U N L O A D E D

It's a long gruelling road that stretches before me every morning and night. The destination is always the same but the story of getting there is different each day. I wonder if it's all worth it. Paying the bills, keeping a roof over my head..yeah...I guess I have to make this trip over and over before something gives.
If I can't be happy about this daily drive, I might as will use it to think.

So many cars on the fucking road. We're all in a rush to go nowhere. If you're out the door really early you might see less of them but the fatigue sets in and your stuck out there just like the rest of the stiffs. You accept it and then you try to put it out of your mind. It hurts less that way.

I see an assortment of flowers and a cross laid out by a tree on an exit ramp on the highway. Someone must have hit it and died. He or she was a football fan. One of the floral arrangements is made to look like one. Maybe it was a high school kid. I'm passing too quickly to read it but the early morning frost has bitten into the colorful vegetation, causing it to wilt and and shed it's vibrance. A lot of people must of cared for this person. I wonder how many other people have died travelling this road and I hope I'm not one of them. Would anyone put up a memorial for me if I did? How would it look like. All of this is too morose. I shift my attention to the jammed lanes ahead of me.

No accident here, just everyone in a rush to go somewhere they don't want to go at the same time. I'm too tired to be angry, I just go along with it.

"It is what it is." Such a stupid saying but it fits right here, I don't like what "is" is. I'm getting angry, I shift my attention to the radio.

More fighting in Iraq, people are losing their homes. Banks lie to them and people lie to themselves to grab a hold of that elusive American dream. I look around at the cars around me. They're here fighting for that so called "dream" also. Have any of them found it? And if they did get it are they happy? Was it everything they thought it would be? The look on their faces begs to question. I hate money. I hate how we jump through hoops for it but we have too. I hate how the banks, media and all beat us into submission by telling us buying things we can't afford will make us happy. We're all hamsters running in a caged wheel. Many can't stop running and even more can't get away. How would we escape if we wanted to? I can't deal with that now. 

burns out just as quickly as it ignited.

Almost there, I can't wait for it to end. I'm on the off ramp. I see dozens and dozens of day labourers from Mexico and all parts of South America standing on the side of the road. Rain or shine they are there. A truck comes by and stops. They all make a run for it, hoping to be taken to wherever they need to go for a days work. I imagine it to be hard manual labor. Not my cup of tea. I know that on my way home some of them will still be standing there, hoping to be picked up to cut down a tree or move boxes. For a moment my cynicism is put into perspective.

We all have our hopes, dreams aspirations and goals. We do our part to achieve them and hope that the work invested is bringing us closer to where we want to be instead of pushing us further away.

This is a difficult thing to gauge and sometimes we don't know for sure or won't know until some time has passed. It's only then that we can be witnesses to the fruits of out labor and feel that good work has been done. However, during these periods, there is tremendous time for self doubt to fester and rear it's ugly head. It is then that we wind up at parties and run into people we haven't seen in years or perhaps a person of importance that could play a role in the advancement of your career. It's inevitable that in these casual discussions that the other person will rattle off their accomplishments and then turn the spot light on you with a simple question:

So what are you doing?

The other individuals accomplishments seem so much more solid and ambitious. Your mind races, searching for answer that will be at least on par with his or hers.

The throat tightens, ever so slightly.

The sound "um" wants to pour out of your mouth in a steady stream.

The palms grow a bit sweaty.

You fidget or shrug your shoulders.

Finally you take a deep breath and let it rip, stringing together a shaky list of "plans" you have with a tone of forced confidence that only accentuates your insecurity. You don't want to look like an oaf or layabout. You want to portray that YOU TOO are on the move and working on something grand.

The other person will nod and declare how wonderful it is that your doing these things. They will follow up with how far along you are. The best answer you can muster is something a long the lines of this:

You: Well....um.....you know......things.......working on it.......it's...uh...coming right along.

You feel your heart sinking and you clear your throat once more, hoping they believe you. Soon the talk ends and you both go your separate ways. You realize what an awkward time that was and spin into self evaluation mode. "This can't happen again!" You say to yourself. You go home and construct more solid and stock answers to defend yourself the next time you're at a cocktail party. You'll shine like a star and people will be in awe of you. It's not to be a liar but to hold your own in a world that seems as if it's passing you by. You may not be as far along as others but you'll make what you have done sound great.

But the self doubt still lingers. You wonder why haven't you gone as far as you'd like. You question if you have enough in the tank, the will, the fortitude. Did you chase the wrong calling? Soon these thoughts haunt your entire being. And as you step out into the world there is only one thing you feel like....

FRAUD!

You're not the writer, inventor, artist, poet, singer, songwriter, musician, entrepreneur or bad ass you hyped yourself up to be!! No, no no! You're none of these things. You have your job at a generic office, factory or store, not the goals you aspire for! You are what you do! You're a cubicle slug, factory zombie or retail scum. You hate this! People notice your discontent but don't know what your problem is. You scream, "LET ME OUT!" But where is the OUT?! Is this it? Is this all? It wasn't supposed to be this way!!!!

The ugly word reverberates throughout mind, body and room you're in.

YES! That word! Say it with me:

FFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUDDDDDDDDD!

Oh God no! Not this this way! Not like this! This can't be my fate!

You look around, people stare with sideways glances. Children scatter. You're own pets no longer recognize you.

HHHHEEEEEELLLLP!

You dive back into your goal with a fanatical conviction to prove this all wrong. You can do this. You can make it! Damn all of you who say no! Curse you! Or you can give up and go back to the status quo. So simple isn't it? But so fucking hard.

We have this choice everyday. We can make it or avoid it. But everyday that you choose to say yes, then it's as real as anything else in front of you.

Coming up next...... Can I please stop the coughing? And..... When Vegas Lost a Starlet.

Well, it seems like an eternity since I decided to announce my entry into the Slamdance screenwriters competition. At the time my hope was to advance enough to get exposure and feedback. And, as some of you may recall, the feedback was VERY POSITIVE.

