And then there was the time George W. Bush tried to talk to me at the carwash...

So Scott needed to borrow my car the other day to pick up one of the guest clinicians* and his wife from the airport for this band festival that the University is hosting this week, so I decided it would be decent of me to wash my car (while attempting to avoid the moonroof area, mind you, so as to not further aggravate the infamous leak situation...) as well as suck the living life out of the carpets with their super high-powered carwash vacuums (again, the infamous mold situation), so as to not send any elderly wind conducting legends to an early death via mold poisoning. That last ultra-run-on sentence contained the word "so" four times. I'm awesome. Anyway, no sooner had I popped the quarters into the car wash machine when I heard a man's voice from behind say to me, "Tennessee plates, huh? Well, you sure are a long way from home!" Then I turned around and saw this face speaking to me:

I swear to you. Obviously, the real "president" wasn't actually speaking to me at a random carwash in the outskirts of Seattle on a Saturday afternoon. But it sure as hell looked just like him. Except shorter. I hear the real Dubya is fairly tall. Anyway, it was bizarre. The whole time while the Bizarro Bush was making small talk with me, the only thing going through my mind was, "This is so going in my blog."

* For you band nerds, it's this guy.

There's a first time for everything, I guess.

So I received a music order from a "correctional facility" (or The Slammer as I prefer to call it, because I'm hardcore like that) in a neighboring town today. At first I thought maybe it was just an officer or something ordering it from his workplace. But then I looked more closely at the return address, and it listed an actual cell number. This is what the gentleman ordered:

• "The Classic Country Book" for easy guitar
• "The Love Songs Book" for easy guitar
• "Rock Chords for Guitar"

Ha! Can't you totally picture it? At least he's doing something productive with his rehabilitation period, you know what I'm saying? Crooning some down-home country song about being down on his luck, followed by a soft ballad for his sweet love muffin who's waiting for him back home and then taking out some of his angst and aggression with some good old-fashioned hard rock power chords. Anyway, things clearly are getting more exciting around here...but not really.

In other news: Thank God it's Friday. Five days of eating nothing but cookies, donuts, coffee and diet Coke until 6:30 in the evening when you finally let yourself have your first real meal of the day can be fairly harmful to one's body. I'm assuming. But then again, I do have a stomach of steel, so I wouldn't know the difference really. I guess I'll find out in a couple of weeks when I notice a giant donut shaped tumor protruding from my ass.

Also, I have this nagging feeling that today is somebody's birthday. ...January 26th. Yeah, that sounds right. Who is it??!! Anyway, if it's your birthday, then Happy Birthday. And don't be mad at me for forgetting because my subconscious remembered, and that should be good enough.

Oh, and speaking of donuts and coffee ... really?!

My kingdom for a sandwich!

Oog. I left my wallet at home today and had only enough change in my pocket to buy myself a can of diet Coke. Luckily I was able to fill some of the void with a few cups of coffee and a few (okay okay, massive amounts of) chocolate chip cookies from the break room upstairs. Anyway, the whole moral of this story is that it is 4:30 in the afternoon and I have nothing in my stomach except for some carbonated high fructose corn syrup, a pleasant amount of caffeine, chocolate chips and other such wholly unhealthy food byproducts. Meaning: I have lost all desire and will to do anything productive for the rest of the day, and have resigned myself to waiting out the clock by updating this blog (okay, let's all say it together: "It's about goddamn time!") and checking out the Best & Worst Dressed of the Golden Globes on msn.com while periodically getting up and leafing through some of the sheet music shelves whilst mumbling to myself softly-but-still-audible-to-any-nearby-coworker such telling phrases as "Hmmm...interesting." and "Huh. Interesting." and "Oooh! Interesting!" and then marching back to my desk and typing this! and this too! on my computer with a very determined and slightly scowl-ish look upon my face so as to convey a sense of extreme concentration.

Anyway, I'm sure many exciting things have happened in my life since I last updated this blog. But since I have been too busy/tired/lazy/apathetic to write about it here, you will never know what those things are. Ha! Just kidding. Here's the gist of my life lately:

• As if the leaking of the rain water and the consequent growing of the mold wasn't enough, Lucky, my former beloved baby boy (i.e. my 2000 VW Golf) continues to supply me with endless amounts of grief and heartache anger. Case in point: As I was driving to work on Monday morning, I found that the windows had been frozen shut and would not roll down. No big deal, yes? Except that I left work at 6pm that evening and walked to my car in the parking lot only to find that the driver's side window had, at some point during the day, rolled itself down...and would no longer roll back up. This in itself would not have been too upsetting if it weren't for the fact that a) I had to drive home from work with the window rolled completely down in below freezing temperature, and b) it was forecast to snow that night and I do not have covered parking. And I was almost sure I would not be able to get it to a mechanic in time -- at least one that I could research ahead of time so as to not be completely taken in and overcharged for the service. As I drove home with my frozen fingers turning various shades of blue, I fantasized over the prospect of some unknowing sad sack noticing my open window and stealing Lucky, thereby freeing me of the moldy nightmare. *sigh* My poor Lucky. You used to be such a good boy! Anyway, things actually worked out later that night, as all things inevitably do. I called the Volkswagen dealership, which happens to be about a mile away from our apartment and they told me that they had an open service appointment first thing the next morning (excellent!) and that if I could get the car in before 7pm that night they could just keep it overnight in their garage (hurray!) AND that particular mechanical issue was still covered in my extended warranty and would be free of charge (huzzah!!) aaand I was able to skip work yesterday (whee!!!) morning so I could get the damn faulty window fixed. The flip side: As I was talking to the mechanic on the phone, I told him of my other more disgusting problem and he said that something of that nature would probably end up costing me upwards of $550 (as in, five hundred and fifty un-warranty-covered dollars) to fix. Zounds. I swear, by the time I can afford to get the leak fixed, there'll be mushrooms growing underneath the driver's seat. Hm.
• Seriously, at what age does it become unacceptable for a person's ass to smell like poo? I mean, literally. Like poopy doopies. I don't know, but I'm fairly certain that 27 is way beyond the cut-off age. I can't expound on this too much, for risk of incriminating somebody and consequently having them confront me, but I just had to put it out there. And no, I haven't been going around sniffing people's asses. But, just to be clear, when your hygeine has deteriorated to such a state that I can smell the dingleberries from your anus whenever you walk by me...dude. Something needs to be done. Please.

