Hold the Glimmer

Posts Tagged ‘duke is awesome

Are five days enough to let the heat cool off from the Spike Lee/Tyler Perry black-on-blacker race wars?  Speaking of which, I think that bitch Madea snuck into my dresser drawer and replaced all my ties and dress socks with panty hose and a do-it-yourself home weave kit!  Hey, if the mumu fits… no no, fuck that shit, I’ll keep my day job, thanks very much.  It may be hectic and thankless, but it’s dignified – sort of.  Anyway enough about transgendered millionaires, here’s a bitch-fit about you and me…

Look, I get it.  You’re busy at work.  I’m busy too.  I work for one of the biggest defense contractors on the planet.  The team I work with, the shit we do – it represents roughly 9 billion dollars in potential revenue.  So trust me, I am fucking busy.  But, I also have needs.  I get lonely in this tiny office with no windows.  Our understaffed team is made up of a tough skinned little old lady and two over-the-hill programmers.  While they are all friendly and great to work with, they couldn’t understand me on a personal level if their pensions depended on it.  Alright, I’ll be honest, I’m one of those people who needs constant communication with someone… ANYONE… but preferably someone who cares enough to reciprocate my attention.  So when I’m not training stubborn financial experts, testing software modifications, troubleshooting user issues, answering calls and emails, or working one of the many side projects that totally aren’t in my job description – I like to reach out and touch who ever is available, digitally I mean.  I’m talking about my only medium of sanity between the 8 to 5 hours, gchat.  If you’re on it, if I see your name on a daily basis, chances are I’ve asked what you’re wearing at least a few times.  And if you’re cool, you’ve probably lied and described something far more interesting than the bland corporate costume you bedrudgingly threw on that morning.  Maybe it’s kind of sad, but that’s the best entertainment I get all day. 
 
People are different, though.  We all have different schedules, responsibilities and distractions swirling around our heads.  We have diverse needs and communication abilities as well.  So it’s no surprise that there are so many various types of gchatters.  How many, you ask?  Did I take the time to categorize them and compile a list one day while stuck on a teleconference that really had nothing to do with me?   Maybe I did.  And maybe now you have something to read as you multitask between facebooking and pretending to give a shit about your job…
 
The Ghost – I IMed you three hours ago and you still haven’t responded, even though your status never went idle (yeah, I noticed, that’s what it’s there for).  Do you have me on the pay-no-mind list?  Did you die at your desk and your twitching rigormortis-stricken hand just keeps moving the mouse to fool your friends into thinking you’re still alive?  I know, I know, you’re furiously firing off emails and other such banalities that are paramount to your career.  Seriously though, everyone has a few a minutes in their to day to say hi to a friend and see how they’re doing.  In some cultures, that’s how they show they care. 

The Brick Wall – Hi. OK. You? Yeah. Oh. Cool…  I don’t think talking to one of these ice boxes even qualifies as a conversation.  I don’t know a lot of people who are completely bereft of personality – but maybe being at work just sucks it right out of you.  Perhaps you’re really quite interesting and have fascinating stories and opinions in real life, but you’re just illiterate or can’t type well.  No no, I understand.  You’re busy.  If you don’t even have the time to formulate full sentences or share a complete thought, maybe you should cut the bullshit and go handle your business.  I don’t want to tell you how to be a better slave or anything, it’s just an idea.

The Cliffhanger – You could be the greatest storyteller ever, if you could just finish a god damn story.  You escaped from the whore house brawl, stole the cop car, chased by thugs, you jumped from the speeding vehicle, hid in the bushes, then suddenly…. Ten minutes go by, twenty minutes, your name turns idle, you get logged off… What happened?  Did the thugs catch you as you were finishing that sentence?  No warning, no “hey, I’ll be right back, sorry.”  I don’t hear from you again for two days and when I finally do, you don’t even have the decency to finish the story!  In the meantime, I broke three office chairs from hanging on the edge of them for so long.  It’s not just the stories, either.  It happens during just about every conversation we have online.  They never end, you just disappear as if we weren’t even talking.  Imagine if we were having a discussion in person, and right as you were about to make a point, I turned around and walked away…

The Emo Queen – God, life is SO hard, isn’t it?  Shit, I pat myself on the back just for getting out of bed in the morning.  But once I’m caffeinated and showered, I lose the morose attitude and brighten up quite a bit.  After all, it’s just life – no big deal.  Then I get an IM that goes something like, “Kill me pleeaaaase, my mom said my green shirt is uglyyyyy.  I want to dieeee.”  Wow.  Relax, sweetheart.  Don’t kill yourself just because your mom is a shallow bitch and you have no taste… my mom points out that I’m losing my hair all the time.  You want to know why I’m losing it?  Because of her.  That’s no reason to cry.  Check my wrists – no scars, Ma!  So get over yourself, throw a sweater over that tragedy, and make your mom happy for a change.  Try doing it with a smile – it’s easier than you’re making it.

