What I have accomplished in my nineteen years of living in Houston/San Antonio would be more impressive for someone half my age.
This blog often contains my thoughts and influences through roblogged music, film references, pretentious books, Matt Berninger pictures, and Vonnegut quotes. Ultimately, this blog is my best attempt at staying in character: the part of a brooding cynic playing the comic relief in someone else's story with a pathetic desire for attention and affirmation at any cost (i.e. this post). The problem is that I laugh at my own jokes and break character too often. It really works out in the end, however. Since my humor is dry and in need of some encouragement, my laughter is an adequate punch line. Anyway, enough about me, give me some of your thoughts at the bottom of the page.
P.S. I'm really lazy about the layout of this blog. I don't have much of an incentive to change it. And I like the white to allow what I put up to stand out. Therefore, enjoy what is posted rather than where it is posted. Or don't, I'll understand.
Orson Welles was originally hired only to act in the film, but due to a misunderstanding, Charlton Heston understood that Welles was to be the director. To keep Heston happy, producer Albert Zugsmith allowed Welles to direct.
Tilley custom home, Wilmington. Plantation Building Corp.
(I work the floor at an independently-owned menswear store. The owner, my boss, spends a lot of time at the shop, and tries to keep prices as low as possible to help our city’s large homeless population get good job interview clothes. A clearly homeless man is wandering around the store. The other patrons are giving him looks.)
“Excuse me, sir?”
“I think you may want to call security. That… bum over there, he keeps feeling the suits and muttering to himself. I’m just sure he’s planning to steal one.”
“Well, ma’am, I think that’s quite unlikely.”
“Oh, come on, you know how they are! I mean, I’d keep an eye on him even if he wasn’t homeless!”
(The homeless man in question happens to be Hispanic.)
“We don’t discriminate here, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m sure the owner would want to hear about this!”
(I give in and call him over. The customer explains her concerns. As a black man, my boss isn’t happy with her racism, but agrees to talk to the homeless man.)
“Excuse me, sir, are you finding what you need?”
“Well, not really. I’m hoping for something versatile in a dark or navy wool, but most of the options in my size are cut American style instead of European, which fits me a little better. Not to mention they’re all pinstriped, which I really don’t have the build for, you know?”
“I… yes, I understand. I think we may have some options over here, if you’ll follow me. How did you know all that?”
“Back before I lost my job, I used to be really into this stuff. I’m not looking for anything fancy, just something I can use to look good for a job interview later today.”
(My boss helps him find something he likes, and comes to the counter with him. The suit is priced at $87.)
*digging in his pockets* “Hang on, I think I’ve got enough.”
*to me* “Take my card. I’m buying it for him.” *to the homeless man* “Here. The suit’s yours, on one condition. After your interview today, you come back and apply for a job here too. Got it?”
“I… oh my God, thank you. Thank you so much.”
(Two years later, that formerly-homeless man is my manager, and has a little girl with his new wife—the owner’s sister.)