The P-35

Should you have the need to staple 2 1/4" flats, nothing beats the P-35. All steel construction, chrome finish. There are days when I miss it's heft in my hand. I used to spend days on end stapling away in a cluttered warehouse, building flat after flat. Filling them with white cotten boxes. All so some madman who employed me could fill them with stones. On occasion, when I was left to my own devices, I would slip messages under the cotton. A penny, a fortune, a scrap of paper with a random word or date scribbled on it. All in the hopes that somewhere, some child would discover it and wonder from whence it came.
When I first lived on my own, I got a page a day calender of Zen quotes. I lived in an apartment building in Quincy. 62 units. Late at night, I would sneak around the halls, leaving a calender page and a polished stone on random doorsteps. I always wondered what the residents of Sunnylea thought when they discovered them. I hope they spent a day having magical thoughts.
Even now, years later, when I'm in some store that sells crystals, I look. Because it's quite possible my boxes are still circulating out there.
Now adays, I spend my working hours listening to people complaining. Fixing their problems. Trying to get bills to drop. Resolving errors. Not much room for leaving little messages. But I enjoy some good friendships. I get to talk about zombies. A fair trade? Perhaps. But I won't lie. When I'm spending my Friday morning stapling together case load reports, I think whistfully of my personal P-35. The one with the felt wrapped around the hand guide loop. It felt good in my hand, and it did it's job well.

Oh, now there's a great notion

So, when i started this little blog I thought it would be fun to alternate posting old journal entries and new ones. It is kind of fun. I might continue to do that. I have to admit, I'm somewhat fascinated with myself. Well, at least a younger me.
In the early weeks of 2000, I was spending a lot of time trying to figure out exactly who the Hell I was. I had had a couple of really fucked up years, and was feeling a tad unbalanced. So, I sat down at my computer, gathered every journal I could find, and typed them all into Wordperfect. It took me a long time. It didn't help that I wanted to do the whole thing in chronological order, and that I often diaried without the benefit of dates. But I was enjoying reliving myself, so I got it all together.
Did I learn anything? No, not really. Except that I start a lot of sentences with So, Anyway, Perhaps and At Any Rate. I still do.
At any rate, it was a huge undertaking of little importance. The disc has been sitting in a dusty case for years. Five of them. Tonight, I had the brillant idea of posting the entire thing! And this was without the benefit of chemical enhancement.
So, my family blog will languish further. If you are interested in reading the private thoughts of one Chris Schultz, covering apparently the last 20 years, take a gander at Bad Teenage Poetry. I've added it to the links for your convenience. It starts off pretty bad, but I promise, it may get more interesting.

Foi Na Cruz

So, I'm home today doing some much needed house cleaning while KG and the baby go to Rhode Island for Easter. I decided to wash the slip cover on the sofa. While I was at it, I cleaned underneath said sofa and recovered the following inventory of odd items:
9 toy balls, 5 toy mice, 7 books, 1 stuffed animal monkey, 1 LEGO block, 1 plastic sailboat sail, 1 sheet of unopened Elmo stickers, 1 pen, 1 necklace, 1 toilet seat washer, 2 whole crayons, 4 crayon pieces, 1 piece of CD jewel case, 72 Cheerios, 1 Kix, 1 plastic sales tag, 1 staple, 1 $39.99 price sticker, 5 pink plastic beads, 1 binky, assorted pine needles, 1 small kaleidoscope, and a herd of beedutts.
I have learned that apparently Cheerios roll better than Kix. As for the monkey's secret thoughts.... they might go something like this "I'm found. Please don't let the child lose me again." But I'm just guessing, really.

Sebulba or Watto? You be the judge.

First Boonta Eve race held in Silver Hill, Co.?

It's a stretch, but follow me here.... I watched Snowball Express the other night and I'm quite sure Lucas' inspiration for the pod race in Episode 1 was actually the Silver Hill Winter-National Annual Snowmobile Race. In Snowball Exp, our hero Johnny Baxter enters the race to win at the very least the $1000 third prize so he can save his struggling ski lodge from the evil Martin Ridgeway. In Phantom, Anakin must win the pod race to save his struggling Jedi friends and the beautful Padme. His evil foe in the race is Sebulba. Or Watto, depending on how you look at it. Of note also is the fact that the Naboo pilot's helmets are very similar in design to the leather ski helmet worn by Harry Morgan in Snowball Exp. Interesting, eh? Lucas claims the inspiration is the chariot races in old gladiator films. I think, however, the Disney snowmobile race is much closer in both heart and execution. Rent it and see for yourself. It's a good flick. It's the dearth of this kind of quality entertainment from Disney that first started me on my whole conspiracy theory. When they stopped being a family and became a corporation. Man to machine. It's all about the circles.

