About ThisAbout Me
Email Me
Bookmark
Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
Hey, guys. It’s me — shhhhhhh!
I’m checking in from work, and I wanted to give you a little update. But don’t tell anyone, okay? I’m supposed to be working on some web thingy, or database, or some technical doohickey or other.
(I dunno — who comes up with this stuff, anyway?)
So don’t tell anybody I’m here, all right? I’m just popping in for a minute to tell you this:
Okay, that’s all the time I’ve got right now. I’d better go look busy for a couple of hours, so I’ll have time later to post something of substance here. In the meantime, go check out the standup clips, say ‘heya‘ and ‘get well, dammit‘ to Jenn, and I’ll see you back here later.
Now where the hell is this ‘database’ thingy again? Sheesh.
Permalink | 2 CommentsWell, folks, this is six months here at the old bloggery. I’m not really sure what to say about it. ‘Thanks!‘, for one, for all of you who’ve read, and commented, and sent me cool emails — you guys are the best, and I couldn’t do this without you.
(Well, okay, so technically, I could — people have been writing private little diaries and things for years. And come to think of it, I didn’t get any hits or comments or messages for the first few weeks, either, and I still kept going.
So, I suppose it’s better to say that I could do this without you… but I don’t want to. It gets awfully chilly around here without you guys milling around. You’ve got to keep stopping by, at least so I can siphon off your body heat.
Um, you know, in the most innocent, non-sexual way possible. Of course. I’ll keep the actual leg-humping to a bare minimum, and I’ll barely use any ‘love lotion’ at all. It’ll all be very tasteful. No, really. Hey… where are you going? Damn.)
Anyway, I already took a tongue-in-cheek look back at a few highlights yesterday, so I thought that today I’d give you a bit of insight about me and my writing, rather than the blog itself. Let’s see if we can milk anything useful out of this, all right? Here goes.
So, in the six months I’ve had this site, I’ve blogged:
That’s not so bad, I guess. It shows a certain level of obsession and commitment to the craft. I blog at work, on lunch breaks, in my spare time, and when I should be sleeping. This is all well and good.
But you know, I think I can do better.
And so, I’m setting a few goals for myself. I’m taking a moment to step back, here at the half-year mark, and throw some milestones out there to meet before my first full year is up.
Therefore, before my one-year annivesary on June 17th, 2004, I’m going to do the following. I’m going to blog:
Well, that’s all I can think of. Given the ‘where I’ve been‘ and the ‘where I want to go‘ lists, I’d say I’m blogging at about 40% efficiency right now.
So how about you? How many of these things have you done? Or would you want to do? Or are there other goals you’ve set for yourself? Or am I just a frigging douchebag for thinking of such things at all?
(Yeah, look, just don’t answer that last one, all right? We all know the answer already; there’s no need to rub it in my damned face.)
Anyway, thanks again for being here. If I remember, and the authorities haven’t locked me away by then, I’ll post an update on my goals in June, and we’ll see how I’ve done.
Hey, you can play along, too — set some goals. Think of them as (slightly) early ‘New Year’s Blogolutions‘, and we’ll hook up in June — or next December, if you’d rather — to take a status check. C’mon, it’ll be fun.
Just one thing, though — everybody’s got to have the ‘Blog naked‘ item on their lists, even if you’ve done it before. If I’m gonna risk burning my damned winkie with my laptop, I’m not gonna be the only one.
(And besides, just thinking of all you folks — well, half you folks, anyway — out there ‘blogging in the buff’ helps to warm me up, even when there aren’t so many of you around. Like when I’m wrapping up a post at three in the damned morning, for instance.
Speaking of which, it’s pretty chilly around here right now. C’mon over, and we’ll get warm. Now where did I put that tube of ‘love lotion’, anyway?)
Permalink | 12 CommentsHey, everybody. It’s me, Charlie… being nice and sweet to you. You know, just like always. *wink*
(Pssst! Look, don’t screw this up for me, okay? I’m next in line for a Weblog Review review, and they might be looking at the site any time now… they could be here right now! Yikes!
So just play along, okay? Everything’s cool, and we all get along, and there are none of those nasty skeletons in the closets, or anything like that. All right? Just be cool for a little while, and then we can go back to hanging out in our undies and drinking beer out of flowerpots and writing the Gettysburg Address in the snow. Cool? Cool. Okay, here goes.)
Ahem. Sorry about that. So, here I am, once again. And hmmm… let’s see, what to talk about today? Ooh, I know — why, it nearly slipped my mind, but I’ve got a ‘thank you’ to deliver! My goodness!
You see, today I was o-fficially named the winner of the November contest over at the Weblog Review. That means that you fine folks — all of whom are always welcome around here! — helped to make this humble little blog the number one referer to the Weblog Review for the whole month of November! My word, it’s all so exciting!
