tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50915405115403081142023-11-15T06:41:27.664-08:00the open/shut caseJordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-48396829516361496852013-09-17T19:03:00.000-07:002013-09-17T19:04:35.707-07:00When I wake up I'm in a furyIf we've ever met you probably know that I am a miserable person. I hate pretty much everyone I meet, have no patience for other people's children, frequently litter and at least once a day like to say something horrible about someone else to boost my own self esteem. It's not easy being this awful, in fact most of the time it's exhausting.<br />
<br />
I'd give almost anything to be one of those dumb-dumbs walking around with their eyes closed not noticing the terrible things going on around them. I wish I could live in a world where I couldn't see girls wearing garish mint colored pants, or hear people say literally when they mean figuratively or feel the jarring brush of a stranger when they forego all common decency and touch me without my permission. I do not live in that world; I live in a land where it seems as though sometimes I am the only one who has any idea what's going on. <br />
<br />To my surprise every once in a while my clarity will be clouded, and I am able to walk around in a good mood for up to thirty minutes at a time. Sometimes this change in temperament is brought about because of a particularly long and lovely nap, while sometimes it's because I just had an eggroll with my lunch. I'm having one of those moments right now, where I can feel the air in my lungs and Taylor Swift's music sounds uncharacteristically not terrible and I'm just happy to be alive.<br />
<br />
This must be what taking mood stabilizers is like, so I better go enjoy it while it lasts, I probably have a good ten minutes left before I turn back into a curmudgeon. Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-63724268880144882552013-07-25T19:58:00.000-07:002013-07-25T19:58:00.027-07:00Wake up! Wake up on a Saturday night.Have you ever read "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin? If you haven't read it then you must have never taken what was supposed to be an American Literature class that ended up being more about penis theory than literature. If you have read it I'm sorry for divulging into this terrible summary.<br />
<br />
So, "The Awakening" is about a woman in the 1800's or something who after living her whole life wanting to marry the right man who can take care of her financially she finds him, marries him and then spends her time wanting things that are still out of her reach. She has a husband and kid she doesn't love and a house too big for them to afford. She finds herself having spent her entire life wanting all of the wrong things.<br />
<br />
Eventually she discovers that what she really wants out of life is sex. That's it. She just wants to get pounded, over and over if possible. So she meets a man, has an affair and for minutes is blissfully happy. She vacations at a home near the sea and one day she walks into the ocean. She doesn't stop to build a sand castle, she doesn't sit in the surf to feel the waves wash over her. Instead she walks into the water lets the water go over her feet, over her calves, her knees, her waist, her shoulders and her head. She finally figured out what would set her free so she made a decision and even though it was ridiculous she followed through with it.<br />
<br />
Now you're caught up and I can tell you why I brought this terrible tale into your life. See, I too am having an awakening though not of the sexual kind, that happened in 1998 when I saw my first Britney Spears music video. <br />
<br />
My awakening is just about wanting.<br />
<br />
I've spent most of my adult life so far having no idea what I want. While everyone else I knew was getting married, starting careers and moving away, I was doing something altogether different.<br />
<br />
Like the protagonist of "The Awakening," it's like I've been asleep for 27 years and all of a sudden my eyes have fluttered open and through the blurriness I see the shapes of all of these things that I never realized were something I even wanted, but now are all I can think of. I now realize that the things I want, no matter how numerous or ridiculous are things that I deserve. <br />
<br />
So I'm making a promise to myself to go after the things that I want. I'm not going to listen to people who tell me I can't. I'm not going to let myself change my mind. I am going to walk into the water, feel the water enter my airway, feel the sting of raw panic scratch my brain as I begin to realize that there may be no way out. Then just as quickly as it began, I'll surface, turn around back the way I came and lie on the beach, happy knowing that I did what I set out to do.Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-12137787293147605822013-02-21T19:38:00.001-08:002013-02-21T19:38:15.026-08:00It's tax seasonIt is tax season and for the very first time I owed money to the government. I fought the man and the man won. Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-38991769062736340282012-12-31T12:13:00.002-08:002012-12-31T12:14:29.376-08:00In Review<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On paper or even a digital medium like this it would seem to
most people that I had a banner year. I’ve had more opportunities than I’ve
ever had in the past. I’m mere months away from earning my degree and maybe
moving away and doing something new with my life. My triumphs this year have
been numerous, but if sitting in a million undergraduate history courses has
taught me anything it’s that years are not remembered by the good things but by
their tragedies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For instance no one remembers anything good from the year
2001. In that year there were countless babies born, astounding innovations in
technology and some greatly terrible movies such as Zoolander. No one thinks of
those things however. You only think about the tragedies, you only think about
the crumbling buildings and the lives lost. I’m not saying that the good things
don’t count but that the tragedies always trump them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back to me, this year I’ve done a number of things that I
should feel incredible amounts of pride in. I am finally a legitimate published
writer. I’ve had my name on the pages of a newspaper at least a hundred times
in the past few months. I’ve made real inroads into other forms of media such
as radio, where I’ve been freelancing since my internship last summer. I even
got the chance to be a marketing intern for Microsoft. MICROSOFT! None of it
matters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our years are only counted by the tragedies and not the
triumphs. 2012 will never just be the year that I started my career in earnest.
