as my wife and partner of almost 13 years knows and as all routine readers of this site know, it has been a long time since i've tried to impress anyone. ok so i try, but i don't succeed. it should count. today is a new day though. today, i start a new job. in many respects it has been awhile since i've had a job, but today i do, again. and, i am going to need to take my big gulp of air and try to swim to the other side of the pool without coming up in attempt to wow and astound my new colleagues and associates. point being, i need you to bear with me over the next few weeks, possibly months while i figure it all out. it is for the best, i assure you. once i learn the ropes and feel that i am properly contributing, i'll be back to my old flatutory and self-adulatory ways. until then things may be a little on the lean side. we'll see.

and, if any are interested about this new job, it is a web design and development gig for the mortgage division of the same bank i previously worked for. so i'm actually back to doing what i love, geeking on the web. it's actually a great opportunity, which is why i accepted it, and i'm bristling with the potential it holds. so, wish me well, say a prayer, kiss a penny, save me a dance, essentially do whatever it is people do when well-wishing other people.

the market may be down but marriage is booming. three of my finest friends have either gotten married or engaged this year. as you can imagine, with them being friends of mine and all, this is quite the thing.

as mentioned previously, doctor stevie, is to wed the marty-troy girl. while most would think this couldn't be beaten given her likeness to walt and i, you would be right.

then bookguy tied the knot in a hippie free love kind of ceremony in his backyard. don't believe me? e-love and i both wore shorts to the affair. granted we were the only ones not wearing dry-cleaned garments, but neither of us were willing to turn down an opportunity to wear our bermudas and daisy dukes to a wedding. i'll let you guess who wore which.

and now michaelcosm joins the ranks of the soon-to-be betrothed. when chavez reminded him that this means christine is the only girl he will ever know in that way again, michael reminded him that christine is the only girl who ever expressed an interest in knowing him at all. so in the end, i guess everyone's happy.

i wish them all great humor and hope that they don't wake sweating and screaming in the night at the realization of what a terrible and irreversible mistake they made years ago. oh, i don't mean i do that. i was thinking/talking about someone else. actually, i was speaking hypothetically. marty and i are very happy. marty is very supportive. and nice. she's pretty too.

can you tell she's standing behind me right now?

yesterday was a good day. i won't boast the degree by iterating through the various boons, just accept that it was exceptional. even getting gigged put a smile on my face, that's how good of a day it was.

i made my first impulse buy on ebay last night. i was simply doing some research on the original palm V and seeing if anyone was selling them. i'm convinced that these units have been cheaped up over the last few years and not made like they were back in the early days. i also haven't been right since mine broke seemingly forever ago and i've been using a museum ready palm III.

anyway, i hop onto ebay and what do i spy at the top of the search results but a like new palm V maturing in 20 minutes. not only is it a palm V but the auction includes a hard case (which i already have), a targus keyboard (for ultra dorkdom), a usb savvy docking cradle (for that macintosh at home) and a neoprene cover as an extra parting gift. and all this for an opening bid of $100. only one guy bid on it so it was sitting at a modest $110 and i mean what can you say, the guy is, and i'm sure we can chant this together, giving it away. last time i was in the accessories aisle this potpourri of items would gig your credit card a clean $500 plus. i honestly didn't think my bid of $112.50 would make it through but, well since i'm writing about this i reckon you can intuit the outcome.

as part of my rationalizing this bout of weakness i've concluded that since i don't routinely go to the mall and can't even tune into the home shopping network given my rabbit-ears cable situation, i guess it's only fitting i tank an occasional c-note on ebay.

now, i'm sure it goes without saying that there is no reason to tell marty about any of this. she's got a lot on her mind. agreed. good.

ok, i've got some bad news for you all. well actually it's bad news for me, but in my mildly egotistic world, that extends to you as well. i was recently told my job was toast. that isn't exactly right. i was told my job was moving. to portland. now don't get me wrong. i love portland. i think it's the most centered city i've seen. but let me tell you something about my life (for a change).