LP on the asphalt 6/13/97

On ramp roadkill vinyl
The music's over, done.
Gently resisting coagulation
in the Sabbath sun.
The sermon for the day,
in case you misconstrued
Jesus' message:
Is that God is waiting
on the other side.
You'll get there. But don't go
looking for intervention in the meantime.
Be joyful you are.
Tomorrow is Easter. Every year, I like to spend my weekend listening to Jesus Christ Superstar, enjoying the hell out of the story, loving Him and being eternally grateful that I'm no longer a Christian. Then I like to shave my head, do some cleaning, and force myself to take a brand new look at world around me. Freshen my perspective.
How sweet is this? Seems my beloved Pitch Black will return. In cahoots with Vader no less!
Happy Easter, yo.

Case in point, y'all

Let the bitch die

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it ironic that it was an eating disorder that put Terry Schiavo in her current state, and here we are arguing over whether or not to starve her to death? Seems to me that's what she did in the first place. Only not so well.
Euthanasia. The right to die. That there is a pretty damn heavy and personal decision. Not one for the courts, not one for the masses, not one for the churches. I think we would all do ourselves a great service by just staying the Hell out of the way and let this thing play out. If her husband has to answer to God for it, he will. He doesn't need to answer to us.
To throw some perspective on this story, take a gander at this. What would Jesus do? Probably climb down off that tree and dope slap all his dumb ass followers.
I sit in a lot of traffic on the way to work, and I've been noticing more and more fish emblems. Is there a whole Creationism movement going on? Add the whole national brouhaha over gay marriage, and this country is starting to look a little scary.
The first amendment to the Constitution reads as follows..."Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."
I'd like to suggest a 28th Amendment "As Congress is prohibited from making laws for or against any establishment of religion, so shall all establishments of religion STAY THE FUCK OUT OF LAW!" Quid pro quo, or am I wrong?

My role model!

You can't go back home

...because they keep tearing the frigging thing down! It's probably been gone for a while, but I just noticed the other day that they tore down the Cathay Center in Weymouth. Nice. One more waterhole from my younger days gone. Bickford's is pretty damn far from what it used to be. I found out from my father yesterday that the house we lived in in Pennsylvania is now an office. Oh well, I hang my hat on my bedroom door, so I guess that'll have to do.
While I'm waxing nostalgic, might as well point you to this little nugget of fun. Back in the day when Bickford's was mine, I would hang out with Steve Burton when he came to town to visit his mom. Last time I saw him, we got really shitfaced in this Irish bar down the street from my apartment. The one and only time I've ever woken up on the floor, my pants around my ankles and my face stuck to a congealed pool of vomit. But we had fun.
This guy, he's not the Steve I knew. Then again, this is not the me he knew either.

I turned out TV

Friday night I made the mistake of trying one of those energy drinks. Full Throttle. I figured it would keep me from falling asleep on the couch and missing BG. Well, it did. And kept me up until 3AM.
But it's all good. Decided to reach out and touch someone, and ended up having one of those nice, long chats with Mike. Like back in the day.
So... we were discussing children and TV. What to expose my child to, and what we were exposed to in our youth. My guy watches a lot of TV. It makes him smart. My parents, KG's mom, warn that Nick might be watching too much TV. Why? Because we were raised on TV, and we didn't quite turn out how they expected. And why is that? I'll tell you.
Take a look at the shit we were fed. Don't get me wrong, I got all warm and fuzzy when I found this list. Good memories. But it was garbage. And we ate it up.
Nick... he watches good TV. Smart TV. he learns new things, and puts it to use. He can count to 15 because Richard Scary taught him to. He knows animal names and sounds because Baby Einstein taught him. He loves to dance and sing because Elmo does.
It's context and content, folks. Give a kid good information, and he will grow strong and smart.

Notebook circa late 1999

Multiples of seven. Strange numbers.
What I wouldn't do for a Cuban cigar and a steaming jacuzzi. Feeling that in tune. Running smooth. Instead of feeling all jalopy.
I'm a shambling man.
Multiples of eight. Strength in numbers.
I have grasped the calm at the center of the storm. I have found the well within me. I knew myself, before I believed I was lost.
Multiples of nine. Always coming up short.
These muscles that ache began to do so today. The injury occured while wedged between barrels, sawdust compacted around my legs, bending to release wrapped rocks. Handing them skyward to Chip.
Multiples of ten. Same thing all over again.
I'm where I was before, where I've always been and always will be. Within me.

