"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."


I Am Jack's Presynaptic Cell.

I'll start by mentioning it's past 6 am and I've been up for awhile (somewhere between 7:03 am and 12:47 pm yesterday, depending on your definition of "up"). Please don't feel obligated to read this.

A typical day for me has lately gone something like this:

  • 7:03 am - alarm goes off because I can't stand to set the thing for a nice round number, naively hoping I'll be "surprised" by the wacky time into waking up and getting a jump on the day. Whatthefuckever. Thus begins my first ritual of the day, "Snooze Hour-and-a-Half"
  • 8:24 am - some cheery fucker in the Eastern time zone on his/her third cup of coffee IM's me. Lacking the conscious ability to come up with something clever, and slightly pissed at being beaten by three minutes to Snooze #7, I manage something along the lines of "I love you too, mom. Now fuck right off."
  • 8:52 am- 'If I get up right now, I can make it to class on time. Except I'm filthy because I was too lazy to shower last night. I can be a few minutes late for the sake of hygiene.'
  • 8:55 am - Turn on shower. Lean against the wall and watch it run for a few minutes.
  • 8:57 am - 'Oh fuck this.'
  • 8:58 am - Back to bed.
  • 12:47 pm - Awake at the sound of a leaf blower outside bedroom window. "WTF???? @#@!$%^%&&*^#$#! I did it Again? Seriously?" Discover IM on desktop I have no recollection of writing. Send apology to mother. Bound out of bed and simultaneously dress and berate myself for being such a loser.
  • 12:53 pm - eat lunch during three-minute race to work. Berate self for staying up so late.
  • 1:30 pm - complete day's work
  • 1:31 pm - commence desk nap
  • 1:59 pm - chat up people with real jobs, complain about "work"
  • 2:27 pm - eat cookies boss's mom sent, look busy
  • 3:02 pm - log somewhere between four and six hours on time sheet, sneak out
  • 3:08 pm - naptime
  • 5:14 pm - feel guilty for having done NOTHING, resolve to work in the studio all night as punishment
  • 5:42 pm - resolve to go to studio right after dinner
  • 6:29 pm - right after checking e-mail
  • 7:13 pm - right after Myspace time
  • 7:53 pm - right after this article
  • 8:46 pm - H'Caust and Lunchy are putting more thought into Studio 60 than Sorkin, I'm afraid. Like, way more. Also I feel really dumb, because they are, after all, talking about a television show. That I watch. And I'm still struggling to keep up with them.
  • 9:12 pm - who am I kidding? Begin cycle of guilt and self-loathing anew/read some forums
  • 10:30 - Ramen attack!
  • 10:37 - Ooh, chat friends!
  • 11:10 pm - Hey look! Netflix!
  • 1:07 am - What, in dog's name, possessed me to rent that?
  • 1:10 am - let's find out what the internet has to say about anything and everything frivolous and trivial!
  • 5:04 am - reluctantly nod off
  • 7:03 am - Snooze Hour-and-a-half
I'd like to say I jest, but I've been just about that effective lately. I sleep, and I hide in my room unless absolutely forced otherwise. As such, I've turned back to the happy pills. I asked for something that might help me sleep.
It's 6:43 am.
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.


I May Be Over My Nasty Case of Outrage Fatigue

Holly sent me this very compelling reason to either get out of bed very early on Monday morning to do some early voting, or mount up and go on a rage-fueled Capitol Hill shooting spree. I'm still on the fence, but given the outcomes of all my previous voting experiences, I may be tempted to go with a more effective method. Tell my mother I love her.

(*Editors note - the author of this blog does not condone violence against anyone, even the most deserving members of the legislative and executive branches, and as such the above statement is for entertainment purposes only.)


A Walk-On Would Be Fine

Our power is out.
Let me rephrase. One of our three lines of power is out. A brownout, if you will. The few lines that are working keep dimming and surging. Nothing works in my bedroom. It’s 1:30, I have a blowslot at 3, and right about now I should be putting my color in the pickup box. That aspect is not pleasing me.

When I went to maintenance to see WTF, I discovered our physical plant guy sitting on an extra van bench spooning something out of a mason jar and munching contentedly. This is a man who built his house with hand tools and didn’t have power for the first 12 years of living there. I would not be surprised if he threw the switch himself just to get everyone out of the dank holes they call studios and take note of the beautiful day.

You’ll never get me, Zabriskie, I have a laptop battery for at least the next 45 minutes. Possibly longer now that I’m not running the airport. After that, I start texting like a fiend.

I had such a great weekend, with a few bumps of not as great. I’d like to see Bent performed by capable actors and a production budget sometime, but maybe not on someone’s birthday. Whenever I feel down I will go to my new happy place, a cushy boat on Norris Lake in late September with a slight hangover from the night before and a belly full of Steak and Shake.

I spent a lot of time on that boat yesterday. I’ve never heard so many people in so many places around the country talk about how much they hate Mondays as I did yesterday. Yesterday, it seems, was a universally shitty day. As such, I have written it off entirely. Today is actually Monday, in my twisted little reality. And I’m going to miss my blowslot because the power is out.
God I hate Mondays.

It occurs to me, even though my name is “Glasshole” on this here blog, I rarely talk about glass. I think this is maybe because we have such weird and vaguely sexual sounding terminology I would constantly be explaining what the hell I was talking about. Sometimes I’ll say something, and then I’ll have to have a moment to ponder the silliness of the words that just came out of my mouth. For your edification, I present a small glossary.

Blowpipe – This one is pretty obvious. You can’t touch hot glass, so you put it on a long metal rod with a hole in it. And you blow through it. Usage: “Dammit, my blowpipe got bent.”

Blowslot – See also Slot. Three hour chunks of studio access which correspond to how many credit hours one is taking. Usage “You got a slot today? Can I watch?”

Box – see also Annealer. A kiln which keeps finished glass pieces at well over 900 degrees until the studio closes for the night and then brings the pieces down to room temperature over the next 24-48 hours so they don’t ‘splode. Usage:“Let’s put this fucker in the box!” “Box that bitch.”

Hole – see also Glory Hole. A reheating furnace used to keep pieces hot enough to work. Usage: “Hey, if you’re going to the studio, could make sure my hole is turned on?”

Jacks – A very versatile glass shaping tool that looks a little like really long tongs. They are usually coated in beeswax to reduce resistance when they hit the glass. Usage: “Could you wax my jacks?”

Jackline – see “Jack it in” A curve one cuts in to the neck of a piece with the jacks so as to create a weak spot to allow removal from the blowpipe. Usage: “Take this heat, hang down in the hole and turn pole while I jack it in at the bench.”

Marver – A large steel table used for adding resistance (cold glass moves less than hot glass, metal takes away heat) and shape to glass. Also used as a bench for marver muffins.

Marver Muffin – A glass groupie, usually female. Usage:“Did you see the marver muffin party in Bob’s slot today?”

Punti – A solid metal rod with a little blob of glass on the end which is attached to the bottom of a piece so you can take it off the blowpipe and work on the lip. Usage: “Cara, your punti is too hot. Again.”

Consider yourself edumacated.

Update: 8pm and still half-assed power. We must have really fucked something up. My house is one of the few houses with AC and a stove, so we've been popular tonight. I lasted less than an hour in my slot with no exhaust fans or AC, and no running water (thanks, electric water system).
A week until mid-term crits, this makes me nervous.
Fuck you, This Week.


If This Is What 30 Looks Like....

...sign me up.