And on that note...my sister and her family are coming to visit me and Scott for the weekend in a couple of weeks! Wheee! Our (Scott and I) only goal for the trip - besides having massive amounts of fun, of course - is to convince Kristina and Greg that raw oysters are pure heaven. Because they are. They may not agree now, but with enough persuasion (i.e. holding their arms and legs down while shoving delicious oysters topped with lemon juice and tabasco sauce down their throats), I think they will be convinced. Oh my god, my stomach is now eating itself after writing this last paragraph. Time to go home and eat some leftover Indian curry! Mmmm...leftover Indian curry.

I gotta do this because Sarah L. done tol' me to.

Leave your name in my comments. Once you do that, this is what I'll do for you...

1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something I've always wondered about you.
8. If you do this you MUST post this on yours. You MUST. It is written.

Also Be sure to come BACK and check out what I wrote in response for you!

TGIF. For realz.

So this is the exchange of emails that transpired after I was faxed a 2-page long hand-written scribbling of about thirty different titles (or approximations thereof) this crazy woman needed at one of the stores. At least these had titles. At the bottom of the second page was scribbled this:

"Burgmuller CD (3)"

and

"Transiberian Orchestra piano solo (3)"

*****

To: Jakob
From: Ysabel
Re: A. Miller order


Hey Jakob,

Re: that giant order from A. Miller that you faxed. I need more info: at the bottom of the second page, she (or you?) wrote "Trans-Siberian Orchestra piano solo 3." I'm going to assume that means she needs 3 copies, but I need a clearer title. Trans-Siberian Orchestra has more than one book out. Same thing for "Burgmueller 3 (CD)." 3 copies? What CD title is this referring to? Thanks.

Ysabel

*****

To: Ysabel
From: Jakob
Re: Re: A. Miller order


Hey Y,

Concerning the huge A. Miller order:

1. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra book is a piano solo book containing the bell carol and their Xmas stuff....that is all she would tell me. ( three copies)

2. The Burgmuller book is a Hal Leonard book opus 160 series, Schirmer is the editor.

3. She is kinda testy and needs this stuff soon...like yesterday, as this is festival music and is pulling out the old adage of "I am considering buying all my stuff online cause you guys aren't efficient enough" ploy. Anything you can do to help would be appreciated.

4. I understand you have a mountainous task keeping track of the print around this company...I appreciate your hard work...and your constant struggle to do your best.

I don't know any more concerning this order but appreciate your help.

Jakob

*****

To: Jakob
From: Ysabel
Re: Re: Re: A. Miller order


If this crazy woman needed all this music so soon, perhaps she should have thought to order it SOONER, like, I don't know, maybe anytime besides the f*ing week between Christmas and New Year's when all the publishers are on vacation??!! AAAARGH. It's one of those days, I'm telling you. Also, her refusal to give you any more information about those Burgmuller and Trans-Siberian Orchestra books gives me little sympathy for her situation, considering:

1. I can only find 2 Trans-Siberian Orchestra sheet music books, period. And both of them are Piano/Vocal/Guitar books, not piano solo. In addition, neither of these books contain anything titled "Bell Carol," "Carol of the Bells," "Ukrainian Bell Carol" or any derivation thereof. However, after spending the last 2 f*ing hours this morning trying to figure this little mystery out, I realized that the title she actually means is "Christmas Eve in Sarajevo" which contains the tune from "Carol of the Bells" and this song is contained in one of these books.

2. I swear to God I cannot find any book - Schirmer or not - with both "Burgmuller" and "160" in the title. I can't even find any reference to what his Op. 160 might be and am fully convinced it does not exist. So I'm going to order her 3 copies of Schirmer's "Burgmuller 25 Progressive Studies Op. 100" because this is the one that keeps popping up as his most popular work and it comes with a CD. And if these, along with the 3 Trans-Siberian Orchestra books are not what she wanted, then she can eat my ass because I've wasted enough time trying to mind-read and figure out what this lady needs.

I feel better now. Ranting is therapeutic...but not really. You can assure her that the rest of her order will be arriving promptly.

Ys

*****

To: Ys
From: Jakob
Re: Re: Re: Re: A. Miller order


Bergmuller is Opus 100. Three copies please.
She came and picked up what we had.
Thanks again, your rant is hilarious.
"eat my ass"......ha!

Jakob

Every morning, I wake up and think "This will be the day I update my blog!"

...and every night I say to myself, "Hm, I guess not. Ah well, there's always tomorrow."

But in the meantime, if I - hypothetically - became so overwhelmed at work that I sent an inter-office memo to a co-worker that contained the words "eat my ass" ... would that be considered unprofessional? Just hypothetically speaking.