A Change of Scenery: Florida Edition

Okay, as of tomorrow I will be spending the next week blogging from Florida, as I am taking a little much-needed solo trip to mull over all those major life questions that keep us up at night. Well, keep me up at night. Because I'm sure you have problems of your own.


Anyway, I say I will be blogging, but of course I will be doing other stuff too. Fun stuff. Important stuff. Stuff that involves the sun, the ocean, a bikini, beach towel, and . . . well, that's really all I need. Maybe a margarita. Make that two. Okay, that seems about right.


I keep getting off topic here. I will try to focus. I am hoping that some interesting things will happen to me so I have something more interesting than this to blog about. For example, I am flying alone for the first time in, oh, 17 years. Knowing me, I will screw something up there, so that will be fun. My main goal is to not think about the flying part, actually. As my favorite TV show is "Lost." Which is about many many things, but partly a plane crash. Which is a scene that keeps running through my head. It doesn't help that I've watched the season finale 4 times now, which is an indication of two things -- 1) that I don't appear to have much of a life at the moment, and 2) that is was AWESOME. My only disappointment was that in the final scene bearded messed-up Jack was not listening to Nirvana this time around in his pimpin' classic Bronco as he readied to break into the Hoffs/Drawlar Funeral Home (I am still oddly tickled by the fact that Hoffs/Drawlar is an anagram for "flash forward." I enjoy cleverness). What was he listening to? Must find out.

You may (probably) have no idea what I'm talking about at this point. However, if you don't watch Lost, you really should. There won't be another new episode for 8 months so that gives you plenty of time to watch the first four seasons. As a matter of fact, I would recommend taking several days off work to do so in one big marathon. Your boss will understand.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. Oh yeah, Florida. Well, I have nothing more to say about that. Except, in the interest of full disclosure, you should know that instead of a four-star beachfront resort I will actually be staying with my parents in a gated, over-55 community. Mostly because I am broke. Mostly. But I actually do like my folks quite a bit, so it's all good. Plus, there might be plenty of blog fodder there . . .

Follow-Up: Bug Eaters

I enjoyed this particular exchange with a reader so much, that I decided lest anyone miss out (because God forbid any of the six of you not get the opportunity to read this) I would put it here as an actual post. I am doing so only because it made me giggle, and it seems that these days it's all about me. I only say that because I feel like I'm talking to myself here. But if someone else is actually reading this, it's about you, too. Thanks for that.

Oh, and this comment is in response to the final, wholly unrelated portion of the post you can find here.


ColinJ said...

The bug eaters?...ok....well firstly I really like the recipe in which the only 2 ingredients are bugs and grease. The bugs are cooked in the grease until they are ...well....cooked. That's it! That's the entire goddam recipe! Not even a pinch of salt? I laughed alot, that's funny just because it's there, second on the list, with a bold heading. I want the entire bug recipe book now.

And I do love the warning for the prepation of scorpions....."remember to cut off the stinger". That's what I must have missed the last time I prepared scorpions for dinner guests. Quite a relief to this budding chef that the strange aftertaste my guests commented on was just a neurotoxin after all.

And the test if a bug can be eaten or not is a good one...."observe whether or not wild animals eat the insect". So not only do I have to prepare it and cook it. I have to catch it and before doing so, I have to observe it to see if it gets eaten by a wild animal. And if a wild animal does happen to wander along at the same time as myself and and eats my insect, what the hell is it that I am supposed to cook then?

I thought they were taking the piss Angie, but I checked out some of the links, they are for real. And the really sad thing sweetie?....they have PUBLISHED BOOKS about this stuff.
May 31, 2008 10:36 PM

Angie Shultis said...
Oh my god, Colin, that made me laugh so hard . . . I didn't quite take the time with it you apparently did, and I have clearly missed out on something fascinating. Can you even call that a recipe? I guess it's combining two ingredients at the most rudimentary level.

However, if a wild animal wanders by and takes your bug, I would recommend that you just go ahead and cook the wild animal. I'm sensing that would be far more satisfying than that grub you had your eye on . . .

Oh, man, that cracked me up. Nice one. Thanks for that!

I did check a couple links, by the way, to make sure it seemed real at least before I posted it, but published books? Missed that. And all I can say is that I think that just bears out my original theory, that people are f*n weird. While I am f*n awesome.

Just Doin' My Jobs: A List

Lately, much of my energy is focused on something entirely too practical for my tastes -- employment. And I do mean finding it. As a freelance writer, my professional life is, almost by definition, completely unsettled. Also, I know this will surprise you considering the copious amount of talent on display here, but I'm not exactly raking in the big bucks.

I have spent the last year or so, then, substitute teaching, writing for various blogs and local publications, and -- the highlight -- scoring fourth grade reading ISATS online. It's glamorous, I know.

I hate it when writers write about writing (redundant, yes?) so I will not be doing that. However, I will write about existential crises, and while I'm not sure uncertain career paths qualify, I'm feeling flexible today. My pseudo-crisis is this: I have many many changes going on in my life right now which will require me to get off my indecisive ass and figure out what I'm doing next. And I do mean how I'm going to make money. Which, one might argue, at this juncture in life I should have probably already figured out. And you would be correct. Good thinking.

However, as I always like to say, it is what it is. I do like to say that. Just ask my friend Sarah; she finds it highly annoying.

