THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 10

For today's Sunday stroll, I was on the alternate McKinley Park walk. I like to change up my walks between both Capitol and McKinley parks, as the perimeters of both are great places for a brisk walking (or if you prefer, running) workout.

The walk to McKinley Park from my place is roughly about eight blocks more distance than the edge of Capitol Park, and the shaded areas between home and McKinley tend to be less, which is not to say that there isn't plenty of tree covering; at least there is much of it in the Midtown area of the trip. And on top of that, walking down J Street is so much more noticeably pleasant when it's not packed with drunk suburbans and merch tables like it was just the night before for the monthly Second Saturday fiasco.



Gosh darn it, I just like the simple pleasure of walking around McKinley. There are so many memories here for me which are packed into this relatively small parcel.



Just days after moving to Sacramento from Boston with my first wife in 1984, I saw my first local show outdoors right here in this park. Let's see if I can run it clear from memory: I believe that the line up of bands that day were Danny Poo & the Roto Doggies, Sacriledge, the Groovie Ghoulies, The Lamos, and the Hot Spit Dancers. I met so many people at this show who I would befriend, play music with and swill down generous amounts of drugs and alcohol with (much of it nearby next to the tennis courts at night.) On top of that, an old band I sang with, Industrial Hate, played at the Clunie Clubhouse next to the library building. And I married my second wife in the rose garden.

None of the bands, not to mention neither of the marriages, exist any longer, but the thing that stands constant is all those things happening in that one small piece of Sacramento. The question that remains: In the story of my life, does McKinley Park represent a mysterious center of change and influential force or is it just a place where things go to simply occur and then die? The question, I'm afraid, will never be answered, but my experiences with this place over the years would probably make one Hell of a screenplay.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 9

God help me, I actually went out and was social for once.

I dropped by Java City on Capitol to meet up with my dear ol' pal and former partner in crime Tony, aka Tonedog, aka Schizm Murphy of Inducore for those of you keeping score. Tony introduced me to his lovely wife and we managed to catch up somewhat on the past 18 years: what we're up to nowadays, who went to jail and/or died, etc. It was good to see Tony again, and know that one more old friend has survived all the bullshit that life has thrown at us and is alive and well.

Mr. and Mrs. Tonedog needed to get back to the Bay Area, and at that point I decided, what the Hell, I'm right smack in the middle of the Second Saturday monthly hoo-ha, why not take a stroll around? Just five short months ago, in this very same blog, I had dismissed the event as a silly waste of time, but had heard and read all of these accounts of how "happening" Second Saturday now was, with big crowds and shuttle buses and shit like that all having been added since my opinions had been published back in March. So hey, maybe things have improved, and it's time to give Second Saturday the proverbial second chance.

Well, as the old saying goes, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.



Of course, Zocalo, better known locally as "Chipotle for people who have more money," was pulling out all the stops, with a festive music jam and some stupid kind of radio station promotion and people who either were local bigwigs or wanted to be perceived as such crammed in the outdoor patio and on the sidewalks waiting to get in. I weaved my way through to the other end of the block (where, as some sick twist of coincidence would have it, there is a Chipotle on the very next corner). I cut a left on 19th and began to make my way toward the reputed Ground Zero of Second Saturday: the now hallowed and revered intersection of 20th and J Streets.




What the fuck is the big deal? The way that bloggers and local media darlings were describing it, you would think that some almighty harmonic convergence was producing spectacular rainbow auras of pure magnificent nirvana raining from heaven and touching forever the souls of all who journey to the nexus of this art walk of the gods. Let me break it to you in the most honest way you will probably read about it from just about any local blogger nowadays. The best way that I could describe it, to rephrase one of Eazy-E's lines from NWA's "Straight Outta Compton": suckas walkin', but don't know where the Hell they goin'. No really, that's it. Just people walking up and down with mildly puzzled expressions and appearing rather lost, with no real sense of direction and just on a mental cruise to nowhere.

