My Plates are Dead

The lady behing the counter told me three times in less than a minute that my plates are dead.

Six months ago, I donated my car to the blind. It wasn't out of genorosity or anything, I was just looking to get rid of it and the Council for the Blind was willing to come and get it. It wasn't until yesterday that I went to the DMV to tell them that I donated my car on January 9th. I had with me my county sticker and one license plate in one hand and in the other, a recently discovered form saying that I needed the title, registration, proof of sale, and two license plates in order to take my name off the vehicle. The form went on to say, "failure to comply by 06/17/2007 will require DMV to suspend your driver's license and vehicle license plates." To say that I was dreading this trip to the DMV would be an understatement.

It was also about six months ago that I stopped blogging. I'm not quite sure why except to say that I feel that even with a lot to talk about, I don't have much to say... at least not on a blog. Sure I could make another list of events in my life, but why? What I'm failing at saying is that with every post, I usually don't set out to say anything. I just start writing and see where it takes me, which is fun and why I like to do this. Even if I have nothing to say.

Back at the DMV, after a loooong wait (and I got there before it opened!), which saw my anxiety level increase exponentially, I handed the lady behind the counter the form, and she quickly punched in some numbers, asked me a question which I answered her I donated it, and then she said, "Oh, your plates are dead. It says your plates expired May 31st, your plates are dead." "So what does that mean?" I asked. "It means we're done. Your plates are dead."

After all that time worrying, it turns out I didn't have to say much of anything at all.

We're in Business

So my girlfriend recently got a check in the mail for $25.

A year ago, she created an account with these Zazzle folks, designing a few stamps. It took her a couple of hours to do then, as she says, "didn't think about it for months." But now she's 25 bucks the richer.

So after she spent a couple more hours, I decided to set up shop myself, and in no time I was in the T-shirt business, with a bunch of different products. Most of them are versions of shirts that I made for myself with iron-on letters years ago and are now faded to the point of not making sense. I think it's finally time to share them with the world.

Anyways, while I'd be surprised if I sell anything - and if I did, Zazzle, an awful name, would get the lion's share of the money - it was quick and easy, and now I just sit back and wait for the money to roll in, maybe. Plus, if by some chance I ever see some stranger wearing one on the street, years in the future, well, that would just be cool. (A guy can dream can't he.)

Now, while the products were quick and easy, please notice the fine computer craftsmanship of the title of the web page, it was neither quick nor easy, but on the upside, I probably saved $25 staying in on a Saturday night.

My Name is Gary Wozniak

My Dad called me yesterday about mid morning. Unfortunately I was asleep. He left me a message though. One of the things he mentioned was that the CIA is hiring. You know something is not right when even your father, fiscally-minded as ever, is encouraging you to look away from your fully-benefited county government job... but I digress...

I think working for the CIA would be one of the coolest jobs ever. I could picture it now, going to formal balls in exotic locations. My cigarette lighter would be a powerful firearm. My shoes would convert my voice into some semaphore code which would be decoded on the other side of the world. My car would shoot beams of molten lava from its headlights... when it wasn't in submarine form of course. And all the while I'd be making so much money that I could hire Quincy Jones and Burt Bacharach to write me a theme song.

For Valentines Day, I unknowingly was selected as a covert operative. Tiff had this elaborate trail of clues, riddles, and puzzles that took a week for me sort my way through... and in the end I got an awesome back massage. Valentine's is great. Over the week, which included a very cool trip to the International Spy Museum here in DC, I had a glimpse of my potential in the clandestine services... that of a bumbling idiot. Yep, when it comes to stealth, disguise, and deceit, I get three big strikes. Strike, strike, and strike.

So while I will definitely take my Dad's advice and check out the CIA jobs available - and take the CIA's advice and not tell anyone which positions I applied for (seriously) - I think I'm more suited to going to DC to learn about spies than to becoming a spy to learn about DC. But it's still fun to dream.