However, in the end, it just wasn't enough to get over the hump. I've known about my elimination since the end of summer but I've held back on discussing it until now. Why? Because I wasn't sure how I felt. On one hand I was grateful for the favorable review but on the other hand I as perturbed that I didn't advance further. Trying to rationalize the logic of the judges is beyond my control. In fact, it's not even something I should dwell on. It's one loss out of thousands of rejections that are headed my way. It's the nature of the business. But I surmise that even the most seasoned writers deep down agree with me when the rejection comes.

It Sucks!

I don't care how thick skinned you say you are or how many years you've been in whatever business you're in, when you pour your heart and soul into something and they say no, it sucks! "Just give me a chance!!!" You cry. But the decision maker on the other side has heard and seen it all before and has been hardened. There is no mercy. Again, it's the nature of the business. It's not going to change for me or anyone else anytime soon. And even if you're in the inner circle and are paid to write films as a career, it still may suck since your story could get changed to appeal to 13 year olds which will result in higher ticket sales. If that does not rub you the wrong way then just look at the writers strike going on right now. They are living the dream but it's become a nightmare for them right now. TV is heading into reruns and reality show hell with their absence but sooner or later this has to have a happy ending. It's what writers are paid to create no matter how implausible.

Still this "defeat", if you wish to call it such, is a drop in the bucket. In the grand scheme of things it means nothing to lose but a whole lot if you "win."

So What Now?

I can't change what happened and as I said, it's not worth stressing over. There will be more rejection than acceptance as I try to get my work out there. But here's the thing, I've got nothing in the tank right now as far as major stories go. Yes there is this blog and yes it's great to whip out some quick stories to keep the knives from dulling, but I can't get the mojo going and this also sucks.

The other thing that sucks? I have not been motivated to work on the last script I completed.
I feel it's a great story but I also feel overwhelmed by it. So much so that to open it up and begin revisions hurts like hell.

Was it the "defeat" this summer or the series of events that's been distracting me from my priorities? Is it the Blackberry? The current job? This blog? Or fear?

I haven't a clue but the shutdown of sorts scares me. Where did the spark go? Will it come back? Should I forget the whole fucking thing?

These are questions only I can answer and I will have a brutal wrestling match with my thoughts in the weeks to come. "Defeat" should never be a reason to give up in any goal you've set for yourself but loss of will is something you should fight to get back. Without a will, there's not a way. If there's no way, there's no fun to be had at the end. This disturbs me as I want that fun and sense of accomplishment in my life. Unfortunately what I have become at the moment is a working stiff. Just giving enough to make it through the day so I have enough left to make it through the next. And when I say "enough" it's actually a lot.

There's a balance to all of this and once one can figure it out, I think victory is right around the corner. You just have to have an open mind to what that means.

So have you ever lost focus with your goal? Have you lost your motivation? Have you just wanted to say, "damn it all and throw in the towel to be a safe, working stiff?

Unload here.......

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D.......

FRAUD!

As I begin my celebration of the Jewish festival of lights, my enjoyment has been hampered by a vicious cold that has had me out of it for the last day or so. Unable to really get out of bed yesterday with violent coughing fits and a fever, today I was determined to drag myself out bed. I staggered through the aisles of the grocery story to pick up the necessary drugs needed to keep me barely functional and Hanukkah candles to carry out the mitzvah of lighting the menorah.

Paths were cleared immediately for me to pass as my obvious pestilence struck deep fear into all those who laid eyes on me. If they didn't hear me they could hear my coughing and wheezing. No one wanted any part of me. Making it through the checkout was a breeze.

Upon arriving home my eyes began to water and close up. My left eye remained opened just enough to make my way through the apartment, grab and don my yarmulke and attempt to read the berakhahs (blessings) aloud.

It went something like this......

Me: Barukh Atta...COUGH, COUGH COUGH, COUGH!!! Ackh! COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!!

(I fight to light the shamash candle and barely succeed)

ME: Barukh.....COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!!

(l fight to light the second candle and get hot wax on my fingers almost causing me to drop the shamash candle)

Me: ....ack......COUGH....Adonay...Elo....COUGH , COUGH COUGH!

(another violent coughing fit ensues and my yarmulke goes flying off)

Me: COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!

At this point I give up and jam the shamash candle back into the center of the menorah and run to the bathroom to cough up what seems to be gallons of phlegm.

Happy holidays everybody.



Note: This is a secular blog and this entry in no way shape or form is meant to convert, preach or proselytize my set of beliefs onto anyone else's. And no, I'm not a "holy roller."

Coming up..... Live Free Or Die Hard

It's no iPhone and mine didn't come with Asian film star Bai Ling, but hell...this Blackberry Pearl that I scored is one sweet phone. How sweet? I'm addicted and you can't stop me!!! In fact, it's almost better than sex! I'll explain in a few.

Everyone who has mobile phone service gets the chance to every so often upgrade their phone and my time came about a month and a half ago. My trusty Nokia flip phone was a solid performer if, and only if, I wanted to make calls and snap a few pictures. But as I became more engrossed in my email and internet usage, I began wanting more. For this phone upgrade I was going to get something special, something advanced, something cool.

Enter the Blackberry Pearl

To me Blackberry phones were big clunky devices used by "the suits" at Fortune 500 companies and Fortune 500 wannabes. UNACCEPTABLE! I wanted the iPhone but the steep price scared me away. I love Apple stuff and proudly write on this blog with my iMac. I DON'T DO WINDOWS. But I'm on a budget and scored this little number for $39.99 refurbished. This phone goes for $350 new or $149 with a 2 year service contract and $50 mail in rebate. I hate that!!! No rebates, just give me a cheap price. If the phone doesn't work I could return it to the phone company. I had nothing to lose. Also getting a refurbished phone is, according to my wireless carriers website, eco friendly. I like this.

So I get the thing online, it comes in the mail and it's never been used! The only thing wrong with it is that is has the old companies name on it. Who cares? I fire the thing up and go through the activation process. From here on out my life has never been the same.

The Crackberry

Who on earth would want crack when they can instant message, email, surf the internet and run their whole fucking life with a Blackberry? "I'll just check my email once and awhile with this thing." I said to myself. That lasted a day.

This phone has become surgically implanted into my hand. When not in my hand it's always in my field of vision just in case the little red light starts to flash. That means I got an email or one of you left a comment on the blog. From the aisle of the grocery store or in the midst of waiting for my car to get an oil change I can reply right back to you wonderful people. The gratification is instant. My heart races with giddy anticipation with each flash of the red light.