And what the fuck is up with all of the cheesy merchant tables? Who came up with the bright idea that a celebration of the arts should resemble something like fuckin' Market and Embarcadero across from the Ferry Building at lunch hour? Only spread out more? Even Java City had somebody with a big ol' table of hippie jewelry or some shit. I had a vision of transmorphing into this Christlike tirade, knocking tables over while yelling, "My Midtown shall be called the Midtown of artistic integrity; but ye have made it a den of tacky bead bracelets!"




And speaking of hippies, and moving back to ground zero at 20th and J, right outside of the Sacramento News&Review's building there was a blues rock jam with the only lyrics apparently being "Hare Krishna" sung ad nauseum. As I'm typing this (about 4 hours later) they're probably still out there singing "Hare Krishna" to a riff remotely reminiscent of "Mister Charlie." To each his own, though. And they were, in reality, one of my two favorite things of an otherwise dreadful overall exhibition of social flatulence, the other being the anti-war protesters on the opposite side of J Street with the Islamic-and-Iran combo colors flying along with the psychedelic peace symbol flag. That wasn't intended to be a positive opinion, by the way.




Eventually, I tried to enter an actual art gallery (20th Street) to look at some work, but the gallery was overcrowded with suburban goofs paying closer attention to their free sippies and snackies, and just sort of wandering past the art and conversing with each other. Sorry, but it did not provide for a very rewarding viewing experience. I got a glimpse of some of the works of Rod Swenson (alas, not the former porn producer who masterminded and managed the Plasmatics, but a different Rod Swenson) and got the fuck out of there.

As I managed to escape homeward bound to the relative desolation of the area of Capitol and 22nd, I had a deep seated desire to see this whole Second Saturday thing implode and rapidly make itself extinct. God damn it, release Midtown back to the natives already! Maybe with a little luck, Roseville or Elk Grove will develop a local version of their own and these fuckers will stay closer to home, where they certainly do, as well as should, belong.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 8

Here it finally is. The eighth day of the eighth month of 2008. Even the numerology is perfect (8 day + 8 month + 2 + 0 + 0 + 8 = 26, which is considered as 2 + 6 = 8).

All these folks everywhere have been harping on and on about how lucky today is supposed to be, and all these people are going to casinos and shit. As for me, I spent the morning cleaning my apartment.



Usually I do my domestic drudge work every other Saturday, but I took today off, so I got it all over with so that I can have the following 2 1/2 days freer to do whatever I'll feel like doing. However, with the day's date the way it is, it couldn't hurt to tidy things up as the number eight, in its very visual symbolism, gives the message of renewal and infinite movement.



There's something gratifying, both psychologically and spiritually, about getting things cleaned and back in order as well. When it's done, and I'm sitting in my apartment and seeing the spotless counters, vacuumed carpet, and freshly washed sheets and clothes, I feel a lot more positive and connected with my goals and responsibilities. And one must admit that, in a crucial cycle of an infinite existence, one would rather be in that state of personal living than in a cluttered, filthy shithole.




After running my errand to the bank (where, of course, I made a transaction in the multiple of 8) I stopped by the labyrinth at the Pioneer Congregational Church (across the street from Sutter's Fort). I like to take the occasional stroll through the labyrinth there, as it really helps me to focus my mind and, in a strongly symbolic way, move from one cycle to another as our lives continue again and again in such a fashion. And what better day to do it than today, is what I figured. I've been feeling lately as if I'm entering yet another era where one door is going to close and another is going to open.

And no, wiseass, I didn't run into David Bowie at any point while I was in there.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 7

The payday fairy visited me through direct deposit today. I must admit that it's nice to see the overtime pay on top of the regular. Too bad that the folks running the company think otherwise.

We have one on one meetings with our department manager, and naturally the subject of my overtime came up, and what are we going to do about it. Unfortunately the harsh truth of the matter is that if they (the managers and admin) want us (the workers) to get the stuff they need done on time, then we are going to have to stay for the extra time to get it done. In complete honesty, at this point in life especially, I find the time much more valuable than the money and would much rather be headed out the door after my eight hours and therefore have the day's remaining sixteen completely to myself.

