Protected: Aca bridge before verses and music?

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Protected: The record is not over………

June 26, 2014 // Posted in Uncategorized  |  Enter your password to view comments.

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Survial skills for employment.

March 20, 2012 // Posted in !Share (Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ) |  No Comments

**Idea from a conversation with a co-worker this morning**
Our current employment climate is wrought with profit layoffs. And the trickle down of economics is an evaporated excuse of failure. Desperation is the hope of many. Corporations screening tactics are more cut throat than ever. Some job listing boldly states you must be currently employed in order to apply. ??? Questions be damned, secure that job! It’s a well known unspoken rule that employers prefer a candidate already employed, so is this some sort of trick… or test? The only solution to single yourself out from the competition is an unheard practice. Imagine how your cover letter and resume will sparkle under your current job’s letterhead. And if you want that color font to pop, liberally use your company’s color printer. It’s there and it’s work-related. Use your company’s e-mail, if requested to send by e-mail. The same applies to faxes and use the company’s postage meter for mail deliver. You’re already using their letterhead and have the added bonus of a matching enevlope. You’ll certainly standout. I should know. I’ve been looking for a new job for almost 10 years! It’s rough out there.

Locked and loaded.

MUNI:” We’re on time in making you late.”

March 9, 2012 // Posted in !Share, Art (Tags: , , , ) |  No Comments

Muni:" We're on time in making you late."

Well, what can be said that hasn’t already been exhausted on the topic of MUNI. A lot, if it’s your main source of transportation. This morning was an exception to the rule. With a casual jester, my Manipura chariot awaited across the street. I hopped and strapped myself in thinking,”Oh, the blockages I will be sear thorough today.” The driver was impressed with my route selection. I prefer Post Street. Bush feels too much like traffic and Post feels more like a stroll. For those needing the thrill of bumper to bumper, there’s the infamous one block of gridlock before Union Square. This day I took delighted pleasure in it’s static movement. My driver and I witness the unheard of…a biker had to stop and wait. Numerous times! Actually, it drew some laughter and spirited comments. That merriment withered away as the driver flowered in to the Dali Lama from South Side. He was letting everybody and their mama turn, or switch lanes, in front of him. “Well, I’ll be (#*$@”, to myself. I got a doormat of a driver. Luckily, the radio caught my attention when they mention Whitney Houston’s will and what she left to her daughter. And more importantly, who didn’t get anything. Bobby Badboy Brown got nothing. Then I learned she had her will drawn up in 2000 and divorced Bobby in 2007. Go head, Whitney! She knew what was up. Bobby’s book should be titled: “Didn’t He Almost have it All.” or include this jewel of a song in his set: ‘I have Nothing”! HA. “Don’t repo my vespa today…I got a gig at Subyway.” Exiting the cab, I couldn’t get the image out of my head of a picture of Bobby singing I have nothing. I rushed up to my office and made use of the software available. It was the laugh of the morning.

Don’t be like that

January 4, 2012 // Posted in Uncategorized  |  No Comments

Darkness on Myspace

TMI

September 13, 2011 // Posted in !Create, !Vent. (Tags: , , ) |  No Comments

This is not a test. This is not a test. Remain calm. You have nothing to fear…except for your own personal safety! This veiled false sense of security of an announcement is to mock those of you still tuned in. There is no building to leave, seatbelt to fasten, or need to securely brace yourself aboard a sinking hand basket.. Yes, that was your rescue fading away in the rear view mirror, but when did that happen?. My 4G is at full bars. Surely, that counts for something.
The weird dribble above is a taste of what happens when information filters are over taxed. I recently unplugged the information plug from my socket to remember dramatic pauses, unearth the secrets nestled in the space between words, and absorb the arias of whispers from the crucible of creation ( I love that phrase). Imagine surpassing the 60,000th mark for work emails. My comprehension has eroded to a fleeting gist of summation, while wading through a “reply to all” culture plagued with ineffective communication skills and insecure egos. It’s painfully obvious of my preposition damage. I certainly can’t miss it after the fact. Do other experience this? I don’t know….
Information overload… gonna make my head explode!