Who could it be? Meleah, Monique, Ms.Q, Urban Thought, Maritza, Enemy of the Republic, Amber, Marsha, MKD, God, the spirits of the netherworld?

Who?

The pressing of the buttons to open up the email to find that out is pure ecstasy I tell you!!! And so is everything else!

I'm in a long line, I hit the Crackberry and surf the web.

I'm in the waiting room of my doctors office. I hit the Crackberry to instant message.

I'm in bed, too lazy to get up and turn on my computer, I hit the Crackberry and reply to you.

I'm lost while driving and in nasty area. I hit the Crackberry to pull up mapquest and find my way to safety.

I want to discretely view porn. I hit the Crackberry not because I have to but because I can!

Oh baby this convenience feels so good! Ooooh! Don't touch me, let me just lie here for a second. I'll be OK.

If I were Trapped on an Island

If I were stuck on an island, I'd want my Blackberry. I would even figure out a way to generate enough electricity to recharge the battery using my own movements like running or pedaling. No service way out in the middle of nowhere? No problem, I'll make a tower out of the coconut trees. You may ask would I not want the companionship of a beautiful woman? The answer is no! If I can devise a way to attach artificial but very realistic feeling breasts and a pulsating vagina to the phone then I would. There would be no nagging and I could shut it off when I'm done.

I just need food and the Crackberry! Can't you understand? You ignorant non Blackberry users!!!!

Dude, are You Serious?

About what I said about being on an island and companionship stuff?

I suppose not, no.

Nothing beats the right warm body next to, on top of or under you.
I love this little phone and find it indispensable. I really don't know how I got by without it. Don't get me wrong, if it died today, I'd miss it and fall back on my old flip phone. But it's made things so much more convenient and has proven to be not just a business contraption but the ultimate fun machine for keeping your social life afloat and prospering. Who needs to actually talk when we have these things?

Actually we do need to talk and we do need that contact, but until that person is within arms reach, the Blackberry isn't so bad. And you can always use it to reel that person in close with some sweet words.

Technology is grand.

Disclaimer: No I was not paid by the Blackberry makers, Research in Motion, to write this. I just dig the phone and so do the chicks.

Coming up Next on U N L O A D E D......

Live Free Or Die Hard!! Thank you Fox for coming to your senses and releasing an unrated version instead of the lame PG-13 one! Yippie Kay Yay Mother Fuckers!

Also coming up....

Dealing with my elimination from the Slamdance Screenwriters competition, has life lost it's meaning?

Yes mofos "the Ricardo" has scored a win, big one, just in the nick of time!!!!

I'm sure I speak for many of us when I say that we are happy to have a job but not happy in the sense that we feel a profound fulfillment from it. For many of us, the current job we have is a thing that keeps the money coming in to pay the bills while we pursue or passions like building a hot air balloon that can travel around the world, scaling Mt. Everest or becoming the next Hugh Hefner. "This job really isn't me but a stopgap measure!" We declare at parties or to friends. We have that book or movie that were planning to complete which will whisk us away to the high life, a better life.

But until that magic happens we have our jobs and we play the role of a working stiff. We venture into the rush hour traffic and then to our cubicles, offices, desks, what have you. We do the job, we fake the smiles, we give false thanks to the measly raise we get each year despite being told that a 2% raise is the new 4% raise of yesteryear. The hours grow longer and the projects become more demanding but we give it the old college try because someone has got to keep the cable TV up and running.

I know, it's not easy, you seethe inside screaming, "get me the fuck out of here" but for now, you're stuck with what you have. It takes a lot to manage this day in and day out, you want to do a good job even if you're not nuts over it because some praise every now and then feels nice. However this is an office filled with other people and personalities vary greatly. It's not so bad, you think. You have the office supply whore who steals everything off anyones desks, then you have the gatekeeper of office supplies who won't share his or hers 20 year supply of post it notes with anyone. Then you have the worst element of all, the scum of the cubicle world.....

The Boss Who's Not a Boss!!!!

These individuals (cock suckers) are either the same rank as you or even lower but may have more "experience" than you and feel insecure about why they've been passed over time and again.

These people (fuck wads) see fit to monitor you and everyone else they work with and will run and tell on you if they sense any impropriety even though you've likely done nothing wrong.

These fake bosses (dumb asses) are meticulous, spending more time tracking you and keeping informal logs on when you came in and out of the office than their actual job.

These office subspecies also have no issue running up to you and pointing out what you did wrong until you realize that even the act of you breathing is wrong for them.

They have no issue delegating work to you that was originally assigned to THEM!!!

They are constantly aware of the latest office gossip and personal lives of those around them. They will use this as a weapon against without hesitation.

These scumbags seem to stay with the company forever despite everyone knowing that they suck at what they do yet they always have more to say about what they are doing than you do. They are excellent at marketing themselves at the expense of you. You are incompetent and they pick up your slack.

Why Do They Do It?

If it's a woman in the office doing it, it's likely her husband, boyfriend or girlfriend isn't going down on them enough. If they did, they'd likely be a little less obsessed with ruining others lives. If she's single then her vibrator has run out of batteries and she keeps forgetting to get new ones on her weekend shopping sprees. The thought process? "I bet so and so is getting it more than me, so I'm going to ruin their lives!! Where's my log book?!"

Women that feel the need to do this are also frigid. So much so that you can keep hamburger patties frozen by inserting them into her body cavities. Complimenting them on something as benign as a job well done will be used to somehow for a harassment suit against you. So as you can see, there's no helping these types. They only know how to destroy because they are fundamentally broken.

If it's a guy then he's having a macho man crisis. His wife, girlfriend or boyfriend would rather watch reruns of "The Love Boat" then take a roll in the sack with him. This does huge damage to the male ego. How does he get it back? By confronting and "defeating" the men he encounters in the battle field. That battlefield, my friends, is the office. This buffoon wouldn't last 10 seconds in an actual fist fight and would cry the first time he got knocked in the face. But in the office the environment is controlled. He can't be hurt physically and he can use these safe conditions to nurture his bruised ego. Yes, by calling out others and making them look incompetent, he can feel like a man again and rub one out in the bathroom if the vibes get too intense.

