Memories, a crappy day, then an early day off.
A year ago today, we moved into our apartment, and thus moved into Charleston, South Carolina. It feels like we've been here a lot longer than a year, but at times I feel like we've just moved in. I remember the first day we were here, October 1st of 2004. We drove from Greenville to Charleston after Heavenly, Shawn and Doug finally arrived at Duquesne Drive, at the house from which this livejournal originated. After missing a turn (understandable - Frontage Road has no sign visible from highway 61) and getting lost (we got all the way down to 17 and Bees Ferry!) and calling the apartment complex, Shawn and I (Heavenly and Doug were slightly behind us, still on the road) arrived at Ashley Oaks, I signed the lease, and then we steppend into this apartment for the very first time. Needless to say, it was white and bare, but it felt to me as if a black canvas on which we could paint our fondest dreams and desires. A new chance, a new beginning. And I think, when I consider all the things we've been through, that we did note end up doing that bad a job. I have a lot of good memories in this apartment and in this city, despite all the hardships. That night, after a quick shower and change of clothes, we went downtown (me for the very first time - I remember how awed I was by the beautiful houses and plants, how delighted I was that this was our home - and I still am; downtown is the best thing about being here, and everything else is almost not that bad in the face of downtown Charleston, South Carolina) for our very first, and the season's first, Art Walk, in which a number of art galleries are open for the public, serving free wine and small snacks. That was a great night. I think back on returning the huge truck in Mount Pleasant, Doug's and my first venture out onto the roads of Charleston of which we knew nothing. Coming back to an apartment filled with boxes, but still exciting; instead of a blank canvas, it now seemed that our apartment was filled with great portions of cardboard stone, from which we could carve out a new home.
Last night I had one of the worst nights I can remember. I closed, with Chazz, but we were pretty much dead for a long time until 15 minutes before closing, so I asked Carlye if I could be sent home early. He said "we'll see", and I went off to take what I thought would be my last delivery and the end of my night.
Heh.
On the way back, I stopped at a Hess station at Ashley River Road and Sycamore, and bought a can of Fix-a-flat, since one of the tires in the Pontiac is constantly losing air. For $5.99, no less; I've always got them at Wal-Mart before, for just over $2. When I got back to work, I deflated the tire in question so I could put the stuff in, and, as I pressed the button to inflate the tire, the nozzle broke off of the twist component that screws onto the tire, thus rendering the entire bottle useless.
So I came in to see if someone could give me a ride back to Hess to get another bottle, only to find that we had four deliveries up. So Carlye had me take one of them, in his Tempo, because it was close to the Hess in question. That car was so loud, and making all kinds of noises, and Carlye had said something about it going dead lately...not to mention the fact that the gas in the Tempo was just above empty...I feared that if it didn't die on me, it'd run out of gas.
Thankfully, none of that happened. I went to the Hess I bought the Fix-a-flat from, and at first the guy wouldn't replace the bottle, because his manager wasn't there. He finally agreed, on the condition that I call his boss first thing on Monday, so that he doesn't lose his job. To which I agreed.
Okay. So I take the delivery and get back to work all right, only to have the exact same thing happen to my new bottle, this time before I can even get the thing screwed on all the way. So I say, fuck it. I'm not going back there.
While all this happens, Carlye sends Chazz home early, meaning I have to stay and mop floors. I have another delivery to take, only to find that my car's battery is now dead, from using it to inflate the tire so many times, and from having that stupid f&(king sign plugged into it all night. So, again, I have to take the Tempo on delivery. When I get back I start mopping, only to find Chazz has barely swept at all. After I'm done, I finally get Carlye's keys to his good car, drive it around to where mine is, and start trying to jump it. After about twelve minutes of it not working, I check the instruction book for my car to make sure I've got everything hooked up right. I do. After a while, Carlye comes out and tells him I'm doing it wrong. I tell him I'm not, and show him the diagram in the book. But he changes the clamps on the jump cord anyway, and immediately the car starts up. Okay.
Thankfully, that was the end of it all.
I decided to take today off (I'm supposed to be in at 5 and work through 10:30), just to give that car a rest. With the Buick sitting uselessly dead in the parking lot, and us with no money to fix it, the other car, the Pontiac, is our only car. It was kind of a wake-up call for me (and, I think, for Heavenly) to find that this wretched job is starting to affect her car as well. It's given me new resolve (as if I didn't need, or even have, a hard enough resolve already) to lose this job and get another one, no matter what it is. This job is a poison to my happiness, and will be the death of both our cars; it might even have already killed the Buick for good, as I'd rather sell it for spare parts than spend any more money getting it fixed.
So I'm off today. I haven't called in yet, but I will eventually. I have to call in later, closer to when I come in, so that my excuse will not be attempted to be solved by Carlye, who never takes no for an answer unless he can't find a way around it. This weekend I am job hunting, hardcore.
I recently finished The Rule of Four, by Ian Caldwell & Dustin Thomason. It's a great book. It's been compared to The Da Vinci Code, but that comparison is misleading. The characters' search for clues and codes within old works of art is where the similarities end. Dan Brown's writing style is fast paced, every chapter short and ending with a cliffhanger. Caldwell and Thomason prefer to go slower, luxuriously so I think (I've been thinking lately how enjoyable it is to be reading a good book, and how it's such a shame to get to the end of one so quickly), and with a lot more character development. The ending is also great, a surprise ending that I never would have expected after what happened, and one which, despite its nature, does not feel contrived at all.