Somehow the folks in the Department of Bright Ideas had the notion of being able to totally disregard the overall workload requirements of our department and butcher the staffing numbers of the people who are doing the actual work. Then, when the productivity slows down and the overtime piles up, they scratch their heads and wonder why we have to work so much. In an ideal world, I could at least have some sort of consolation in knowing that I wouldn't be shitcanned, since in the event of a layoff or an accepted buyout, they would have to make somebody else pick up all of my duties, and frankly, that ain't going to happen if the staffing is cut any further. Nowadays, I'm pretty sure, however, that they'd be ignorant enough to go ahead and do that anyway, so I'm planning to update my resume and start getting into the habit of perusing the want ads.



(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 6

So, I crashed sort of early last night but woke up at about 4 AM with one Hell of a sore throat. Sometimes I have a snoring problem and it happens but usually those are deeper down my throat, and I usually recover shortly after I wake up, but this one hung around all day.

This is one weird ass bug I've got. It's not exactly knocking me out, fortunately. I'm still able to speak and sing, and I got through work okay, and even got on the stationary cycle for a good sweaty workout this afternoon. Maybe the changes in the weather patterns, however slight they were, fucked up my immune system just a bit. I'll just have some yogurt and hope that it will soothe my throat just enough to help me sleep tonight without any problems.



(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 5

Summer colds. They totally suck.

Well, actually I'm not sure if it's a cold, or my allergies (which don't really have a seasonal schedule) acting up again. I tend to get messed up more on molds than pollen and grasses, it seems, and it has been kind of moist and humid in the past day or so. Nah, I think I got fucked up with some kind of little bug.

I got through work okay and went straight home. So, do you think I just crawled in under the covers and watched cartoons or Oprah or something? Nah, I didn't do any of that shit. I got on the treadmill, mostly because I am completely out of my fuckin' mind.



In reality, exercise like that somehow sweats and works off my illness. I wasn't one hundred percent better afterwards, of course, but I felt like I had shaken something off somehow. Don't get me wrong. When I truly am fucked up to the point of a serious flu or something, I usually tend to become bedridden but even then I'll show up at work. Not like I'm dedicated or anything, I just have an 11 year streak going without a single sick day. Once, I showed up with really bad food poisoning, but I still managed to report for duty and get through 3 hours before getting sent home.

After the workout and dinner, I had a minor headache coming on (probably because the antihistamine I took earlier dried up all of the snot and my upper sinuses were now dry and inflamed). But a couple of ibuprofen, along with a half hour minimum of Telecaster therapy followed an ample dose of dark chocolate seemed to take care of that for the night. I believe like some folks out there that in most cases of minor maladies, the time honored folk remedies tend to work the best.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 4

Well, work wasn't too bad for a Monday. Only two and a half hours of overtime. I've become resigned to the assumption that I will never be taking a Monday off for the next 25 years or so, let alone get out at my normal quitting time. That is, of course, unless they decide to shitcan me before the 25 years come to pass. Not that I mind the extra few bucks for working time and a half, but by the time I get home, eat dinner and do the dishes there's usually fuck all as far as any time to be constructive is concerned. I tend to be one of those fans of eight hours of sleep (usually ending up as about seven, or six if I decide to brainstorm or otherwise work on something.)




On this particular day, however, I was kind of lucky to have a longer work schedule since there was a new water heater being installed in my apartment complex. I didn't really see any problem with the old one, besides the fact that it took a while to heat up in the kitchen. Maybe the owner of the building wanted to save money on fuel bills or something. I was just glad that I didn't have to be home for the whole time between 9 AM and 5 PM when the water was shut off. I mean, I doubt if it would be much fun to take a shit in the toilet of a smaller apartment where you can't flush it all day long. Incense and those plug in air freshener things just wouldn't cut it. An open window probably wouldn't even help and chances are you'd only be drawing in flies.

By the time I had gotten home from work, the water was back on. It seemed to get hot quicker, but it didn't seem quite as hot, although it was hot enough for the most part. I guess that the big test will be when I use the shower tomorrow morning. Then again, I don't go for very hot showers in August, anyway.



