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Marital Woes…

Yesterday, I made one of the greatest mistakes of my life.

Ok, that's a tad dramatic… but I did make one of the most regrettable mistakes since I've graduated from college… and it was something that I could have easily avoided.

Yes, I admit it. I did this thing with full conscious knowledge of what the results would be and how much I would hate myself in the morning. I knew that Janet would never understand why I felt that I had to do it.

Even though it would be easy to pawn it off as an alcohol-induced mistake, in the depths of my heart, I knew what I would be committing… and I knew the suffering it would cause our marriage. The thing that really makes me feel like a monster is that even as I sat there in the car heading back into Hartford, I didn't feel even the slightest shred of remorse.

I saw the neon lights as I passed the adult world on Rt 66 and even though it was late and Janet would be wondering when I would be back, I decided to head in.

Yes, I did it. I went to Taco Bell.

See, Taco Bell and I have this sort of love-hate relationship. Back in college, it was one of the few fast foods that Janet and I could afford for lunch… and I ate it on a regular basis. I also experienced Moctezuma's Revenge on a regular basis as well. At least two times a week I would order up 5 soft tacos (hey, I was a growing boy&#41 and a soda, wolf them down in about three seconds, and then suffer unimaginable pain for the rest of the evening. I ate it out of desperation, and when we graduated and moved to San Francisco, I swore that the great Taco Bell soft taco would never again cross my lips.

In San Francisco it was easy. If you wanted cheap, quick Mexican food, you had tons of taquerias all around town that served up tasty fresh meals. In the five years I lived in San Francisco, I don't think I had Taco Bell once, and my intestines cheered and treated me quite well.

But last night as Chris (read ScowlZine to learn about Chris&#41 and I were heading back from the Willimantic Brewing Company, we came to a rapid agreement that food would be needed before we finished the 40 minute drive back to civilization (ok, to Hartford, the closest facsimile in Connecticut&#41. Chris spotted the Taco Bell as we drove towards home and out of convenience we decided to hit the drive through for a couple of soft tacos and some Mountain Dew.

The Toxic Hell of Taco Bell hit me like a freight train before we even hit I-384 (a mere 15 minutes away from the Taco Bell&#41. Trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, I strained to keep myself from erupting with the revenge of the great leader of the Aztecs. Barely successful, I spent the better part of the evening in miserable pain, exiling myself to another room so I wouldn't pass the overly offensive flatus while in the company of my completely unsympathetic wife (note: the cats were pretty damned aloof as well&#41.

It was a night of my moaning as I writhed in gastrointestinal pain, interspersed with pleas of "God, can't you keep it in" and "Why the hell did you go there". Even when I woke up this morning, I felt nauseous from the previous night's delight. It was 12 hours of misery… misery I knew I would have as soon as it passed through my lips. But I did it anyway, and most likely I will eventually do it again. And again. And *burp* again.

Yo Quiero Alka-Seltzer.

Posted in Scowls.

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By Avery – April 7, 2000

Welcome Back!

After almost a six month hiatus since our last update to Scowl, Nu?… we're back!

To all of our long time readers, thanks for all of the ongoing support of both Scowl, Nu? and ScowlZine… and to all of the new readers coming here for the first time… Welcome to Scowl, Nu? a slightly bitter slice of life from your gracious hosts Avery and Janet!

Ok, now on to new business. Previous visitors to Scowl, Nu? will realize that the format has completely changed to make it easier both for the reader to navigate and for the two of us to update. In geek terms, we're using a homegrown PHP3 and MySQL entry management system. All of the previous Scowl, Nu? postings have been migrated to the new system, but if you see (or rather don't see&#41 anything from the previous from the old Scowl, Nu?… just shoot us an email!

Anyway, it's one of the first nice days of the season out here in Hartford… so why the heck are we in here writing this front page instead of going out and having a good time?

— Avery and Janet

Posted in Quick Thoughts.

