Sunday, November 02, 2008

NaBloPoMo Revisited

It is National Blog Posting Month once more. Stubble is sprouting from my chin and cheeks and the space between my nose and mouth. National Blog Posting Month equals National Beard Growing Month. A simple equation to remember: NaBloPoMo = NaBeGroMo. I apologize to my girlfriend Alex, for Lord knows she hates my participation in NaBeGroMo. As far as I know, she’s okay with the blog posting part. In case anyone missed it last year, my beard was a disaster (my blog too), and I can understand where she’s coming from. I may even tend to agree. Still, you can’t have one without the other. If I am to be posting every night, then I must let the facial hair grow untended, like the Free Market, though NOMENCLATURE would refuse any bailout offered.

Most of the day yesterday was spend finalizing the mammoth Election Special below – the pilot, as it were, for NaBloPoMo. This was done in conjunction with Charles Parsons of Let’s Work with Orphans. For the afternoon, Charlie and I chatted about revisions and progress via gChat, unless my question was too complicated for instant messaging, in which case I called him. It felt a lot like my job, except a much more fun version of my job.

If you have yet to tackle our voting guide (summary: vote Nader), I suggest doing so. Even if you have already voted or decided upon your candidate, give it a glance. You might learn something.

Last night, around 2:30 a.m., we reverted back one hour for Daylight Savings Time. This night always affords one hour out of the ordinary. You may or may not recall my night last year. This DST night was slightly lower-key, but memorable nonetheless. Mike Sokol, Alex, and I met up at the Great Lakes Brewery to sample some of their Christmas Ale, newly on tap. Despite the ensuing hour of DST gratitude, we were very rudely ousted from the place around 12:30. One of Cleveland’s finest stood at the top of the stairs to the basement pub and yelled at everyone to hurry up, finish, and go get some DUIs.

Mike Sokol, visibly irritated by the push from John Q. Law, flagged down a barkeep.

‘What’s up with the yelling?’ Mike asked. ‘Is that guy always such a dick?’

‘No,’ said the leggy bar mistress, ‘he’s only here for special events. Plus, Christmas Ale turns everyone into a hot mess.’

‘Whatev,’ Mike said.

She smiled and left. We drained the last of our pints and exited likewise, sans smiles.

On the way to Mike’s truck, we discussed the rapid rise of the phrase ‘hot mess.’

‘It’s really the phrase of the minute,’ I said.

‘Yeah, pretty much everyone uses that,’ said Alex.

‘I never really noticed,’ said Mike.

I said that it is time for a new phrase, something to articulate the era of HOPE that Obama is sure to usher in.

‘Shiny Silver Dollar,’ I said. My ale-buzzed tongue slurred the syllables.

‘That’s fucking stupid,’ Mike said. ‘Terrible phrase.’

‘Shiny Silver Dollar,’ Alex said. She giggled.

‘It’s all about hope,’ I said.

We made our way home with Mike piloting his truck a good 20 mph over the speed limit at all times. The ride was slightly nauseating, but I have to admit we made great time. A few ‘brew-dawgs’ (Mike Sokol nomenclature for ‘beers’) later found Mike and I standing before the shift from Eastern Daylight to Eastern Standard Times. The hour between 2:30 and 3:30 (really, between 2:30 and 2:30 after you turn the clocks back) is for grand ideas.

Mike talked about a potential job offering at a nuclear power plant in Pennsylvania. I voiced my distrust of nuclear power, and spoke about the safety risks and the long-term affects on the environment. I advocated to Mike the implementation of renewable energy like wind and solar.

Mike Sokol, realist, said that nuclear, if properly regulated, provided a cleaner and more efficient output than traditional fossil fuels. The energy needs of this country could not be quenched by wind and solar alone. The debate was spirited for some time, and though neither side won, I would say that both of us were opened up to a different way of thinking in that department.

Naturally, the conversation shifted to the military budget. I think we all know where I stand there (see Nader post below). Mike left around 4:30, factoring in the hour gained. The clocks still flashed 5:30. I passed out beside Alex, awoke this morning at 2:30. I was startled that I had slept in so late, then became relieved to learn that it was really only 1:30.


Charles said...

14 million dollars an hour on the War in Iraq. We have people who don't have homes in this country--homes.
That means they don't have a place to live, and it's not just because they like to camp, Mr. Reagan.
Keep the beard till I get home this time.

MikeS said...

I love how you write our times together. If I had a job, I'd fucking spend every other day with you or so, and then pay you to write about our forays.