The year will always be known by me as the last time I spoke to Son Tran. The
last time I saw his face or made him laugh. The year that should have been one
of my best was instead marred by this one terrible thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I last spoke to him just a few hours before he died. Though
the conversation was completely frivolous, I can’t help but playing it in a constant
loop in my mind. I was studying for my first government test of the semester
with the notes he had taken when he took the class. He called wanting to talk,
and I told him that I was busy. I knew how he worked and that if he persuaded
me to push off my studies that we would end up on the phone for hours. I could
never have a short conversation with him, it was always hours long. As I was
about to hang up he asked me if he should spend $200 on underwear. I don’t
remember the brand or type of the undergarments, only that he had just received
his student loan check days prior and wanted to blow some money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I told him that he’d be an idiot to spend that kind of money
on something like that. He eventually agreed with me and I got off the phone. I
often wonder how things would have changed if that had happened differently. If
I had put off my studies would we have talked for hours causing him to be too
tired to go out that night? If I had told him I thought that $200 was a perfectly
reasonable amount to spend on underwear, would he have felt so guilty for
having ordered them that he would have stayed home that night to save money?
Would he have died? Would he have lived?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I say this not to make it sound like I blame myself for what
happened, but what if it had changed something? Would I have just been delaying
the inevitable? Would someone who was so funny and fragile and leaning
precariously on the edge have eventually met the same fate whether it be on
that night or on a million other possible occasions? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If he had lived would my year have turned out any
differently? I’m not always sure what I believe in, but what if all the great
things that happened to me this year were given to me as a sort of peace
offering? Some celestial being saying, look, I know I dealt you a hard hand
when I took your friend away, so have these opportunities, take these things to
ease the blow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would trade those things for him. I would trade my name in
newsprint if it meant things could have turned out differently. I’d trade the
paychecks for not having to feel like I can’t breathe whenever I drive past the
spot where it happened. I would trade the whole year for him to have one more
day. None of that matters, those things aren’t real.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m looking forward to 2013. I’m looking forward to moving
on and branching out. I’m hoping that in 2013 for the first time the good
things will finally outweigh the bad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-57605193478821949452012-08-01T18:06:00.001-07:002012-08-01T18:06:47.817-07:00Now I'm in this corner trying to put it back togetherWe once watched a Britney Spears interview together in which she talked about how when she's sad she tells her assistant that it's raining. After that whenever you were having a bad day you'd call me and tell me it was raining. The sun could be bright but in your world it was storming. I did the best I could to be your umbrella ('ella, 'ella). <br />
Now it's my life that has the inclement weather. Son, it's raining and I wish you were here.Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-17259591209293156402012-06-17T23:04:00.001-07:002012-06-17T23:04:52.445-07:00When you're sinking like a stone...A handful of months ago I had a lot of unfocused hopes for the future. Nothing was set in stone, but I had a fairly realistic plan of what I wanted to do with my life. Some of it was fantastical, but then again so is nearly every plan I have. Then something happened, and I was crushed and aimless.<br />
<br />
I deflate easily. Like a balloon you're too cheap to pay to fill with helium at Party-City, and instead decide to expel your hot carbon-dioxide into. I lose sight of where I'm going with only the slightest of provocations. It's part of what makes me such a terrible driver. It's also part of the reason why I am where I am in life right now. <br />
<br />
Though the bright part is that I start dreaming really fast too. Two weeks ago I started an internship. A couple of days later my friends asked me to move to Austin (where they will be living in the very near future) when they graduate. Suddenly I'm looking at apartments, and furniture at IKEA. I'm planning to transfer from the company I'm interning at into one of their Texas branches. I'm researching graduate schools in the area, I'm ordering a GRE review book. It takes almost nothing to get me going. <br />
<br />
But I like the up-and-downess of my life. In a weird way it keeps me steady. If I didn't get discouraged easily, I'd live perpetually in that land of fantasy I am prone to escaping to. If I didn't get excited easily I'd live in a constant state of melancholia. This way I'm fairly balanced.<br />
<br />
Needless to say I am both terribly excited about what might happen while at the same time waiting for someone to kick me in the nads just hard enough to get me to calm down.<br />
<br />
<br />
(By the way I wrote this in the Blogger app. If it comes out well I might actually be posting more due to the sheer ease of the process.)<br />
<br />
<br />
Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-61898473477687808552012-03-06T20:38:00.001-08:002012-03-06T20:38:28.585-08:00Kelli should probably copyright these things so that I can't pass them off as my own<b>Cool Things</b><br />
