misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

We finally had our day in court against Stephen Brown, the alcoholic from upstairs. The court, on Livingstone and Smith in downtown Brooklyn, is certainly nothing like you see on television, where a middle-aged doctor is being charged with the death of his wife, who was cheating on him, only to find out in the last four minutes that it was in fact the daughter that killed the wife because they were sleeping with the same man. Those courts are large and spacious and filled with lawyers in mini-skirts. This court was filled with lawyers in suits from Men's Warehouse, an unusually large amount of women with gout, and men who had some sort of sweat disorder. This interesting cast of people pack into a waiting area outside of the four courtrooms, waiting for a chance to complain about some annoying landlord, or unpaid security deposit, or eviction notice. For all the court cases you read about in the paper, you forget there are 1500 that aren't quite as newsworthy.

This was housing court, and might as well been located in Medieval Spain sometime around the Inquisition. I didn't actually see goats and chickens, but I'm quite sure I heard them. It was pure chaos. It had taken over a year even to get to this point, where we could testify in front of a judge who had the power to evict Stephen and get him real help. After an hour of waiting outside in the sea of dysfunction, I was called into the courtroom. And as before, this courtroom was far from the one I saw during the O.J. trial. It was like a court room would look if you made your own in your garage. On a flimsy defendant's table sat Stephen and his proxy (he couldn't afford a lawyer, so was assigned a social worker). On the prosecution's side sat my landlord and his rent-by-the-minute lawyer, who very well may have gotten his law degree in Turkmenistan. I was sworn in by the judge/bailiff/court reporter (I think she held all three positions).

It was odd to testify against a man who still lives in your building, directly above you. If he didn't like what I said, would I wake up in the middle of the night to see him standing over me with vaseline, a blow torch, and three chinese stars? Would he shit in his hands and wipe it on my doorknob?

Although I was sworn in, some of my testimony consisted of approximated memories. The events they were asking me about happened over a year ago, and I can hardly remember what happened in the time since I started this very blog. So when I said something happened in June of last year, it may have been March of last year, but I thought best to seem definitive about it. Being that Stephen has been drunk straight for over 19,043 hours, I assumed he wouldn't take issue with my times and dates. A few times he told his lawyer what I was saying was not true, but again, I feel I came off a bit more reliably than he did. I suffered through a few objections (which were fair enough, as you are all already aware, my stories often times make use of hyperbole to make points, but I quickly learned courts aren't particularly fond of exaggerations.)

It took about twenty minutes, then I left. About four more tenants (including Jill) testified. The decision should come within a few weeks. But even more importantly, I received more motivation than ever not to commit a crime. I always knew I couldn't make it through a day in jail. I am now convinced I wouldn't even make it through a day in court.

I just watched a man free-solo climb the 50-story NY Times building (meaning no ropes). My co-workers wife, who works in the building, called my co-worker to say a man just climbed past her window, which wouldn't have been too odd except for the fact she works on the 20th floor. Since the building is only a few blocks down the street, we headed out to our building's deck on the 19th floor, and there he was:

Working in midtown, I live among skyscrapers every day. Seeing a man hang off the face of one was pretty awesome though. It was like an ant crawling on your wall. We watched for about a half-hour, until he reached the top and climbed into the waiting arms of the NYPD. To confirm how completely different I am from this man (Alain Robert, who has done this sort of thing around the world to promote political causes), it is safe to say that I was more nervous watching him than he was actually climbing. I imagine what it is like, and that imagination scares me worse than the reality does him. If you ever see a man free solo climbing a skyscraper, you can go ahead and safely assume it wasn't me.

An essay titled "Something that is pissing me off on Tuesday, June 10, 2:13 P.M. Eastern Standard Time*, presented with the help of footnotes and inner-brackets":

The Something: Movies that remind me of other movies: Two of the previews before The Strangers (which for you horror movie fans** is actually really solid [particularly the first hour, which has a heavily slow and deliberate and authentic build towards tension and fear before ultimately turning to the use of horror movie cliches***, although this was forgiven by a solid ending which included an imaginative use of teenage girls]. [As a sub-bitch to this bitch, I will point out that the entire "Inspired by true events" premise of the movie is a bit misleading. Post-movie research reveals that the "true events" consisted of some creepy person**** knocking on the director's door when he was a child and asking for someone who didn't live there ... that was the "event" {which to his defense does happen in the movie, but everything else after that did not and stemmed only from his imagination} .... this should've been more obvious by the use of the word "inspired" by true events instead of "based" on true events, which i think legally requires more of a connection) were for two movies about assassins. One involved Nicholas Cage (Bangkok Dangerous which screams "shitty Hong Kong director unsuccessfully trying to remake a solid Asian flick for American audiences*****" ) and involves the following storyline: The world's best assassin goes to Bangkok for an assignment (assassin-speak for a kill), falls in love with a Thai chick (assassins never fall in love with members of their own race), doesn't have the heart to kill his assignment anymore because falling in love pussifies a man, and spends the rest of the movie escaping his employers, who are pissed at having hired the world's best assassin only to have him turn into a whipped in-love douche-bag******. If this sounds familiar, it is because it is. To a letter, that is the plot of the last twelve assassin movies i've seen, including The Replacement Killers, Point of No Return/Le Femme Nikita, The Long Kiss Goodnight, Gross Point Blanke, and A History of Violence. So what more needs to be said about this issue? Can we switch it up a bit, and find some other profession that is also trying on the conscience? Like being a puppy killer or organ trafficker or Enron management? Matters weren't helped by the fact that the second preview was also a movie about assassins, with Angelina Jolie******* , called Wanted, which vaguely reminded me of every movie i've ever seen rolled into one. The remaining trailers consisted of The Incredible Hulk 2 and a comedy about a failed actor who had one last chance at redemption by teaching at a high school where he finally finds what life is all about.******** I now feel better about working in the advertising industry than I ever did before. I've realized that all this redundant drivel I spend all day making is exactly like making movies, only everything is longer and there is more money behind it.*********