after bella was born a year and a half ago, my mom came out to visit and help. she then returned home and promptly quit her very posh job in pittsburgh to take a very evil job in saint louis just so she could be closer to this tiny non-speaking, non-sleeping bundle of late nights. this was one of the many examples of living by your priorities i've witnessed in my mother.

when my boss was discussing the relocation package i explained that it would have to cover 7 homes and 26 humans. when asked to expound on this need, i countered that that is what it would take to move 4 grandparents, 5 of 7 siblings and a whole gob of screaming cousins to portland because i wasn't going without them, cool city or not. the boss blinked.

so i have two interviews today. i have a couple more in the hopper as well should these not pan out. wish me well at 10 and 2 (cst). otherwise, i'll see you in the unemployment line with an unwashed bella and shoeless marty.

and, by the way, when my parents came over for dinner last night and bella went running to the door with flailing arms and indecipherable greetings, i knew my choice was the right one, regardless of today's outcome.

someone recently asked me about the key to my success. for those saying "what success?" i hear you, i really do. but it's all relative and this person was seven years old and well, cut me some slack. after thoughtfully rubbing my chin, ruminating on it and acting successful all the while, i proffered the following sage words to this young lad.

my success is a product of a whole lot of sitting very still and being very quiet in the corner of whatever room i occupy and making interspersed quips about circumcision, digestive disfunctions and revealing very intimate details of my life with total strangers.

ok, so it's a borderline homeless/psychotic strategy but when plied properly it provides stupendous results.

in reading this month's issue of seventeen, it dawned on me that i have way more in common with the thirteen year old girls who live by this mag than i should be comfortable with.

it's a good thing i have my josh hartnett pillow to console me at night.

i recently rented a film called the suburbans. i rented it for the same reason bookguy and i almost rented the straight-to-video triumph 'tart'. it had a beautiful and desirous girl on the very shiny-glossy cover. the starlet in the suburbans is none other than the ultra-fabulous and near-perfect jenifer love hewitt.

five minutes into this flick the grave error in my judgment revealed itself. 20 minutes later it hurt less after seeing HER in a flitty summer dress. a full 47 minutes later my rental paid for itself given a modest but rewarding scene which i do not trust myself to discuss. (drool. slobber. guttural moan. wince. punch face.)

as the credits ran and i was back to feeling low and sad and sorry and a tad lecherous, i swore to never fall to such juvenile frivolity again. part of the therapy included walking the video back to the store (spine down so no one could spy my weakness) and returning it. i rented a replacement video that just happened to catch my eye. the new film, heartbreakers. sure love hewitt is in there and sure i said i wouldn't do this again. but so is sigourney weaver and while she's no jamie lee, i didn't swear off sanity altogether. but whatever, i don't care what y'all think. this looks like a really good and well executed film with high entertainment potential and plenty of cooky zaniness.

[2:07 hours later]

yeah, so i'm back to never doing that again. and i mean it this time. oh. wait just a minute, i didn't know love hewitt was in munchie. i've been meaning to see that. really.

someone had the nerve to make this ill-considered attempt of labeling me. what they don't know is i will not, no cannot be tossed into some clicky block of drones, try as you may.

Shabby Chic Social Darwinist (read troy)
This lifestyle is lead by those (read troy) that feel the need to fill their (read troy) lives with the best (read hell yeah). But not the best of everything. They will stop at nothing to acquire a high priced electronic item (i.e. ipod, bmw, powerbook, mp3 car stereo), while wearing the same shoddy clothing (read troy owns one pair of goodwill shorts) for days on end (read 23 days on end). They enjoy conversing with strangers (i.e. you) on uncomfortable topics (i.e. circumcision, sex, basically anything having to do with the penis) and are very free with expressing their (read troy's) opinions, which they (read troy) always (read and i mean always) have. They respect strength (read old spice deoderant) and have no use for the ignorant (read bookpimp) and lazy (read bookpimp again).

it is this kind of adolescent ranting on the internet that gives us all a bad name. it would seem our buddy and pal mr bookpimp has finally, finally hung his web shingle. yeah i know, i feared this day as well. feared the time that bookpimp would learn that it wasn't only people with comp sci degrees and born in odd-dated years on even-dated months who were allowed to have websites and blog incessantly about the inanities of their life. and for the record, whoever enlightened him has some splaining to do.