<br />
Bryant and Kelli are coming in this weekend! <br />
<br />
Last weekend when I and some of Son Tran's closest friends threw him a memorial birthday party at a bar in which a man playing a guitar honored our request of playing Lucky by Britney Spears for him.<br />
<br />
The buckyball things which I bought as a gift for someone, and decided to play with myself. That shit is really cool, and also totally confusing.<br />
<br />
Girl scout cookies are back. I have the seven empty boxes of Samoas to prove it.<br />
<br />
SMASH, which although is mildly embarrassing to admit that I watch, is still kind of like the more affluent person's Glee. <br />
<br />
<b>Uncool Things</b><br />
<br />
If someone in a bar ever tells you to try an Irish Car Bomb, do not buy one for all of your friends and spend sixty dollars on them (like I did last weekend) because they are fucking terrible. Seriously, just fucking awful.<br />
<br />
People who I need to interview for one article or another, refusing to get back to me in a timely fashion. Seriously, what is that about? If ever someone thought I was interesting enough to warrant a feature story---I'd fucking grant an interview, posthaste.<br />
<br />
When you realize that on more than one occasion you attended a birthday party/sleepover with someone who has now been convicted of owning child pornography.<br />
<br />
Waking up with hangovers for four Saturdays in a row. <br />
<br />
That feeling I sometimes get that reminds me of things that I don't particularly feel like dealing with right now. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-89504606699737913122012-02-29T20:06:00.001-08:002012-02-29T20:06:45.954-08:00I'M RECYCLING MYSELF<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wrote this for my university's newspaper, for a column entitled 'Gribble Dribble'. I'm well aware how bad that title is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s been a lot of news lately about death and
destruction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last week, in a Cleveland
Ohio adjacent high school a student opened fire, injuring five and killing
three classmates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, 13 people
died in storms that struck the Midwest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Though, it isn’t all bad news as North Korea has finally agreed to
conclude their nuclear testing, which means we no longer have to worry about that
particular country bombing and killing thousands of our citizens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The point is that the potential is there for too many people
to be dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natural disasters notwithstanding,
there are no excuses for human beings to die for any reasons other than disease
or famine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are technically animals,
and other species do not kill one another unless it is over a territory dispute
or for nourishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As long as we’ve all
declared ourselves as a non-cannibalistic people, with well defined national
borders, there should be no reason for one man to even think of killing
another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not saying that these three groups didn’t have what they
considered to be good reasons to do what they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the Ohio student was a victim of
bullying, which made him pull the trigger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe North Korea felt threatened by other nations which spurred them to
researching bomb making.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the
weather felt threatened by mudslides and brushfires, and wanted to show them whose
boss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no clue as to why anyone or
anything would choose to end a life; I just know that it has to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever happened to live and let live, or the golden rule,
or cliché’s of the like?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When did we
decide that we have the power to make these decisions?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to play into religion, but I’m pretty
sure we are not intelligent enough to be making these kinds of choices, on who
is or is not allowed to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, sure
natural selection is partly at play, but I think that all of us are mentally
fit enough to decide that we do not want to perish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, why should it be that anyone else gets to
end your life?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need to get the guns off the streets, and out of the
hands of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to get the plutonium
(or whatever those crazy terrorists are using to make bombs these days) off of
the black market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to get
stronger Doppler radar and storm shelters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We need to stop dying for needless reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need as many people alive as possible in
case we do revert back to that whole cannibalism thing, because groceries are
expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-5562805178864330452012-02-14T21:41:00.000-08:002012-02-14T21:41:30.860-08:00All of our friends will go away, they're going to better placesI hope you'll excuse me if this post is scattered, but I can't seem to find an orderly way to say what I mean right now. <br />
<br />
<br />
Son Tran, <br />
<br />
<br />
God, I hate that I'm writing this. It feels like a
goodbye letter, and I can tell you that the last thing I want to say to
you, is goodbye. <br />
<br />
<br />
I think you would hate the idea of me writing about you.
