I tried to read FAR

Toe,
I almost tore my eyes out. Jesus.

I will call you one day soon.
Love,
E-Word

I am a lost soul

E-word,

I shoot myself with rock and roll.

Our poor log ebbs and flows over the years. I think it is awesome that you have a dog, and somehow I think it is weird and sad that you caved in and have a facebook something now. There are some things that I am blissfully ignorant of, and I will continue to be blissfully ignorant of facebook.

So, I went to a corporate retreat for the last couple of days, and I don't know where my knee-jerk cynicism comes from. I have this instinct to just lash out at everything, it's really a weird sensation, like there is part of me that obviously wants to climb up this corporate ladder, and another side of me screaming don't waste your fucking time, all these people want to do is eat your soul, etc.

The thing that was most fascinating about this retreat was the fact that there were people who were absolute experts about the most asinine topics possible. I mean, there were people who know cover-to-cover the federal travel regulation guidelines, and are experts on federal acquisition regulations, and all sorts of mind-numbing hateful shit. If you want to find a reason to kill yourself, read this shit. I cannot believe this even exists. At the same time, though, I was pretty jealous because I am not an expert at anything. It made me sad to realize that. I am a jack of no trades, master of less than none. I mean, it might be utterly pathetic to be an expert on these ridiculous federal guidelines, but dammit, they are at least an expert at something, and here I am dilly-dallying, unable to talk shop about anything, I can't even talk shop about my own fucking work.

'What do you do for ****?'
'I'm working on a box.'
'What does your box do?'
'I dunno, shit goes on it I guess. Like, other boxes. It's like a satellite or something.'
'Ah, cool. What does your satellite do.'
'It measures rain. Don't ask me how. I don't even know really how to put this box together. Someone else told me how. There are like screws and shit, washers or something.'

Love,

Toe

Italian

Toe,
A nice cover of a favorite GBV song.
Love,
E-word

And the radio plays "Crazy Train"

Toe,
I joined Facebook. I feel like I've become one of the borg on Star Trek:Next Generation. ("You will be assimilated.") It can be a total drain on my time.

Life marches forward as usual. I am busy as anything with work, which is good. I seem to be valued for what I do, which is nice. There are times I don't feel like I value what I do as much as others seem to, but that may be the nature of work, unless you're a garbage man, in which case everyone needs you desperately, but few people want to associate with you or want to know what you do. When was the last time you actually met a trash collector socially?

I'm babbling, to avoid talking about anything personal. We got a dog. Is that personal? I think it is. He's big, not a puppy, and is sweet as hell. The cat is adjusting.

Hope you are well, where ever you are, out in the world.
Love,
E-word

Poster boy

Hey Toe,
I thought of a post-topic this morning but have no time to post it. It was about time passing and how much time has gone by since I got married relative to how much time passed between me meeting my wife and me graduating from high school (they are the exact same number of years, amazingly, but seem so vastly different in length to me).

I like your rumination on high school yearbook inscriptions. I know what you mean. Some of those kids were pretty cool, even the ones that weren't.

It's a beautiful day in the midwest, and I am inside working at a computer.

I'll write more later.
Love,
E-word