Tracy- The Perfect Gchatter (she put me up to it, I swear) – How am I?  Well besides choking on my tea from disbelief, I’m great!  Thanks for taking the time to ask.  Oh and you have an interesting anecdote, follow up commentary, and a warm, positive outlook?  Holy cow, it’s almost like there’s a human being on the other end of this electric window!  Perfect gchatter, I know your name isn’t always Tracy, but I am always happy to hear from you.  Hell I might even stop what I was doing just to say I miss you and make plans to hang out.  Then, when all that show of emotion is done, we’ll actually bid each other farewell before getting back to the insanity of corporate life.  I’ll do it with a smile on my face, because my day has just been MADE – you can bet your sweet ass on that.
 
I could go on for days, I’m sure.  But in the interest of time and space, I’ll wrap this up.  Let’s be real, nobody is perfect.  We’re all different.  I’m guilty of being all those characters at some point or another (and so is Tracy, but don’t tell her I said so).  My only goal here is to poke fun and make people aware of how they come across when they’re click clacking with their buddies.  Next time you’re escaping the monotony of your work day, just remember that’s a real live person you’re talking to – probably a friend.  So act like it.  lol. omg. asl? gtfohwts.

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   Here at HTG (Hold the Glimmer…see how I did that…we already have an abbreviation!!!), we have an interest in keeping you entertained, maybe even mildly amused.  While there has yet to be and most likely never will be a rhyme or reason to any of this blogosphere madness, we are genuinely interested in making this site a worthwhile click in your day.  In the last few weeks, we’ve realized there may be more than 4 regular readers, and while that’s close to the most awesome thing I’ve ever experienced, it also scares the shit out of me for two reasons: 1.You may actually enjoy the site, meaning I have to follow through with commitments and write, and 2. Well…ok..so there is only one reason.  But, I’m a people pleaser.  Do you see how well this relationship is working out already?  We have every intention of keeping this site awesome, and welcome any and all feedback, comments, knock knock jokes, even a little inspiration at holdtheglimmer@gmail.com, not to mention- we’re on that twitter thing @holdtheglimmer! And with that, Hold the Glimmer has the distinguished honor to introduce you to one of the finest degenerates Los Angeles has to offer, my good friend and HTG’s new feature writer, Duke.  Hold your applause, please.

 

     It seems like every great author started off composing stories about drunken struggling writers – themselves.  Hemmingway, Bukowski, Thompson – drunk, drunker, and druggie – all started out writing about how lost in the world they were as failed journalists and story tellers.  No wonder I identify with these degenerates so well… as a drunken struggler, I also fancy myself a writer, or at least someone with the gift of linguistic artistry.  But a writer without a topic is like a painter without a picture in his head or a naked muse on his couch – he’s just another alcoholic.  Don’t get me wrong, there’s no shortage of subject matter on which to pontificate these days…  Our political discourse is crumbling.  Our international relations are falling apart.  Our heroes are dead or making GAP commercials.  The prospect of finding true love in our society is about as real as Charlie Sheen’s respect for women.  And, it seems like the Earth is trying to swallow us whole after years of getting raped and abused by the big dick of industrialization.  Jesus H. W. Christmas, are you as depressed as I am yet?  No wonder there’s nothing to write about – every time I try to put a pen to a paper I have to go searching for a tissue!  I start off thinking to myself, “tonight I’ll have a drink and do some writing.”  Then a drink turns into four or five… I watch the news for some inspiration… lose all hope; take an ambien and go to sleep. 

 Then, one morning, a dear friend asks me to write a piece for her blog.  No problem, right?  Well half a day’s work goes by (the day goes by, not the work, it’s still there) and it finally occurs to me!  I bitch about not writing because I don’t have the inspiration.  So, I’ll start where my drunken forefathers started – with the struggle.  See, the only real difference between someone striving to write (me), and a normal person, is that a normal person doesn’t feel the need to make excuses or hate himself for not writing.  In the last year, I’ve written as much as this cup of tea I’m drinking.  That kills me inside, because I know I have the ability.  I look at the world around me and note some astute observations, but just as soon as I think I have a grasp on some concept, my point alludes me and I’m back to staring at three dots at the end of a sentence…

That’s when you search the bottom of your scotch glass for a quick tangent.  Speaking of which, The Flintstones WAS Liz Taylor’s last movie (or as far as I’ve seen, her only movie).

My favorite part of telling people I’m a writer though (fuck you, don’t judge me – sometimes you have to lie to be interesting) is when they ask me, “What do you write?”  I usually say children’s books about drug safety and proper usage of profanity.  Then when they settle their feigned outrage, I admit that I just scribble philosophical musings and fiery political rants on the back of cocktail napkins and TPS Reports.  Hey, I may not have a strong audience, but right now it’s more about keeping sane than about getting published. 

I guess it’s not so much that I’m a writer, at this point I most certainly am not.  I’m more like an observer of life and the world.  Sometimes those observations amount to lengthy pieces I aspire to turn into articles and books… and other times they sum up to a twelve word status update that nobody comments on (assholes).  The point, if there was one, is that – no matter what keeps you up at night, be it lack of creativity or the presence of strong drink – we all start out with the struggle.  And this is where mine begins…

 

(Glimmer- held.)


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