I'm now reading a book called Made in America: an Informal History of the English Language in America by Bill Bryson. It's very interesting; apart from the linguistic studies, it goes over American history, revealing much of what I thought was true about the origins and youth of our country to be nothing but pure mythology. And here I was, thinking America was the only culture in the world without real mythology. I was wrong: just as Izanagi's Jeweled Spear of Heaven dipped into the primeaval oceans, eight drops of saltwater dropping from its tip and forming the islands of Japan, America has its own mythology of its creation. Filled with firey hearted patriots, brave men who said things like "Give me liberty or give me death!", America's mythology, like that of many cultures, explores and justifies its country's origin. It's all very fascinating. It makes me think that would be a great idea for a book: to present America's mythology as exactly what it is: mythology, rathern than history. And in a mythological style, as if it came from some ancient manuscript, written grand and eloquent.
Well, I've written quite enough for one entry, so I'll let this be the end of it.
Last night I had one of the worst nights I can remember. I closed, with Chazz, but we were pretty much dead for a long time until 15 minutes before closing, so I asked Carlye if I could be sent home early. He said "we'll see", and I went off to take what I thought would be my last delivery and the end of my night.
Heh.
On the way back, I stopped at a Hess station at Ashley River Road and Sycamore, and bought a can of Fix-a-flat, since one of the tires in the Pontiac is constantly losing air. For $5.99, no less; I've always got them at Wal-Mart before, for just over $2. When I got back to work, I deflated the tire in question so I could put the stuff in, and, as I pressed the button to inflate the tire, the nozzle broke off of the twist component that screws onto the tire, thus rendering the entire bottle useless.
So I came in to see if someone could give me a ride back to Hess to get another bottle, only to find that we had four deliveries up. So Carlye had me take one of them, in his Tempo, because it was close to the Hess in question. That car was so loud, and making all kinds of noises, and Carlye had said something about it going dead lately...not to mention the fact that the gas in the Tempo was just above empty...I feared that if it didn't die on me, it'd run out of gas.
Thankfully, none of that happened. I went to the Hess I bought the Fix-a-flat from, and at first the guy wouldn't replace the bottle, because his manager wasn't there. He finally agreed, on the condition that I call his boss first thing on Monday, so that he doesn't lose his job. To which I agreed.
Okay. So I take the delivery and get back to work all right, only to have the exact same thing happen to my new bottle, this time before I can even get the thing screwed on all the way. So I say, fuck it. I'm not going back there.
While all this happens, Carlye sends Chazz home early, meaning I have to stay and mop floors. I have another delivery to take, only to find that my car's battery is now dead, from using it to inflate the tire so many times, and from having that stupid f&(king sign plugged into it all night. So, again, I have to take the Tempo on delivery. When I get back I start mopping, only to find Chazz has barely swept at all. After I'm done, I finally get Carlye's keys to his good car, drive it around to where mine is, and start trying to jump it. After about twelve minutes of it not working, I check the instruction book for my car to make sure I've got everything hooked up right. I do. After a while, Carlye comes out and tells him I'm doing it wrong. I tell him I'm not, and show him the diagram in the book. But he changes the clamps on the jump cord anyway, and immediately the car starts up. Okay.
Thankfully, that was the end of it all.
I decided to take today off (I'm supposed to be in at 5 and work through 10:30), just to give that car a rest. With the Buick sitting uselessly dead in the parking lot, and us with no money to fix it, the other car, the Pontiac, is our only car. It was kind of a wake-up call for me (and, I think, for Heavenly) to find that this wretched job is starting to affect her car as well. It's given me new resolve (as if I didn't need, or even have, a hard enough resolve already) to lose this job and get another one, no matter what it is. This job is a poison to my happiness, and will be the death of both our cars; it might even have already killed the Buick for good, as I'd rather sell it for spare parts than spend any more money getting it fixed.
So I'm off today. I haven't called in yet, but I will eventually. I have to call in later, closer to when I come in, so that my excuse will not be attempted to be solved by Carlye, who never takes no for an answer unless he can't find a way around it. This weekend I am job hunting, hardcore.
I recently finished The Rule of Four, by Ian Caldwell & Dustin Thomason. It's a great book. It's been compared to The Da Vinci Code, but that comparison is misleading. The characters' search for clues and codes within old works of art is where the similarities end. Dan Brown's writing style is fast paced, every chapter short and ending with a cliffhanger. Caldwell and Thomason prefer to go slower, luxuriously so I think (I've been thinking lately how enjoyable it is to be reading a good book, and how it's such a shame to get to the end of one so quickly), and with a lot more character development. The ending is also great, a surprise ending that I never would have expected after what happened, and one which, despite its nature, does not feel contrived at all.
I'm now reading a book called Made in America: an Informal History of the English Language in America by Bill Bryson. It's very interesting; apart from the linguistic studies, it goes over American history, revealing much of what I thought was true about the origins and youth of our country to be nothing but pure mythology. And here I was, thinking America was the only culture in the world without real mythology. I was wrong: just as Izanagi's Jeweled Spear of Heaven dipped into the primeaval oceans, eight drops of saltwater dropping from its tip and forming the islands of Japan, America has its own mythology of its creation. Filled with firey hearted patriots, brave men who said things like "Give me liberty or give me death!", America's mythology, like that of many cultures, explores and justifies its country's origin. It's all very fascinating. It makes me think that would be a great idea for a book: to present America's mythology as exactly what it is: mythology, rathern than history. And in a mythological style, as if it came from some ancient manuscript, written grand and eloquent.
Well, I've written quite enough for one entry, so I'll let this be the end of it.