(Okay, so what it really means is that a few of you wandered over there, probably trying to get the hell away from the insanity here. I can respect that. I don’t like you any more, you big boob, but I can respect that. I picked up your considerable slack by obsessively checking the site out once or twice a day, to see whether my review was getting any closer or not.
Anyway, what that also means is that I got a faboo Amazon gift certificate for winning. So get your cans over there, albeit after the fact, and show them some love. Those fine folks have saved you from having me beg and plead you to buy me shit from my wishlist, ’cause now, I can do it myself! So they’ve bought you a little time on that front. Very little… I get bored easily, you know.
Damn, I’d better get back to the nicey-nice crap. Okay, be cool. Don’t do anything crazy.)
So. What else? Oh! Hey, you know what? It just occurred to me that I’m also just about due for a review from the Weblog Review, too! Wow, it almost slipped my mind! What do you know?
Well, then. I suppose I shouldn’t deviate from the sweet and happy norm around here… so I’ll just post something hilarious and captivating, without any sort of gratuitous linking back to my favorite posts or features or anything like that. Just business as usual around here — yes, sir. I’ll just thank the fine folks at the weblog Review — that’s the Weblog Review, folks! — and move on, just as I normally would.
So, let’s see… what’s going on tonight? Well, as luck would have it, I’m actually preparing for my third-ever standup show tomorrow night.
(Oh, and just in case you might be interested, you can check out the first two shows here and here. Not that you have to… and, of course, all you guys have seen those already… I don’t even know why I bring them up. Um, heh.)
Anyway, I think I’ve got my five minutes ready, so I’m ready to roll. It’s all-new material, so those of you in the Boston area, come out to the Emerald Isle and check it out!
Woo! That was exciting, wasn’t it? It’s just a whirlwind around here, like always. Right, folks?
(Dudes! That’s your cue! Say, ‘Right!‘ C’mon — ‘Right!‘ Say it, quick!)
(Oh, people… you can do better than that. You sound like a bunch of sedated heifers. Perk it up, would you? Don’t blow this for me!
And stop clowning around, would ya? Jeez… Andy, get that thing out of your mouth! I know where that thing’s been, and trust me — you don’t want to. Amber, c’mon — take that lampshade off, and put down the wrapping paper. We’re not playing that game from last week again. I think we broke Buzz’ pinky last time, anyway. And dammit, TJ, put your damned pants on!
No, no, dude… on your legs! Your legs! Oh, fer chrissakes, everybody get into the basement, would you? Just go… go! I’ll let you out when the reviewers are gone. And no drinking the fabric softener down there, you hear me?)
Sorry about that. You know how it is, with the kids these days, and their wild parties… Really, I apologize. Let’s get back to the post, shall we?
(Hey, shut up down there! And was that the dog I just heard? What the hell are you people doing, anyway?)
Um… hmmm, let’s see. Maybe we should move away from the basement. It’s so… drafty, is all. What else can we talk about? Ooh, I know — there’s another little bit of excitement around here. Tomorrow — the 17th — is the six-month anniversary for this blog! Six whole months — wow! Oh, I can still remember some of the highlights, too… reminisce with me, won’t you…
<!– wavy flashback lines –>
<!– wavy flashback lines –>
<!– wavy flashback lines –>
Ah, yes, the very first post — I remember it like it was yesterday.
(That’s yesterday that I wrote it, not yesterday that I checked it for spelling errors and shit that wasn’t funny. Oh, wait, that was yesterday. Heh. Good times, good times…
Hey. How’d you get out of the basement, anyway? Damn, you people are slippery!)
Let’s see… what else has happened along the way? Well, I finished up my 100 Things Posts About Me a while back. That was cool. And I managed to get through one hundred and twenty-plus taglines, before I ran completely dry and hit the wall decided to take the blog in another direction. Ahem.
Soon after that, I added the search feature, and the ‘About Me’ and ‘About This’ pages, and then even had the nice folks at Blogger agree to remove those ads at the top of the page. Woo hoo!
And let’s see, what else? I mean, gee — I’d never just throw links out there at people, trying to point them toward the good stuff — I mean, it’s all good stuff, right guys?
(Oh, shit. They’re all locked in the basement. Damn. I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass. *sigh*)
Anyway, just — you know — while I’m reminiscing and all… I do remember a few entries rather ‘fondly’.
(That’s ‘with fondness’, of course; not ‘like fondling’. Um, unless you’re into that sort of thing. I can do fondling. Really, I don’t mind. No problem.)
Let’s, um, just get to this gratuitous list of posts trip down memory lane, shall we? Certainly, my experience with ‘Zolton’ was a lot of fun, as was my time on the Wheel of Fortune set. You know, until the bastards cut me out of the show, that is.
