Am I out of my mind?

I just chased the mailman/mail truck two blocks because I had a letter to mail and he picked up the mail at 12:55pm when the scheduled pick-up time is 1pm.  I told him this much.  Of course he looked at me incredulously.  He is right; he is also wrong. 

 He is right that I AM CRAZY and probably could have let him slide because the letter really didn’t need to go out today that badly.  He is wrong on principle because things like mail pickup should be precise.  It is perhaps more important than a bus or train being precise.  If the bus or train arrives five minutes early and I am there, I board the bus, but with a slight twinge of guilt.  If I am three minutes early and I miss that same bus I am pissed as all hell.  Seriously, I OVER-react.  At least thrice weekly, when I used to catch the bus out of Georgetown, I used to ask the bus driver(s) why they even bother to post the times in the first place.  This is ridiculous because anyone who has ever taken any of the 30s buses out of Georgetown knows the key to happiness is to live-and-let-live; it is common knowledge that those buses simply show up whenever.  I could not live-and-let-live and that mailman needed to know this much as much as I needed to run 2 blocks to make said point. 

 “My name is Cecil Craig Jackson and I sweat the small stuff.”  “Welcome Cecil.”

AFTERWORD

I just arrived on my 9:30 am to D.C. at 9:50 am; my 9:30 left at 9:51.  Life is grand!!!

Terminal 4 is the Place to Be.

Note:  The Lefferts Blvd A train does not go to JFK, the Far Rockaway train goes to JFK.  Fuck.  If you are the type, like I am, who likes to: (1) oversleep, (2) take long showers, (3) pack in the morning, and (4) sprint through airports, you don’t have time to take the wrong train, zone out into the iPod, and ignore the fact that there are no other luggaged passengers on the train.  Fuck.  I’ve never ever taken the wrong train to ANY airport*** (much too careful for that).  Thus, I’ve never ever missed a flight, despite 1-4, above.  Whelp there is a first time for everything, I suppose; also, a last.  Silver-lining: got my Monday morning deliverables done, New Year’s Eve planned, received scandalous gossip that I need to follow up on (yes – you know who you are, and yes, he/she will be in my circle of trust – no worries it’s all LOVE), and finally listened to the new Kanye.  No real opinion on the new Kanye; I need to listen to it again when I am not trying to create cluster stack bar charts (it is possible! http://peltiertech.com/Excel/ChartsHowTo/ClusterStack.html ).

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*** Once went to the wrong airport altogether (Regan National instead of Dulles), but somehow charmed my way onto a flight on an entirely different airline – my greatest JEDI moment ever.  (Long story involving mistaken identity, etc. etc. ask me about it sometime – I can’t write about it because I don’t want to go to jail).

Not-So-Secret Santa and McWang

McWang is Stephanie’s signature sandwich.  She swears by the spicy and tangy short-rib sandwich.  If you were a sandwich, what kinda sandwich would you be?  Steph originally tried to pass McWang for a pulled pork sandwich; she was promptly booed.

 Anyway, my roommates and I just completed a secret Santa.  Out of a total of 5 of us, only 1 did not know who anyone’s secret Santa was, two knew one, maybe two, and two of us (including me) knew everyone. 

What happened?  Well, for starters, everyone was very sloppy.  I, personally, kicked off the sloppiness two weeks ago when we were drawing names from a hat.  I jokingly exclaimed oh no! when I saw my name.  Yes it was a complete joke, but the joking-thought was seeded in the fact that I drew the new roommate’s name.  It is difficult enough to get 4 gifts for anyone, much less 4 gifts for someone you hardly know.  Anywho, it was joke, but new roommate is very smart and perceptive (she might, in fact, be a Jedi – there have been other signs) and knew immediately it must be me.  Fixable problem, but it only got worse.

On Sunday, Steph and I were on the elevator.  Exacerbated after a long day, Steph rubs her eyes and exclaims “gosh I don’t know what I am going to get Tamara for her last gift.”  One down.

Later that night I was talking with the girls and we were trying to come up with a system for delivering the gifts, we failed to reach a conclusion.

 The very next morning as we were leaving for work, mistake number two.  Kenji leaves the earliest and then usually Steph and I walk out at the same time while Natasha finishes up and Tamara hits snooze.  On this morning, Kenji is gone, Steph and I are in our respective rooms dressing, checking email, whatever, we hear footsteps (heals or likely boots) walk toward our cluster of rooms - walk away – door slam - out the apartment.  We both exit our respective rooms around the same time to see a gift placed in front of Kenji’s door.  What the fuck?  Tamara’s alarm, no Natasha, two down.

 Attempting to salvage secret Santa, we take the gift and put it in a big basket located in the common room.  We then leave a post-it on Tamara’s door telling her to drop her gift and run - no snooping on the honor system.  Steph also dropped her gift, since I knew her person, and I wait on mine.  We then send an email to the group advising of protocol. 