Pride, Duty & Space Change

July 25, 2011 // Posted in !Create, Art (Tags: , , , , , , ) |  No Comments

I salaciously dabbled in some soft non-profit pan handling for Pride Sunday. Weeks before, I wanted a different routine away from the party river of least resistance and unknowingly mental blast the universe for assistance. My response was a slip on a banana peel that breached me upon the deck of The Imperial Council of San Francisco’s charity fleet. I reeled from the awakening of a self actualized thought. Basking in a whiff of arrogant laughter, I mentally chided the work hard mantra of the “little people” They clip clop around marveling at a sun set and a sun rise. I masquerade around as a quantum singularity, radiating a hex of improbability. One random quirk could catapult me up the echelon order of society or below the bowels of Hades. This quirk afforded me the opportunity to participate in Pride Sunday and also dumb down to graveling on the street for $$$ all at the same time!. “I accept!” Pride morning, I pondered the appropriate attire to wear to such a function. Bathing seemed optional…hmm? A travel wash and a few laps around the block should authenticate me enough not to offend. Then a quick squirt of Febreze on some jeans and a t-shirt from the dirty clothes hamper and color me done. I arrived early and eager. If only my attention span could match my nano-second of enthusiasm. I was dumbfounded by the tepid engagement from the throngs of people herding through the gate. What looked like a goldmine was anything but. My excitement of the crowd started to wane and I was crippled when I learned it was a three hour tour. I had to reach deep to stay afloat. I revisited my advertising and marketing classes. I craved out my target market and revamp our sales pitch. “5 dollar donation gets you 1 dollar off drinks was not poppin.”5 dollar now or we take it later…”. “5 dollars gets you off? “5 dollars to have what’s behind door #2!” That resulted in smiles and cheeky banter and modest donations. I could see my patience in the rear view mirror when the questions erupted. And, yes, there are stupid questions. Is there a fee? It’s a donation. Do I have to pay? No. Do I have to donate? Uh, yes! Are there ins and outs? ?!? I saw them as a mindless, gaseous mass of hairy, sweaty pits and I wanted out. I longed for my curator days where I controlled and protected the gallery from street eaters, transients and photo snapper. “Please re frame from touching the paintings.” “Our bathroom is broken”, “I wasn’t kidding about not taking pictures.” “Please leave!” That was a favorite. One exchange with an errant visitor resulted in a major sale.. Not at the gate. I was powerless and surly. Then it was over much like this post.
** Sat on this one too long. : (**

To Poke or Not to Poke….

April 25, 2011 // Posted in !Share, Art (Tags: , , ) |  No Comments

Desperate times calls for desperate measures, especially when you’re in a two hour meeting and the bobble head effect is upon you. I was unprepared for the vapid verbiage that assaulted my un-caffeinated body. My only saving grace was the coveted back area I stealthy secured upon my arrival, while the novices bickered over breakfast. My sanctuary lasted for a hot New York minute as I labored to appear focused and mildly interested. I tried pinching, adjusting my seat, playing with my hair. I almost axed my ban on cofffee, but instead give my tongue a defiant bite. Ten minutues deep into the meeting I was already haggard and had exhausted all options. I was sinking to rise no more. My eye lids weighted of anchors lost long ago. I started swaying in the ether between dreams and reality. A ray of light in the form of a poke brought me back to the grips of reality. I thanked my giggling savior and commenced to doodling. I drew circles, boxes and scribbled catch phrases, but my mind fancied on my poke. I couldn’t remember the last time I was poked. If I hadn’t drained my battery with Angry Bird, I’d check up on my stories on facebook. Then it hit me… does anyone poke on facebook? Who knows? The poke button is the one function that not publicly broadcast in the News Feeds or Walls, I could be wrong but I’ve never seen it appear in feeds from the self-absorbed pride of mega stars and icons I associated with. A persona boundary issue, maybe? See me, but don’t TOUCH me appears to be the silent mantra heard over clicking mouses and keyboards. A poke is deemed a breach through the gated compound and the “little people” are free to roam about and touch things. There are groupies at the front door and stalker at the back, sifting through our refuse; however, the paparazzi is held in high regards and a readily supplies of batteries are kept near their designated entryways. Or, a poke is deemed an unwanted illicit act. One woman learned the hard way. Survey says….

Do you poke?
Yes (If so, have you done any below…)
No. (good to bed, but some may still apply below)
Returned a poke
Ignored a poke
Hit poke button by mistake
Blocked someone for excessive poking
Flamed a person’s wall about their errant poking
Poke strangers you don’t know from someone else account
Poke the wrong person
Wished that special someone would poke you
Wished anyone would poke you
Received pokes from different people
Witchiepoo giggle while you poke
Drunk, etc poke
Hoover over the poke button contemplating
Host poke
Travel poke
Have or wished for a touch me in the morning and then just walk away poke
Uh, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here poke
What’s your name again poke
Uh, your cab is here poke
Uh, excuse me that’s my man/woman, baby’s daddie/mama, pot pie poke
Dude, where’s my car poke
Excuse me poke
Poke the poke out of me poke.
Danm you poke

Peck no evil

April 14, 2011 // Posted in !Vent., Art  |  No Comments

Smug behind a monitor
Transparent and none the wiser
Keystrokes engrave in time
Bray your opinions
I’ll wipe mine

I wish there was a way to see the faces of these cowardly people leaving comments on the internet. I’ll have to expand my stance of not watching any broadcast news to include reading comments to articles.
“Say it to my face, mean mama medfly.”
“F-U!”
“No, F-U!”
“NOOO! F-U and anyone else who looks like you.”

Omelet Face

April 13, 2011 // Posted in !Share, !Vent. (Tags: , , ) |  No Comments

Seems I’ve been the butt of a Mercury retrograde joke. I use to think lightly of this occurrence, but this time around the winged trickster has tilted me like a pinball machine. Basically, during a Mercury retrograde, lines of communications, travel, appointments get screwy among other things. Last night, while extracting an image to make into a layer for another image, I realized I’ve been severely challenged in the communication arena these pass couple of weeks. There’s the “I love you and you’re so good to me” email I sent by mistake to the head partner in our group. That was a thank you note intended for his secretary. Then there’s I’m new to the cell phone routine, like saving a name to the wrong number and texting the wrong person, or like having your phone randomly calling people, while you’re having a conversation. I’ve been wondering these pass weeks under a hex of mixed signals and reckless disclosure and could certainly use the undo or redo button of life right about now. My usual problem is losing my cell phone not operating them. Also learned all this year’s Mercury retrogrades are happening in the fire signs and I’m now off to entertain myself on what crap I find about that.

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