Ooh, and then there was the poem I wrote, and my ode to grocery shopping, and the time I was laid off. Ah, such memories… that I’m dredging up purely for my own nostalgic purposes. Purely. Of course.
Anyway, I could go on like this for hours.
(And I usually do. But in this case, I’d get into the drivelly crap pretty damned fast, so I’d better wrap this train wreck up.
Plus, there’s probably not a whole helluva lot of oxygen down there in the cellar. I’ll have to let the gang back up before long, or I’ll have a lot of ‘splaining to do.)
So, I suppose I’d better sign off, and get back to all the normal stuff I do in real life. You know, the usual stuff — adopting orphans, administering CPR, walking old ladies across the street, that sort of thing. So I’ll just wrap this perfectly normal and typical post up, and let you go. Come back soon, folks — everyone’s welcome here at the old blog! Bye now! Take care! Buh-bye!
(Okay, guys, they’re gone. I think they bought it, too — woo hoo! Tequila shots all ’round! Kick ass, baby! That’s a ‘5’ for sure!)
Permalink | 9 CommentsOkay, what’s it gonna take to get these Subway people on board?
Honestly, I think I’m doing all I can here. I’m completely holding up my end of the bargain, and doing all the right things. The ball is clearly in their court.
And yet, I’m getting shut out. Ignored. Forgotten. And so I ask, what on earth is it going to take?!
All I want is to be a regular customer. One of the guys, you know? Someone who’s at least recognized, if not anticipated. I want them to say things to me like:
‘Hey, you’re back again!‘
or:
‘Oh, there he is — it must be lunchtime!‘
or, dare I dream it:
‘So, you want the usual?‘
Oh, ‘the usual‘ — how I long to have ‘the usual‘! I had it — and outstanding ‘regular’ treatment, I might add — at the sandwich shop I frequented at my last job. And I was only there two or three times a week! Still, after a month or so, they knew exactly what I wanted — chicken cutlet, bread toasted, without marinara, with lettuce, onions, mayo and jalapenos. Sometimes, I wouldn’t have to even wait in line to order — the guys would throw it in the oven for me as soon as I hit the door. It was paradise, I tell you — paradise!
But those days are gone now. Oh, are they ever. I’ve been going down to the Subway in the food court next door for two months now — at least two days a week, and every damned weekday in December — and what do I have to show for it? Nothing. Not even a glimmer of recognition.
Every day, I wait in line, until I get to the ‘Bread and Dressing Girl’. She’s Latina, kind of a big girl, unfortunate acne problem… but none of that’s really important. All I ever see is her eyes. I look into them every day, as I make my same order, over and over: ‘Footlong chicken breast on wheat, please.‘ I study her for some flash of remembrance, some clue that some day, some magical day, she’ll save me the trouble and ask me if that’s what I want. Or better yet, just assume that’s my order, and begin preparing it, with a little nod and a knowing smile in my direction.
And do I find that glimmer, that reason to hope? Ever? No. Every day, she stares back at me with those bored, tired, dead eyes, and sighs a little sigh, and turns around to get my bread. And does she then throw me a bone, perhaps asking, ‘Swiss cheese and mayo, as usual?’ Hardly. I get the ‘You want cheese, or dressing?‘ treatment, just like the other schmucks in line… like some rookie, some first-timer, some… some… Subway virgin. I don’t deserve this kind of treatment, man.
But I take it. What else can I do? A man’s gotta eat, right? It’s not like I’m gonna go to McDonalds, or Au Bon Pain — Subway’s my place. I’m gonna ‘eat fresh’, no matter how unpersonable and cold the heartless assholes who work there are.
Even so, I’ve still got some hope at that point. That first cold fish is just the beginning of the assembly line — I’ve got two, maybe three, more shots to feel like one of the gang. And so, I move on to the ‘Condiment Crew’.
Now, depending on what time I make it down for some grub, there’s either one or two people working the ‘veggie pit’. It’s either the professional, managerial Indian guy, or the younger, skate-punk dude, or (during the lunch rush) both. They seem like nice folks — people I could hang out with over a beer, in the right situation. Plus, they’re guys; maybe that bread bitch just has a ‘thing’ against men. Surely, at least one of these guys will hook me up and remember my order, right? Right?
*Bzzzzzzzt* Noooooo. Every stupid damned time, I bop my way down the line, hoping for some props. Sometimes, I even give them the ‘yo, what’s up?‘ head nod that we fellas give each other. And what’s the response, each and every mother-bitching time?
‘What would you like on your sandwich, sir?‘
Weh, weh, weh. ‘Wha’ would you like on yer sammich… sir?‘ Fuck you, dude. Where’s the love, man?
