Dorian Grey

One of my friends has a co-worker that she refers to as Dorian Grey. Dorian Grey? I asked? Why him? She proceeded to tell me about her co-worker, and I think I agree. Tell me what you think. It seems she and this guy work in the same office in our typical cube environment. Lots of fun as I am sure we all know. It seems this forced day to day closely knit (forced) share living has led her to believe her co-worker is a prime example of a modern day Dorian Grey. He seems to think that no matter what he does, no matter how vile or disgusting he acts it has no affect on his personality or reputation. According to her, he makes Waylan Smithers toadying look amateurish. He is constantly planting his lips on the bosses ass. Like most offices, their office has layers of command. She says that it does not matter which bosses ass he kisses, he kisses them all. Making sure that his smiling face is always there when any chance for self-advancement crops up. However, just like Mr. Grey he does not realize that the rest of the world is looking at your "portrait." This portrait is the picture the rest of us see when we glance in your direction. She says that when she looks at him her "lunch struggles to stay in her stomach." It seems the true tragedy of his toadyism is that the "main" boss thinks he is ready for promotion. Sorry there is not really a lesson to learn here folks, it is just something that strikes me as a sad commentary on today social mores.

Death in Vegas

In two weeks, my friends and I have a funeral to attend in Vegas. Myself, Lefty, The Mayor, P Diddy, JPK, and a couple of others will board our separate flights, head to Sin City and lay our dear friend B_____ to rest. It is not that sad of a story, our buddy had a good life of nearly 38 years at least half of which he enjoyed. I mean if you are happy 50 percent of the time you are doing fairly well. You may wonder how we know it is in two weeks, and why it is in Vegas. Well it seems B_____ planned it that way. He took the fateful steps that lead him to Death in Vegas about 6 months ago. None all of us knew it, I am not sure he knew exactly what he was doing at the time, but here we are 6 months later trying to piece it all together. We do not know if we should be terribly sad, or terribly happy about this turn of events. We do know that a lot of drinking, and remembering the corpse will take place. We are also aware that all the King's horses and all the King's men are not going to be able to put B_____ back together again, and as the date of his funeral draws closer, I for one, think that maybe, just maybe he wanted it that way.

The Horror

No, this is not a post about The Heart of Darkness that is another story entirely. This is merely a quick post to bemoan the fact that I have been for the past two weeks utterly bereft of ideas to blog about. I wonder if Zola or Hemingway had this problem? I also wonder what they would do about it. My boon companions and I have a slogan that solves most of our problems. It is a simple slogan "DRINK THROUGH IT" it works most of the time. Notice I said most of the time. No plan is perfect, and when you are throwing up in the bushes at 5 a.m. the idea of drinking through it does not really seem to be a great idea. Perhaps the solution is, and it is the one that obliquely I am attempting is to write through it. Though as I stare blankly at the blinking cursor that is taunting me by saying "you do not have a single cogent thought worth writing down." Writing through it may not seem the best idea either. However, as your faithless correspondent I feel at least some small obligation to my world-wide readership to attempt to shake the "blog bloc" that has afflicted me in such a horrid way. Perhaps this is what Zola or Flaubert tried simply writing something down in the hopes that it would shake something loose. Though for those two gentlemen their writing was never good enough. To write what seems to be gold one day, go to bed content with your days work, and to wake up read it again and find that somehow, overnight your gold has turned to lead is a terrible thing to happen to any writer. I share this affliction, though for me it does not take overnight. I return to my post almost immediately after publishing it, and find to my amazement how it all went so horribly wrong.
Though I believe that this post has acheived something worthwhile. In the immortal words of Frank Constanza "I'm back baby!!!!!!!!"