Ode to Billy Joe

Some call him Dean, some call him djblax. Yesterday, the universe called him Birthday Boy. Unfortunately I didn't pick up the phone when the universe called.

Dean is many things: a professionally trained clown, a talented DJ with an ear for great songs and an eye for great crowds, a published author, a livejournal sociologist, and the world's first supermodel.

Most people don't know but he's the person who coined the term "The Bronx". I learned this when I watched the recent documentary on New York City, entitled "New York", a recommendation to me from him.

He's also the person who first clowned while wearing a round red nose. He promptly removed in once the trend caught on.

I've heard rumours that he's recorded under the names Juice Newton, Terence Trent d'Arby, and Junior Vasquez. The only one I could confirm was Victoria Williams.

For his birthday, Dean couldn't choose between a carrot cake or a pumpkin cheesecake so he had death by chocolate. Actually, that's what I did on his behalf.

But most importantly, Dean is "still fly". More so now than a year ago.

Happy Birthday djblax!!

I could leave but I won't go, it'd be easier I know.

Today's workday is sponsored by classic rock and soft rock radio stations. What's frightening is that now there seems to be some crossover between the two. For example, they're currently playing Genesis "That's All" on the classic rock station, but it could easily go either way.

Once again I forgot my lunch so I must go forage for foor and spend money. Though I may have some ramen in my desk for such emergencies. It's approximately one year old, but does that really make a difference?

Last night I bathed Sophie and she got cantankerous afterwards, barking menacingly at me. I think it's ultimately fear of the crate, paired with irritation that I wasn't playing with her. I don't like it. I generally yell and fold my arms to prevent her from biting my hands and turn my back. Then she gets confused. Then I make her sit and she almost always obeys. I've never hit her more than a tap on the nose, but sometimes if I'm waving my arms in the air telling her to go away because she's all in my face, she ducks and cowers before barking again. I can't really figure her out or what her history is. I don't think she was 'abused' but she definitely has lots of insecurities.

Ultimately I just need to get her to obedience training and also be patient with the crate training. Hopefully she won't always be trying to chew up our personal property to show that she misses us.

my own livejournal trading card

Reason I'm going to hell:
The amount of work I do is criminal. As far as the hours actually working compared to the hours I'm present in the office.
What redeems me?
The work I do is good and accurate and dependable. And I work very quickly, which is partly what enables the shirking.

Other miserable things I do:

I'm really late in returning library books, and sometimes if I'm leaving town I never pay the late fees. (This hasn't happened in awhile since I've lived in the same city several year.) This is also related to my problems naturally paying bills on time or keeping a tight financial budget.

I always have to be right. Don't bother arguing. Well, argue, but don't be afraid to have me argue. Even when I'm wrong, I'm right, because there was some other completely reasonable and logical factor that caused my momentary slip and you perceived me to be wrong, but in reality I'm still right. This sometimes gets translated as "oh, I said _this_ but I was thinking _this_."

I'm so self-righteous. Well, maybe not as bad as some. But it's still bad. The kicker is, I rarely verbalize anything to give you any indication I'm being this way. I think that makes it worse.

I'm ridiculously stubborn. It's related to the needing to be right thing.

I sometimes litter in the city, but never outside of the urban environment. I have arbitrary rules, where I'll always pick up the dog shit, but I usually toss my cigarette filters on the ground.

Other random idiosyncrasies that perhaps cancel out my bad karma

I have a killer sense of time. I'm the human atomic clock. If I say I'm going to be at your place "around" 7:00, I will ring your bell at 6:59 and 33 seconds. This doesn't mean I'm never late, though over half of my tardyness could probably be blamed on not traveling alone. In fact, I've constructed a formula in my head when calculating how much time it takes to arrive at a location where the number of people is a factor. I don't wear a watch to know what time it is, I wear one to validate what I already know. I'm painfully aware when I'm late or when someone else is as well.

I have a strange but good memory that remembers things in stories. I might not remember what town someone is from, but I can re-tell the anecdote of their first kiss. I have the ability to notice lots of detail then insert them all together and figure people out -- some Sherlock Holmes isht at times. This sometimes scares people because it sounds like I'm a stalker. This comes in handy when I actually am stalking. Or researching, rather.

I can't remember actual birthday dates to save my life, but I'm really good at buying gifts. I generally need either a really long time, or completely at the last minute, but I can put together a fabulous package that will suit the occasion perfectly, complete with practical items, silly nostalgia, and possibly inside jokes.

I make good mixtapes. People graciously tell me this, but that's now how I know -- I believe it when I listen to the mix. I don't know why I'm good at it, though I suspect it's from years and years of listening to the radio, concept albums, and musicals/soundtracks. That's a fairly obvious place to start, but I think the rest is that I literally get off on it. Few of my mixtapes are perfect and going back I'll listen and discover weakpoints and errors, but I think almost every composition I've created has a creaming point.


That's all for now. I mean, sure there are other things, but I wanted to focus on topics I haven't talked about before in my journal.