* EST
** In other words Adrian Liang and Deborah Anderson
*** Such as: The dead cell-phone battery cliche (which is better than the no-reception cliche), the trip over a hidden branch during an escape attempt cliche (which instantly ends the said escape attempt), the unaware friend who arrives at the house and doesn't think to call anyone even though he sees blood and broken windows cliche, and the use of creepy masks cliche, which, in this instance, although they are thoroughly creepy, as someone who has dressed up as Death the past two halloweens, I think I can accurately tell you that wearing a mask for more than ten minutes is particularly uncomfortable and dramatically impairs your vision and breathing, even more so when you are trying to chase two twenty-something-year-olds while holding a sharp person-killing device.
**** I actually added the creepy person part, it was just a regular person knocking on the director's door and asking for someone who didn't live there. Whether or not that was at night, or the person at the door was a girl asking for "Tamara" is neither confirmed nor denied by Wikipedia.
***** Like John Woo spent ten years doing. White pigeons anyone?
****** Why are assassins always falling in love and becoming bitches? When I got a girlfriend, I didn't suddenly start sucking at my job. Why is having a girlfriend so incompatible with killing for a living? It seems this is the kind of thing a professional assassin would've thought out before meeting a girl, and even then I'd have to say this particular guy is bitch-whipped.
******* I have an issue with the casting on this. Angelina Jolie as an assassin is just not working for me.
******** Which actually I might see, but only if the failed actor turns out to be an assassin at the end.
********* The end.

This blog needs a rethinking.

A rebirth.

A reperspective. Or rather, a new perspective.

This blog started in 2000 as a place to share stories of my big trip to Asia and Europe. This was back when I actually did things instead of work, and had interesting things to talk about. This has since changed.

In my daily reading, the only blogs I check outside of sfninja are specialized blogs: blogs that analyze the daily presidential polls; blogs that discuss NBA basketball rumors; blogs that discuss events in Brooklyn Heights; blogs that tell me what white people like.

The trick to these blogs is that they discuss events that are always happening, regardless of the blogger's own life situation. Every day, new presidential polling takes place, meaning the blogger always has something to analyze and discuss. Even if he sat on his ass all weekend, he wakes up Monday morning with new material, thanks wholly to the efforts of others. When you write about events in your own life, the blog becomes a reflection of the activity in your day-to-day. If your day is boring, so then is your blog. And as my last six months has consisted of work, running and tv, i.e. boring shit. And I like to write about how I had Jamba Juice for breakfast even less than you like to read about it.

At first I took this as a challenge to find the interesting tidbits in the monotony of day-to-day life, in a Seinfeld type of way. But I've mined that area for all it is worth. I can only get so worked up over employees bringing their babies in to work, office bathroom etiquette, and the fat guy at the gym. I'm bored before I even write the blog.

That's the good side to a blog: it serves as a mirror for your life. If you go weeks without being inspired to write something, it probably means you are doing something wrong in life. There is also amirror called New York City. That guy to your left makes a million dollars more than you, and the girl to your right is a famous violinist. And you are the guy who sits on his ass after work and watches reruns of House.

So this blog needs to become topical. I gave that a try a year ago with a trivia site. This was back when I thought I'd be on "Who Wants to Be A Millionaire". Which of course never happened, as that would've been interesting. Ultimately, the issue I have to face is my ability to write on a daily basis is severely limited by my laziness and inability to stay interested in anything longer than two weeks.

Maybe this needs to become a blog about other blogs. There are enough blogs talking about boring lives out there. Maybe some sort of review of these blogs would be more interesting than the blogs themselves.

Maybe this blog should start being honest again. And I can write revealing things to embarrass co-workers and friends.

Maybe I should take a hint from the blog and actually start doing things worth writing about again.

Or maybe I should just start telling you about House and the contours of my couch. It might not be incredibly interesting, but at least I could be assured of having something to write about every day.

The Netflix recommendation of the day: The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters

You never realized how much life meaning can be found in a game of Donkey Kong.