...And I still remember my assigned cover story from when you enter the museum. I'm Gary Wozniak, teacher, age 25, Canadian resident, born in Shaipu(?), New Zealand, visiting the Philippines on business to try and start a student exchange program. I expect my stay will be 90 days. Oh yeah, I'm good... or better yet, Double O-yeah

Don't call it a comeback

Wow... Two months. It has been awhile since I've written. Here is a list of everything important that has hapened since my last post:

engagement

answering machine
Christmas
New Years
Blokus
bonsai
Christmas shopping
Japan
notebook
ballet
baby
baby
e-bay
dreams
nightmares
resolutions
work
diet
cell phone
digital camera
Arboretum
work christmas party
diet
Alabama
Al Gore
alcohol
the Lord All-mighty
Christmas Tree
Camera 13
snow
my car
Little Miss Sunshine
sickness
steak
scratch'n'sniff
Japan
eleven hours
restraints
yarn
crazy psychos
the SuperBowl
Bonnaroo
gay rape
"Mom"
veterinarian
gang task force
painting
teeth
winter
neighbors
the lottery

All of these thingswould have been featured prominently in this blog had I been writing anything for the past two months. Their relevence to my life would have been explained fully and each would have offered further proof of my greatness. Therefore, any reference from here on in to any listed sublect should be remembered fondly, perhaps with the thought, "That John Duffy..."

That being said, the recent excitement in my life is my unknowing immersion into the mysterious world of clandestine operations. I shouldn't say much more, but I hope to be able to explain soon. For now, all I can say is that I don't think Tiffany has a clue... I think she's already hidden them all.

It's Now In Writing...

The cat officially has a name...

A month ago we were happily calling her "Momma" because we thought with her being a stray, and her rapidly growing belly, that she had to be pregnant... we were wrong. So now it seems silly to call her Momma. So we began round two of name-calling to see what stuck. This was fun until one day the cat went into heat. After a few days of this never ending meowing and demand for attention, we were exhausted and knew we had to get her into the vet a.s.a.p. So we got her a collar (and a tag) so we don't look like bad pet owners to the vet. And... after over two months of debate, we were forced to bite the bullet and get her name in writing. According to the little purple heart-tag, the name is....

Kitty.

Boy was that a let-down.

Here's a picture of Kitty with her new collar so that this post is not a complete waste of your time...

haha

More here: http://community.webshots.com/user/tiffjamaica of Kitty, who loves to mess up pictures... and of John and me, too.

Long Time No See

It's been almost two months since John or I have posted any news on the blog! Weirdly, this time we actually have news to post! This is now old news, but on December 16th John proposed (quite cleverly might I add) and we've been engaged now for 44 days! I didn't think after 4 years of dating and 3 of living together that it would be much different being engaged, but it is! It's a lot more fun and I will tell you the top three reasons:

(for your viewing pleasure)

Reason #1 Why Engagement is Fantastic:

I get to wear this all the time and boy, does it sparkle.

Reason #2 Why Engagement is Fantastic:
We get to plan a vacation out of the country that will actually happen.

Reason #3 Why Engagement is Fantastic:

John will do things like walk to the grocery store in a snow storm.

Building the Anticipation

Yep, calm down, calm down.

So awhile ago, a long time ago, way back when autumn was new, I started a painting. It started out like this:


All wrapped up, fresh from the store. Soon it started to look like this:

But then I fell off the wagon of motivation, scared by the details, and entered into a world of NCAA Football '05. While the UDUFF Roosters went on to win three consecutive championships, the painting has found its way to the backburner. But now it's almost a winter... there's a cold front a-comin'... and these harvest colors aren't nearly as fun. Anyways, here's the most recent shot:

Yikes. The thought of what I have left to do is scary. It's all detail. I should just paint walls.

But no, in a show of determination, I am stating the projected finish of my masterpiece, which I predict will earn me a spot into Britain's illustrious Royal Society of Arts and Letters and Other Stuff. It's so exciting.

Our Cat

This little guy is quickly unfolding into quite the story.