Sure, you'd like the attention, but you probably wouldn't agree with
anything I said. You'd ask me to take it down, I'd say no. You'd end
up blackmailing me saying that you'd start a vicious rumor about me
around the Mass Communications department. I'd eventually cave and take
it down. That's how it would've played out. I know you too well. <br />
<br />
<br />
God, I'm going to miss you Son Tran. <br />
<br />
I've got
to write this to you before I become to be too far away from it. I
don't mean to say that in a week's time I'll have gotten over it, but
instead that every day that passes, every second that ticks by leaves me
further away from you. It's been five days, and already I feel that my
memories of you are fading. Yesterday I couldn't recall what your
laugh sounded like. This morning I found myself thinking about what you
might say in a specific situation, and I couldn't for the life of me
find your words. <br />
<br />
<br />
I just think that you should know that you were my closest
friend. Though I've had friends I've known longer, that have proved
themselves to me countless times, you were my closest friend. You were
the one who was able to keep up with my day to day ridiculousness, the
one who had to put up with me on a regular basis. You handled it
deftly, like no one else could. For that, I thank you. <br />
<br />
<br />
I don't think I've ever felt this alone. It's not that
I'm just sad that you won't be my constant companion anymore. I can
deal with being alone, what I can't deal with is you not being here at
all. I'd gladly take a world in which you were still here, even if it were a world in which we never knew each other. Because the world
needs you in it. I could handle not knowing you, if it meant that someone else got to experience what it was like to be your friend. <br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday night Katie tried to get me to get a tattoo
to commemorate you. I knew I didn't need to do that, because I don't
need any further reminders that you're not here. I don't need a badly
inked scar to remind me that you're gone. It's only been five days, and
yet I can feel it everywhere. The night you died, I studied for a
government test with the notes you took last semester (and they were
laden with the profanity the world had come to expect from you).
Saturday while serving as a pall bearer at your funeral, I wore the suit
you helped me pick out last February when I was a pall bearer at my
grandmother's funeral. Today I ate the Vietnamese food that I love,
that I never would have tried in the first place without your
insistence. Simply put, you are already everywhere. I cannot escape
the person that you helped me to become. <br />
<br />
And you did
help me become this person. I've known you so long that you are a part
of me, a part of who I am. When I met you, you were the boy who passed
out fortune cookies form his backpack between classes. The boy who
created line dances during
second lunch. The boy who let me know that it was okay to be different,
to be loud and unruly, to be myself a hundred percent of the time. And
then you were the man who smoked too much, the man who did what he
wanted, damn the consequences. As much as I had learned from you in the
past, you also became somewhat of a cautionary tale of sorts, the kind
in which a person has too much freedom, and no idea what to do with it.