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By Admin – March 26, 2000

How to succeed in business without really trying…

I know, I know: the economy is prospering, unemployment is way down, and employers will hire just about anybody these days simply to get a warm body behind a desk. Consequently, the amount of skills that one must have to get hired has pretty much been condensed down to 1&#41 can breathe without the aid of a respirator, 2&#41 can answer a telephone, and 3&#41 can perform simple office tasks like making copies and sending faxes with some light typing thrown in for good measure. (Note that in today's job market there is, I guess, no need to really know how to use software like Power Point or even Word and Excel for that matter.&#41

When I ventured out into the work force, the year was 1994, right around the time of widespread corporate downsizing. Everybody and their brother was getting laid off, so you needed to know an extra thing or two just to compete for what few positions were left. Back then you were supposed to research the companies you were interviewing with and dazzle the interviewer with facts about the company that she probably didn't even know. Your resume had to be perfectly one page, not too cluttered, not too much white space. (I agonized over all the "So You're Trying to Get Your First Real Job" books that I read which warned over and over that a great deal of the time, resumes were just thrown straight into the garbage can after the first glance because they were too this and not enough that or something or other, blah, blah, blah.&#41 In my zeal to get a job, any job, I used my spare time to study manuals on Microsft Word and actually had someone teach me everything that I didn't know about Excel. And took notes. (Back then, good computer skills were of the utmost importance in a job interview, and the only computer class that was offered to me in college was on Lotus 1-2-3 and dBase 3… did anyone ever actually end up using those?&#41 Before my most recent job interview, I practically memorized my old company's brochure in order to better explain the scope of the company and what role that I personally played within that scope, and in a fit of pure anality mixed with nervousness even brought it with me on the interview.

These days when you ask someone — someone who is a potential candidate for a job in the financial industry, mind you — when you ask someone how well they know a program like Excel (remember, the financial industry, where there are lots of numbers to be dealt with&#41 they will probably say something like, "Well, I was going to take a class on that, but then some other things happened in my life, so…"

No experience in the financial industry, no experience with spreadsheet-based software, but hired nonetheless. Maybe it's the life experience — another thing which I don't agree with. Just because a person, say, home-schools their children (shudder&#41 with perceived good results doesn't mean that s/he can function in a workplace. It means he or she is good at home-schooling (shudder&#41. It should add nothing to the decision to hire him or her. I mean, I got married at 19 and put myself through college, sometimes working two jobs at once and bascially living the hard-knock life, but I didn't bring that up in my interview because it has nothing to do with how well I can — and do — do my job.

So, all these people get hired with little to no skill sets, which means they have to be trained and often end up fucking up the first hundred things they try to do, and they get in at 8:35 and leave at 5:00 on the dot, and they bitch and moan about how shitty the office equipment is and how they should get paid more, and basically walk around with a spoiled-brat attitude about the whole job experience.

I personally think that they should be forced to study those marching ants in Excel. Just for fun.

Posted in Scowls.

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By Janet – March 25, 2000

Laundry Day

Laundry Day.

Quite possibly my least favorite day of the week. Ok, every other week.

Back in San Francisco, it started off being a weekly event. Every Tuesday we would gather up our dirty laundry, shove it into our two laundry bags, and trudge to Wishy Washy on the corner of Page and Steiner. Invariably, every other time we would show up there all of the washers would be full so we would muster up our residual strength and haul it down the hill to Haight Laundry (quite an apropos name, eh?&#41 where there was never a crowd (but always a wacko or two… and there's nothing quite like a Haight Street Wacko… if you've never experienced one of these individuals, book a trip to San Francisco… wherever you live will suddenly feel much, much nicer&#41. Back then, we needed to go every week because we had just enough socks and underwear to make it 10 days. Sure, we had enough shirts and pants to make it through a full two weeks, but unless I wanted to be swinging loose in my pants, these weekly laundry runs were a necessity.

Then we made the mistake of buying more underwear.

Sure, having more than 14 pairs of underwear meant that we only had to do laundry every other week. But now we had to carry twice as much laundry to the Wishy Washy (or down the hill to Haight Laundry which meant that we would have to carry it all back up the hill… and leaving the laundry in the laundromat while you make two trips is not even remotely suggestible in our old neighborhood&#41. Plus, neither laundromat ever had enough free washers or dryers to handle a two-week-Glasser-load so we would have to put half in, and then while the first half was drying put the second half in the washer. In the end, purchasing more underwear did nothing aside from increase our frustration.

Sure, we still could have gone every week, but then why did we buy more skivvies?

Now that we're in Hartford, Laundry Day is still a chore. Yes, we don't have to carry the behemoth bags of dirty clothes a half-block to the laundromat, but we still have to carry it down three long flights of stairs plus the walk to the car (it sounds trivial, and it is… but when you're just back from a long day of work, it just feels like it takes forever&#41.

