5b/100: I Can't Believe I Just Said That

Consider this entry a Mulligan of the previous. One, because I didn't really obey the directions last time. Two, I didn't explain any feelings of mortification, or any feelings in general about it because, well, I didn't have any.  It was mainly written for entertainment value and now that I think of it, didn't really apply to the assignment outside of being a puff piece of entertainment. So let's disregard that last one and start anew.

Day 5: Write about a moment when you said or did something extremely embarrassing or accidentally insulting. Go into detail about the feeling of mortification, and how you felt after you said it.

Does this help exorcise the guilt/embarrassment at all? Can you imagine a fictional character going through the same process? Length: 350 words

 I Can't Believe I Just Said That:

"I have the keys to the Chief Marketing Officer's penthouse suite."

This is one of those situations where a seemingly innocent piece of information snowballs into a shitstorm that I couldn't have reined back in if I tried. It nearly got me fired, cost me hundreds of dollars and even lost me a few friends.

I was in San Francisco for our company's annual conference.  Since I was to conduct interviews with some of the attendees, our CMO graciously provided me with the key to his penthouse suite in Union Square's Westin Hotel for the set. After the conference, a few of us went out with the the remaining attendees, where I mentioned to our lead sales associate that I still had the keys. I was firm that only our immediate group was to be invited, and was assured that all would be okay. An hour later, that room held nearly 100 people and growing. Four cash bars were completely emptied. Furniture was broken. Prostitutes were invited up by our own employees, leading to the theft of my phone and three other company laptops. At 4am, I began to survey the damage. I was absolutely terrified.

I didn't want to return to work. I didn't want to look my boss in the eye and explain what I did that night, how it got so far out of control. I was ashamed, embarrassed. I betrayed his trust, something I can never take back. I wanted to impress everyone that night. I wanted them to know how cool I was for having access to the top of the world. I could barely apologize to our CMO, I was so mortified. ...HR spoke with me about what happened. There was an investigation over the stolen equipment. It was an awful experience, and I still get sick to my stomach thinking about it.

In time, it would all fade away. I learned a harsh lesson from that experience, one I still carry it with me to this day. I have my own reputation to uphold now and much more at stake. Call it, perspective.

5a/100: I Can't Believe I Just Said That

This is a hard one.  Though, not because I'm unwilling to divulge some story of how I've embarrassed myself in one way or another, but by all accounts, I have way too many to share. Those that know me understand that I've said and done many-an-embarrassing things in my day...so many, in fact, it's a hard pool to choose from.  Do I tell how I learned (on multiple occasions) that I can never drink Jägermeister again? Or, how about that time I found myself streaking through the midnight streets of Downtown Chicago while broadcasting to passers-by (with a rancid Scottish accent, for extra effect) that I was running to Michigan?

I think the majority of people go through a time in their lives where parties and recreational drinking is a priority, real-life responsibilities take a backseat and the momentum gathered to embarrass oneself approaches terminal velocity.  Following a few failed relationships and a general disconcertment towards myself, this period in my late-twenties maybe lasted little longer than it should have.  I wish I could take a lot of it back, but it was a learning experience for me and in retrospect, necessary for my path in life. This provides ample material for stories of embarrassment. Ample. But, I'm going to pull a special one out of this bag.  This tale is about the time I got wasted at a funeral.

Day 5: Write about a moment when you said or did something extremely embarrassing or accidentally insulting. Go into detail about the feeling of mortification, and how you felt after you said it.

Does this help exorcise the guilt/embarrassment at all? Can you imagine a fictional character going through the same process? Length: 350 words

 I Can't Believe I Just Said (Did) That:

Growing up, our next door neighbors Chip and Sue had an annual party called The Big Chill. They made t-shirts, screened movies, brought in beer from all over the world, and partied unapologetically for a full 48 hours straight with friends from all walks of life. In December of 2003, Chip died from cancer. Without hesitation, his family decided to turn his funeral into the Final "Big Chill."

We danced and laughed long into the evening. We were all drinking heavily, but I remember a particular moment when Chip's youngest son handed me a glass of milk mixed with Jäger he had smuggled over from Europe. It was the most delicious concoction I had ever tasted. Of course I drank three of them. I later discovered that this particular variation of Jäger had been infused with opiates...and that's when I took off to Neptune. Let me break it down for you:

1. I tried to climb the outside of the house like Spiderman, claiming I was, yes, Spiderman. 
2. I drunk dialed my parents. They were still at the party. 
3. I hid silently under a table for 45 minutes. 
4. I crawled into the fireplace and shouted, "Look, I'm a gnome!" repeatedly.
5. I accidentally broke into the neighbor's house, thinking I was returning to the party. For ten minutes, I walked from room to room, wondering where everyone went. Said neighbor came downstairs in his bathrobe and politely asked me to leave, baseball bat in hand. 
6. I danced like an absolute maniac. 
7. As I was leaving, my friend's mom asked me if I broke into her neighbor's house. I had almost completely forgotten about it by that point and just responded, "Yeah, I think so." She laughed and hugged me. 