i'm certain it doesn't take a web designer to assess that you can certainly expect a lot more of this kind of thoughtless prattle each and every day and therefore i suggest you visit michaelcosm frequently and routinely. i know i will to see what kind of libelous things are being said about me and mine.

this site is know as many things to few people. my favorite moniker-maker is "he-who is-not-afraid-to-use-naughty-words-in-his-blog-ed". in addition to his current descriptor of "the whole life catalog", he previously referred to my site as "troy has his whole dang life online". thanks for the kind and apt descriptors f-bomb ed.

in addition i've recently gotten the impression, from another blogger, that i've been neglecting my viewing audience. to this, i agree. i have been taking you for granted and depriving you of the details you have become accustomed and addicted to. so in attempt to live up to big ed's nomenclature and to push the plunger for buddy james' awaiting needle, allow me to share some details from my recent life to get everyone up to speed.

more recently than i'd like to admit i wore the same pair of pants 23 days in a row. and, if you're asking the same question marty did (have you washed those this month?), the answer is a confident no.

when not wearing the 23-day pants, i wore the same pair of shorts, which i will call, for simplicity sake, the 23-day shorts. and again the answer to you and marty's question would be a second confident no.

i kicked a bella-discarded pickle part under the stove instead of throwing it in the garbage.

crouching near the ground in my work clothes i saved 8 earthworms from a post rain sun and droves of killer ants, despite many concerned looks by passerby's.

i recently watched the complete first season of OZ in two days. that would be 13 hours worth of humor for the uninitiated.

after the neighbor's dog licked my hand, i wiped the slobber off on the back of bella's shirt. (for those gasping at my lack of respect, allow me to report that she didn't seem to mind).

so as you can see, all's well and going as expected in troy-ville. thanks for your patience and continued intrigue and i promise (meaning i will try as long as it is not inconveniencing to me) to keep you better apprised of my happenings.

so i'm walking into the rising tide of the atlantic ocean. this is about the third, maybe fourth time i've been in such waters. the waves are getting higher, first hitting my waist, then my chest. given my imposing five foot two frame it didn't take long for the waves to dance about my face. at this point i presented my back to the white-capped waves because i'm smarter than water. as i was congratulating myself on this innovation of thought, a not-too-modest wall of water came from behind and swept my no-longer-that-imposing frame into its dominion and away we went. after being easily spun around in its wash and thinking this was kinda fun, mr water slammed me hard on my back against the sand causing the air to leave my lungs and salt-water to enter my mouth, via the nose, for my added pleasure. after being rolled and thrashed about for a moment, the current loosened and i shot up with that "yeah, I'm all right, no worries here" pose.

about 20 minutes later as we were packing up to leave, i bent over to grab something and approximately a half cup of sea water came pouring out of my nose. allow me to re-visit the highlights: nostrils, out, 1/2 cup of water.

that said, a travel mate told me that what happened there is routine and can even violate other orifices. i pondered this for a moment, just a single moment. allow me to re-visit the highlights: violate, other, orifices.

if you wandered into the what i'm hearing section, you may have noticed it has a new look. in spending the last few days hacking on that, i devoted many cycles on listening to music, thinking about music, organizing my music and even laying hands on some new music. in fact, this month's offering comes from bookguy. now this unemployed bloke jet sets all over the planet and the one dirge he returns with has a total of nine unique words in it, and they're not even in english. sheesh. and, of what little spanish i know, these scant words don't even seem right. i asked bookguy about this and he replied: what can i say, bookguy's smart. bookguy also doesn't question native speakers on matters of their own tongue. like i said, smart. once satisfied with its grammatical correctness i listened to this nine-word, four-minute song on repeat for one hour. i'm smart too.