What Can be Done?

Let's face it, going to your boss will do little if anything to help because it brings attention to you and the tactics these douche bags are employing don't fit into any code of conduct violations on the books. But since this is a blog and and outlet for my fantasies, we can dream. I've come up with some ideas.

• Have them whisked away to a secret satellite office your company runs out in the middle of nowhere and have them water boarded.
• Rearrange the objects on their desk ever so slightly so that when they come back from wherever they were they can't figure out what's off.
• Find the evil log book they keep on everyone draw pictures over their data in crayon. Don't have any of those? Piss on it and shove it back into their drawer. And wash your hands afterwards!
• Have a fake office contest where they win a trip to the Bahamas and replace their tickets with a one way ticket to Baghdad!
• Take the used coffee grounds from from the office coffee maker and dump them onto their chair before they come into work.  If that's not enough, just dump the whole new fresh brewed pot of coffee onto them and watch the skin blister as they write in pain. 
• Drop 30 a pound box of copier paper on their toes and blame it on the carpal tunnel syndrome you got from typing up all the work they delegated to you.

I'm at the dealership, a nervous wreck. I text message my Uncle L repeatedly from my mobile stating such. None of it offers any comfort.

Alfonzo, my salesman, takes a seat and begins with the negotiations. The battle begins.

YOU HAVE THE MONEY!!

The obligatory question, "how much can you give us NOW?"

My obligatory answer, "Just a few hundred at the moment. Possibly more later on if I like what I see. "

I tell him that I'm looking to get a new car and keep the payments around the same price that I'm paying now. The magic number is somewhere around 300 to 330 a month. Alfonzo asks me if I can handle 400 a month!! I say no, no, no.

Alfonzo nods and disappears into the evil watchtower that overlooks the sales floor that I'm on. He magically emerges with a $600 rebate (obviously available all along) and says for a mere 400 dollars TODAY I could have 1000 dollars down when the rebate is taken into account.

Not too shabby but I don't know if I had 400 dollars to put down TODAY!!! I haven't even seen the cars!!!!

Alfonzo asks, "Don't you have any friends or family to ask for money?" Excuse me? No I did not. Well I did but I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

"Look I can see you have the money! I want to help you! Give us something, more! " Alfonso said growing more belligerent. I found that a bit odd but the angrier he got the more the knot in my chest loosened and the easier it was for me to breathe.

"Don't you have credit cards or something?" he asked. Hmm let me see, I took out my wallet and held it up to him. His eyes widened. "Yeeeeeeeesssssss." He hissed as if at any moment the bell would ring for me.

"Nope, no extra credit cards." I told him. Alfonzo didn't like this. "You have money! I can see it! Look at your jacket, your phone, your bluetooth headset. That is real leather, at least 300! The phone is 400!" He said, as he felt the sleeve of my jacket. This annoyed me and I laughed.

The hip jacket I got is real leather and was purchased on clearance (the season was over and it was time to make way for the spring fashions, this was a winter jacket) and the phone is a Blackberry that is $349 new but $40 bucks refurbished with 2 year plan agreement. The bluetooth headset is nice but also purchased at a steep discount.

"The phone is new!" Alfonzo said. Actually it likely was save for the fact that it has the Cingular name on it instead of the companies new name of AT&T. Hence, "refurbished." Can't sell old branded stuff as new, can we?

He needed a breather. "I'll be back. Call your friends see if they have the money." I was not about to do that.

Time passed. More rhythmic clapping, more suckers ringing the bell. Some families had their kids ring it as if this was going to be a family moment right up their with their kids future wedding.

Alfonzo returns with a set of keys. "Would you like to see the car?"


The Test Drive

I brought out to the lot and lead to a tan Corolla. I hate tan cars, they scream "elderly."

Alfonzo: You like this one?

Me: No.

Alfonzo: Why?

Me: Don't like the color.

Alfonzo: What's wrong with it?

Me: I DON'T LIKE IT!

Alfonzo: What about the red one?

Me: No. I said blue or silver!

The Laurel and Hardy routine continued until he pointed out a black Corolla which looked very nice. We agreed to take the tan one out for a test drive but aim for the black one as time went on. I would also demand a test drive of that one since I didn't want to wind up with a clunker.

The ride was pleasant, quiet, comfortable and on par with my current Mitsubishi. He told me during the test drive that they could make the numbers work. I told him that we may have ourselves a deal. He then brought up why I didn't want to try the red Corolla.

Note to all of you and this comes from my friend in the car insurance biz. If want to pay higher insurance premiums, and get singled out by the cops, get a red car! Stay away from red!!

"That's not true, who told you that?" Alfonzo snapped.

I DON'T LIKE THE RED!!!!!

Negotiations: Round 2

Feeling that victory was firmly in hand Alfonzo asked to see the keys to my car to inspect it for trade in appraisal. This is also a ploy to prevent you from walking out. Alfonzo said he had to "talk to his people" and would return. Off he went with my keys and I decided to call my Uncle L.

I had been listening to bells ringing and obnoxious clapping for several hours now. I was growing restless. I told my Uncle L this over the phone and how I think I got a deal done. L tells me to walk out if they don't agree with you. I tell him I can't because they have my keys.

Another 20 minutes elapses, followed by 30, and then 40. I'm hungry, thirsty, I have to pee. I am not in a happy mood. What are they doing with my car? Where the fuck is Alfonzo?

My frown is briefly diminished by a young woman who rings the bell with her father and on the way back flashes me a smile. If this young all American coed was up for a different sort of ride, I would be happy to indulge. I smiled back without thought. It was pure reflex.

Alfonzo returns. "How close to $400 a month can you get?" Did they not hear me the first time? I CAN'T SPEND $400 bucks a month on a fucking Corolla!! If I could I'd be driving a BMW, Mercedes or import a FIAT like the lovely lady on the left is pushing!!!!!! C'mon guys!!!

"OK, let me talk to my people." Alfonzo says and runs off into the evil watch tower. I look up and see that several of them are looking back at me.

Frantic shouting.

Papers being shuffled.