First off, the poor thing still doesn't have a name, and Tiff has vetoed all my suggestions - even Batman!, so I'm out of ideas. Well, right now, I'm pushing for Ms. Chief... ha ha, get it ... mischief, Ms.Chief... ha ha. The cat does seem to at least acknowledge the familiar call of any cat owner, that tongue sticking to your teeth sound. Maybe on her name tag we should just put '!!,' like the Bushpeople of Namibia. Except that sound is too harsh... maybe it should be '(!!).' That's '!!' said under your breath. To be fair, I'll add that I've done my fair share of name vetoing.

Secondly, it turns out that our loving cat is probably a pregnant cat. That's right, all signs seem to point to kittens around Christmas. Although she was a stray, she is clearly still a kitten, so when we brought her into our home, we didn't really consider the possibility that she may be pregnant. But she's gone from very playful and aggressive - and playing fetch better than any dog - to fat and lazy... along with a nipple thing that Tiff found on the internet, so yeah, she appears pregnant.

Anyways, while it makes some of Tiff's and my decisions more difficult and has the potential to be a pain in the ass, it's still pretty exciting. I hope she's like this cat and mated with a dog, or better yet a pony!

Damn. Or well, surprise, surprise, that story about the cat was debunked by science. Stinkin' science.

Happy Thanksgiving

So here's the story of Thanksgiving. It comes from a coworker who recently visited the new Native American Museum here in DC. While she was familiar, as we all are, with the story of starving Pilgrims and generous Indians and the first Thanksgiving, she learned and shared with me the true story of Thanksgiving, supported by the Smithsonian. So here it is as told by me, who heard it from a coworker.

A long time ago, in the new world, there were tribes of men and women living happily in peace with nature. Things were great... until the white man came. More specifically, until the white man brought forth the evil fury of disease. Disease wiped out entire tribes, killing just about everyone. Some guys didn't die though. They were generally rewarded by being captured and winning an all expenses paid trip throughout Europe, as part of a traveling freak show or something.

Then the Pilgrims came over and set up a village. One of these traveling traveling freak show Indians asked if he could catch a ride home and the Pilgrims were like, 'Sure.' But when he got back, all the tribes, in true Indian form, were like, 'How...' which meant, 'what in tarnation?' You see they didn't want him because all that time he spent traveling around Europe turned him into a freak, so he decided to hang with the Pilgrims in the village.

The Pilgrims in the meantime were struggling to figure out how to plant and fish and hunt effectively in this crazy new world, so they asked the guy to teach them, and he said, 'Sure.' In fact, taught them how to grow all sorts of yummy foods. So the villagers rejoiced.

Come harvest time, they had a bunch of food, enough to last the winter, so the religious Pilgrims gave all the credit to God. They were like, 'God is great!' and God is good!' and they thanked Him for all the food... by shooting guns into the air.

All the gun shooting piqued the interest of not just one local tribal chief, but many chiefs. All the chiefs came to investigate the gun fire saying to each other, 'How...' which meant, 'the who what?' And which eventually meant, 'How... can we get some?' The Pilgrims, being peace loving Christians, with many Horns of Plenty decided to share, inviting the Indians into the village, thus the first Thanksgiving was served.

Soon thereafter, disease spread through the tribes and killed off most of them... and the villagers rejoiced.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody. And remember to give thanks to one Europeanized Indian, who was ostracized into helping us out.

Quality

I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance when I was, maybe, 19. I think I was too young then to get it - I probably still am - but there's one part I find myself thinking of from time to time. The guy's a college professor and he writeson the blackboard for the class, 'What is quality?'

I mention that, perhaps just to show that somehow I have quality, but with the intention of talking about Christmas. It's a little early, I'll agree, but this being my first Christmas away from home, Thanksgiving is my time to be home for the holidays.