It wasn't my proudest moment, but we've all had plenty of laughs about it since, considering the events that surrounded that night. It was a hell of a way for Chip to go out and I'd be honored for my friends to celebrate my life with half that enthusiasm.  ...maybe just without the Jäger.

4/100: Post Secret

There are two places I could've left this note. In one, the note would be protected from the elements, collecting dust. In the other, fully exposed. I thought it more interesting to place it in the latter, if only for my love of the outdoors and the fascination of discovering the condition of things once left behind.

Day 4: Leave a Post-it note in a secret place. One sentence only. What does it say? How does the placement affect the message?

The Brook

3/100: Self Destruct

I want to mostly refrain from posting photos during this challenge, but as I learned today, that may not always end up having to be the case.  This was more of a hand-written exercise that explores not only paper real estate, but the connection between the flow of the hand and of the mind.  The result is fairly interesting, if not somewhat artistic and beautiful in form.

Day 3: Rip off a piece of paper and turn off the lights. Begin writing on the paper, but make sure you cannot see what or where you’re writing it. After 25 minutes, destroy the paper completely. 

What did you write on that paper that you couldn’t write before? Did the “anonymity” of the writing help you bring out things that you previously couldn’t?

Riddles in the Dark

2/100: Zombie Invasion

Oh, look.  I made it to Day 2.  This reflects mild proof that I'm holding myself up to this commitment. Though I probably shouldn't even mention the word 'commitment' until I at least hit Day 10.  Better yet, Day 25. You don't tell a girl on the second date that you want to commit yourself to her, no matter how cool and/or relationship-hungry she is.  That's dating suicide.  A quarter-of-the-way milestone is something to be proud of, and mighty presumptuous of me.  I'm going to stop there before I blow my load too early and disappoint nearly everyone in the room.  ...Because that was a porn metaphor.  ...and I would be the actor in the porno–nevermind.  I'll get on with today's bit.

Day 2: At this moment, the area you’re in is suddenly ravaged by zombies. With the internet and phone lines cut off, all you have at your disposal are things in your room. What sort of strategies do you use to get out? How do you see things differently now that they can be used for your survival?   Length: 400 words

Zombie Invasion:

They're coming. Hordes of them. Zombies. ...and they have us surrounded.

Looking down from our 5th Floor office into the chaos unfolding across the streets of Downtown Portland, the feeding frenzy we witnessed just a short few hours ago has now evolved into a large herd migrating slowly through the city. Across the way, other survivors have retreated to the rooftops, with little to no means of survival. For them, it's only a matter of time. For us, it's a different story.

All the doors into our space have locks, but the glass can be broken. Using our desks, we've successfully sealed those exits. There's 17 of us here, with enough resources stored to keep us alive for the immediate future.

What we don't have are means to defend ourselves. This is an advertising agency and the only sharp objects here are Exacto Knives; creative problem solving at its finest. And not a minute too soon.

The old stairwell has been compromised. We're safe in here for the moment, but they're in the building. With their numbers growing, it's only a matter of time before they get to us. We need to get out of the city, and fast. Nigel takes charge, orders everyone to grab what they can and follow him. The screams from the stairwell are getting louder. We think the floor below us has been attacked. The zombies are close.

"We're trapped!" someone yells, while Nigel utilizes a metal bar from the coat rack to pry open the elevator doors.  

With a final heave, the elevator doors spring open and Nigel desperately gestures everyone to climb inside. Just then, the stairwell barricade begins to buckle and the snarls of the horde's insatiable hunger echoes into the room. They're nearly here. Nigel turns to the group.

"This building was once one of the oldest breweries in Portland," he claims. "and this shaft leads directly into the old Shanghai Tunnels. We can repel down and follow the tunnels to the river.  Getting to the water is our only hope."

We all nod in agreement and two at a time, begin to slide down the cables.  Nigel and I are the last to go, just as the barricade collapses and dozens of undead pour into the room. I grab the pry bar and the doors slam shut behind us.  With a sigh of relief, we descend into the darkness below.  

The 100-Day Challenge: 1/100

A friend of mine at work recently read my last post on here and suggested I take up a 100-day writing challenge over the course of the summer.  As I've been feeling a bit blocked recently, creatively speaking, I took some time to think about this.  Today, during a particularly slow few hours at work, I decided to go for it.  As I've done 100-something creative exercises before, I've never actually committed to a writing challenge.  I used to write quite a bit back in the day and then at some point, I just stopped.  I'm not sure why; phases of life may have something to do with it, but it was always a past time that I enjoyed.  Maybe it's time to fire that back up, sans photography.

So, I'm using Qwiklit.com's 100-day writing challenge as a guide.  If you haven't used it, you can find each exercise here: https://qwiklit.com/  My first task reads as follows:

Day 1: Where are you? Your room? A hotel lobby? the top of a burning building? In the finest detail possible, describe everything you possibly can, from the sound to the smell to the temperature. Be extremely specific.  ...And, we're off.

Location, Location Location:

6th Floor Office, 1120 NW Couch St, Portland, OR, U.S.A, Earth.