One thing that was sort of odd was how the water from the hot water side has a really milky texture, probably from air being in the pipes due to the shutoff and the new heater starting up. I realize that this is pretty normal stuff to be happening, but it sure makes the water look fucked up, giving it a brief appearance of what water looks like after you soap down something. Oh, well. At least I'm not living in certain parts of the Appalachians, where I would be more than fortunate to have only air in the pipes to worry about.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 3

Today was just an absolutely perfect day to be outside in Sacramento. On the warm side but a breeze sure helped keep things manageable. There's something about the beginning of August around here where we somehow luck out year after year when it comes to avoiding the 100 plus degree days.

On Sundays, I like to get out and stretch my legs a little, and am lucky enough to be living in the middle of a couple of decent little parks and tree lined streets just about everywhere. This time I opted to go on my semi-regular route around Capitol Park by way of Capitol Avenue. This street in particular has so many shady areas for walking, it almost feels like you're indoors on some blocks, at least in the late spring and early to mid-summertime.



The Capitol building itself seemed pretty inactive, despite the reports that, according to the various media outlets, the "big 5" (which currently consists of Governor Schwarzenegger; Assembly Speaker Karen Bass, D-Los Angeles; Senate Speaker pro Tem Don Perata, D-Oakland; Senate Minority Leader Dave Cogdill, R-Fresno; and Assembly Minority Leader Michael Villines, R-Clovis) were having what may turn out to be a pretty meaningless powwow inside concerning the current state budget stalemate. At about 12:30ish in the afternoon, there was no sign of any disgruntled protesting state employees either. The most pressing duties of the CHP patrol at the time seemed to be answering tourists' questions.


(Look! A picture! Of the Capitol! That's so, like, Sacramentan!)

There wasn't any sign of the governor or the protesters at his crash pad across the street either. Just a few days ago the SEIU Local 1000 had shown up at 6:15 AM for a "wake-up call" for Arnie on his birthday to express their opinion that they thought that his decision to sign an executive order to cut a couple of hundred thousand state workers' pay to the Federal minimum of $6.55 an hour was fucked up (and probably illegal as well.) The Hyatt, as well as various online services like Travelocity, Expedia.com, Priceline etc. must have been having a rather rough time in their call centers that day. "Hey! You said I have a deal on a four star room and there's fuckin' people banging pots and pans at 6:30 in the morning! I want an upgrade, pronto!"


(Look! A picture of Arnie's hotel! That's like, so Hyatt!)

So, the walk was pretty nice overall, but of course, as the odds would have it, once again, just like yesterday, I encountered yet another train crossing.



There was a funny conicidence with this particular train. Yesterday, I had not reached my destination and the train was traveling north, but this time, as I was traveling home, on the opposite side of the track, the train was moving south.

It seemed to be a big longer than the one which crossed the day before, so I opted to tread back and take 19th Street parallel to the direction of the train, since I would eventually be headed down those blocks anyway.



Apparently, the train had been crossing for quite a while now, as N Street appeared to have vehicles waiting for what appeared to be several blocks down. At least one guy got out of his car and walked up to the crossing gate to see how much longer the train was running. Hey, buddy, what are you going to do, tell the other six cars behind you to back up so you could move your impatient ass out of there? As fate would have it, by the time that I had walked two blocks to P Street the train had finished passing through and the gates were open, and about ten dozen drivers in various places stopped cussing out the railroad.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 2

Usually, like much of the American adult population, Saturday tends to be the day that I get to do pretty much whatever I want, even if it means that I waste it away doing jack shit, because that would be my prerogative. However, this particular Saturday was not the case. Thanks to the brave new world caused by a combination of corporate decisions based upon paranoia due to a fucked up economy, I was working what amounted to basically a half-day shift this morning.