 

That night, we give out gifts.  I get mine – chocolate!  Steph, later but in front of the group, goes “that’s all you got, chocolate!?!”  Tamara got suspiciously defensive firing back “It’s Godiva!”  Hmm.  Steph’s gift: cookie cutters, candy, and several cookie recipes.  Very thoughtful, hmm, Kenji is thoughtful.  Hmm.  Still later, Steph glanced into Kenji’s room and notices a piece of the same candy on his floor.  Careless, Kenji, very careless. 

 

Next night, gift exchange.  I get a gift from Bed, Bath, and Beyond, SLIPPERS!  In casual conversation, Tamara is talking about a gift she picked up for her mother.  I ask her where she got it.  She said “Bed, Bath, and Beyond…er, I mean – uh, um, uh [red face] body shop.”  I played nice and let her slide. 

 

Next morning on the elevator Steph ruins it for me, explicitly.  I kind of knew all of them but was trying not to think about it.  She shared the Kenji chocolate detail and also the observation about Tamara from the last two nights, it was over for us both. 

 

Well that’s pretty much it… aside from us switching wrapping paper to throw off my Secret-Santee and make her think it might be Steph (or, as she later mentioned, the possibility that Steph and I were in cahoots --- told you, JEDI).. and aside from Kenji getting frustrated at Steph’s constant hints that she knew who her secret Santa was and then saying I know you know it’s me (or something like that).  Tsk, Tsk. 

 

We had our final dinner at a cute restaurant called 1492 (we couldn’t get into Freedman’s and I refused Les Halles because I’ve sworn off anything French) exchanged final gifts and I promised this tell all.  Oh, and I got a really nice Heirloom Wood Journal as my final gift, which I apparently said would be a perfect gift when talking to Tamara last Friday while blacked out drunk.  But that is an entirely different story altogether.  If I ever post the story, it will be entitled “Sloppy.”

Wag the Dog, Seriously

It is like the creative political powers that be are competing with Hollywood.  This year has been crazy, and for Oscar season queue up:  Blagojevich!   I think he walks with the Oscar, but let’s first review the other nominees:

Eliot Spitzer (call me Client Number 9, I’m a fucking steamroller)

David Paterson (what? my wife was cheating on me too!)

Ted Stevens (I was only convicted of 7 counts of fraud, elect me)

George Bush (I probably wasn’t ready for the war…)

Larry Craig (I’m guilty, I’m not guilty, I’m guilty, I’m not guilty of reaching under the stall just to say hello)

Jim McGreevey (I thought my wife knew I was “cheating,” I totes don’t have enough cash for alimony)

Bob Ney (I’ll try to show up to court as soon as I sober up; getting caught lying to the government is “stressful”)

Tom DeLay (I’m back, bitches, please attend my fund-raiser)

Charlie Rangel (I’ve the ways and means to claim whatever on my taxes)

John McCain (I’m with Rangel, I don’t even know how many homes I have)

Sarah Palin (fire that bastard! What?!? You’re fired. I’m headed to Neiman Marcus)

 Okay, that’s all I could think of; I am too distracted by fact that is mid-December and rainy in New York, but snowed today in New Orleans, KB Toys filed for bankruptcy, Bank of America announced that it will cut over 30,000 jobs over the next three, and Scores NYC is closing citing the financial crisis.  Yes I’d say increased corporate disclosure of expense acco

unts and open-season (aka wire-tapping) on the moral integrity of elected officials is a financial crisis to the stripper industry.

 Alas, back to Blagojevich.  Congrats, buddy, you will finally resign, you will go to jail, and you will be laughed at. 

 “I’ve got this thing and its fucking golden, and uh, uh, I’m just not giving it up for [] nothing…I can always use it.  I can parachute me there.”

 “They’re [Obama’s staff] not willing to give me anything except appreciate.  Fuck them.”

 “I want to make money’

 “I don’t care whether you tape me privately or publicly.  I can tell you that whatever I say is always lawful.”

 Do you think you were being taped, Mr. Blagojevich? You betcha! 

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 [Okay I just fell asleep writing, that’s a first.  I’ve no idea why “s” is my sleeping letter of choice.  I wish it were “z”, that would be appropriate, but I’m leaving the “s” for authenticity.  Besides it shows I have a strong ring finger --- watch out ladies!]

 Anyway, how stupid can you be?  I don’t throw around that word lightly.  I considered narcissistic, desperate, reckless, or completely out of control.  But nothing rings as appropriate, here, as stupid.  I mean you are trying to sell a senate seat… Not just any senate seat, Mr. Blagojevich, the senate seat left vacant by the president-elect.  And in Illinois, no less, a state known for corruption.

 Here’s another word – EGO.  Why on earth won’t you step down?  Cut your loss and bow out gracefully.  Have you looked into Lisa Madigan’s eyes?  She will torch you.  Another bit of advice do not use Ed Genson.  Do you want your name associated with R. Kelly.  That’s like hiring the late Johnny Cochran.  He may get you off, but you will ALWAYS guilty.