10 a.m., and I'll probably be out of there by noon. It's sad. I'm going to miss a lot of people there, but I'm going on to better things for sure.

It's especially weird cleaning out my desk and passing responsibilities to someone else. Like, my day-to-day drudgery, the stuff that I do absentmindedly because it's so routine, it's all been transferred...the knowledge has been shared...the tools passed on...while I sit and watch other people do my job. It's very odd, like I've become invisible or something.

That's the rub with a two-week notice, you know? It's like once you give notice, you should just be able to leave. I wish I could have left a week ago. I feel like everything's just dragging along. I have so much to look forward to.

Thursday night is the Starsailor concert. Major yay. I start my new job on Friday. Who knows what's going to happen there. I'm very excited. Saturday night, the Gossip are playing at Bottom of the Hill again, and SP is coming up for that. This weekend is the Castro Street Fair, another first for me.

I wanted to take time off between jobs, but the plans didn't work out, so I am keeping my original plans to the desert later in October.

And it's finally getting cold again.

I know, it's all so thrilling, isn't it?