You died the way you lived, independent and reckless. <br />
<br />
<br />
I haven't quite grasped the concept that you're no
longer here. I can't think of you in past tense yet. It's still "he
is, he does", instead of "he had, he did", and it's going to be hard to
start thinking of you as a part of my past. I just can't make sense of
this.<br />
<br />
<br />
Though, if there's one last thing I'd like to tell you, it's of a
memory I have. A couple of weeks ago you were having a particularly
bad day, and you called me to talk you down from your crazy as you
usually did. I don't know how we got on the topic, but I mentioned how
fortunate I believed myself to be to call you my friend. I told you
that I know how seldom we get to choose who our friends are. It's not
up to us to decide, usually. I did not seek you out, but it happened
anyways. I said that even if I had been able to choose my friends, I
would have still picked you. I'd pick you, again and again, no
question. So, I'd like to thank you Son Tran for coming into my life,
and tell you that I'll never forgive you for leaving it so soon. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Your Friend, Jordan Gribble<br />Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-87293983769687932942012-02-12T20:47:00.001-08:002012-02-12T20:47:21.625-08:00All of our friends will be goneI've got something to say, I just can't bring myself to say it yet. Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-62141103836292563972012-01-27T20:26:00.000-08:002012-01-27T20:26:21.172-08:00Rivers and roadsToday was a good day. I ran my first Society for Professional Journalists meeting as President. I made inroads in starting my own publication (more on that later). I interviewed a U.S. senator. I miss your face like hell, but that's alright; that I can deal with.Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-57869338361630337172012-01-10T20:07:00.001-08:002012-01-10T20:07:45.356-08:00I do what I likeTomorrow I'm starting my second to last semester tomorrow. What, What?Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-43880821422349878492012-01-02T00:14:00.000-08:002012-01-02T00:14:44.000-08:00Today, I wanted to post something on Postarita because I miss it. I am Postarita, because I am nothing if I am not words that mean nothing. But, I've started this other thing, and I'm not going to just abandon it. So let's drop the pretenses of what this blog is supposed to be about, and let's write it out old-school Postarita style. Actually, no let's do this up <a href="http://www.redbrickeverything.blogspot.com/">RedBrick</a> style.<br />
<br />
Cool Things in 2011<br />
<br />
Getting paid to write, and interviewing interesting people that I never would have encountered otherwise. Getting to see Bryant and Kelli, and realizing that months and experiences unshared don't matter with people like this. Almost falling. Doing things that I had no reason to believe I'd ever be doing, like getting drunk in the French Quarter, or going to a strip club, or writing a radio commercial (that actually aired on the radio!), or eating raw oysters, or being asked to be in someone's wedding, or going to journalism conferences and luncheons, or throwing up at an International House of Pancakes; you know the things that I'll remember. Seeing Britney Spears for the second time, and Reba for the seventh. Becoming friends with people who are so awesome, that I would have never picked them out myself. Feeling superior. Driving around with my sister, and remembering, and crying because of the things that I remembered. Entering a writing contest with Kelli. Watching Son Tran throw up in front of a crowd of fellow Asians on Bourbon Street, while they looked on in disgust. <br />
<br />
<br />
Uncool Things in 2011<br />
<br />
2011 was the last time I ever saw my Grandma, the last time I ever held her hand, kissed her on the forehead, or made her laugh. Being too busy to read, too busy to watch T.V., too busy to hang out, too busy to play XBOX, too busy to talk on the phone, too busy to do anything very well. Not falling hard enough, and not being the kind of person whose worth falling for. Having to suffer through reading "The Sun Also Rises", and yet still flunking my American Literature final last semester. Feeling inferior. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><br />Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-63809969497247586072011-11-15T22:48:00.001-08:002011-11-15T23:02:50.412-08:00One turn and I learned what it really means to see Two weeks ago I quit the job that I have held for four years. I began working at Walgreen's during an incredibly bleak time of my life, which was not at all helped by the environment in which I had placed myself. I have been meaning to quit for almost the entirety of the two years it has been since I rejoined the living and went back to school. I just couldn't fathom leaving it behind, because I was so comfortable in my mediocrity there. Plus they paid me too much for doing so little. I think that I was actually supposed to be doing something to earn my paycheck, but I never let that stop me from bringing my Kindle to work and reading behind the counter. <br />
<br />
In the time that I did work there I printed more naked pictures than I could possibly describe to you. In case you were wondering, attractive people almost never take naked pictures of themselves. No, instead it is only those who are deluded by their level of attractiveness that find themselves fit to bare it all. Let's just say that people need to learn their limits, they also need to stop holding outdoor strip clubs at motorcycle rallies, because believe me, those are more prevalent than you would think. <br />
