not bad

I am now getting around to telling you I made an appointment for an oil change (no emphasis) over the phone and the call ended by second 43. The call was complete with last name tag, car make and model and date preference. Blunt, brief and gone. Thank you Bob for answering before I even had time to adjust myself on the steps.

twilight .... zone

Since the title of the episode "A Stop at Willoughby" jumped out at me after matching the audiobook to its tagged source, Willoughby Public Library, I have saved time on Thursdays or Sundays or other to leave for a world of imagination and sound. I've crossed over into "The Twilight Zone."

Five volumes, 10 episodes per volume, 40 minutes per episode, all "Hi, this is Stacy Keach." Only in this fifth volume did necessities of script become clear. I still haven't identified supporting cast of characters. One necessity is the main character to have a one-sided conversation. Sometimes with a mirror image or plotting a plan or summarily saying, "How did I get here?"

I had a first favorite in "The After Hours." The same narrator painted pictures with a neighbor lady as temperatures rose in "Midnight Sun." She had a moment with an intruder searching for water. He rethought having to use his gun.

A couple mind-warps in there, clever introductions to characters, head-on material and some post-production sound effects under the dial of fantasy. "Willoughby," "Cliffordville," and another destination in "Walking Distance." What a classic. That performer chooses his work wisely.

I took my sweet time on volume five by no purpose. I was away. The three audiobooks I packed did not include the supernatural unless you consider Nixon at top Rat Fucker in "All The President's Men" a gross juxtaposition of frightening images. Before episode eight I had described "Big Tall Wish" and "The Fever" as back-to-back masterpieces. Maybe re-listened to the former, for sure not the latter.

Here comes "The Long Morrow." I folded laundry during past episodes. Cleaned whatever. Enjoyed putting things in their place while listening to a story. Shaved my face and waited for a break then moved the player from the bathroom. I almost exclusively listened to episodes in my bedroom. I'll consider the bathroom in the area. Exceptions: one washing dishes, one on the roof, two pulling weeds and, max, three driving. In the bedroom, playing on an alarm clock with cd player, is a plan for listening in one sitting.

You've seen that e-pic-specially long film trailer for "Cloud Atlas," yes? I like it. A couple of new - or old - colleagues just see each other inside an office. He asks her, "What - what are you doing in here?" History past or future history. That kind of unknown is on the same side of supernatural as this story plays.

If I had anything more to say about the plot it would include "love" and "didn't go as planned." I don't and I kind of can't get over it. Not the lack of my re-written story but what the story did. Or its atmosphere or how it did it. Maybe it's because I don't know what either of them look like. That the actresses voice is as young as the 26 year old character.

"The Twilight Zone" must have an audience for poignant moments. They've had their share and not just characters relative to one another. Multiple times over in "Midnight Sun." This last noteworthy story is the only I can recall as and would call tender. And it may all happen with a bump-into, dinner and dance. Before their sacrifices but not necessarily absent of them.

Well that's it. There are more volumes out there, none of which these libraries hold. There are "collections." Five discs per set. Unheard episodes on those. And I have a new favorite episode. Something to listen to during the times I-can't-say-ahead-of-time-that-I-will-want-to-listen.

alumni

It's a couple hours now long gone since a can-I-handle. I handled and came out successful. As successful as. Here at a desk I am starting two things: Saturday Night Fever and this entry, of course. John Travolta is running with a can of paint. And now he just gave her a discount.

I am back home. Like I know it's too much of a comfort zone after surveying a floor of em-ploy-ors. Marking who else just might not want to introduce themselves.

I had to make a game out of the scene. I was parked a quarter mile away. Could have brought my set of two wheels and coasted from the outer rim - I think it was a dead end - of the bowl to the Ohio Union.

After one round up and down I just left and sat in a chair across from a young man maybe a couple years younger than me. On a phone call he said he would return to make sure he didn't miss anyone. My roster had some circles of tables I would eventually approach.

I sat on deck at the Columbus Dispatch. What was her name without looking at her card? She donned some curious eyebrows like she didn't believe my story that I once worked for a newspaper, albeit a fish wrap like our first stop in newsstands before the recycle bin.

What, when you have a resume, can you say to stall someone how asks for a resume? Perhaps the stall isn't in the un-file but the hand-off. You want this resume that I have limited copies of, you're going to have to tell me about the positions you're secretly hiring for that you're not telling anyone else about.

Over at inVentiv Health I introduced myself based only on the title of the company. The first part of the title of the company. She said the word "pharmaceuticals" and there wasn't much more to talk about. I was listening over the shoulder of the previous person. I brought that up. "No entry-level positions, I heard?" "Right. There is a V.P. position but ..." Now on my mind what the previous introductee had been offered to pick and choose and loot from their table, I said, "I'll take that one." Take the t-shirt.

Now I'm in a ballroom with a bunch of want-well-to-dos I'm trying to hide a large thankfully-folded-already shirt.

Where did the next thought come from? When I walked out and found the men's restroom, was I just spacing out my time, calling an audible on my plan to shotgun the showroom and acting like I'm peeing. Better to act like I'm peeing in the men's bathroom than anywhere else.

Yes, by then I needed somewhere to shelve this shirt. I considered one of my legs. A couple of my Velcros would have strapped it to my calf leg. In a stall. I won't retell a story from grade five and a pair of lost underwear. I would be making this into a reconnaissance mission. Inspect the porcelain. Protect the package by wrapping it in T.P. The toilet's shaped-to-ride-the-roller-coaster-waste design made for a sticking place. Be back whenever.

Returned to main. Later returned to men's. It had fallen but still hidden. I had a plastic bag by then. I walked out the front door. Tony's brother just left the dance club.

on my time

I flourish on Fridays.