You see, in my family growing up, come this time of year, the phrase 'quantity over quality' would come visit along with older and wiser siblings. 'Quantity over quality' was the result of a mother working at a thrift shop, which probably could have been dubbed Santa's Workshop with most of our many gifts being found there. And it could have sponsorship, the Duffy's Santa's Workshop brought to you by the Duffy family. That being said, there were many Christmas afternoons spent looking at a pile of opened presents and thinking, 'Ok, so what exactly did I get?'

That wasn't meant to be so harsh. In fact, I could easily take this and run with the quality of those Christmases, family all together for just a few days, but I won't. Instead, I state here my new philosophy. It probably derives from the overall childhood that I gave a glimpse of, but 'Quality is worth it.'

Call me snooty, but quality makes things better; we should celebrate quality. I've been doing it for awhile, a lot of people have, but why go to Subway when Panera is right next door. It may be an extra buck, but it's a well spent extra buck. I've got a pair of pants from Abercrombie and Fitch - which I'm still a little embarrassed to admit - that are 6 years old. The baggy pants with big pockets may not be the height of fashion these days, but the pants are just as good as new - minus the stepped on hem. I ripped a big hole in a pair of jeans from Old Navy after just six months.

Anyways, it may sound redundant but I believe in the value of quality, even if I don't find much quality in motorcycles.

I Bonsai.

A while back, I posted about growing a peach tree, bonsai peach tree, from scratch - I mean, from seed. Like a good blogger should, I promised updates. Well, it's been five months and well, not much has happened... until now. The little ceramic pot is now home to a bunch of green things; it's very exciting. In fact, right now in your head, there should be some "progress/into the future" themed music playing. So with no further ado: (Dah-Dah-Dah-Dah-DUNH! da-da-dun-da-da-dun-da-da-dun...)



Now, I'm no botanist, but I'm pretty sure that that's not a peach tree in the making. I'm not sure what it is, or how it happened, but it's still pretty exciting. Next on the grow-a-tree-from-seed list is... pomegranates!! Dah-Dah-Dah-Dah-DUNH! I hear they make great bonsais..

I'm planting them from seed because bonsais are expensive. $1000 for a tree that's difficult, at best, to maintain. No thank you. But maybe, just maybe, I can grow a bunch from seed and sell them at my own bonsai store... I'll name it, 'I Bonsai.'. I'm going to be rich!!! Rich, I tell you!

Here are my bonsais so far:


Pitiful lot. Especially the newest member of the club:


It's an azalea. Tiff's Aunt dug it out of her yard for me. She's very gracious. It looked pretty good in the ground, but now it's just a twig. I could decorate it and have my own Charlie Brown tree, or bush. We'll see if it survives... I'll keep you updated, like a good blogger.

USA Today

Again, it's been awhile since I've written one of these. I've gained access, most days, to the USA Today recently, so I've been reading that instead of writing. By 'reading' I usually mean skimming over the articles and getting bogged down in the crossword puzzle.

I've had my eye out for interesting stuff though, but it's all been election, campaign, Iraq, campaign, democrats, republicans, Iraq, election... I find it all pretty boring. Repetitively boring. They spent nearly a week analyzing a botched joke of a man who has already proved that he won't be climbing the ladder into the White House.

I even find the Life section dull. The Life section is always a bizarrely fun. A mix of all the entertainment news and ways to have fun. But this newspaper, it seems, thinks the only fun is with what's on TV or at the movie theater. So naturally I hunt for the shows that I watch, or purposefully don't watch, an dI'm always disappointed. And when I'm not disappointed I hold on to the thought of it and become disappointed with the show.

And the Sports section pisses me off. It doesn't follow any one team or one city, so there's no sense of loyalty, no reason to jump to the first pace of Sports. It's kind of like catching the first five minutes of SportsCenter each day; it might be be good, it might be interesting, but you never really know what you'll get.

The editorials are the last thing that I don't like. They just lack of confidence. It always feels like they are saying, "Well, this is what we think, but please feel free to not listen to us and think whatever you want." Grow some balls, USA Today!

So the only story I really remember is an article, I think from California, where they are pushing to outlaw bullets made of a certain type of metal, lead?, because they contaminate the environment and kill wildlife. If you think about it, it does make sense, but... who would of thought that bullets would be killing things. It's an outrage!!