well, anyway, back to these random thoughts on music. one thing i recalled dealt with how my mother never knocked before coming into my room. any women reading this, please just accept that you should not walk straight into teenage boys rooms without some sort of fanfare or ceremony announcing the visit. you'll will hear things going on behind the door before it opens. this is good. you want this to be happening. ultimately i'm just trying to save you the embarrassment my mother suffered when she burst into my room and found me standing in front of a full length mirror singing and dancing to the Grease soundtrack. i was all over every move from the Greased Lightning bit, using my bed as the car. regrettably, i had the music up so loud i didn't hear her enter and continued the mini-production until her laughter overwhelmed my Optimus speaker 'system'. and, yes i had the whole arm pointing and hip bucking thing all worked out too. i don't play when i'm getting my greased lightning going.

amazingly given this trauma, somehow, years later, i was able to overcome the shame of my mother's invasion enough to ask a girl to move around funny with me on the dance floor at a junior high, all-stag affair. jenna something conceded (astoundingly) and we weaved our way through the crowd to the beginnings of hipsway's honeythief. we settled on a spot and marked it as ours by stopping, facing one another and then moving about in a seizing manner. my mother wasn't around so my body was quick to do what it does. falling into the zone, i drifted somewhere else, my head rolling back looking upwards at the tile ceiling and the random streamers coming down as my body fought an invisible enemy. i was really starting to let go, opening it up some might say, but who couldn't, this is hipsway we're talking about. but again, regrettably, my introduction to dance with other humans was cut short when my thrusting hand accidentally struck my partner in the ribcage leaving her slightly bent, holding her side and breathing irregularly. as people stopped to look and a smallish circle formed i could tell that some people may have been embarrassed by this development but those people would not have spent a moment of their life standing in their underwear, soaked with sweat, a musical playing behind them and shouting at their mother to stop laughing, get out of their room and to try knocking next time.

in a roll of film marty recently had taken, she took two pictures of bella and i sleeping. in both of them you can see my goods. yeah, those goods.

my mom asked why i wasn't wearing underwear. that is my underwear i explained. she then asked why i wasn't wearing shorts. i had no defense.

when thin when tan girl looked through the photos she was kind enough to laughingly remark that the mouse needed to go back in the house. not the lion to the den or even the pig to the pen, but the mouse to the house. i just can't catch a break.

and, no i will not be sharing these intimate shots in rockefeller center anytime soon. i have the kids and my reader's sanity to consider.

my barber has been on vacation for the last two weeks, so will everyone please, please, stop staring at my hair.

It is not recommended to walk into jakes crawfish, oregon's number one fish eatery, at 7pm and expect a table in less than an hour. When the hostess said that she could possibly seat me immediately if I didn't mind an outside table, I replied, "if you can put a stuffed salmon in front of me in the next twenty minutes I'd eat it off the floor." Convinced of my zeal I was promptly escorted to a sidewalk table.

For those dining along this row of exterior tables, especially those dining alone, they may elect to pass the time by watching the patrons of the gay bar tounge-kissing and massaging one another's buttocks across the street or taking in the opposing corner which sports a small collection of young, but fashionable, homeless begging money while drinking, the very in, sobe ales and smoking name brand cigarettes. And, If for any reason the humor seems lean in either of these venues, you can watch jake's grunged out valet guys ogling the high dollar patrons exiting their employer's establishment.

And all of this to brie and shrimp stuffed salmon and garlic mashed potatoes. Portland is my friend.

i have a relatively gnarly bruise on the top of my left hand. it's over my index and middle finger, starts at the knuckle and oblongs its way to the top of my thumb. i like having this bruise just as i like having scabs. it is a sign that something has occurred and therefore something has been done.

while talking to people or riding in the elevator i like to show my bruise to them. not in an obvious and stupid kind of way where i hold up my hand and say "did you see that i have a bruise on my hand," but instead where i bid someone good day while testing my shave by rubbing my crippled hand along my cheek, soiled part facing the audience of course. it then occurs to me that it has probably occurred to them that i not only do not have any facial hair but also look like i couldn't even produce any facial hair which leaves me wondering if they are wondering why the guy standing next to them seems to be making love to his face with his own amorous and apparently broken hand.

i've concluded that this is not the exact impression i'm looking for so i'm back to just holding my hand out and polling the group if they noticed my bruise. most have not, until i hold it up for display at least.

even though these encounters are not my first choice, i'm still oddly stated in the end.

