Here are links to places you can find other works of mine.
How can someone enjoy reading a blog if they don’t have opening credits to go with it? They won’t know who I am or who the guest stars are. So here it is, the opening credits to my blog.
These are the names of bloggers who were around to comment a lot in 2012. Stick around for 2013 and you can be famous too.
I haven’t blogged here in nearly forever (a slight exaggeration) and I happen to be drained from writing about baseball at the moment so I figured why not entertain you fine Mohicans still checking in on me here.
I’ve been writing lots, still, but mostly about baseball. I’ve been keeping up with Phalse Philly Sports, however, I’m thinking about ending the blog when I reach 1,000 posts in the next three months. Having the blog mentioned on a sports radio show multiple times seems to be its pinnacle and I think I got everything out of it that I could.
Back in December, I began writing for a baseball site. It was fun for a short while until several circumstances led to even more frustration than my life needed at the time. I’ll go into detail at a later date, but the key thing I took away from it was the importance of slideshows and other clickbait techniques. Because I know the editor I had an issue with is stalking me online now, which is really creepy, I’m going to save the juicy details until after he disappears for good.
A combination of frustrations with my flailing writing “career” and my job which seems to have become a “career” made the last two weeks pretty shitty. Hoping to find something good, I managed to discover sportsblog.com during a Craigslist search.
Immediately I created a blog then decided my idea was too simple and I needed to not focus on one topic, rather, open it up to all baseball related news.
Since creating The Cleat Report back in July, I’ve published almost 900 posts–many being links to other places I’m writing. I thought by now I would be eligible for Adwords, but to even be considered you need to average about 600 views a day. Bloggers know how difficult this can be and if I ever want to make money writing I’m going to have to venture out in more directions.
So my new main focus is writing over at Innings Eaters. It’s unbelievably awesome because I get paid, the site already ranks high in Google, and there are plenty of competitions a boy like me can enter and enjoy. It’s far from a permanent dream writing gig, but it’s one of the best experiences I’ve had writing about baseball so far. It’s also only been a week so like the wrestling card at a WWE event, my opinion is subject to change.
That’s what I’m up to and focused on most. Life is pretty crazy at the moment so it’s nice to have something I can put a lot of energy into and get a lot back from.
(He’s making an Atheist Face)
I reintroduced oatmeal into my diet. I also took out milk. I haven’t noticed any difference other than an increase in my oatmeal farts.
This is probably one of the better things I have going on right now as things are getting pretty hectic in my neck of the woods! Why am I yelling?
I’ve gone from partially to super to partially sick over the last 3 weeks. I lost my voice completely one day for a few hours. I have since cut out coffee and replaced it with the healthier option, tea. Tea is basically just really hot water and perfect if you like chewing on mouth blisters.
There’s a lot of changes at work too, which has taken up most of my time. I’ve been meaning to blog for a while now, but other writing priorities have taken up my time. Oh and bee time!
The company I work for is expanding faster than the vagina of a 30 pound newborn baby sliding out from its mother’s vagina. We basically need 20 employees by the end of the year. Right now, we have like 9? Tomorrow we’ll probably have 8. The day after, we’ll be at 11. There’s been so much change over either because the new employees suck, don’t like the job, or just stop showing up.
Unequivocally, the company wouldn’t be where it is without me. I say that with complete honesty and humility too. My responsibilities include: all of the scheduling, all of the billing, all of the other administrative duties, telling my coworkers not to use the n-word so much, telling my coworkers if they are going to use the n-word to do it more quietly, and a lot more you’re too stupid to understand. Okay maybe you’re not too stupid. It’s Thursday and I’ve been around stupid people all week.
Mainly, everything I do is my sole responsibility. If I call in sick, there’s nobody who can take over for me. I haven’t called in sick since I started working there in July of 2013. This is with a 1.5 hour commute one-way that includes about 4 miles of walking and an hour on the train. Basically, I doubt anyone else would put up with this.
But of course, it’s all my choice and as much as I fantasize about telling everyone to go fuck themselves, some days aren’t so bad. It’s just lately there aren’t many of those.
Besides being the most responsible one at work, that’s not a joke…, I have to play the bad guy while making sure everybody is happy. It’s like when a professional wrestler is clearly a heel and he’s fighting other heels. I’m finding this doesn’t work. Either playing the good guy or the bad guy does and I’m trying to balance both.
