Random Musings From The Weekend

Back to the grind. The grind. The daily grind. The weekday grrrriiinnnddd. When I had a job, I never felt like I was really “grinding”. Not only did I not feel like I was grinding, but I couldn’t imagine what grinding would have been even if I tried to at that job. I guess that was really what that job was. Unless “grinding” was actually filing away any and all paper work that I never filed away or being led into some executive’s office and giving them an impromptu lap dance. I’m sure I would not have been good at doing either.

I don’t know if I ever mentioned this when I was on the outs of my job, but we were closing up the place because the office was moving and I wasn’t quitting because I wasn’t going to make the move. After two plus years of working there there was a ton of paper work that needed to be filed. So much paper work. Walls of filing cabinets full of files. Everywhere! Trees, forests, jungles, countries of paper! And I did my job, but I usually did not file any of it away. I’m a modern ager! I did what was needed, I registered it in the computer, in the company’s network, and I made sure whatever transaction it was did go through. But the paper copy!?! That usually sat in stacks or ended their lives in the garbage can.

Nevertheless, after all that time at the job all that paper work had to be destroyed. They were not taking all the paper with them. Instead we had to get rid of all of it. Not only was I throwing out all the paper at my desk. I was throwing away every piece of paper that I had at my desk that I was supposedly supposed to file away somewhere. I throw that paper away and then I follow it up by throwing away the file folder that that file went into. After that with the strength left in my glistening biceps, I throw away the entire shelf of file folders from that cabinet. Why are biceps glistening? From the GRIND! And after the shelf is through, I throw away all the shelves in the whole cabinet. Every piece of paper and folder, every piece of information in an entire cabinet thrown away. And then when that task was completed burning the past, I then started with disemboweling its brethren.

I felt like I did more work erasing the history of the company I was employed by than I ever did on a daily basis trying to help them continue as a company.

This weekend was unremarkable. Although, this is a website that is filled with my remarks, so I’ll think of something. Friday night was spent at a bar and Saturday night was spent at home and Sunday was spent in the loving scotch stenched embrace of Mad Men.

FRIDAY

Don’t tell Dawgz that Philly sucks. The phrase was not uttered by me nor the sentiment. I love Philly. Illy. Phila. Philadelphia. Illadelphia. At the local bar, the place was packed. More front loaded. The entrance was a buzz with grinders drinking away their week all staring wide-eyed at another boring Mets game. It wasn’t inparticularly boring because it was the Mets, but it was boring because it was BASEBALL. Moving on, we three grabbed drinks and walked to the other end of the bar back to where the pool table was and where more space was to stand without someone’s stomach against your back.

Once there, we were greeted by the worst game of “video shuffle board” being played by sisters. They did not look like sisters, but they swore they were. It was shuffle board with a TV screen. Lord only knows how long these two were at it before we arrived, but the game of shuffle board was uniquely foreign to these two and even more so the incorporation of the television screen element. We explained and explained and explained and explained and re-explained how or what they should be doing to win the game or at least score points. Finally, one of them got the hand of it and the other quit. My friend took over for her and now it was a battle of friend versus random sister.

This is interacting with strangers. That’s what we are out to do… that and drink. So we continued. Anyway, that is how we met the eventual Philly Sucks girl. She was a friend of the sisters who I and another friend were playing TV shuffle board with. The friend shows up and Dawgz is bored, so he engages. On second chance, he would have stayed bored. She asked Dawgz where he was from, he said BLAH BLAH and she responded BLAH BLAH? That place sucks. Hmmmm… interesting way to start, right? This was then followed by her asking what college he went to, he responded Saint Joe’s in Philly and this brought about the Philly Sucks. This enraged Dawgz! You may besmirch my town, but not Philadelphia!

Next thing I know, the girls were leaving, which was ok by me. And while they were leaving Dawgz was still shouting great landmarks and traditions of Philadelphia as if he was apart of their tourism department or dressed as Benjamin Franklin.

Then I beat Dawgz in video shuffle board.

If anyone follows my Twitter, I was keeping up a pretty good record of what we were experiencing as far as our drunk troubadour. The bar we were at had a jukebox. There was also a man in the bar who was double downing on Coors Light and tequila shots. He also sauntered his way over to the jukebox and must’ve invested a hundred dollars in the machine because for the rest of the night he had credits in the damn thing choosing pretty much all the music we heard.

The first hour of music would easily be categorized as late 70′s and 80′s rock. But it was also the same rock over and over again. The guy was either so drunk he couldn’t remember that he was playing the same songs over and over again or that he was so drunk he wanted to hear the same songs over and over again and didn’t care that he was spending money on them and that an entire bar hated him for doing it. In that first hour we heard – three Blondie songs, “Boys Don’t Cry” twice and “Changes” three times. He continued to repeat himself later as we heard “Changes” a couple more times. The bartender eventually cut the guy off and would pipe in music of his own choosing. What I learned from this was that a bald man, tequila drunk, abrasive as anything and wearing a gaudy Affliction t-shirt still has a soft side. Blondie, The Smiths and Bowie? Was this a cry for help? Did I not hear him weeping on the inside, on the inside of his skull and crosses Affliction t-shirt.

SATURDAY

I watched:

Surrogates – with Bruce Willis. We didn’t watch it together. I mean Surrogates has Bruce Willis in it. It was a bad movie. I doubt anyone is worried about me spoiling the movie for them, but James Cromwell is everyone. EVERYONE. The movie wasn’t good, but it could have been. There are decent scenes are moments in the movie or some interesting ideas, but all in all it is bad. It also ends terribly. As spoiled, James Cromwell is EVERYONE in the movie who is not Bruce Willis. He is both the good guy, the bad guy, the assassin, the victim and everything. It didn’t make any sense.

Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day – Fucking awful. Horrendous. Terrible. But oddly enough I think that was the point of the movie. I think Troy Duffy didn’t want to make this movie especially after all this time and especially with the input of the studio and more money and all that. I think Duffy went out there to make the worst most cliche piece of garbage film he could make as a nice “fuck you” to the studio. As funny as I found that or as bad funny the scenes/acting were, it still was just garbage and I couldn’t sit through it all.

Salt – I didn’t see it. I thought about seeing it a lot. A real lot. But I never got out of my apartment in a determined fashion to see the flick. It is PG-13. Ugh. I don’t want to see a movie I’m expecting to be bad or meh at best and on top of it is a PG-13. At the very least, I need to see the blood and guts and nudity and cursing for a movie like this. I’m a simple man. If I’m paying to see a cookie cutter movie then I’m going to need an R rating.

Lastly,

MAD MEN WAS AMAZING

I don’t want to ruin anything for anyone who didn’t watch it yet, but it was great as always. Roger Sterling has the best dialogue over any character on television. You can hear the joy of the writers of that show coming from his mouth. They write him beautifully with a million one-liners and then John Slattery delivers them better than any other actor could.

How was your weekend?