He's a Good Palpatine

I'm talking about Uncle George here. Read this today, and a thought occured to me. I love Lucas. I really do. He gave me a childhood full of magic and adventure. He gave me dreams which haven't died, and happiness which I still enjoy. I was 4 when Star Wars came out. It was a big thing. A defining moment for a whole generation of children. It was 1977.
Nick will be 4 years old when Star Wars comes out. In monthly installments. The whole saga. In 3D. Talk about an imprint. My son, my little padawan, will be the same age as me, and get to experience the same thing. The circle will be complete.
How fracking cool is that? Thank you, George. Thank you for giving my son the same gift you gave me.
Oh, and by the way.... if you haven't started watching Battlestar Galactica, it's time to park the tush on the couch and enjoy getting engrossed.
Lest you take me lightly, be assured I am most serious on both accounts. Star Wars has had a deep and meaningful influence on me since 1977. My quest to understand myself and the world around me has always been guided by the Force. I embrace it's impact on me, and the power of it's myth for good. And I am estatic that I have the oppurtunity to share that with Nick.
Battlestar Galactica. Forget the cheese we all remember and love. Put it out of mind. Experience it reimagined. Let me tell you, Friday nights I do a lot of thinking about God, life and possibilities. This is good shit, and it's on TV. Watch it.

"You were the Chosen One"

So, I finally managed to see the ROTS trailer. Awesome, awesome, awesome. I may have to take the whole week off from work. Seriously. It looks that good. The circle is now complete. I'm sure I'll be doing some serious trooping that week as well. Time to dust off the old armor!

Old notebooks on a Saturday

I had one of those moments this afternoon. Stopping to look around me. It was 3PM. Saturday, a light snow falling. My wife and my son napping. Me, sitting with the Diva's, smoking and chatting. Life, today, is perfect. I really can't ask for more.
Incomplete thoughts.
Incomplete deeds.
Indecipherable messages.
Everything is fully formed within it's unformed purpose.
Now, my company is gone. KG and son watching TV. I clean. Dishes, desktops. Moving old notebooks, stopping to remember days not as bright as these. Times when my mind was troubled.
What was lost is found. It never was gone, but here. Always. The now.
The time between the comission of a crime and it's discovery.
I stop for a smoke break before continuing on with my chores. I stop to flip through a few pages, re-immerse myself in my own history.
The moment after a natural gas explosion. The sound of the last few whitewashed boards striking the ground.
The light of an open sky through broken clouds as the cyclone passes on.
And I find, to my great relief, that no matter where I might be, here I am. Now matter what time it is, it is now.
And always will be.
Recovery. Taking stock of losses. Checking the hull for breeches. Assessing the damage.
Not yet resuming pace, just sucking wind.
That hazy second when the world still spins, even though the Sit & Spin has stopped.
Recovery.
Recovery.
My days of roadtrips are behind me. My days of drama and strife. My days of searching for me. I am here. It is right now. This is what I have.
And it's good.
Everything will be OK.

Beedutt

When I was a child, about Nick's age, I was afraid of dust bunnies. I called them "beedutts". A cross between bug, implying it was a living, intelligent creature, and dust. Which was dust. Gathers in clumps in the dark spaces under furniture. I thought they were alive and scuttled about. So, when I saw one, I usually freaked out, and ran away crying "Beedutt! Beedutt!".
We have more than a few beedutts in our apartment. I'm pretty sure if Nick thought they were alive, he'd be amused. He would think it was funny. And that's the difference between Father and Son. Where I was afraid, he would be amused.
Of course, I could make him afraid of them. Hehehe... evil laughter.
Perhaps instead I will write him a story about Beedutt, the brave dust bunny who has many adventures exploring his world, avoiding big, silly cats. I like that better.

There's Someone in my head, but it's not me

Today was one of those crazy, stressful days at work. In short, I fix errors. The second week of the month, we have to resolve all the previous month's errors. It's my job to either fix them, or get other people to fix them. Sometime's it's tough. Today, it was very tough. I discovered last night that the one place you don't want to use a laptop... is on top of your lap. They get hot.
So, Darth Williams left me a copy of Dark Side of the Moon live from '74. KG and I sat back, gave it a spin, and have since been enjoying a very relaxing evening.
In a few minutes, I'll smoke another butt, go log into work for a bit, and hopefully not fall asleep watching something or other. Last night it was South Park.
Crap... just realized I missed the new ROTS trailer. Gotta go see if I can find it out here!