<br />
I probably should have been one of those people who was prepared to leave a job, with another waiting in the wings. I am not one for preparation, and make most decisions on a whim. So just in time for the holiday season, I am gainfully unemployed. Thankfully, I haven't eaten at Subway for three weeks and have accumulated hundreds of dollars from the savings. I've applied for a few jobs, since the only paying gig I have left at the McNeese Contraband is about to go on hiatus when the current semester ends. I will likely have to find a job before I graduate, so if you know of anyone who would be happy to hire a lazy, sarcastic boy who will more than likely at one point be charged for sexual harassment, please tell them to send all offers to my email address, jordan@jordangribble.com. In the meantime, I have nothing but time to kill. <br />
<br />
case closedJordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-79736301052351822572011-11-15T22:01:00.001-08:002011-11-15T22:47:03.244-08:00Binford tools proudly presents Two weeks ago I was forced to volunteer to help rebuild Millennium Park, a wooden children's structure that was burnt down last December. I had only been to the park once as it originally had stood, because by the time it was built I was too old for swing-sets and slides. Also, I think the park eventually had a larger following of crystal meth dealers, than it did children patrons. Nonetheless, it was decided that the park was to be rebuilt after the, I'm assuming countless sex auctions that resulted in the two million dollars necessary to begin.<br />
<br />
As the Vice-President of the McNeese chapter of the Society for Professional Journalists (SPJ), I was expected to partake in any charitable event that we had planned over the course of the semester. Sadly, all of those events fell through, and we were forced to volunteer for anything we could find. After I suggested several times that we should read newspapers to the homeless (for at least it would have something to do with journalism), I was rebuffed on the reasoning that it wouldn't actually benefit anyone. To my chagrin we eventually decided to help rebuild the park, so that generations of pedophiles to come can take their pick at the kiddie buffet.<br />
<br />
I am not a mechanically inclined man. I know nothing of how things work. I can't even jump-start a car, or change a flat tire. The only home improvement projects I've been forced to participate in, have either ended in me falling through the roof of the garage, or the very unevenly wood-planked floors in my bedroom. Whenever it my father would make me assist him in one project or another, I was always the one who would hold things. I was about as useful as almost any flat surface, on which things can't easily roll off from and get lost. Actually, I was worse because I frequently did drop things; nuts and bolts that have never been recovered.<br />
<br />
So it was with this knowledge that I showed up at the job site, not wearing the customary attire of overalls and a hard hat (hoping that if my clothing were deemed inappropriate, I might be asked to leave). My shirt was affixed with a name tag, which nearly made me leave. I abhor any event that forces me to wear any kind of badge. If I want you to know my name, I will say it out loud. There is no reason for you to be glancing in the direction of my nipples, to see my name. It is unseemly, and I don't appreciate it. I was eventually separated from the group I had arrived with, and saddled with a middle-aged lesbian named Betty. Betty was the "experienced" leader of our group.<br />
<br />
We were tasked with building the turrets that would eventually sit upon the planned castles of the structure. Why, they couldn't just pick up one of the fancy, preassembled tree houses from the Home Depot, is beyond me. You can even get those ones with the big plastic Tic-Tac-Toe boards on the side of them. Those things are interactive, and probably educational. The kids would love it. I just don't understand the reasoning of building something, when you can throw some cash at and have it built for you. <br />
<br />
I was given a drill, and a bucket of screws and instructed to affix boards at an angled pattern along the four sides of the structure. Needless to say my carpenter's license has never existed, and the task was not easy. First of all, did you know that drills are designed to drill in two different directions? Apparently, you can also unscrew things with a drill. After the twenty minutes of repeatedly trying to get a single screw into a 2x4, I was told to take a break. I was relegated to handing Betty screws. I was back to my old position, and I was comfortable in it. Betty told me how she wakes up every morning at four, to get to her job at the local airplane factory. Betty inspects the building of airplanes everyday, so it gladdens me that she has knowledge of drills. I was expected to say until five in the evening, at which time the construction would end for the day. Needless to say I got hungry around three, and made a flimsy excuse to leave. Betty was understandably crestfallen.<br />
<br />