More shouting.

The bell ringing!!!

Alfonzo emerges once more. "My manager has made a deal." He declares. Just then his manager emerges from the watchtower, happy as can be, and says to me, "it's $400.75 a month." He then vanishes into an office.

DID HE NOT FUCKING HEAR ME!?!?! I AM NOT PAYING $400 A MONTH FOR A COROLLA!!!!

Suddenly all the anxiety I had was gone. I became comfortable with myself once more. There are only 2 times when it dissipates; in the throws of passion and in the midst of WAR! This was war. I sat back in my chair, with great comfort. This exposed Alfonzo in ways that I had not seen before. The growing desperation was more evident. I had the power, they had nothing. From here on out I'm coming in with all guns blazing. I'm fucking going in like Chuck Connors at the beginning of The Rifleman!

ME: Where are my keys Alfonzo?

Alfonzo: OK, OK hold on! Let me see if I can get more money for your car.

He frantically runs out of the dealership. Jump slave! Jump!

I take out my super fancy refurbished phone and call my Uncle L .

Suddenly I notice men in Toyota jackets to my left and right, just standing there and leaning in a bit my way. They're listening in on my conversation. I tell L about this and we laugh. I look behind me and there's another idiot employee acting like his sorting through papers also listening. I have seen enough!

I'M OUT!!!

Alfonzo returns with a blank sheet of paper. "Here's the thing." He says and proceeds to scribble a series of mathematical equations that by the end leaves me back at $400 a month and looks like some crude artistic rendering of a cow.

No, no, no!

Alfonzo is using every fiber of his being to keep himself from exploding.

Alfonzo: Why don't you want to spend a little extra on something nice!?! You have 86,000 miles on your car and NO warranty! You get free oil changes for life!!! Soon you will lose your car!!

Actually you dumb mofo , I don't believe in spending what I don't have and I could take my car another 86,000 miles just fine than you very much!!! As for my current ride, there's always a way out of this mess.

Alfonzo: We don't want you to leave without a car today. Let me bring out my manager.

Me: I know I asked you for my keys back 20 minutes ago and you have yet to return them.

Out comes the manager, a hint of sweat on the brow and obvious anger. I'm now ravenous, I can drink a lake and I have to pee so bad that I could put out a 5 alarm fire.

They sit down with me and lean in. Like it's an interrogation in a darkened room with a single swinging lamp overhead. If they could tie me to the chair, they would.

Manager: We've been doing back flips for you! The best I can do is $398.

Me: $2 month dollars less? No.

Manager: How much can you put down?

Me: Now not much, later....1000. What happened to the 600 dollar rebate? Would that not be 1600 down?

Manager: I'm already counting that. I need more.

Me: Where are my keys?

Manager: How about $356 a month!!!?!?

Me: Better but I'll have to talk to MY people before I give you an answer.

Alfonzo: YOUR people? Are you married.

No, dear readers, I'm not. But since they made me wait forever when they talked to "their people" then I might as well have mine whether they exist or not.

Me: Keys please?

Walking Tall

I could not wipe the smile off my face. The threat of losing my car still looms but I did not bow to their terms and I did not let them play on my desperation as they had done with the others that day. As I walked out of the dealer I saw Alfonzo and the manager stare so many daggers at me that I could have been diced into the smallest of pieces that would have never been found.

As I walked to my car I see that they had taken it out for a joyride. It was in a different spot from where I parked it. The radio was turned up much louder than I left it and the seat seemed readjusted. This annoyed me but it was par for the course for this dealer called Colonial Toyota.

I went home, glad that it was over and unsure of what the fate of my car would be. That's it on the left. I snapped it while walking out of a donut shop near to where I work. Nice huh? The chicks dig it.

I got a bottle of wine from the store and sat on my couch thinking how much time did I have left and how would I pull this one out. Have I dodged my last bullet?

Later in the week, on the way back from work, I saw the dealers billboard placed above a lower income neighborhood.

It read "Bad credit? No credit? We can help!"

No. They can't.

Story developing..........

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D, the boss who never was.

Before I get on with my scheduled blog entries about office cubical lizards, Blackberry addiction and the agony of defeat, I want to share with you all a little adventure I had today involving one of the most reviled places on earth; the car dealership.

YES, the car dealership! The place where dreams are purported to be made but swindles are the real order of the day. The place where that new car smell titillates the senses and intoxicates the psyche. The shiny new paint, the sparkling chrome, the promise of a great deal due to strange terminology like "low factory to dealer incentives" unleash the most magnetic of pulls. You want the car, it's within reach, it has to be within reach because their goal is to put you in that spanking new car TODAY! There's always a way thanks to financing! Those trusty sales folk will make the numbers work for you.....because they care.

(coughing)

The Other American Dream

In America, we love our cars. This is one of the few countries where a family will feel completely justified in buying a Hummer because they need room for the kids when they go to soccer practice. Everything must be big, loud and obnoxious and that includes our personalities. And then we wonder why we're treated rudely when we are visiting another country. You can issue a foreclosure on our houses (the primary American dream) and you can take away our spouses or significant others....but God fucking damn it, we're taking our mother fucking, gas guzzling cars!!!!!

So many of use rely on them but so many of us graft them into our lives to the point that it's something much more. It's like another member of the family, an old friend or a trusted companion. We need our cars. I need my car. And today I thought I might have needed a new one.

WHY?

Ladies and gentleman I'll be completely honest with you, I bought my car in 2002 with a feeling that great prosperity was just around the corner. I had worked myself up from absolutely nothing and landed a job at ESPN. I went from being in a very dangerous area to having a nice little place to call my own in a low crime area. Nothing was going to stop me baby!!

But life did.

ESPN was a den of sociopaths and sadists. Conditions in my job changed which resulted in a loss of income because there was no overtime available. The car I bought was needed but I didn't have the means to plunk down 5 grand up front. I got a loan with a balloon payment which means a lump sum is due at the end of the loan. "No problem" said the sales guy, you can refinance that lump sum or trade it in for a new car at our dealership. The price was right, the conditions seemed right, I dove in.

The dealership closed!