Work wasn't too bad, as the department, like pretty much the rest of the building on weekends, was pretty deserted and so things tend to be slightly more laid back than the weekdays. I had finished my required duties, which for the most part involve pulling and entering delivery records for the following week and sending communications for that day's customer complaints. Towards the end of my time, I got to read some of the fascinating correspondence which is mixed in with what we receive in our weekly batch of customer mail orders. Among the usual fake addresses and emails, I came across the following manifesto:

"The dead & returned Dead are Al Quaeda. The USA must die. Bring us the $40 million at the Hearst Gate & you all can live. I have extorted 200 firms... We have the necessary $ for our uprising... Barak (sic) Obama & the Germans back us. I used to work for Clinton now its Barak Obama... Bring me & the Sacramento Dead Council the $ or we will have to have community center meetings against you... Barak Obama and the Germans talk to us through telepathy... We popped the Sacramento girl cop to send you a message... This will be like the 1916 Dublin Easter uprising Germany backed to end WWI England..."

Somebody took the time to scribble all of that down and walked their sorry ass to a mailbox just to send that to us. Wow.

I asked one of the managers if we have any kind of special procedure in dealing with extortion attempts, and she mentioned that this person tends to mail in this type of rant on pretty much a weekly basis, and that the communications are relegated to the circular file. So, tough break buddy, no 40 mil waiting for you in Berkeley this week. Hope that you at least got your SSI check cashed by your payee this month without any problems. Hey, at least you made me laugh. However, everybody else who has had to read the shit seems pretty bored with the whole shtick by now, so maybe you need to take a break for a while.

After work, it was still before noon so I decided to do my usual routine and walk over to get my weekly smoothie up the street. As timing would have it, the railroad decided to run a freight through.



If you aren't familiar with Midtown Sacramento, here's the deal: right between 19th and 20th streets there is a single track cutting right through the central city pretty much from north to south. At any given time 24/7, the railroad will decide to run a train consisting of, oh, anywhere between 100 to 300 or so various types of freight cars, holding up not only vehicles but also all of the foot traffic through pretty much every cross street from C Street to Broadway on down.

If you were on J Street as I was, for example, you would probably save time by walking all the way back to the RT station at 23rd and R Street and hopping the train which goes on an overpass, thus bypassing the locomotive hauled monstrosity crawling its way along the rails through town at the moment.

I don't have that much of a problem with waiting for the train to pass, but I did find it amusing when I noticed at least 3 or 4 people waiting along with me who were frantically dialing up their cell phones, presumably to tell somebody, "Hey so-and-so, hi, hey I'm waiting for this fuckin' train to pass so I'm on my way, 'K? Bye." Reminds me of one of the reasons I'm glad that I no longer have a cell phone anymore. Yeah, the wait wasn't actually so bad, but looking back, I really wish that I'd had some Utah Phillips or at least some Johnny Cash on shuffle play while I was waiting.

Later, with train passed, and smoothie in hand, I dropped by the local supermarket for my semi-weekly one dollar donation to help California's schools. But I didn't have a dollar for the automated ticket machine, so to break a twenty, I picked up a couple of boxes of cereal on sale. Don't you just hate spacing out in the morning and realizing that you're out of cereal and forgot to keep it in stock? Well, I do. So I made sure that I'm corn flaked for at least the next month or so.

I finally got around to seeing Neil Young's film called Greendale . I didn't really have any assumptions on what I expected to see, and in the end I was actually pretty impressed. The film does, however, deliver a semi-chaotic list of messages re: art, the media, society, small-town America, consumerism, and ultimately the environment and I was wondering how mainstream American audiences would sum it up. A rock opera taken to a new level? An 83 minute music video segment? Something that would whiz over the heads of 99.6 percent of folks who are spoon fed digitally enhanced plot starved summer blockbuster extravaganzas disguised as legitimate entertainment? Who knows and who gives a fuck? I got the messages loud and clear, but then again, I'm nuts.

This evening I ran through a mixed bag of covers and originals on acoustic guitar. I normally plug in my electrics during the rest of the week, but I try to play the acoustic at least once so that I can keep in practice in that area, plus it's good for my fingers to fuck them up on an acoustic fretboard on occasion.

Tomorrow is another day. And I can actually use it in its entirety on my own decision. Lucky me.