The Cat

So yeah... we got a cat. I'm allergic to cats. Right now my hand is all swollen up from scratches. My hand is all scratched up from playing with the cat... I can't resist. Anyways, I refuse to call it Cleo, Tiffany's pick, so for now I'm still calling it 'cat,' but I'm open to suggestions...

How about 'Batman'?

Brand New Addition

I have fought to adopt a cat for the past three years of living with my boyfriend with the answer always being an unwavering "no". Last Thursday I made a Christmas list. "A gray cat" was at the top of that list. It was on the list mainly just to annoy John. However, on Friday just before midnight, I heard some serious meow-ing coming from outside our apartment (keep in mind we live on the 4th floor). I opened the door to a very skinny, very loud, very cold, gray kitten. If that's not fate, I give up. She slept all weekend while we frantically tried to find a home for her. She looked so sweet and just wanted to sleep on you all the time... we even cancelled our plans to go out of town for this. Around Monday night, we realized we weren't going to find a place for her and decided we would have to keep her b/c there was no way we could take her to the pound.

I think this kitty is a con-artist. As soon as that decision was made, the cat stopped sleeping all of the time and promptly began scratching the furniture, stinking up the place with some major gas, making friends with our toilet water, never letting us leave her sight, and eyeing my hamster whilst licking her lips.

But hey, I like some personality in my animals.

here she is...

I think I'm going to call her Cleo for two reasons. 1) She has white fur eyeliner which makes me think of Cleopatra. 2) Miss Cleo was the name of that conartist Jamaican psychic woman. She was really from L.A. Ha.

Mix it Up

I found a fantastic site today that lets you compile your music & post it online... and I think this blog needs a few tunes for your reading pleasure, so today I made an e-mixed tape.

When I was 14, there was nothing quite as satisfying as trying to construct what would ultimately be the best mixed tape known to man. The sense of accomplishment brought on by the relentless hours of sitting on the floor, fighting with the dual cassette player, calculating the timing of songs on each side of the tape, and pouring your heart into the perfect playlist was unmatched. It was a greatness that kids today will never know, because what used to take me a solid 8 hours to complete, I finished in less than a half hour today with the help of iTunes, a few websites, and high-speed internet. We've come a long way, baby. And there's no feeling of job-well-done, only a disappointment that I had to settle on songs that were already downloaded onto my computer, leaving my old blood, sweat, and tears mixed tapes behind.

I must say it was pretty fun though, and now you find blog readers can listen to some tunes! There are some songs that John loves, some songs we both love, and some songs I love. And my all time favorite song, one that's been on every mixed tape & cd I've ever made - You Can't Always Get What You Want.

I think the e-boombox works interactively, too. If you hate a song, just fast forward.

Get your own Flash MP3 Player

Extreme Makeover

That's right, the television show.

It's quite possibly the worst idea for a TV show... find ugly people and make them beautiful. It was the worst until The Swan built on the idea by making it into a contest... as if the poor makeoverees haven't been through enough....

But that's all old news now, as I think both have fallen off the primetime television playlist... replaced by, no-doubt, Nanny to the Rescue! If you ask me, just give the kids a spoonful of sugar... that's all the medicine they need. But out of the ashes of such an awful show grew Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, only one of the greatest shows of all time. This hour long show usually has me crying by the first commercial break.

I think the biggest appeal is that it truly feels like a selfless show... which in turn is probably very self-promoting and ultimately selfish, but I'm not too worried about that. It not only makes you want to own an awesome house, but help others who may need help. I'm not saying that I'm jumping into the world of charity work just yet, but I like the idea.

Opposed to this show is the recent string of game shows. Deal or No Deal started it, and now there is 1 vs 100, The Rich List, and I just saw an ad for one called Show Me the Money!! A very different idea drives these shows, which while their still entertaining, it makes you wonder what's next. In my opinion, the world of game shows needs an extreme makeover.