welcome to the comeback tour of 80's phenom troy dearmitt. troy is rejuvenated, recalibrated and the same as before except for being a little older, wider and 60% more owned by the man. what man? that man. the man! you know the one i'm talking about. the one that owns 95% of your man.

regardless, prepare to bombarded with more unsolicited tales of self deprecation, meaningless prattle and social misfittitude, because i've been busy offending the masses in person and without contemplation and now i'm back to share these opinions and experiences with you, my silent but impressionable partner in these crimes.

i want to be a cowboy. or rather, i used to want to be a cowboy. i've had a change of heart and now know what a flawed and filtered impression i had of the life of these wild bills. in my youthful daydreaming mind i envisioned the romantic days of the cowboy lifestyle. this adolescent portrayal may have been mildly antiseptic. antiseptic because i did not take into account things like the wicked s...

how wrong is it that i spend time contemplating how i can pull off wearing capri pants. i feel confident that these confused trousers would immediately satisfy about 7 different issues i have with every pant i own as well as all of those i don't and are still on the rack. i tell every woman i know that if i were a woman i would be uber strong and not shave my legs or pits, burn and axe high heels and never ever wear pantyhose or bras (don't even get me started on bras). but, here i sit, unable to shoulder a single and not too historic of a fashion battle. all i know is some sort of get out of jail free card should exist for those who have been dealt a physique as odd and contorted as mine. is it my fault that a small child could stand on my haunches or that the waistline of traditional pants attempt to rest in the space between my navel and nipples or that i have to buy my pants off the web where they honor "irregular" sizes for "irregular" folks.

perhaps if i called them beachcombers instead of capri pants.

marty and i have been married just over four years and i have finally, just now, convinced her to do away with the metal undercarriage to our bed. now the box spring is right on the floor and the mattress, obviously, sits on top of that. some people think it's silly, stupid and without point. those people are wrong. and simple. and waste their hatred of things on really, really dumb stuff. if you are going to hate, you should hate something of consequence, something that merits your venom, like walgreens or people who say that titanic was really an ok movie.

reasons we are better off without the metalworks beneath our bed.

1. bella can climb in and out of the bed without the aid of a stepstool or boost from marty given her little baby legs.
2. troy can climb in and out of the bed without the aid of a stepstool or boost from marty given his malformed stub legs.
3. not tempted or able to store meaningless stuff under the bed.
4. more room in our room for my bursting ego.
5. summer is coming and we live in st louis and heat rises.
6. when in bed, the room looks super big and you can play the "i'm a little munchkin living in a mushroom house and it all looks wildly out of proportion but that's because i'm a munchkin guy and i am also wildly out of proportion" game.
7. the metal framework holding your box spring does not do anything. the fact that you think it serves a need is the result of a capitalist conspiracy.
8. after peeing the bed in the middle of the night and getting angrily thrown out by marty i don't have as far to plummet.

now i just have to convince marty to let me hang up my black felt iron maiden posters and my vision will be complete.

i want what can't be copied.

a year ago i wrote about how i did not know how to write about the birth of my first child. now i sit here struggling for some bit or piece from the last year in attempt to define the experience in some well constructed and better presented paragraph. this exercise of reflection is nearing the two week mark and i think i need to capitulate the matter accepting that a pithy comment encapsulating be...

you don't know pain until you know an addiction to the WB's Seventh Heaven.

the flight from portland to saint louis is over four hours long. my particular flight left at 6:29 am and i was the last one to check in therefore getting stuck in a middle seat. being exhausted i knew i was going to be snoozing before we even got off the ground. i asked the people on either side of me to wake me up if i started doing any weird stuff in my sleep. they asked what i meant by weird. "oh i don't know, reciting lines from pretty in pink or groping myself, i reckon you'll know it if you see it."

i was right, they knew it. halfway through the flight i was roused from my slumber and told that if i was going to keep doing "that", they'd prefer i stay awake.

11 minute walk from home to metro

14 minute metro ride to downtown

2 minute walk from metro to office

(work)

2 minute walk from office to metro

14 minute ride on metro to delmar station

11 minute walk from metro to home

20 years added to life for getting through a work day without tapping a brake pedal, touching a ...