Sunday, January 29, 2006

You're better than Home Depot

I hate Home Depot. Some of you may have a certain food that you know will disagree with you, but it looks good so you try it and pay the price later. Others may have that certain person you call when you're single and lonely, and you know you shouldn't and you hate yourself later.

Then there's Home Depot. I still go there every so often when I forget how awful it truly is. You need something for your home, and you naively think that the huge warehouse store will have it. They won't. And if they do, you won't be able to find it--and the employees can't help.

Yesterday around noon, I had to be in that part of town anyway while waiting for my daughter's music lesson to finish, so i went in, looking for three things: light bulbs, an air vent filter and a siding installation tool. (There's some home improvement guy on the radio around here who basically is on the air to pimp products every Sunday morning, and he said such a tool could be found at HD a while back.)

They had the bulbs--not the right kind exactly, but an overpriced knockoff. The filter, which is the same size as used by every air exchange ventilation system in our subdivision, is somehow too rare for them to carry. The siding tool they don't have a clue about, even though they sell siding and siding installation.

Of course, finding this out isn't easy. You have to go from one stupid, uninformed employee who's hiding out in the wrong dept. to another. (Yeah, why should I be surprised when time after time I ask the guy standing in the hardware section a question and he responds with "oh, but I don't know much about this because I work in paint" or some other lame excuse.) Fact is, I think it's in the training manual that since you're some minimum wage lackey who has no real home improvement knowledge or skills since you live in your van, the best way to appease customers is to lie and say you work in some other random department than the one they find you standing in.

I honestly was shuffled from one employee to another until I'd spoken to FIVE of them yesterday to get the answer that other than the light bulbs they didn't carry what I need. I had to wait forever to hear it, and while waiting I see the employees do the same thing to other customers who want simple things--one guy just wanted a basic threaded bolt, and after about 10 minutes the employees tells him he should try home hardware or slegg lumber. Gee, the same guy suggested to me I go elsewhere right after that.

Maybe they should just carry a bunch of cards for other businesses, which, although they occupy less than half the square footage can actually sell you what you're looking for. Here's a thought--post those employees in the parking lot and save the customers the trouble of going in at all--just send us to the right store. "Hi there--unless you're looking for a gas barbecue, some two by fours, or an expensive kitchen cabinet installation, we can't help you--don't even bother."

And now, to make it even better, they've just opened a second store near the university.

I can't wait until the giant Rona/Revy store opens up in a few months. Sure, it's near my home and will be the final straw in worsening the traffic hell that all the new retail has created for us, but anything that can take people away from Home Depot is worth it.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

the audition monologue

I am not really wanting to post this, but after 3 requests here it is--the background is that I wrote this for my friend "Murdoch"--she is auditioning for "The Laramie Project". It is a play that was banned over in Surrey--a suburb of Vancouver--but has been done in other Vancouver area schools like Lord Byng. (Trivia fact: Where I used to cut the lawn many years ago)

The play is controversial, not simply because it deals with the issue of gay bashing, but because it has language and sexual content which might offend some.

So I wrote Murdoch a monologue--she is gay herself--and I thought this would be a good piece for her to use. It's not polished, but I'm glad she likes it.


Scene: waiting in the airport--nervous…


Damn--it’s been delayed. I don’t know--maybe this is a sign or something. My horoscope said today would be a good day to stay in bed. I think maybe I should’ve gone with that. I mean, it would be good--just me, my remote control and the video games--and that set of L-word DVDs… Plus there’s that new Chinese place down the street that I order from, so I could stay in my room and stuff myself on almond chicken. Of course--the fortune cookie might contradict my horoscope and then what would I do?

(checks screen again) 40 minutes? I’m gonna have to go plug the parking meter if it’s much later--I mean, she’ll have to get her luggage and…

Who am I kidding? This is going to be a pretty short meeting. I’m going to go up to her and introduce myself and she’s going to run to the nearest ticket booth and head right back to Argentina. What the hell was I thinking? “Hi--I’m Ray,” I’ll say. I DON’T USE RAE-ANNE--EVER! I hate that name. It’s been just Ray since what--maybe sixth grade?


Sixth grade--the last time I wore a party dress. Amber Bennington-Wells’ birthday party. Who’d have thunk a bunch of 11 year olds could turn out to be such complete bitches to another kid? They all laughed when I walked in--I thought it was because my dress was the wrong style, or colour or something--it was only later that somebody told me I just looked like a boy playing dress-up. I went home and cut that dress up into little pieces and promised myself never again.

Funny thing--I met good old Amber a year ago--seems she had just broken off yet another engagement and was three drinks past semiconscious. She made a pass at me. I decided to have a little fun with her--I took her with me to my favorite bar--“Sappho’s Secret” and introduced her to a few of my friends. She’s got a pretty heavy bi-curious thing going on by the time we finished a couple rounds of shooters, and I just made sure my friend Lindsay had a camera. Those pics of good old Amber got emailed to a lot of the old grad class after that weekend was through.

(checks watch) I hate airports. It’s all families meeting up with or saying goodbye to loved ones. My family ain’t all that lovin’, at least not with me. My big sister, on the other hand--she’s perfect--so are her husband and kids. My parents were just relieved that our rich grandmamma died before she could figure out that I was never going to bring a boy home for Christmas dinner. Not that the way things are going lately there’s anyone joining me for any dinners most of the time.

