This post was brought to you by the forces of Getting Up Too Early.

triadruid and I had to get up too early this morning. It is the only possible explanation. We're in the car, driving to the office. It's his car, so he gets radio control. He pops in a Danzig tape (our selection of tapes is somewhat limited, since most of us stopped buying tapes circa 1991, but nobody has a car with a CD player. But I digress). He says to me, "Do you mind Danzig in the morning?". I say, "No, not unless I'm hung over. Today is fine."

We ride on, and eventually hit the inevitable Danzig love song. triadruid shakes his head, and says something like, "I have to keep reminding myself that there was a day when Glenn Danzig could have used lines like this and there were any number of girls that would be delighted to go to bed with him." I shrug. "I'd fuck Glenn Danzig," I say, with a certain nonchalance. He gives me The Look. It is a look that can be easily translated as "Dood. That is fucked up.", but the "dood, that is fucked up" is silent. I do the only thing a person can do in that sort of a situation, which is widen my eyes slightly and say "What?" in the tones of injured innocence.

But this alone would not serve, so I have to do the other thing a person can do in that situation, which is post about it on LiveJournal, and seek allies. Hence, today's Stupid Poll.

[Poll #909191]

This post was brought to you by the forces of Getting Up Too Early.

triadruid and I had to get up too early this morning. It is the only possible explanation. We're in the car, driving to the office. It's his car, so he gets radio control. He pops in a Danzig tape (our selection of tapes is somewhat limited, since most of us stopped buying tapes circa 1991, but nobody has a car with a CD player. But I digress). He says to me, "Do you mind Danzig in the morning?". I say, "No, not unless I'm hung over. Today is fine."

We ride on, and eventually hit the inevitable Danzig love song. triadruid shakes his head, and says something like, "I have to keep reminding myself that there was a day when Glenn Danzig could have used lines like this and there were any number of girls that would be delighted to go to bed with him." I shrug. "I'd fuck Glenn Danzig," I say, with a certain nonchalance. He gives me The Look. It is a look that can be easily translated as "Dood. That is fucked up.", but the "dood, that is fucked up" is silent. I do the only thing a person can do in that sort of a situation, which is widen my eyes slightly and say "What?" in the tones of injured innocence.

But this alone would not serve, so I have to do the other thing a person can do in that situation, which is post about it on LiveJournal, and seek allies. Hence, today's Stupid Poll.

[Poll #909191]

Stories

I just spent about 20 minutes talking to my co-worker, Gregarious J. He's a talker (obviously), but mostly he comes by to talk about work, about policies and exceptions, how to manage his staff, and so on. Today, he came over to tell me about how he grew up running in the country, how he and his cousin were so fast that they could run through burning buildings and never catch fire (except one time when a burning board fell on his head, and he wore hats for three months, never telling anybody until long after his skin had healed and his hair mostly grown back), and how he (a pasty-white looking guy) joined the all-black fraternity in his college. Fascinating stuff, and this from a guy who I usually think of as friendly, but pretty dull.

That makes me think about story, and how critical it is for people to share stories with each other. How can you know someone if they won't tell you their story? How can you come to respect or care for anybody without that? So I wanted to thank you guys for sharing your stories with me, piece by piece, and for listening to mine. We won't ever know everything about each other, but every little bit helps. I love your stories. Please, keep talking.

Stories

I just spent about 20 minutes talking to my co-worker, Gregarious J. He's a talker (obviously), but mostly he comes by to talk about work, about policies and exceptions, how to manage his staff, and so on. Today, he came over to tell me about how he grew up running in the country, how he and his cousin were so fast that they could run through burning buildings and never catch fire (except one time when a burning board fell on his head, and he wore hats for three months, never telling anybody until long after his skin had healed and his hair mostly grown back), and how he (a pasty-white looking guy) joined the all-black fraternity in his college. Fascinating stuff, and this from a guy who I usually think of as friendly, but pretty dull.

That makes me think about story, and how critical it is for people to share stories with each other. How can you know someone if they won't tell you their story? How can you come to respect or care for anybody without that? So I wanted to thank you guys for sharing your stories with me, piece by piece, and for listening to mine. We won't ever know everything about each other, but every little bit helps. I love your stories. Please, keep talking.