I lost my job at ESPN because I was no longer the "right fit." This really means that I was not fanatical enough for their liking. If not having fantasies of ESPN in my spare time is a crime, I'm guilty. My fantasies revolve around fun things like sex which is where many fantasy ought to lie. Sorry but I'm not going to rub one out over a spreadsheet I looked the day before. Too freaky for me.

I had to file for bankruptcy!!! Made it just before the laws changed.

I was out of work for 8 months!!! Why? Because the freaks at ESPN blacklisted me!!! I finally had to bring in the State Attorney General's office to get the job that I currently have. ESPN doesn't fuck with me now.

I almost everything I had, AGAIN! But God damn it, through it all, I kept my fucking car!

But was it a time for a change before the lump sum of money due made that change for me with a repossession?

I went to the dealer to find out.

Come on Down

I saw the sign at one Toyota dealership saying that bad credit was not an issue. OK, I made the call and asked what the catch was on my mobile.

The salesman on the other line quipped, "I love they way you say that...like we're going to do something to you."

But you are because that's the nature of your job. I know this. I'd respect you more, Mr.Salesman, if you told me exactly what it was.

"Why don't you come down and I can put you in a car today. It shouldn't be a problem if the numbers are agreeable."

What have I got to lose? A few hours of my day!!!

My goal, Get them to take my car and take the difference of the lump sum due and put it on the new loan. It wouldn't be enough to raise the monthly payment that much over 5 or 6 years. Should be OK.

NO! It wasn't!

Ladies and gentleman, I am about to tell you a story of ups, downs, deception and negotiations so brutal that some of us began to sweat. But who and why? And what does ringing a bell have to do with any of this!?!

The answers will be revealed here, on this blog, for your reading pleasure, in full detail for you to ponder and consume.

But not tonight.

Tonight I must rest and put the nightmare behind me with a glass (entire bottle) of wine and song. I would include women in that equation but there don't seem to be any around.

I must collect my thoughts. Till next time..........

Coming up on U N L O A D E D........

Fake bosses. We'll take a look at the cubicle dwelling subspecies.

And later.....

Behold the Blackberry or is it the Crackberry? My addiction revealed!

Also to come.....

Dealing with defeat. I hate to lose damn it!

There are weeks at work where the sooner they end, the better. Last week was no exception. The autumn chill had really started to make itself felt that night. I was just getting out of work and wanted to go straight home but that wasn't going to happen. I noticed that the low fuel light had gone off. Yet another little blow to an overall shitty day. The good news is that there was a gas station nearby and given that it was 9 at night, I wouldn't have to wait in line. It would be quick and painless, something that is seemingly impossible to do in Stamford, CT.

Stamford is a small city with few buildings over 20 stories, yet it has all the congestion and bustle of midtown Manhattan. An odd juxtaposition but something I've learned to deal with.

Actually cope is a better word, but aren't we all?

EMPTY

The tank, the gas station and the feeling in my gut. I would get my gas, go home and sleep off the dull pain in my body and the numbness in my head. I figured I give a call to my Uncle A but got and abrupt "Let me call you back." I'd have to settle for the sound of the gas pump instead of conversation. I watched the numbers tick by, tallying up the the total that would be docked from my debit card when another car pulled up.

Still entranced by the flickering numbers that never seemed to stop going up, the other car's door opened.

The sound of heels on the pavement.

A nasty gust of wind.

The corner of my eye catching long brunette hair flowing and longer legs carrying a perfect body and beautiful face to the stations shop.

A glance over at me and I look away as not to be too obvious.

I like what I see.

Don't you like me?

Our leggy brunette returned to her car and began pumping her own gas. She was using the pump on the opposite side of mine. We were close but I lost my view. These devices are big, obstructive monstrosities. Amidst the sound of gas flowing through rubber tubes into our tanks I heard an unusual and most welcomed utterance.

"Don't you like me?"

What did she just say? Was that directed at me?

"Don't you like me?"

From what I see, yes! But was she speaking to a gas pump that didn't want to work? Or was it someone in her car? A boyfriend? A child? I can't tell because I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!

"Oh come on, don't you like me?"

CLUNK!

That's the sound the pump maid as my tank reached full. The receipt printed out and it was the perfect chance for me to grab it, toss it in the trash and sneak another look at our beauty.

Then our eyes would lock, she'd ask me that question again and I give a smile and say yes.

We'd kiss right there and we'd fuck with reckless abandon on the hood of her car not giving a shit who saw us!

We'd become an item and whenever we walked into a place we'd be the hottest damn couple there. I'd get used to the fact that other men would always be staring at her with lust instead of feeling a twinge of annoyance at their passive agressive advances. I'd do the same, how could I blame them? I'm the stud, they are not. Look and learn you bastards!! She's all mine!

And she's digs me for me and wouldn't care about the fact I wasn't the richest guy around or living in a small apartment as opposed to a penthouse.

The sight of her nude body would always instantly ignite the most intense fire I have ever felt. It would be a super nova! The sparks would never fade and other women would throw themselves at me because I'd be a hotter ticket than I already am. Yeah, that's the fucking ticket baby!!!!

(clears throat)

All I have to do is say yes to her question and it will all fall into place!

And then......I'd catch her cheating with another guy.

BITCH!

She's so full of herself that she's made it a habit of toying with men! I was just the latest victim. The path of broken hearts before me likely stretches to infinity and the path before me likely disappears into the horizon. Once conquered she'd be onto her next target. I would be left bewildered, confused and angry.

How can this be? How could I have been played for such a fool by this sociopath with perfect tits?

NO! I will not let this woman spray me down with gas and take a match to me! I will NOT answer her question and I will leave unscathed to fight another day!!!

Play your games somewhere else you fucking harlot!!!

Driving Off

As I drove off, I finally got a better look at her. Still as beautiful as when I saw her moments before. There was no one with her, no one was in the car, it was just her. She looked at me as if she were still waiting for my answer. I smiled and drove off.

Sometimes it's good to leave them guessing. Even if I'm left second guessing myself.

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D........

The boss who never was. Do you have that special someone at work who wants to be your boss but isn't and is basically in the same position as you? We'll take a look this cubicle dwelling subspecies.

And coming up later.....

Behold the Blackberry or is it the Crackberry? Is it helping my life or slowly destroying it?

