'Twas a dark and stormy night...

I used the back entrance when I left the office this evening, and as I was walking along the sidewalk in the shelter of the building, I noticed some weird little wet marks on the dry concrete. Now, it has basically been raining buckets all day, just as it did most of last night, so some wet splotches on the sidewalk weren't particularly unusual. But these marks were narrow little streaks that all came from the edge of the walkway and traced parallel straight lines, with the occasional graceful loop or sweeping curve. It took me a moment to notice that nearly every little trail ended in a big gruesome splooch.

Upon closer inspection, the trails that didn't end in messy splats each ended in a sprawled-out earthworm, agonizingly making its way across the concrete towards a ghastly doom under someone's foot. Now, I'm used to seeing earthworms emerging from rain-soaked dirt and pointlessly trekking out across treacherous sidewalks in places where there is grass and dirt and, well, nature. But what surprised me here is that there is no nature in this spot. My office is surrounded by asphalt and concrete, streets, sidewalks, and parking lots. Seriously, the only exposed earth is a tiny strip of decorative rocks with like one distressed bush losing its battle to exist. Yet there were a lot of worms.

Where were they going?

I'm sure the night guard was wondering what the hell I was doing, but I tried to save as many of the not-quite-dead-yet critters as I could hold in my slimy fingers, dropping them in the grate surrounding a tree out on the sidewalk next to the street, assuring that at least they would not be squashed.

Weird. And amazing. A little sad. And pretty gross.

Co-Workers Gone Wild

I've just discovered perhaps the greatest invention in the history of snackfoods. Ritz Bits S'mores. Little bite-sized bits of manna from heaven: marshmallow and chocolate-like filling stuck between two tiny graham cracker cookies. I have just eaten the whole box in a single sitting. I'm slightly hung-over.

My crapulence results from last night's company holiday party. Now, the company holiday party is an interesting phenomenon. It serves as a sort of release from the daily work environment, a chance to socialize and let loose, get dressed up, drink excessively and so on. Yet the fact remains that these are all people you work with, or worse, work FOR, and you still have to face everyone on Monday, so it's really not such a release at all so much as a unique new workplace torture: an opportunity to make an ass of yourself (or to watch others do so) and spend the weekend regretful and anxious about Monday morning coffee in the breakroom.

But, highlights did include a complete collection of Degas sculptures; large slabs of roastbeef but a complete absence of knives, forcing people to stuff entire chunks of meat into their mouths and hope someone didn't choose that moment to introduce the wife, which they inevitably did; the museum's complete underestimation of my co-workers' ability to consume massive amounts of free booze and the near riots when the red wine, vodka, and beers had all run out; and a DJ who played a little too much Michael Jackson.

The UN, the Snitch, and the Bathrobe

A great deal of important things have occured in recent weeks. I'm not going to write anything about them.

Instead, let me relate a dream I had last night in my cough-addled semi-sleep. I was on the Yale Old Campus, attending an evening lecture on jewelry making led by a bathrobe-wearing UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan and attended eagerly by White House strategist Karl Rove and my mother. After pairing off, Mr. Annan handed out fabulous gold necklaces to each student to inspect and attempt to mimic. Of course, when class was over, one golden chain had not been returned and Kofi threatened to bring down the might of the Security Council upon us all if someone didn't admit to the theft, while we all shifted uneasily in our seats waiting to be dismissed. Someone finally snitched on their partner, but details are fuzzy since I was starting to wake up.

I have no idea what this dream means. Truly not a clue. I didn't even know my sub-conscious was aware of the existence of Karl Rove. Where does this stuff come from? Taken in hand with my dream of burying FDR's protesting Scottish terrier in the White House rose garden with the help of Hilary Clinton during a flood, I'm beginning to worry about the inner workings of my mind.

Doppelgänger part II

The most extraordinarily weird thing has just happened. If you haven't already, read the original Doppelgänger entry below. It just got a lot stranger.

I recently checked my hotmail account which I never ever use because it is overrun with spam. But this time, there were tens of e-mails from a zbruns@xxx.yyy which were not the usual spams that look like they're from my own address but are still just touting reduced mortgage rates, septic cleaning systems, and penile enlargement products. These all appeared to be messages forwarded automatically to my address because the original account's inbox had filled up, and were from this zbruns's coworkers and friends. A typical message: "Hey Zack, hope you're having fun in London. Let me know when you're back. My roots are becoming noticeable and I was hoping you could squeeze me in after work and maybe do some extra hilights".

A little freaked that there was yet another me running around out there, I forwarded some of his mail back to him explaining what had apparently happened in the e-mail mixup since he might have missed some important messages. And, on a whim, asked if he knew Caroline from high school.

After a brief e-mail exchange, it turns out this Zachary Bruns (Zack) is in fact the very one being sought by the random phone caller of a few months ago. Only he lives in NYC now. He grew up in a small town, is gay, and completely convinced we're in the midst of a Twilight Zone episode. (Unsurprisingly, his Caroline who called me, is nice and means well but is something of a stalker.)

