doylebrau.com

Happy days!  For weeks I’ve been typing doylebrau into google and getting no love, finally, finally I’m somebody!  And the top hit, too!  Cancel that scotch, I’ll be drinking champagne tonight!!

I don’t really know why you would think that.  I mean, the only people who would ever read this thing have probably seen me more than a few times in the last few weeks.  Heck, some of you were lucky enough to receive a phone call from me, maybe two.

Yeah, it’s been a while since I last posted, I’ve been busy, sue me.  This past month I’ve become quite enamored by a new beautiful distraction, of whom I am growing quite fond of.  She also has a dog who has become quite fond of me, and of course, she is quite fond of her dog.  So we’ve got this whole triangle-trade of attention going on, which only seems to be interrupted at mealtime.

At work I was put in charge of yet another technology system that will prove essential to our growth as an independent publishing company.  That brings the total of business systems that I’m the only one who knows anything about the inner workings of to: 4 (plus another 2 that only I and one other person know how to use).  Talk about job security…

At home I’ve been working on other projects.  The photos are an on-going thing.  Plus, if I start posting more, maybe I’ll be encourgage to take more.  I’m hoping for this for my birthday, which is coming up, so I’ll be able to have selective-focus fun around the neighborhood.

The choose your own adventure site is the brainchild of a drunken evening with friends when, upon ruturning home, still drunk, I purchased the domain name, set up the wiki app and began writing down character names.  If any of you out there in the internetz want to help me write it (purpose of a wiki site after all) let me know and I’ll give you a password.  I’m only a few pages into it now, so right now the only interesting things written are the character sketches.  I’m a little worried about it though, I started it a few weeks ago, and I’ve been making good progress, considering my schedule, but next Wednesday (Tuesday after midnight, actually) is the start of National Novel Writing Month.  You can check out my progress here.  Last year I didn’t hit the goal of 50,000 words, but I did have a delicious Thanksgiving dinner instead.  Trade-offs…

I was rooting around in my junk drawer and I found him, my Tamagotchi, still alive after all these years.  Hell, I think the last time I fed him was 1997.  What has he been living on this entire time?  He was in a little plastic case, so that rules out any kind of gorging on the random sticks of gum or twizlers that might be stuck amongst my things.  Maybe he was fasting?  When I turned him on, he looked a little gaunt, so maybe he’s been in a constant state of meditation and reflection for the past ten years.  It would make sense, its really dark in there most of the time.

I remember my friends trying to keep theirs alive.  Always feeding it healthy food, watering it, keeping it away from junk.  I just threw mine in a locker and took it home at the end of the year…

Wait a minute.  That means that my tamagotchi feels pretty neglected, probably abused.

Maybe I should try to take it down before it tries to kill me.

Updates soon.

Update:  Okay, this thing will not die.  I’ve been cramming it’s belly with the bad food (B button,  B for Bad) for, like, an hour now.  What is going on?  i’m scared.

Needing to leave the house at least once tonight (I’m sick, I’m not infirmed) I ventured out to my local laundromat (which I’m sure you’ll hear all about in a future rant) to pick up my dry-cleaning. Now, the place I go is big, real big. They have aisles of washers and dryers, aisles I tell you, and plenty of other crap all over the place: cable TV, arcade games, ultra-expensive massage chair with random homeless man camped out in it every time I’m there, the works.

Now my trip was actually dual purposed. First, I wanted to pick up my saloon keeper outfit, and second, I wanted to catch a few minutes of baseball. I have no television in my apartment and if I want to do anything besides check box scores, I need to go to either the laundromat or the bar. And since I seem to be hacking up a my insides right now, I figured abstaining from the sweet, sweet nectar that I love might do me some good.

Walking into the laundromat, the first thing I noticed was the Spanish soap opera playing on the television facing the girl behind the counter. Okay, I can deal with that, not the end of the world. I walked further back into the place, looking for another television. I found one, same Spanish soap opera. Another one, different soap opera-esque WB drama. Last one, off.

I couldn’t believe it. Not a single one, nothing. It’s October. We’ve got the Mets AND the Yankees in the playoffs this year. How can ANY establishment NOT put baseball on? Have I somehow blundered into some alternate reality where everyone is a communist? Again?!

So far, I’ve got about 65 photos from Nelson Lake. Best of the forge, heh, heh, heh. Check ‘em out!

Helped my friends Carly and Ed move into their place last night. Move went well, nothing major broke–with the exception of an antique table–but that was intentional (it wasn’t getting through the door any other way). I also got a little more tired than I’ve gotten in past moves. I think I’m out of shape. Hell, alright, I know I’m out of shape, but I’ve got a plan for that one so don’t you worry.

Running up and down four flights of stairs reminded me of the last time I helped a friend move, which is, coincidentally, the only celebrity encounter I’ve had in New York to this date. This was into the fifth story of a five story walk-up brownstone building on West 80th street. Right in the middle of the move, after the large furniture, but before the endless boxes of books, I was careening down the stairs to the first floor, letting gravity do most of the work on account of me humping boxes all day. My forward momentum carried me through the front door and I came spewing down the stairs (slinky-style, you should’ve seen it). Hitting the sidewalk, leaning forward to keep from pitching over, I shambled toward the U-Haul when suddenly a woman was directly in my path. Nimbly, I thrust my left shoulder forward while pulling my right one back, pulling my nearly unresponsive lower torso and legs with them. Titanic/iceberg style, I brushed past the woman, aware that my center of gravity had somehow moved to about three feet above my head. Having just noticed my presence, she gave an “Eek” of alarm, but I had already cleared her at that point and was busy trying to stay upright until I could grab onto the U-Haul for support.

As I walked back to the building, lamp in hand, I saw a friend standing on the top of the steps, just outside the door. Her mouth was gaping opened and she was staring right at me.

“You almost plowed over Charlotte from Sex in the City!”

I looked at the woman I had come close to flattening, now disappearing around the corner onto Broadway.

“Huh,” I remarked, and continued inside and up the stairs.