Also to come.....

Dealing with defeat. I don't like to lose, not a bit. A look at how I'm dealing with it and a chance to share your thoughts on how you cope.

.....THE RICARDO HAS COME BACK........TO.......

.....THE BLOGOSPHERE!!!!!!

And it's about fucking time!!!!!!

I suppose I should tell you what I've been up to during my time away and I will.

But not tonight.

For the next 12 weeks we're going to talk about things that need fixing in the world and things that have been stuck in my head. Maybe these things have been on your mind too, then again, maybe not.

We're going to play some games, share some secrets and reveal our darkest fears. You will be with me on this journey and while some of you may wish to turn away, you will return....to.... ....U N L O A D!

And make no mistake about it....we all need the release to get closer to that happy ending we all want.

I have been at my wits end, ready to punch holes in walls some days and moved by boundless passion on other days. Yes, emotion has laid out an intricate tapestry for me to work with here on this modest little blog. I've discovered some things about myself and the all elusive "pursuit of happiness" that may have put me much closer to some goals or much farther.

Since I've been gone we know the following things hold true:

Brittney Spears is STILL in the headlines and can't fucking drive to save her life.

Barry Bonds is STILL an asshole.

Racial disparity is STILL alive and well in the USA and if you don't believe me, just ask Dog the Bounty Hunter who wants to keep it that way! His TV show has been put on ice for now but it received good ratings so it may be back.

The 25% of people out there that still support George Bush (King George) are products of inbreeding. But this is no longer a political blog so I will let that statement fade off, resonate and tickle the senses.

(clears throat)

I still enjoy a good night at a martini bar.

You are all amazing and I love having you as my readers.

Lesbian vampires rule.

Onward

As I have said we have much to talk about so thanks for coming back and let's have a fun 12 weeks, shall we?

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D....... Don't you like me? How a cryptic utterance from a gorgeous woman at the gas station gave me something for the long ride home.

Have you ever had a span of 2 weeks (or more) where everything you do is wrong and you wind up hurting and offending the people you care about without really intending to?

I have found myself in this predicament as of late and it seems the more you try to resolve the conflict, the more the fires rage. In fact, it's like pouring Gasoline on the fire! It's starts out so small, so simple; a comment you may feel is benign, questioning a friend you feel may be going the wrong way, forgetting a small task that you were supposed to do, telling a joke you thought was funny. From there it snowballs into an epic battle. And the feelings of resentment sink in, chilling your soul and turning your stomach.

The litany of angst goes something like this:

You are insensitive.

You are evil and ghoulish. (as the the picture above clearly illustrates)

You don't care.

You're a freeloader and layabout.

Of course there was no true malice behind any of your missteps but trying to explain that is futility. The other party has made up their mind. You are dirt! No way around it.

The Hot Seat

The need to say I'm sorry and sets in. You are not evil, insensitive or some kind of low grade sociopath. You're just you trying to do what you think is OK.

These last 2 weeks I've been getting heat from all directions. None of it was intended to be spiteful. They were the wrong steps at the wrong time and they were amplified like nails across a chalkboard. The heat has since blown over and I'm left wondering if I've been truly insensitive or were they just too sensitive. I also wondered was it really over and were they just pretending to be nice.

Some new responsibilities were delegated to me at work. It's for a VERY MAJOR client that is one of the biggest sports leagues out there yet they have struggled to find their footing in Europe. I suspect they may never but hope they do. While I don't avidly follow this particular sport, many of my friends do and pay money to watch the season on Pay Per View. You can see it for free but you get more if you pay. They are that loyal fans. I wondered with the way things were going as of late, would I screw something up and knock the game off the air. Would there be more anger at me on top of this and also from my colleagues at work? Would there be calls for my lynching in the town square?

That's the thing when you're in this mess Any other mistakes that you are usually forgiven for become high crimes, treason, symbolic murder. "HOW DARE HE!" Some will shout. You're under the microscope, sitting on the hot seat. You've got nowhere to run to.

Redemption

I was grocery shopping last week and was in the parking lot unloading the bags into the trunk of my car. As I began to move the empty shopping cart away so I could back out, I spotted an old man struggling to walk and about to drop everything he was holing on to. The dozen eggs were resting on his forearm and ready to tip over at the slightest move. The gallon of milk was slipping out of his fingers and the other items tucked under his arms were anything but secure.

Time to make a choice.

I could attempt to help the old man, but with the way things were going, be loudly refused while onlookers would falsely think I was trying to rob him. Or, I could have my offer of help accepted, get a cheap thank you and be done with it.

I chose the latter.

He was stunned at the offer at first but realized that he likely wouldn't make it without my help. I asked where his car was and took the milk and eggs in hand and very slowly walked with him to his car. He opened the door and and directed me to place the eggs on the seat and milk on the floor. I did, smiled and told him to have a good one.

As I walked way he said, "You're a good man. God bless you."

Really? I am? Perhaps he's right. And if there is a God out there then may he/she/her or it send that blessing or good karma my way. I'll gladly take it.

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D....... Fear of falling, a followup to the last post of Making a break for it.

"You're alone up there."

"Your angry."

"You need a change of pace."

Such were the words uttered to me by a relative that that I've become reacquainted with. He is one of the very few who can soundly be regarded as a "friendly."

I sit here in my small apartment restless and uncertain....waiting for the other shoe to drop but not sure if there is another shoe. There are feelings of being rudderless and then there are feelings of shock and horror as one wonders where all the time has gone and how much of it is left.

Wasn't I supposed to be further along? Wasn't I to have it all figured out? Would I be happier someplace else or is happiness not the product of the environment you're in but the state of one's mind? I have a feeling it's a little bit of both.

Would dropping it all and embracing the sun and fun of West Palm Beach, Florida melt the ice or bring it's own new chill amidst the stifling heat and humidity?

I am a product of the busy fast paced world of the north eastern United States. The congestion, aggression and fast paced nature of this place is debilitating and invigorating. I can't describe it any better. You just have to be here to understand.

I've always wanted to make a break for it. Drop it all and go someplace new. Another country even. There's not much holding me down really, but I don't think the fun and sun of Florida is for me. I never cared for weather that was too hot and I despise humidity. I also don't care to get nipped by gators which roam free in land of Disney World. Although such an incident would be rare. It's more or less of an excuse.

