| DOJ |
[May. 29th, 2005|11:33 am] |
There are a lot of depositions held at the Department of Justice (I videotape depositions for a living, punk). I’ve been there many times, during all times of the year. The point of me sharing this fascinating bit of information is coming.
It’s a chore to get in, first of all. The guards squint at me owlishly for awhile, silently trying to get me to break down and admit that I really am Ayman al-Zawahri, then spend about an hour pouring over the 8000 page guest list to find my name (which is right at the top) then demand that I show them three pieces of i.d. I don’t have three pieces of i.d. I barely have one. After I offer to have them call my mom back home and ask her to verify where my secret birthmark is, they finally let me up to the floor where the depositions are held. If I look over my shoulder I can see they are still watching me.
Now here’s the weird part. Like I said before, I’ve been there often, and I’ve been there during all different parts of the year, and when I am there, I’m there all day. Aside from the attorneys and witness that fly in for the one day for the deposition, there’s never anyone there. Nobody. Ever. Not once have I seen people working there. Or even walking around in the hallway. And the thing is, there are a bunch of desks and cubicles, all massively cluttered. There are papers scattered around, half-empty cups of coffee, messy desks, etc. It’s how an office looks when everyone evacuates for a fire drill. And it isn't just desks -- there are offices as well, with name tags by the doors, every bit as cluttered. The first time I was there I went into the dirty kitchen to see if there was coffee. There was an unplugged coffee machine with half a carafe of cold coffee. I’ve since checked the kitchen every time – the carafe is always there –always with the exact same level of cold coffee.
I once asked an attorney if they required people to clear out when a deposition was held. That was the only explanation, I thought. He looked puzzled and said no.
Actually, there is one person I see. After the deposition starts, there is someone (always a different person every time) by the front door, stationed for the sole purpose of handing out bathroom keys, always sitting there with a slightly confused expression, as if he isn’t entirely sure how he got there.
(By the way, bathrooms in DC always require a key to get in, some even need passcodes. The reason for this is, of course, because they’re close to the White House and we can’t risk the chance of the terrorists breaking in and peeing.)
The first time I was there the emptiness seemed kind of amusing – ha, ha see how Government employees never work – then I thought it was odd, and not in funny way, and now I think it’s sort of seriously creepy. |
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| FiberCom Paranoia |
[Apr. 15th, 2005|09:53 am] |
I could've died!
Honest!
Ok, so standing in my Grandma's kitchen this morning, looking through the refrigerator, deciding what vitamin to take (I'm really a freak about vitamins. I'm still convinced that one day I'll find the perfect combination of pills and bloom into a vibrant, radiant, cereal-cover picture of health and vitality and wipe out all the years of drunken debauchery) and take a FiberCom. Swallow it, and just happen to glance at the instructions: "Warning. If this product isn't taken with sufficient water it could swell in your throat and choke the shit out of you and then you'll be dead." Or something like that. I immediately panicked and gulped down five glasses of water in a row. Seriously, I really panicked -- I had visions of my mother and grandma returning from grocery shopping to discover that I had died a rather disgusting, slobbery death on the kitchen floor.
And then of course I made myself entirely nauseated from drinking all that water and almost threw up.
I sort of suck at being a human being.
I think FiberCom should make the warning in neon red -- no, actually, I think they should change the brand name to "Listen, You Can Take This, But There's A Really Good Chance That You'll Die. Just Sayin.'" |
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| Home |
[Apr. 12th, 2005|12:46 pm] |
This morning I was taking a walk with my mom when a woman passed us on the other side of the road. Both she and my mom waved at each other and said, "Hi, how are you?"
"Who was that?" I asked my mom.
"Oh, I don't know," she said, somewhat surprised by my question.
Oh. Right. I'm in Wisconsin. People do that here. They wave and say hi. They smile a lot. In stores they ask if it's "hot enough for you" and sincerely hope that I "have a good one" and to "take her easy." And they mean it.
I woke up to the sound of a million birds all singing at once.(I could identify every bird too, just by listening -- this is what happens when you had a mom who dragged you to Audabon meetings.) I paused drawing to watch the squirrel and chipmunk gang wars under the bird feeders. (No casualties.)
My Grandma's house is like the Last Homely House or Tara. I walk in and immediately feel restored.
Of course, it can't all be idyllic -- there always must be something to piss me off. Wisconsin is now proposing to make it legal to hunt feral cats! This makes the top of my head fly off and spin around the room. These hunters, the same idiots who have to buy camouflage toilet paper so their buddies won't see a flash of white and shoot them in the ass while they are squatting in the woods (oh yeah, and don't wear white mittens either. Remember that woman in Maine who got shot by a hunter in her own driveway?)now feel that they can be responsible for the culling of the wild cats of Wisconsin. The reason? The cats are destructive to the bird population. Indeed, they care so much about birds that they now made it legal to hunt mourning doves. Picture it, beer guzzling fucktards stomping around taking pot shots of any cat seen roaming around. How exactly will they know if it is, in fact, a feral cat, and not little Boots who is simply taking a morning stroll? Wisconsin hunters are so very well known for their discerning intelligence.
Alright, enough. I have to go look at a flock of red-wing blackbirds that just descended in the yard. |
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| Good morning. |
[Apr. 8th, 2005|10:29 am] |
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This is only a test. Well, not really. I knew it would work. I'm ever so sharp. Well, the new journal is launched. I've smashed a bottle of champagne on my desk and set sail. Whee. |
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