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - DAY 1

Well, the rent's paid.

I have no debts, as the bills are paid as well.

I have a job that I don't hate.

See? I can be positive sometimes.

Today was just another routine day of waking, working, going home. I managed to do my morning workout but no afternoon stuff since I had laundry to do. I like to get ahold of the washing machines in my apartment complex on Friday because usually "normal" people are going out that night, and usually don't give a shit about stuff like chores. There have been times of exception to my theory, however.

One night I tried to get a wash load in at about 4 PM but both machines were being used, as well as the dryers. No problem, I assumed, but a couple of hours later there was still another load going. It wasn't until 11:30 PM that I finally got a washer and when I took my clothes out of the dryer at 1:30 AM, there were two washers loaded and, I had figured, whoever was washing was waiting for the dryer to be open! Now that's what I call backed up!

Work is a lot of fun lately. A few months ago, the company decided to save long term costs by offering voluntary buyouts to a whole shitload of people, and half of the ones that were accepted company-wide were from employees in my division. I had also been given an offer (about 21 weeks of pay, with the standard tax deductions) but I didn't feel like it was enough money to bother looking for another job and so I considered it a non-offer. But as it turned out, I ended up taking duties from not only 2 people who left but also people whose duties were restructured for some stupid reason and now, as if I wasn't overloaded before, my card is beyond full now for the whole week. Well, at least I know that I'm a valued employee.

Of course, the Department of Bright Ideas at the parent corporation level decided to add even more, um, excitement and challenge to our work environment by instituting layoffs of about 10 percent of the national workforce. Because of the previous buyouts being so popular among the co-workers of my division, they only shitcanned one of us. However, this happened to be somebody who was dependable and worked on weekends. As a result of the layoff, a few of us are taking alternating weekend days once a month to cover the ex-part timer's duties.

The fact that we have to do this isn't so bad for us personally as employees, but it seems to defeat the purpose. In my case, I am a full time employee and once I go over my full day or week of regular hours, I'm making time and a half, just like a lot of full-timers do. It has been suggested by my boss that I could take off a few hours early to save the overtime, but the harsh reality is that if the managers want all of this work done I have no choice but to stick around and do it. This is now the case with many of the remaining full time employees. In reality, for what they are paying us in overtime, they could have paid two part-timers, or at the very least could have given generous hours to one person and still have avoided paying medical and other full time benefits. Way to go, corporate leadership!

Nope, I can't complain myself, though. I like the folks at my level, up to and including the managers and executives in my division. I think that I'm lucky to be around people who want to work hard to make us successful. I just hope that the corporate hierarchy doesn't keep coming in and fucking shit up just because they're panicking over the stock price.

That said, I'd better get some rest sooner or later, because tomorrow it's my turn to justify why canning the part-timer was such an intelligent cost-cutting measure. Oh, and on an interesting note, I was supposed to leave at noon or so to "comp" for the weekend hours that I'd be working. I ended up having to stay almost a half hour past my normally scheduled time to leave (an 8 1/2 hour day, counting my unpaid meal break.)

(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)

THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™ - INTRODUCTION

Starting August 1, 2008, I will be undergoing a very special project I have named THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For 31 days, I will share, at the end of each and every one of those days, what will probably amount to a bunch of the ordinary and dull things that make up my everyday world. I would have thrown the word “normal” into that previous sentence somewhere but consider the source.

I was inspired to undertake this writing challenge due to the abundance of blogs I’ve been checking out over recent times which basically consist of entries written about the blogger’s new house, or their job, how much they had to pay to gas up their car, or some stupid thing their kid or lover or pet did or said that day. Sure, everybody has a right to write about whatever the fuck they want in their weblog, but really, as for the actual 24/7 mundane bloggers who are trying to get everybody and their grandmother to Digg all their entries or nominate them for some bullshit online award, or they’re thinking that they are special enough to be covered by the local media pigs or whatever just because they have enough free time to share their boring ass life events with the entire fuckin’ Internet, no, sorry, I’m thinking that people in that element should be ridiculed and discouraged at every opportunity. In a perfect world, they’d also be lined up and shot at the knees, but even I’d agree that would be a bit extreme, and besides, they’d just go on and on in inane detail on their blogs about getting shot, the ambulance ride, having to turn off their cell phone at the hospital, how fucked up their spouse was for forgetting to Tivo this week’s episode of Lost because they were in surgery, etc.