I know you get a fair number of people in here, but I’m here every damned day, dog. You oughta know what I’d ‘like on my sammich, sir‘ by now — lettuce, pickles, and all the peppers. Same as yesterday. Same as last week, and the week before that. Same as October, dude. Does anyone else come in here and order like that? I’m guessing, ‘no‘. So would it be such a gargantuan feat to put a face with an order, and at least — oh, at the very fucking least — remember it enough to not ask me, every single time:
‘Uh, you want the jalapenos, too?‘
Goddammit, yes, I want the jalapenos. Last I checked, there, Skippy, jalapenos were peppers. And I asked for ‘all the peppers‘, so yuh-huh, slap ’em on there, dude. Gimme the greens, and the yellows, and the jalapenos, and stop asking me dumbassed questions!
I said all the peppers, Flubbo — all of ’em. You got habaneros, or Scotch bonnets, or chipotles lyin’ around back there, then give ’em to me! Gimme all the peppers, and if I find out that I can’t handle the heat, then I’ll change my order next time. I promise you’ll be in the clear — I’m not gonna come storming back with lips on fire, threatening a lawsuit because you gave me jalapenos when I said ‘all the peppers‘. What I am gonna do, though, is shove one of those loaves of ‘hearty Italian’ bread up your ass, if you don’t remember my order, and stop asking me if ‘all the peppers‘ means ‘all the peppers‘! I’m already saying way more things to you than I should have to at this point in the game — don’t make this harder on us both, dude.
So, needless to say, I’m in a pretty crappy mood by the time I get to the timid little Indian girl at the cash register. Which is too bad, really, because she seems nice, and I’ve thought — between the waves of seething frustration blocking my vision — that she might even have that faint glimmer of recognition that I’m looking for. Certainly, she doesn’t seem all that surprised any more when I ask for ‘a medium drink, no chips‘. But by the time I get to her, I’ve given up, and I just listlessly fork over the dough, take my cup and my sandwich, and slink off to mope, and eat, and mope some more. Lunches are just so depressing now.
I’m not sure where all this is gonna end. I figure I’ll give these jokers until Christmas to shape up, it being the holiday season and all. But so help me, if I go down there in January, and I get asked what kind of cheese I want, or whether I want the meal special, or if I’m interested in ‘the jalapenos, too‘, I’m gonna go postal on those bitches. I can just see me leaping over the counter, and grabbing one of them by the collar, screaming, ‘It’s me, dammit! It’s me! Don’t play dumb with me, you asshole — you know what I want!!‘
So, um, yeah… if I suddenly stop posting after the new year begins, you’ll know that I’m probably in jail. Locked up for assault, or under psychiatric observation — something like that. Which is fine, I guess. At least in those places, they bring the food to you, and you don’t have to make any choices or talk to anyone about how you’d like your food prepared. It’s not quite the same as being a ‘regular’, but it’s a helluva lot better than the crap I’m putting up with now. I just hope they put jalapenos on the sandwiches in jail. Otherwise, I’m gonna have a whole different set of issues. Bitches!
Permalink | 8 CommentsHey, all — just a short note (which is all I’m really capable of before ten in the damned morning — sheesh) to point you towards Lucky at Crimeny, who’s pandering for hits offering a cool prize to a lucky someone who takes part in a little contest she’s running today. And today only, so get your butts over there — believe me, I’m not gonna post anything interesting here for a few more hours, so go see what Lucky’s up to. You might win something. It’ll be fun.
Of course, if you should win said contest, thereby beating me, you’ll have to share your loot. I’m looking for twenty percent, folks. So if it’s a CD, I get two songs. If it’s a book, I’ll take the dust jacket and a couple of chapters. A DVD? The cover and the scene with the car chase, or the showdown, or the last-ditch stand, or the big confrontation — whatever’s actually interesting — that’s mine. And ladies, if you win a pair of lacy panties, I get the crotch.
(See, now, this is what sucks about blogging before your brain’s really working… I can’t decide whether to follow that up with:
‘Man, I always end up with the crotch. Bitches!‘
or
‘Unless they’re already crotchless. Then you can just send me a picture of you trying them on. I do loves to see people enjoying their prizes. Um… so to speak.‘
or
‘Just let me know whether you wore the undies before sending the crotch, though. It’s fine either way — I just have to know which wing of my ‘Panties and Panty Pieces Museum’ to store them in.‘
Or probably there’s something better than those that I haven’t thought of. Man, this shit is just hopeless before ten am. Even when I find a way to set myself up — turning a perfectly innocent contest into ‘panty crotches’? Hel-lo? That’s genius! — I can’t follow through.
Bleh. If you come up with a better way to end this nightmare, or you wanna vote for one of my options above, drop me a comment. I’m gonna go soak in the shower until I can think straight again.)
Permalink | No Comments
![[Subscribe]](/blog/images/subscribe.png)