And the Award for Boyfriend-of-the-Week goes to:

Ahh, my first post. Since there's no limit to what I can or cannot write about, let's start off with a bang and talk about the man himself, John Duffy.

The good behavior has been off the charts in the past seven days and includes buying flowers for my mother and grandmother, going grocery shopping without me, filling my car up with gas, cleaning out the clogged sink, being a huge help at my craft show during weather that was only one step away from tornado, surprising me with tickets to a ballet of Dracula, and of course, inviting me to join this here blog.

I'm not sure if these things were a result of some previous bad behavior I have yet to find out about, or perhaps he's just racking up the kudos so I can't nag him about playing PS2 football every day. Or maybe it was that chocolate pie I made him on Thursday. Whatever the cause, I'm not complaining. But if I were complaining, hypothetically, I'd complain about how the mayo knives he uses to make his sandwiches always end up strategically placed on the side of the sink. Not in the sink. Not in the dishwasher. On the side of the sink where the mayo can get stuck to the chrome and cause me a good five minutes of scrubbing. But I'm not complaining because I got to go the ballet tonight. :)

We're Growing

Yep, The Muted Guerrilla is growing, maybe not in readership. That's my fault. I haven't blogged in awhile. I haven't had much interest to, to be honest. For that reason, I'm bringing in some help.

That's right, for a limited time only, I'm inviting my beautiful girlfriend, the one, the only, Miss Tiffany Hanback to join me in my, as advertised, 'eternal struggle within, now online.'

That being said, I hope to hear about a young friend she made today, but just like me, her posts are her choice and there's no limit to what she can and cannot write.

John Duffy's Words

I started another blog. I call it John Duffy's Words. It's kind of like a word of the day, but without the everyday thing. Right now I only have a few words, and I'm not going to stress over finding new ones. I'll just post them as I find them.

At one point I had a blog where Tiff and I were going to post these little word challenges we gave ourselves... yep, we're dorks. The idea was to pick three words from a fish bowl that we filled with words and make up a little story, not long by any means, that contains the three words. And every week or so we would post the story and pick three new words to write another story. Now that I'm explaining it, I'll admit that I really like the idea, but in practice, it was a little different. We both got really into it and at last count, my story involving the words 'sloth,' 'melon,' and 'sprinkle cheese' was some fifteen page, four chapter story about a witch, and I got stuck trying to incorporate the word 'melon.' I hadn't even given thought to 'sprinkle cheese' yet.

Anyways, like I said, John Duffy's Words may be a slow growth project, but I like the idea. Plus, I'd like to think that the bowl of words would include words a bit more profound than 'sprinkle cheese.'

Running Late

I always seem to be running late. Usually I have no reason for this; I think I'll have plenty of time to get ready, but then I wind up running out the door a few minutes after the time that I've told myself is the latest I can possibly leave.

The worst part is, every single day, as I'm speeding out of the parking lot, I never seem to know how I got to be so late. Then I start humming some song that I sang, in full, in the shower, and likely came up with some dance moves to go along with it... or without thinking I contort myself to some samurai warrior face that I was practicing in the mirror... and I think, 'Oh yeah...' stepping on the gas a bit harder. Then I usually think, 'wait, did I brush my teeth?'

As a result of running late, I feel like I'm always in a hurry, having to speed to work or wherever it is I'm going. Working the overnights, my commute to work is usually pretty speedy.

I've found though that the faster I go, the slower everyone else goes. Without following close, I tend to speed up behind people, and as I do, brake lights turn on in front of me, there speed drops often below the speed limit, and I'm left crying out 'what the..." to an empty passenger's seat. It's very aggravating.

I'm convinced people see headlights behind them, driving with purpose at eleven o'clock at night, and immediately conclude it has to be a police car. If I was the police I would pull them over just for being suspicious. It would suck to be a cop, they probably have to deal with that all the time. Yeah, they can speed off, but they have to get by all the speed-limit-obeying model citizens first. But the police are never late. They get there when they get there.