Anyway, as I mull over my Next Big Career Move, I've gotten to thinking about some of the stupid/annoying jobs I've held in the past. My top three:

3. Men's Clothing Salesperson. This sounds fairly innocuous, but I was 19, working in a men's clothing store in a strip mall in a Detroit suburb run by a this manic guy named Surin who drank tea and strawberry milkshakes. I remember this because I used to serve him those when I worked at the ice cream/sandwich shop next door, but I digress . . . Anyway, part of my job was to mark up pants (while they were actually on the 68-year-old guys) to be tailored. I think I only ever did the hem and maybe the waist, mercifully, but I never had any flippin' idea what I was doing. Those must have been some messed up pant legs, I can tell you. The biggest compliment I ever received from my boss? That I wasn't very good at any of it, but at least he could count on me to show up. Gee, thanks.

2. Yogurt Sensations. That was the actual name of the place, I swear. In a mall food court. It's not such a bad college job, really, but good lord -- Yogurt Sensations? There, I learned to cut up a whole pineapple in 12.8 seconds flat and make a perfect soft-serve swirl with the little curly thing on top. It's really quite impressive. Also, my boss was, like, 20 and the owner's son, and a complete and total waste-case. I ended up sharing an apartment with his girlfriend, and after they broke up he called one night and since she wasn't home, I got to spend an hour on the phone with him while he cried and threatened to off himself. Then, go to work the next day where he acted like nothing happened. All this for just slightly more than minimum wage. Nice!

1. Kmart Shoe Department. This is the first job I held after receiving my newly-minted psychology degree from Michigan State University. Seriously. Stocking shoes. At Kmart. The best part -- wait for it -- I have actually run a Blue Light Special. Over the intercom. At Kmart. Seriously. The upside? Dude, there's really nowhere to go but up from there.

image from Flickr.com

Self Indulgent Posting of Half-Finished Poetry, Part 2

Okay, for no other reason than that I feel like it, I am putting this one out there. While most poems I indulge in are not typically of the autobiographical variety (in this area, I'm more interested in the words themselves -- like in this one -- than blathering on about myself), this one is a bit personal, actually, so I hesitate -- but at the same time I aim to be a more fearless writer, so what the hell.

Uh, not finished, as they are never never ever finished. Never. Ever.

What Needs to be Reconciled

I am afraid of this: that, someday, my daughter will not love me.

That one day, or over a course of days, she will pull away, a skydiver whose chute has just deployed, up and up and up until I can no longer see. She will be a blur, a wisp, a caveat, so distant that I question if it were ever her, really. It is easy to imagine. It is easy.

Each day, there are new reasons. Each day, she is less a girl. Each day, she pushes herself upward, a race of growing bones and needs. I ask too much. I wish things for her that I once wished for me. That I still wish for me.

She curls into my arms, long legs folding up beneath, round face a perfect match for the crook of my neck, even as she is long, long, longer almost than even me. I think of her that way -- long, not tall -- is that strange? Long limbs and long hair and long future rippling out ahead like a ribbon of highway, rippling and pale and lean, cutting through wilderness like water, like diamond, like a guillotine.

Stuff That Makes Me Laugh

My friend Carrie, who is quite possibly the funniest person I know, sent this to me today (the image here is but a small teaser . . . you know you can't resist that kind of hilarity).

I've seen this before, and perhaps you have as well, but it makes me laugh the kind of laugh which has no sound -- and that would be my favorite kind.

What to Do in a Terrorist Attack

CUI (Communicating Under the Influence)

I had a conversation with a friend recently about the prevalence (and effects) of drunken e-mailing. I, for one, have sent an e-mail or two (or 47) under the influence of varying levels of alcohol intake. Apparently he has as well, as he related a story of moral outrage and the threatening of government officials, which these days is apparently as easy as the click of the send button. Nice!


This got me to wondering just how widespread this epidemic really is (and by epidemic I mean something I personally do that I'm assuming other people do as well lest I be viewed as a complete asshole. Can a girl be an asshole? I've never thought about that before . . . but I digress).


So, I did what I always do -- I googled it (Does "google" as a verb require a capital? Discuss). Turns out there's a word for it: d-railing. Of course there's a word for it. There's a word for everything. And that takes all the flippin' fun out of it.


Anyway, I personally have found that my own e-mails are far more interesting (to me) if I have imbibed ahead of time. Not that I plan it -- typically, it just happens. But man does that keyboard fly after a couple of Killian's. Seriously. I will not admit to writing professionally after having a drink or two . . . nope, not going to admit it. You can't make me. So there.


Fortunately, at this point, I have not created any irreparable damage to my life or reputation via my communicating under the influence; however, I am not ruling out the possibility. I like to live on the edge. So, taking a casual poll from my oh-so-many readers (and then there are echoes as if shouting into a well), have you e-mailed under the influence? And how did that work out for you? Received a drunken e-mail? Share your shame and indignity. I have time.

As for drunken blogging . . . I'm only on my second margarita, so I hardly think this counts.


By the by, as I was googling I got a bit off topic and found this: Bay Area Bug Eating Society. Jesus, people are fucking weird.

image courtesy of flickr.com

F*n Awesome

Okay, here's my new plan for boosting self-esteem. Every time I write my name, I will add "F*n Awesome" in the middle. Such as, Angela "F*n Awesome" Shultis. I have hit on this plan completely at random (well, almost), and think it's fantastic. Consider the possibilities:

As a by-line:

"City of Ferguson road construction projects on schedule"
By Angela "F*n Awesome" Shultis

As an e-mail signature:

Best,
Angela "F*n Awesome" Shultis

On the resume:

Angela "F*n Awesome" Shultis
Professional Writer

On a name tag:
"Hello, my name is: Angela 'F*n Awesome' Shultis"

Ohhhhh, I feel better already. You really need to try that. Seriously. Let me know how that works out for you.

Now will someone please take a photo of my man arms?