That said, hopefully I can be as languid and insignificant in the month of postings as the folks I’m trying to emulate. Yes, this will be a true test of my endurance and ability to avoid showing even one speck of humility, but one never knows what one is truly made of until he or she tries, gosh darn it. So here we go. Let the humdrum begin.

P.S. Of course, to create as authentically mundane an effect as possible, I will try to post some uninteresting photos on occasion as well.

(GENTLE NOTE OF GUIDANCE: If you have way too much free time on your hands, and you'd like to read the entire month of posts in their logical sequence, at the lower left hand of this introductory post, you will see a link labeled "Newer Post". Click it, and when you're done reading each day, repeat the process.)

UPDATE: MAYBE I AM ACTUALLY RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR!

It's a great lil' service, this here Internet. In only a matter of days, I've gone from making a wise ass blog remark about running for governor of California, to actually running. At least that's what my esteemed colleague ToneDog666, a.k.a. the blogmeister of The Evil I Spread, is trying to encourage me to do. Now Tony and I go back a whiles, and although it's been years and we've only been catching up recently, I can tell you 2 things:

1. ToneDog was always the best kind of friend and this kind of gesture shows just what kind of a guy he is.

2. This gesture is actually something that I've always known as "fucking with my shit", and hey, only good friends could get away with doing this to me.

Anyway, ToneDog emailed me the following (as accurately posted on his blog):

"Below is the actual email I sent him, let hope this is one of those historic moments and not just more shit on the net.
"Lets do it, I will help anyway I can. They can do a lot worse. We can have a fundraiser for the $3500 and get bands and celebs to back you. You are always bitching about whats wrong now its time to put up or shut up. And even if you don't make it very far think of all the chaos and disruption we could cause while getting you there, and just think if for some fucked up twist of fate you did make it.....god help anyone who is not on your side.
Gov. Michael Psycho. "

Gee, looks he's really got me over a barrel, eh?

Okay, if you're going to taunt me, at least do it with a knowledge of the election laws. So let me show you how it's done. And I'll also show you the part about knowing the election laws too.

OK, campaign manager - Here's how it works. If more than $1000.00 is raised for any campaign, we have to open a bank account and go through all kinds of bullshit regulations and reporting (which is state law. And that's included in the same state information link you were reading.) Does that mean that I can't run? No, Shawn Eldredge ran for mayor of Sacramento while avoiding that limit.

Does this mean that I can't pay the 3500 dollars? Nope, I can draft a cashiers' check at my bank tomorrow and walk across the park to Debra Bowen's office and file. BUT... here's where you come in...

I'm speaking to you directly now, T. Since I'm willing to put up, that is, as in put up my money out of pocket, you put YOUR promise up where your keyboard fingers are and collect the 10,000 registered voter signatures to put me on the ballot in lieu of the $3500.00. THEN, if you can prove to me that all of the signatures are valid, you will save me the 3500 bucks. And I won't have to spend it. That's fair enough. Hell, back when I was petitioning for pay I averaged about 35 cents a signature and collected WAY more than that. By the math, .35 times 10000 is a grand total of $3500.00. If that isn't a fair deal I don't know what is.

Oh, yeah, they also have to be collected and ready on legally acceptable petition pages. I know a bit about that stuff too, so if you need any help with that, ask me for advice anytime.

So that's how it has to be done. No seriously. I'm willing to roll with it. If the Church of the SubGenius started off as a joke, so can my gubernatorial campaign. And like it's been said, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke", right? This COULD be a lot of fun.

Go for it, Tony. You've got until probably February of 2010. That's like, less than 17 signatures a day, starting today (based on the 2006 deadline date!)

Now get out there in front of Costco and shove a pen in people's faces.