Today I had to basically fire someone who just had a kid. Well, I didn’t do the firing. I was just there when it happened because I’m second in charge and I’m the reliable witness. Nobody wanted to fire him because of the circumstances, but he was just such a shitty worker. The turnover at work is getting ridiculously silly for a job that pays $10 per hour. Over 20 people have been interviewed and only 1 has worked out in the last month. The phrase “a fucking waste of time” was invented for mathematical situations like this.
It’s…well it’s not strange…it’s something though that I have thinking about. With all of my responsibilities, duties, jobs, tasks, and position as the second in charge my lifestyle is still distant from someone with the power I possess. I live in an apartment that has a hallway most dicks can stretch across (mine included, yours probably not) with a lifestyle that is a fraction of the people I need to work to please. Perhaps it’s my efforts that makes me feel lower than them? A passion to do a good job without an equal result may be why I find myself muttering “fuck you” a million times a day.
It’ll be really funny when I have a breakdown. Like, of epic proportions. Sometimes when I am really frustrated I’ll think about it in my head and how it will go. I’m responsible for satisfying well over 100 people who probably would not go out of their way to do the same for me.
The problem is I’m not sure what I want. For now, I’m just going to eat lots of oatmeal and feel bloated and fart tons because when times are dire it’s all you can do.
Work has been getting really busy lately. According to a hand-drawn chart I saw, the business I work for is going to grow by about 200% in the next year alone. We’re hiring new employees and in doing so I’m meeting some really strange people.
The first round of hiring people involved in inviting 6 people in for a group interview. Within the week they were scheduled, 3 cancelled including one on the morning of. There were 2 more who just didn’t show up and the one who did was wearing high heels and has never picked up dog poop in her life (that’s basically the job).
So we decided it was time to invite even more people in to ensure we have enough for the big group interview. We invited in 12 candidates and miraculously 8 showed up.
In this 8 were a black guy we ended up hiring, a Spanish semi-hipster girl we ended up hiring, a gay guy who we wanted to hire but he didn’t respond to us until 3 days after the second interview because he’s a flake (no, not like that), a really nice girl who didn’t want the job because 30 hours a week was too much, a black girl with a really deep voice, a girl that was practically blind and kept talking about dogs with vision problems, a lazy Spanish guy (we’ve already got plenty of them working there), and a sassy overweight Spanish girl.
Originally, the sassy overweight Spanish girl was also hired. On her second day there, she told me how great the job was then informed me that she didn’t have any money to get home. She wasn’t even an official employee yet and already she’s asking me for money. I tattled on her and my boss gave her $20. She insisted that she only needed $2.50 to get home. My boss demanded she take the $20 and pay her back when she can. Then fatty got a nice lecture about responsibility. It seemed like a simple mistake she could learn from.
The first week on the job, everyone was already not a fan of her. She talked too much and was a bit of a Debbie Downer. Her sassiness was gone, thankfully, but replaced with mentioning her boyfriend (who probably didn’t exist) all of the time.
Her first week there, she also sat on an employee’s muffin. This foreshadowed a moment that would ultimately lead to her demise.
Often at work we’ll have food because my boss is hungry or wants to treat us for doing a good job. On Wednesday of her first week, we had frozen yogurt delivered to us from a former client. There were 6 leftovers and she volunteered to take them home. On Friday, we ordered Italian food. There was probably enough food for 6 people left and again she wast he one who brought it home with her.
Although most of us didn’t like her after the first week, we knew she was still young in learning. The second week, though, was the one where it was time to really wonder how long she’d last.
The week started off normally and she was as annoying as ever. But hey, everyone is. On Thursday, the same employee who had his muffin crushed, found his phone on the ground with a cracked screen. We require them to put their phones in a basket because for some reason most people (crushed phone guy specifically) cannot stay off of his when they should be working. Nobody was near the phone and according to the least popular employee on the payroll, she “found it on the ground then plugged it back in to charge.”
Using deductive reasoning, I’m pretty sure she treated that phone like it was a muffin.
I also came to learn that this same guy was asked for money from her. Not only that, she had done this with two others and it all came after she received the $20 from my boss.
On Friday I tattled again because this was getting really ridiculous. My boss agreed we’d give her one more week to really improve. Immediately after, we learned she lied about completing a task. Hey shit happens, she’s probably just dumb.
On Sunday at 6:30PM we each got a phone call from her – neither of us answered because it’s the fucking weekend – telling us that she is in the hospital. My boss spoke with her the next morning. Apparently she had food poisoning since Wednesday. I knew this was a lie because she ate a donut on Thursday. The last thing a person with food poisoning would want to do is eat. My boss asked her if she’d be in at work on Monday. She said she was going back to the hospital because she felt they didn’t treat her properly. She was informed to bring in a note and everything would be fine.