The only good thing about laundry here is the laundromat.

Lindy's Launderette on South Quaker Lane in West Hartford is the closest thing to a "nice" laundromat. They have an ample number of soda/snack/bottled water machines… couches and chairs… a television that has the Simpsons on if you get there between 5:30 and 6:30… an operational change machine… and tons of washers and dryers of myriad size. Sounds like heaven, right?

Maybe it's more like purgatory…

Sure, Lindy's is significantly better than any laundromat we've ever used on a regular basis, but it still has its problems. First off, at any given time there are tons of kids running around, probably because they're bored out of their little minds. You see, when we go to the laundry, I bring a book or get a newspaper. I've stopped bringing my Gameboy because I'm sick of the little buggers hawking over me like they're trying to claim "dibs" on it when I'm done. On more than one occasion I've had to tell them that it's rude to watch over someone's shoulder without asking if it's OK first. Just once I would have liked for one of these kids' mothers to notice that they're bugging the hell out of me and tell their demon spawn to give me some fucking space!

We also have our freaks. Sometimes it's just the occasional harmless deviant watching women folding their bras and panties (note: anyone who actually folds their thongs is a freak in and of themselves&#41. Sometimes we get treated to a screaming match in Russian or Spanish or one of the other languages of the Greater Hartford Area. Every once in a while, we get the irate woman who paces back and forth in front of a finished dryer waiting for someone to take their clothes out so they can put their wet clothes in (why they don't ask the attendant to take it out is beyond me&#41. Aah, but tonight we were treated to an all new type of freak.

Introducing the Laundry Freak of the Bi-Week: Clueless Girl.

Clueless Girl came in while we were in the final 15 minute stretch before the dryers would be finished making our extremely wet clothes into only mildly damp clothes. She couldn't have looked more out of place. Here, in the middle all of the laundromat veterans who were wearing their "laundry clothes" – the ripped jeans and tattered sweatshirts that you only wear to the laundromat because you want to clean everything else that you own – was this make-up wearing, three inch heels and jeans up her ass crack bleached blonde 90 pound girl. She was standing just through the threshold of the sliding door and was quite confused.

She walked towards a set of washers dragging her bags behind her like a drunken neighborhood Santa on his last house of the evening. Then she stopped and noticed the attendant behind the counter. Now, instead of leaving her bags of clothes where they were (unobtrusively leaning up against a washer&#41, she lugged them over to the counter so she could ask the attendant something…

Attendant: Can I help you?
Clueless Girl: What time do you close?
Attendant: 9, but the last wash is at 8.
CG: So no washing after 8?
Attendant: No washing after 8.

Ok, not too clueless yet…

CG: Are all of the washers taken?
Attendant: (scans the laundromat and notices that almost all of the washers are free&#41 – No, most of them are open, see? (insert Attendant's sweeping hand motion&#41t
CG: The big ones or the small ones?
Attendant: I see that the small ones are all open and (insert image of Attendant squinting towards the big washers&#41 and I think some of the big ones are open.
CG: Do I need to figure out how many loads or just put them into the machines? Should I sort them first? (CG reaches for her wallet… possibly thinking she needed to pre-pay for the services&#41
Attendant: (Shrugging her shoulders as she tries to make sense of CG's questions&#41 The change machine is over in the corner. It gives you quarters for the washers.

The Clueless Girl turns around, grabs her bags and starts dragging her bags towards the folding table. She teeters on her heels a number of times before finally hoisting her clothes up onto the table. She separates into colors and whites while Janet, the Attendant and I all watch to see what happens next…

Time passes. Clueless Girl is at the large $4.50 quad-load washer (it is rated for 50lbs of laundry&#41. She is attempting to insert money into the machine, but the quarter keeps coming out of the return slot.

CG: (frustratedly yelling for the attendant&#41 The machine isn't taking my muh-ney!
Attendant: It only takes quarters.
CG: I've got lots of quarters, but it won't take them. It just keeps spitting them out!
Attendant: Make sure the door is shut properly.
CG: (opens and shuts the door about 10 times then tries the quarters again&#41 They just keep popping out!
Attendant: Let me see… (She then grabs a handful of quarters from under the desk and walks over. Arriving at the washer, she inserts a quarter into the machine. It takes it&#41
CG: Oh, I was putting the money in the bottom slot.