I'm sitting on the left end of a couch. I decided to leave my desk earlier today and try out our new office space that we just acquired. I'm sitting now, as opposed to lounging as I was before. Due to a particularly vexed email from HR, my shoe-laded feet now rest firmly on the newly-finished cement floor. My dog Kino is resting on the floor to my right. His twitching foot and soft, punctuated whimpers tell me he's dreaming. He at least has the sense to keep his feet off the couch.

The newly-renovated, 5,000 sqft. environment is extremely open and sterile. The whiteboard walls create a vibe that could use a bit of color and personality, to be honest. The window to my left looks over Burnside, Old-Town and the northern end of Downtown Portland. The interior hills of NE are slightly obscured by a chilly drizzle. It feels like mid-fall.

In front of me is a rustic, wooden-block coffee table that intersects the space between the couch I've claimed and two leather chairs.  To my right is a large, conference table-sized work station surrounded by seven white, netted-back chairs.  They look somewhat comfortable.  Beyond that is the kitchen, which consists of an island and counter-top, sink and cupboard area recessed into the wall.  It looks clean and untouched.  Eight elegant white desk lamps stand proudly on the island, waiting to be placed among the workstations. Behind me are two arm chairs.

The workstation table to my right is one of four, each being separated by a divider-wall that holds a Plasma screen on one side and a whiteboard on the other. At the far end of the room is a glass-encased conference room that has yet to house a table, further driving home the feeling that this space is still a work-in-progress.

Beyond the kitchen to my right is a short hallway that branches off to three other team-designated areas.  In one of them, a presentation is being given to a client right now.  With the lack of rugs around us, their voices carry across the empty space. I can hear every word.  Privacy is not an option.

Above me, fluorescent lighting and paneled ceilings span the room, what I'm told is the result towards the high cost of exposing the ductwork and structure of the building. This is unfortunate, as the dropped ceilings take away from the creative energy the space needs.  I can't help but feel sadness here. The exposure would've united the transition between the old and new.  Here, I feel as if I'm within the confines of a completely different company.  Maybe, that's the point.

It smells new, yet at the same time...doesn't. It feels new, yet there are traces of Portland that help accent the design.  Minimal, but rustic.  Not cozy, but not uncomfortable either.  Warmth is non-existent.  Ideation is encouraged.  This is our new creative space.  This is AKQA.

Fatherhood

My kid shat on me today.

He did it in excellent fashion.  Upon noticing that he was particularly high-strung that morning, I had just taken him out of his high chair to let him run it out.  This is best accomplished by chasing him through the house in no particular direction whatsoever.  Being just under a year and a half old (16 months, for all the anal-retentive moms out there), his sense of direction is best determined by his ability to mimic the grace of a drunken ostrich.  He wobbled his way through our living room, the dining room and back as I attempted a pathetic version of Hide-n-Seek with him from behind one of his tiny chairs.  I may as well have hid in front of a wall, the good it did me there.

From the other side of the room, I heard the familiar 'Uh-oh!" from him that my wife and I find so damn cute.  In most cases, he applies this phrase to his exploits about as often as I use a comma, which somehow makes it even more adorable.  (i.e. Kid drops his cup of cheerios: "Uh-oh!," Kid falls flat on his face: "Uh-oh!," Kid shits his pants...you get the idea).  Then I see him.  He's rounding the corner, and coming at me full steam ahead, arms outstretched and smiling at me with that half-tooth, wide open grin. You know the one; the same grin hitch-hikers usually flash their victims moments before they drop the punch-line.  Pray that you never see it.   It will haunt your dreams.

His momentum drove him headfirst into my arms, laughing hysterically.  It was that quintessential moment shared between a father and son that Harry Chapin could've only dreamt about. He was pure happiness, and in my best Monster-voice I warned him,
 
    "Here come the TICKLES!!," and proceeded to tickle the living daylights out of him...a move that would end up being my downfall.

He threw his head back in hysterics, his mouth open at the ceiling in laughter. He wiggled through my arms and we rolled onto the carpet as I searched for the sweet spots between his ribs.  He couldn't resist the tickles. I would tickle this kid into a coma if I could.  ...And that's when I saw it.  The brown smear across our new white rug.  The hairs stood up straight on the back of my neck.  And then...and then, I got hit with the smell.  ...And it was pungent.

I tickled the shit out of him.  Literally. It was everywhere. It was on my arms. It was on my legs. It was on his legs. It had exploded violently out of his diaper and smashed its way into the fibers of our rug. We were both completely covered in shit.  And not just us.  The dining room.  The living room.  His high chair.  I never noticed it, but in the span of 30 seconds, this little Fecal-demon had successfully covered 50% of our house, my person and his clothes in diarrhetic stool.  I felt like that little Indian boy in Slumdog Millionaire, only I didn't get the autograph. ..I just got covered in baby-poo.  Which is about as awesome as, well, getting covered in baby-poo.

Maybe one day his subconscious will reveal the memory of me hosing him off in the shower while he screams bloody murder.  More likely, one day I will be harassing him about this in front of his would-be girlfriend.  Even more likely, a day will come when he may be looking after me in a nursing home, feeding me ground up hotdog through a straw and helping a nurse change my bedpan.  And on that day...I'll bend my old ass over and shit on him. It's only fair.