I guess what this recent discussion has done is spark my desire to tear it all down and build it back up elsewhere.....far from here. A place where new adventures, romances and opportunities await. A place where anything can happen. I need to go to this place. But not Florida. Maybe a vacation there is in order. But it's not the "new home."

Have you ever wanted to run of after just getting fed up with it all? Do you feel that it's running away from the problems or solving them? If you wanted to make a break for it, where would you go?

U N L O A D here.......

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D......

Everyone hates Ricardo.

Sentimental things come in all shapes and sizes. There's really no limit to what they can be as the human mind will place a connection to something and then build up from there. Attached to these objects may be memories of better times, a reminder of someone special or a sense of security to get you through the day. Odd how a tattered article of clothing or a rabbits foot or a stuffed animal from your childhood can suddenly bring back a rush of feelings that seem to empower you. But do they really?

The year 2000 was the worst period of my life ever. I lost everything and wound up homeless. I recall having to haul all of my possessions to a dumpster and throw them out, one by one. Among them were many sentimental objects that I thought I simply couldn't live without. Among them were my old Atari 2600 and the games I used to play on them as a kid, my Commodore 64 computer that I played as a kid, my music collection on vinyl and cassette. What wasn't thrown out was sold off like my old bike that I had so many adventures on as a kid. How dare does some other punk buy it and use it to have his own adventures on. It was mine damn it!!!!

The dumpster incident was excruciating but there was simply no room for them in my new surroundings which we can call oblivion. I had no idea where I was going to wind up and could only carry what could fit into my car. That was it. I felt like part of me and my identity was dying with each object tossed away. Who was I without these "things?" The answer became clear in the years that followed. A survivor who would, in his darkest moments, be strangely liberated from the material and forced to fight and forge an identity from nothing more than his will. There would be no trademark articles of clothing. No special good luck charms. Nothing to cling to except for me.

To many of you this may sound bleak and I assure you that it was. I am not saying that I don't miss these objects but the lesson I learned from them is simple: Don't let your junk own you.

Junk?

Yes that right I called sentimental things junk. Rubbish, trash! They are objects that facilitated fun but they may not have been the source of fun or comfort or security. The source is not the object, it's you. Do we wish to have a tangible thing to hold that makes our memories more vivid? Perhaps, yes. But in the objectifying we tend to place or give too much power over them. I have seen numerous adults cling to things to the point that it defies reason. They are paralyzed by the thought of making a trip without the object or keeping it in a certain place in their house because...well they can't even give you a straight answer. And don't you dare try to explain that it's not as big of a deal they think. That will start a war.

You are insensitive, you don't understand, you have no respect.

Keeping a Level Head

Naturally there are some things that simply can't be replaced like a gift from a dear relative that has passed or something that a friend gave you before going off to the other side of the world. Maybe the object is something you discovered and clung to after a very traumatic event. It's all quite understandable really. But would you believe the answer to this is in a film that was fun to watch but low on substance? What was that film? Top Gun.

What!??!

Yeah, I know, it's weird but hear me out on this. The Maverick character (Tom Cruise) is a flying ace and his buddy Goose (Anthony Edwards) is his co-pilot and best friend. The 2 have a terrible mishap in their F-14 where the engines give out and they go into free fall. After desperate attempts to right the plane they eject. Maverick is thrown safely from from harms way but Goose is killed when his head smashes into the cockpit window, snapping his neck. Maverick feels responsible for the death of Goose and holds onto his id tags (dog tags for you military folk) and brings them with him on each flight. We think as the viewer that this will empower Maverick to fly higher than he ever did before. It doesn't. It cripples his ability and his Top Gun teammates begin to wonder what's going on with him.

In the films final moments Maverick, standing on the deck of an an aircraft carrier, gives one final look at the dog tags of his fallen friend and throws them out into the sea. This was not a gesture of forgetting about his friend, but letting go of an object that he gave to much power to. Goose lives on in his memory and heart. He does not need the tags to properly honor him.

We Keep Holding On

The human mind will always try and make something tangible out of certain intangible things. It's why we hold onto these objects. Even after writing this, I may pick up a few sentimental things myself and bask in their comfort before realizing that it's not the object that can give me comfort. It's me, it's you, it's all of us.

And that is more powerful than anything material thing you can hold onto.


Coming up next on U N L O A D E D.......

The nightmare log. I'll recount my nightly, vivid and strange dreams that I've been having as of late. They're lots of fun.

The stag party aka the bachelor party. The final passage for a young man who is about to get hitched and "settle down." Presumably this is his last night of "freedom" and "hanging out with the boys. " From there the groom to be will settle down, be domesticated, knock up his wife, have some kids and become a responsible father. Gone are the days having fun and cutting loose. The man becomes the groom and the groom becomes a husband and the husband becomes an emasculated chump. The fun is gone, the life is beaten out from him and he works along with his wife to support and raise his family.

Does this sound grim to you? It should. I wrote it that way because this is the mentality that is behind stag parties and it's very effective. Sure the men love the women they are about to marry but this hanging out, this fun stuff....it's all coming to an end and NOW! Amidst the cheers, drinks and catcalls as the strippers dance and the porn plays out, the sense of symbolic death is palpable at a stag. I find it extremely depressing. Why is it seen this way and why do these events men usually enjoy feel pathetic and empty?

The Chilling Effect

I have long outgrown the need to go to strip clubs but still enjoy some good porn now and then and may turn to it to snap me out of this prescription drug funk. However, these activities ARE NOT what the usual "hanging out with the fellas" entails. The good times involved sitting around, having some drinks, arguing about sports and talking about life. Yet for some reason, as if by instinct, all that goes out the window with bachelor parties. Suddenly we MUST go to the strip clubs and we MUST act like idiots. The second part I don't mind as much because being an idiot, at times, is part of cutting loose. It's the degree of idiocy that one must watch or they may be without friends before long.

Bachelor parties are not just about strip clubs, there are lame raffles to siphon money out of you to finance an overpriced wedding. Never ending card games of Texas Hold 'em be