On Tuesday at 9:45AM, she was not there. No text. No phone call. No showing up to kill her coworkers by sitting on us. Hey, maybe it was pretty serious. The same thing happened Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. She made no attempt to contact us all week long so we can assume she’s done.
Technically she’s still owed pay for one day. Then again, she also owes $20 and a couple million in emotional damages.
She’s already been replaced by two people (you know how much she eats….) so her time with the company will quickly be forgotten; at least once all of the gossips stop working there.
(Delicious breakfast treat or a chair?)
Winter has arrived and more people than ever are slipping on the sidewalk and cracking their heads open. I am not one of them, yet.
Yesterday on my long icy walk home from the train station a funny thing happened. I met a new person who wants be my friend. I don’t want to be his friend though. Hopefully after reading this you will understand why.
Early on in my trek home, I passed a house with a man standing on the stoop with the door open. He had a strange voice, like the kind you expect to ask you for change with some sob story. He did ask me for help and with a sob story about how he has a heart condition and if I could help him while he goes inside and gets his other dog. He was worried he might pass out going up the stairs and no one was home.
Since the door was already open, the worst case scenario was that he murdered the family that lived there and was now stealing their dogs. This was unlikely and since I was not in too much of a rush to get home I offered to help him. Plus I have a soft spot for dogs and I pass his house every day and he might have murdered me if I didn’t offer help.
As he walked up the stairs to get his dog I saw her appear from the bottom part then run up the stairs. So basically he didn’t need my help at all and the story should have ended there. Unfortunately it didn’t.
He was rather chatty, and I learned quickly that in addition to his heart condition he had a girlfriend, was looking for another girlfriend and had it narrowed down to a bartender and hairdressers, took a $60,000 paycut for his new job, and will pop an ecstasy pill once a year. Already thinking he was a scumbag, I lost faith that we would ever be friends when he asked me what I do for fun. People still have fun? I thought we just exist then die.
The man came off to me as a bit of a troublemaker. He had a steady job and apparently lots of money so he’s not a complete waste of human life. I found out way too much about his ex-girlfriends in the 30 minutes we walked together and this instability made me feel really uncomfortable. Maybe the openness hurt too as I knew I could never live up to what these girls were giving him. By the fourth Portuguese restaurant we passed I decided I would avoid this man the next time our paths crossed.
Unfortunately he was walking in the same direction as I was and on my street so he would know where I lived. I was very careful to plan ahead and passed my apartment building then three blocks later told him I was going to stop at the store, which I had already planned to do. At this point he asked me to take down his number and said we should hangout sometime. If there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that if I want to spend time with you I will give you my number. For him, I just typed it in the notes section of my phone that I never look at.
The conundrum here is odd. I don’t really make friends, nor do I hangout with the ones I have very often. Years ago I would have been thrilled to make a friend who wants to hangout with me. He lived nearby too which would be perfect. Now though, I have more years of being a piece of shit to reveal to him. When you’re 20, you only have two decades worth of being a loser. At 27, I have almost 3.
Since he apparently is loaded with money and knows everyone in fucking town, I thought more about maybe actually giving him a call. I’m afraid of where this might lead though. What if he needs me to help him move shit? Not like the good kind of moving shit where I feed him oatmeal and it opens his bowels. I mean like picking up a couch.
I can’t see this friendship going anywhere. I can’t see myself being completely open and honest with him. I’d end up making up lies and stories just to seem more sane.
The only thing I have to do now is cross the street each day on my way home to avoid passing by. Thankfully he’s sick so I could always just pretend like we never met and freak him out to the point where he thinks his meds are having weird side effects. Yeah I think I’ll do that.
As if I’m not already taking up too much of my time chasing an impossible dream, I began writing for a new website. This new task has taken away from working on other projects, but from what I have learned in the last year, writing seriously has a much bigger benefit in the long run than trying to make people laugh does. In fact, making people laugh is pretty much a waste of time. Why put so much effort into something a feather to a foot can?
Anyway, the new site I’m contributing for is called Call to the Pen. For those unfamiliar with baseball, it’s a slang term for–I’m not going to even bother. To view my articles exclusively I will redirect you to my other baseball site I write by myself and the page I have dedicated to this new site. I figure, if you are interested enough to click on one link, you will probably click on a second.
That’s it. Just wanted to share this little piece of nonsense.
I’m also spending New Year’s with a sexy lady.
No, not here. She’s only my number two and three.