Anyway, i'm deriving small comfort from the fact that one freak event has come full circle. Granted, given the tiny number of Zachary Brunses, it shouldn't be shocking that wires were crossed several times with the same individual. But still, what are the odds of any of this happening at all? Let alone twice? Within 2 months! What's the universe trying to tell me?

Maybe it was the lightening.

2 things you don't want to overhear at lunch

From the guy behind the counter while indulging my craving for Taco Bell: "Yeah, they were making everyone sick so we changed it..."

In the sushi place near my office: "Well the CDC said there was no way to be sure, so they'd send someone..."

And today is....?

It's god-knows-what time (I'm running on 8am Sunday, the clock says 11pm Saturday) and I've just returned from what I can confidently call a terrific vacation. Not without its frustrations and disappointments I suppose, but whatever, they didn't take away from the good stuff.

I've never consumed so much of so many varieties of ham, cheese and wine in the span of one week before.
The best 6 euro I ever spent was to climb to the top of the Duomo in Florence.
Lanes painted on the roadways are apparently just a suggestion.
One should not, under any circumstances, eat an olive freshly picked from a tree, even if it looks and feels ripe.
The sound of bells ringing across a wooded vale is a perfect complement to morning tea.
Mopeds operate under no rule of law.
There's just something about cypress trees that makes scenery sublime.
Those Italians are really onto something with the whole gelato concept.

I think I may take an Italian class so I can properly woo Raoul Bova on the balcony of the villa I'm buying outside of Volpaia.

Under the Tuscan Sun

I have plenty of things I intended to bring up in this space today, such as California's new Gubernator (or Governator), the latest woeful result of what I like to call American Demockery. Or more pleasantly, the notable change in seasons, felt even here in the temperate Bay Area.

But instead, I will simply say "Arrivederci!" since, if I haven't mentioned it in the last 10 minutes, I'm leaving for Italy. Friday. The day after tomorrow. And despite the enormous number of things I have to do this evening and tomorrow prior to departure, the fact that I'll be in Tuscany for a week pretty much makes all other concerns evaporate. Yay!

Ciao!

Doppelgänger

It's already been a couple weeks, but I'm still a wee unsettled. 9:30am Saturday morning I receive a call. "Zach?" says the voice on the other end. "It's Caroline!" she responds to my "Yes?" Ok, one of my best friends is Caroline, but something is amiss which prevents either of us from diving headlong into full conversation. We feel it out, and come to the conclusion neither of us is who we think the other is. Turns out she's searching for a different Zach Bruns in San Francisco, her best friend from high school. She implores me not to hang up, however, and so, thoroughly discombobulated by now I go on to hear about her beloved Zach (whose description has marked similarities to mine). But it's clear she is in need of someone - anyone - to talk to, and I can't decide if she's seriously depressed or slightly drunk, or both.

A few days later I actually hear from my Caroline, now in Boston. She's been thrown for a loop because she just saw me while waiting for the T. And by me, she explains, there was no doubt in her mind that it was me however unlikely that I'd be in Boston: same clothes, same face, same eyes and glasses, same body, same backpack, same expression of alarm as she leapt up in surprise and joy. Not just a good look-alike, but my best friend was so convinced that it took a few moments to get past the hurt when he walked on without further acknowledgement.

All creepy coincidence aside, there's someone like me with my name, and someone else with my body - both walking around out there somewhere. I feel like I need to ascribe some sort of great significance to these events. Like someone or something is trying to tell me something important. I just haven't figured out what it is yet.

Don't let the bedbugs bite...

I managed to make it home at a reasonable hour this evening, having left work early to get a shot at the doctor's, getting sidetracked hemorrhaging money (damn you Old Navy!), and then abandoning plans to go back to the office (escape velocity achieved!).

So I'm pondering what to have for dinner when I read an article about the return of the bedbug in the US. Apparently these creepy nasties were thought to have been wiped out in this country, but in the past few years have been reported in at least 28 states in hotels, dorms, apartment complexes and homes. No one knows why they're making a comeback and supposedly they're very difficult to eradicate. Which leads me to the question of how they were done away with in the first place. The article did not illuminate. It did, however, provide a lovely little picture of a bright red, flat little sucker the size of a small ladybug, along with the charming description of brown-stained sheets from the blood-sucking insect's feces which is generally the first infestation indicator.

A world of Eeeww. Perhaps I'll forego dinner for a tad.

Event Horizon

It's 7:45 pm and I'm still sitting at my desk, hunched over my keyboard, slack-jawed and bleary. It's been one of those days. Yet, rather than fleeing the building at my first opportunity, I seem compelled to remain at my desk doing nothing worthwhile. Unless you consider exacerbating serious eye strain worthwhile. My office, and specifically my cubicle, has some strange magnetic quality - no, more like gravitational pull - that acts over immense distances to gradually draw me ever closer, spiraling me into the vortex. We're talking quantum level stuff where time slows down even as I'm torn asunder and sucked into a singularity so massive that there is no escape.

That's the only explanation I can come up with to why I'm still slouched here, squinting at my screen, eating Cheetos and listening to the janitor's approaching vacuum, rather than slouching at home, squinting at my TV, eating Doritos and watching Temptation Island 3.