Musings circa 1996

The brightly hued thorns danced out from every conceivable corner of the room. The more he spun in sudden terror, the closer they came until they formed a shimmering rainbow laser crown of thorns. The tips were glowing red with heat, and his skin crackled and shrank moments before the needle sharp beams incised his brow. The worst perhaps were the ones which pierced the back of his occipital lobe. He felt strands of hair being pushed into the entry wounds, and watched as swirling mandelas surrounded by inky spots of blindness burst in his vision. He watched himself become invisible, and mercury thick blood ran like lava lamp innards down his furrowed cheek.
This was that sordid flip side of VR technology.
Doug sat heavily on his knees and held transparent hands up to his eyes. Eyes that could not stop seeing. He shook his head violently back and forth until vision blurred, turned inscrutable, and finally became mercifully...
White?
He was seated naked against a stone wall. Cracked and dusty dirt surrounded him in a desolate and alien landscape. A sun, so intense it was a fuzzy ball of sinoid headache, filled half the sky. The prickle of sun heat on his flesh began to manifest, and he felt himself literally roasting in the sun.
A sudden intense sensation about his genitals brought his swift attention. The organ had taken on a bloated, sluggish appearance in the afternoon heat. The thick hair surrounding it was moistly fragrant with coagualted sweat. In speedy time elapse his genitals exploded in a blossom of putrefaction. Inky blood pooled onto the dusty carpet of concrete between his legs, and burst into a wavering fence of blue flames. The hum of superheated air and expanding tympanic membrane filled the air, finally shattering under the barrage of his own phlegm throwing, larynx shattering scream.
Then the muffled thump of gloved hands against protective headgear. It was the basement, subterranean womb, awash in red glow. Strands of colored Christmas lights bordering the ceiling. The silently artistic undulations of the lava lamp.
Doug threw the tainted VR unit from his head.
"Fucking Disney."

Exceeding Expectations

So, I had my annual evaluation at work today. So much fun, sitting in the bosses cube discussing at great length just how friggin awesome I am. This has been a real banner year for me. When the laptop conversion began, I hit the ground running, and quickly became the person to go to. Needless to say, it was a good review. I'm hoping for the full 5% raise.
It still surprises me that I've grown to care about such things. For many a year I've sought a job that would give me some feeling of satisfaction. Make me feel like I'm doing something positive in this shitty little world of ours. The VNA fills the bill. For now.
And the Beatles just reminded me we need to do our taxes soon.
At any rate, I'm going to try to alternate posts here with new content and some old journal entries that I'm fond of. That's the plan. We shall see what becomes of it. First order of business is finding those pesky journals.

Laptop, laptop

I spent close to three hours working from home today. I've managed to get myself into a good place at work. I'm the go to guy, I get things fixed. Pretty much anything I ask for, I get. So, the good folks at the VNA of Boston have given me a laptop. Now I'm fully mobile, and able to work extra hours from home. For free.
I'm not complaining, mind you. It's actually easier to sit down in the kitchen and plug away for a few hours than trying to get anything accomplished at work. There I have constant interruptions and questions. I get nothing done. Some days, I get discouraged seeing all the stupid mistakes people make, and I resent being the only one willing to exercise a bit of brain power to get them resolved. Then, I remember, that's my job. If people didn't screw up, I'd have nothing to do.
Ahh, symbiosis. How I love thee.

My first date w/ KG (circa Jan 2000)

Tom Waits on the jukebox and a familiarity with Still Life With Woodpecker. Eight empty pints of stout and a couple of packs of cigarettes between us.
Truth be told, I entertained no designs in meeting this girl. I simply sought companionship. Even now, I'm guarded. Yet, yet...
She amazes me. So much in common, so much shared. Obsession with pop culture. A tendancy toward depression. Five hours of laughs, stories, shared moments.
Possibility tickles. Already I care for her. I don't want to hurt her or complicate her. What I do want, though, is more. She interests me.
I'm already falling for her.
So, we will see what develops.

Me and Grasshopper at SpookyWorld 2001

Coffee and Cigarettes

So, it's Saturday afternoon here in the burbs. KG and the baby are napping, and I'm putzing around on the computer. So... I thought I might start my own blog. A space to park rambling and occasionally incoherent thoughts. I've been maintaining my own website for some time now (poorly, I might add). It's for family and friends, so it's a fairly PG thing. But I'd like a little space to stretch my mind, and I figured I'd start here. My intention is to post some writing, some thoughts, the occasional rant. Anything that probably should not be on a family oriented site. So let's see where this takes us.
Welcome to my mind.