Yes, she was putting the quarters into the slot labeled: Coin Return. As the attendant walked back towards her counter, shaking her head, CG had one more question for her.

CG: Is it counting DOWN?

Yes folks, it said $4.50. The attendant put in two quarters and it was down to $4.00 and now she asks if it is counting up or down.

She wasn't stoned. She wasn't drunk. She was simply clueless. As she left the laundromat with half of her dirty clothes in tow (instead of in one of the dozens of free washers&#41, our dryers finished and we went to take out our laundry. As I walked to one of our dryers, I noticed that the $4.50 washer that stumped Clueless Girl had barely enough clothes inside to fill half of a $1.50 single washer.

With my freak quotient filled, Janet and I walked to the car, lugging our heavy bags of clean laundry, and talking about the freaks we had to deal with in the laundromat. It was 65 degrees out and for the briefest of moments I thought I was back in San Francisco again.

Posted in Observations.

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By Avery – March 23, 2000

Welcome Back To Scowl, Nu?

Welcome back after our long, long hiatus! Hope you enjoy!

Avery and Janet

Posted in Quick Thoughts.

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By Avery – March 11, 2000

Why Scowl, Nu?

 
Scowl (?&#41, v. i.
[imp. & p. p. Scowled (?) p. pr. & vb. n. Scowling.]

1. To wrinkle the brows, as in frowning or displeasure; to put on a frowning look; to look sour, sullen, severe, or angry.
"She scowled and frowned with froward countenance." Spenser.

2. Hence, to look gloomy, dark, or threatening; to lower.
"The scowling heavens." Thomson.

Nu?, i.
[Yiddish slang]

Loosely Translated: "Why don't you?"

Scowl, Nu?
A new website where it is OK to feel a little bitter about things. "So scowl, why don't you!"
 

Scowl, Nu? is a refuge for those of us who see both the dark cloud and the silver lining. This isn't a dark and gloomy place, but it is a place where you don't have to feel bad about feeling bitter.

Over the last year, we certainly had a lot to scowl about. We were living in one of the last few distinct neighborhoods in San Francisco… the Lower Haight. When we first moved to the Lower Haight in 1994, it was a unique little neighborhood filled with neighborhood bars and shops. By the time we started up Scowl, Nu? in June 1998, the place was becoming a yuppie slum.

By the time we left, the neighborhood was on the verge of becoming like every other homogeneous neighborhood in San Francisco, filled with conglomerate-owned bars, condos and chain stores. Mom and pop restaurants were being replaced by chains like Pasta Pomodoro and World Wrapps.

Damnit if we didn't get out while the getting was good.

In May 1999, we relocated to our ancestral home of Hartford, Connecticut, after bouncing around the country for the last ten years. Our lives haven't changed that much since we left San Francisco: we're a block away from the best beer bar in the area, we've scoped out our favorite delivery restaurants, and we settled in a neighborhood with some character: The West End. In Hartford, the grocery stores are better, the highways are better, and life just seems a little bit nicer here. Heck, now we're living in a two bedroom apartment that costs less than our one-room San Francisco shoebox of a studio!

So pardon us if we tend wax idyllic about our new lives.

But regardless of our feelings about our new community, there will still be tons of things that get our goats (which reminds us of the Jamaican Restaurant with the We Deliver Goat on Wheels sign in Downtown Hartford&#41 and with the new redesign of the Scowl, Nu?, there will be more than enough things going on in our lives to write about.

Scowl is 100% non-fiction, completely autobiographical, personal, and updated regularly… so in that way, it is a journal. However, Scowl, Nu? is also an online publication. Though we are completely truthful in what we write on the site, we aren't completely open with you, our readers. This isn't the sort of site where you'll get our deepest, darkest secrets… or where we'll beat our breasts as we wail at the gods for the fate that they have dealt us. Sorry, we just don't know all of you that well… and what little of a private life we have is, well, private. Scowl, Nu? is our personal online publication that talks about that quirky thing called Our Life in Hartford.

Like we said on the first day that we started this site:

So, why do we call this Scowl, Nu?
Because sometimes there is nothing better to do in life than scowl.

So, come on, Scowl, why don't you?

— and
**@***wl.nu

Posted in General Ramblings.

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By Admin – March 11, 2000