I believe that I am supposed to be glad that I was able to give back to the community. I do not feel that way. I am just glad that I was not tasked with handling the installation of any swings, which would have likely ended in children being catapulted into oncoming traffic had I been involved. That is not to say that one of my handmade turrets will not more than likely end in the decapitation of a six year old. When that happens, I'm sure the remaining members of SPJ will still be unwilling to read the results of my trial to the homeless. <br />
<br />
case closedJordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-31028462993302623452011-11-14T18:30:00.001-08:002011-11-14T18:34:41.410-08:00on the horizon<ul>
<li>How I helped to build a park, in which several children will likely die due to my complete lack of knowledge on craftsmanship.</li>
<li>How I became gainfully unemployed.</li>
<li>How I found out that a person's twenties are for throwing up at the International House of Pancakes (IHOP).</li>
<li>How I nearly got converted: a ridiculously religious experience in two acts.</li>
</ul>Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-30023968043244626042011-11-03T22:08:00.000-07:002011-11-03T22:19:45.943-07:00ready to reform/don't let it form us I'm starting to realize that I can't wait to work in an actual newsroom; which is probably because the newsroom I work at now, is nothing like a real newsroom at all. I'm sure at the offices for the Dallas Morning News, no one sits around the office for two hours when everyone is supposed to be laying out the paper, and talk about playing Mega Man on the Super Nintendo for an hour and a half. Which is exactly where the conversation was at when I left the office thirty minutes ago.<br />
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The only thing I'm worried about is getting along with people on a day-to-day basis. I have a lot of personality quirks, that to some might be considered hilarious; but to the general populace are probably thought of as grating, and possibly considered to be some kind of sex harassment. Saying inappropriate things such as "blow your load", "dick-bag", and "suck it", aren't considered as harassment; right? God, I hope not otherwise I'll run out of things to say. <br />
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I just fear that day when I'll be expected to make small talk with a bunch of people I don't give a shit about. I find it really hard to feign interest. Actually, if a conversation wanders away from being about me for more than thirty seconds I completely check out.<br />
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I just don't want the professional world to change me. I don't want to be any different, I do not want to be one of those guys who lives for his job, and is good at things like exchanging pleasantries, and kissing ass. I cannot imagine that would be good for me. What would be good for me however, is ending this post right now and falling asleep while watching Back to the Future (I've never seen it). <br />
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Case Closed.Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091540511540308114.post-17503301682379576392011-11-02T22:04:00.000-07:002011-11-03T22:20:04.523-07:00An open/shut case I'm starting a new blog, because I think that it's time I've graduated from Postarita. I created Postarita in 2005 when the life I had created began to collapse in on itself. Everything was changing, and more so I was changing, although I had no idea as to what I was becoming. I went from being a college student, waiting tables for a living and in the relationship I thought was going to last forever; to a perennially single college dropout working at what is purported to be America's greatest pharmacy.<br />
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I then went back to school to finish a degree in journalism, a curriculum which I will be graduating from in exactly one year come December. I am the news editor for my college newspaper, The Contraband. I have plans for graduate school, and moving away from Louisiana. I'm not in love with anyone right now, but I want to be; and maybe I could be soon. In short, it feels like I am finally beginning to figure things out. <br />
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That is why I am calling this blog the Open/Shut Case. I like the idea of detectives in the nineteen twenties declaring that something is so obvious that further discussions are not necessary. I like thinking that I've got things figured out to the point that my life is like one of those obvious murder cases, where all the clues are so firmly in place that investigations are over before they begin.<br />
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The Open/Shut Case is about knowing what I know, and figuring out what I've figured out; and using that information to live my life in simple and happy terms. If you've ever read Postarita you would know that it's not likely for me to ever be able to distance myself from the ridiculousness that tends to find me everyday; not that I'm looking to separate myself from it. If Postarita was about having things happen to me, than the Open/Shut Case is about learning from those things. <br />
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I'm sure over the course of this blog, I'll find that I haven't learned as much as I think I have. I hope that you'll read anyway. I hope that you'll do this with me.<br />
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Case closed.Jordanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12270334915410168222noreply@blogger.com0