That’s why nobody can judge me for this. It was an honest mistake. I thought I was in the “women seeking women” section of the website--but with half of it in Spanish, how the hell was I supposed to know that I had signed in as a “señor” and not a “señorita”? So I find Raphaela’s profile and see that picture and I was all “damnnn” (could sneak a drink from a pocket flask/mickey here) I mean, she looked good. REALLY good.

So I sent her a little “hello”--from “Ray” in Canada. And I sent her a link to my profile--which has a picture of me. Unfortunately, it also has a picture of my brother, Greg with me--yeah, I coulda put a pic of just me--but I look really good in this pic. I never figured there’d be any problem--but you can guess, right? So sweet little Argentine Catholic Raphaela sends me a message back--her English is pretty good--her parents sent her to school in Florida for sixth months when she was 16--and she says I sound pretty cool.

It didn’t take me long to start obsessing over her. I also realized pretty quickly what my mistake was. I tried to break the news to her, but then she sent me a few more pictures--whoa, I mean, if you could see what she looked like in these…

So fast forward to now. She’s getting off the plane in…(checks) just over 35 minutes. She’s going to see me and think “Oh, it’s Ray’s sister”. At that point, I figure I start the timer. I’m giving myself 48 hours to charm the pants, er, socks of that girl. I am the most charming person I know--so I figure I can do it. I will tell her then--that no, Ray didn’t get called away on business or whatever--I’m Ray. If only she gives me a chance--I’ll be better than any guy she ever met.

Then the way I figure it, either she crosses the street for the first time in her life, or I don’t sober up for about a year. Wish me luck…

Friday, January 13, 2006

triskaidekaphobia

Yeah--Friday the 13th.

It started out true to its reputation--worked at the same school for 10 and a half years and never been late--until today. Normally my commute is 20 minutes, maybe 25, but today it took over an hour and I was five minutes late.

The rain--I think today was day 26 in a row with some rain. I hate it now--I mean, there was a little sunshine in the afternoon, but the weather has been weird--way wetter than normal even for here. It can stop now.

But then the day improved. A trip to the haircutting place to see a friend's head shaved was fun, then lunch out, and after school taking a friend out for a belated birthday beer.

Then home with no kids for the evening--it was just a nice day after a crappy start.

Meanwhile, I wrote a friend an audition monologue, and feel this little temptation to post it--but self-consciousness overrides that, I fear.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

I'm an idealist without illusions

Apparently Kennedy said that. It fits, lately.

Sorry I haven't been very inspired lately--KaTea's comment has provided some motivation to write nonetheless. Thanks that you are still reading despite lack of content here.

Happy 18th birthday today, Kate--hope it is a good one. A belated happy 16th to Racheal R.

Hugs to Jatue and Jenny G.--I won't get into why, although if you follow the link to "Laughing Gas and Ennui" you can read Jenny's woes.

A crumpled up ball of paper tossed at Camila--we're waiting. A slightly less crumpled one at B.G. as well, just to see if she's awake.

Also, a raspberry to R.H. for the orphan blogs she leaves laying about the internet. When will your friend stop putting 9 volt batteries on her tongue long enough to create one herself?

And to "Murdoch"--kudos for you for both your faithful blogging and your patience with your own situation. I respect what you're doing there.

Ella--I decided to fritter away about 90 minutes this weekend seeing if I could sleuth some specifics about your locale, just for the challenge--you've done a good job, I must say, although I have some suspicions now, after combining LJ info with blog info and such. I compliment you on your ability to write honestly about your life without revealing what you wish not to.

Alex--how goes the Seussicality?

Geoff--I need to pick your brains about smoke machines and such--soon. I'll buy the jug.

Reckless one, I'm happy that spark seems to be growing in the right direction. Thank you for always being so honest.

Bay--you need to write more in your journal. M., I know you're crazy busy--but I did enjoy Friday afternoon.

OTPBS--get better.

Be well, my friends.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

It's a cheap exercise to garner better ratings...

...when t.v. shows have characters "crossover" into other shows. The two posts below sadly are simply that. Happy new year.

Poetry by Dythandra

In Lieu of a Life
Your ennui is admirable, emanating
From the closet they call your office
A hotbox of B.O. and your gastric problems
No wonder they let you smoke in there

Still the innocent wander in, idealistic
And you look past the wide eyes to a dark place
Somehow everyone's future reflects your life

Your dreams look much like my beloved roadkill.

Did you know I met your children?
A girl I encountered, first in alt.fan.exsanguinationandvivisection
Invited me to her school--there they were
Like their mother, divorced from you.

I've seen their pictures on your desk
Back before they despised you, I suspect
Now I've seen them in their new environs
The apple lives its destiny--falling close to the tree.

Your daughter--beloved by too many of the football team
Well, "beloved" is too kind a word, I suppose
And your son--those eyes frighten even me.

Do you know what lies in your future?
Did you know why they pulled you off real counselling?
The written request from the suicide hotline...

Do you realize they all know about the bottles
In that filing cabinet?

It clouds your judgement--you were too loud
Asking out that old secretary--10 years your senior at least
Stuck home alone with her cats
Yet she shot you down.

Be thankful the yearbook teacher cares enough
To delete the epistles written annually
By grads who mock your closet of pathos.

When your broken smoker's heart finally stops
I'll stuff you and mount you in your little office.

Gratis.