From Anne’s party earlier this year.

Sadly, this went on for three more hours.

(You may notice I’ve changed the default theme — to the Agregado theme. I hope to make it my own soon.)

Yesh it is a big string of links.

I can see that. You can see that. We all can see that.

It’s because there’s something happening.

Some sort of “life” thing — that is so stocked full of incidents it doesn’t allow time to report on any of them. The minute you try to capture one — the next is upon you. Oh ho ho! Life is so funny like that!

There is something beginning to burn inside me though. Something that can be written in code in a manner that all the future employers of America will not worry whether this immaculate find isn’t worthy of their laurels. Something that can be written so that it can be written and gotten out of the skull.

This site might go away soon. Yezbick is too proud a name to be left to arbitrary links. Art should fill the gaps in the letters so that when one sees Yezbick – one sees the world. We should all strive for that. But we’ve gotten to an age where website urls are no longer meaningful. They’ve become ubiquitous.

I think we’ll keep the yezbick name on the web – and save this spot – but I think our outlet will probably be moving soon. It’s really quite astounding how many people can get to know you.

That said — the collective “we” may just be the artistic exercises.

Long ramblings such as this. They’re easier anonymous. Words can just flow.

You don’t even have to close.

The googlebooks script I ran for the Farmington Community Library was turning out to be pretty pointless in that the FCL collection is miniscule in comparison with the amount of books available through Googlebooks. In comparison with the Wayne State University Libraries collection, there was an obvious solution to the pointlessness. The FCL script is still here: FCLgooglebooks — but I’ve disbled it in my own browser in favor of the newbie I’m working on…

When I told my friend and LIS classmate about my copycat efforts to link up the catalog of my library to both Amazon and Googlebooks — she was, like most people in the world, less than enthusiastic. She has become wary of Google’s movements of late – and has trouble even muttering their name…She did manage to ask if I could apply the scripts to the Wayne State University Libraries — and I’m glad to say that I can and have. So – these are for her.

WSU Google Books Script
WSU Amazon Lookup Script

What I really like, and what I really was having the most trouble with today concerning these scripts — is that they will now retrieve results for E-books as well. The screenshot I’ve posted shows what happens when the scope of the search returns both a physical book and a book that is available as an E-book in pdf format. If I limited that scope to just books — the E-book wouldn’t appear in a googlebooks search or amazon lookup. For a while I thought I’d be stuck just searching for books — but figured out how to hook in the [electronic resource] string in the script and clapped my hands and said yeah.

WSU’s catalog shows an "ebrary" of 2000 items thus far — but there are probably more out there. If you don’t care for the ebrary materials – as you don’t have access to them not being a student or whatnot — you can just change the part in the script that reads "var libraryUrlPatternTrailer = ‘&searchscope=1′;" to:
"var libraryUrlPatternTrailer = ‘&searchscope=2′;" and that will set your search scope to only browse the books…

I haven’t come across a book on hold yet — I’m digging through the catalog looking — but that aspect isn’t yet included in the script. If you find one — shoot me an email: kevin[at]yezbick.com – or leave a comment so’s I can plug it in – and shoot this script into a more public space.

Again — all credit is given in the script to Mr. Ed "Superpatron" Vielmetti, Jon Udell, Carrick Mundell, and Gordon Mohr — without all of whom I wouldn’tve been able to fill in this template.

Update: I’m now going to have to figure out how to adapt this script in light of This Script — which cycles through different collections and winds up in worldcat…I was wondering how to do this…Unfortunately it doesn’t check for the actual status…

I went there (borders) in search of a few books — none of which were in the store. Many of which required 7 days wait. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and it was rolling into 4pm when I headed into the cd “stacks.”

The listening stations had some good cd’s lined up. I listened to a few tracks from an Iron and Wine offering, some Arcade Fire, Interpol, and a few others — but “We are Nowhere and It’s Now” plucked the heartstrings. It was an emotional swell that while surging with sadness was wonderful to have – Dionysian – reminding me that I am actually here.

I’ve begun reading Graham Greene’s Brighton Rock. Last night, early introductions to the characters — the words began to twine the net. Some observations.

The water washed round the piles at the end of the pier, dark poison-bottle green, mottled with seaweed, and the salt wind smarted on his lips.

Life was sunlight on brass bedposts, ruby port, the leap of the heart when the outsider you have backed passes the post and the colours go bobbing up. Life was poor Fred’s mouth pressed down on hers in the taxi, vibrating with the engine along the parade. What was the sense of dying if it made you babble of flowers?

and

Man is made by the places in which he lives[...]

The mind has cracks.

Circulations and imagery continue to meld and I am stuck in a tall, slender glass of water — a string attached to my head. Someone is absent-mindedly yanking on that string – perhaps in an attempt to keep time with the ebullient tune. Maybe they are listening intently to someone, or believe they are listening intently – but can’t seem to shake the rest of the world from their thalamus and thus are continuously distracted without being aware of any one particular instance of their failure. They are so caught up in acknowledging to themselves that they are listening that they have managed to slip into the conversation a glass wall. They are plunging me under the waterline over and over — and I am powerless to detach myself from that string. I am steeping.

I am standing in the room again. Or am I? I can’t make out the details. The colors blend and turn with the spinning – and I recognize them as the distortions of welled tears. A touch of yellow from a book’s spine becomes a shroud of van goghishness — swirling and swirling before me. The water is muddied — now brown, now blood red — colors atop each other in a fit of oil and water, wine and vinegar . It never slacks. The fits never slack. All is taut within, all unbound without.

It can begin slowly. It doesn’t always, but there are gathering moments. Flecks and pigments, steeping, seeping, swirling slowly. Milk and honey can alter the process, but the effects are only meted. In the end, the only end — everything in which I am steeped must once again be released.

Eventually, there will be the last release. The cleanest, fullest release of them all. For now, I am standing here in this room, or this glass, or wherever as an inefficient colander. For everything that moves out, something else moves in — and most of what I feel I am retaining is just weighing me down. The dregs. The dregs. The god damn dregs.

I used to wonder if this would be read. Now there is more worry than wonder.

Everything that seeps out of me pollutes this place a little more — and eventually I think someone is going to notice the dirt.

I’m putting some abandoned entries on autopilot for March 3rd. Beginning at 12 noon (EST). On the hour.

(I know I know! It’s because I pwned yankee hotel foxtrot for all of a month and a half before it got lifted from me…aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!)

I am loving this webcast. Hope you saw the link on the sideblog this afternoon and are enjoying it as much as me…

I guess I really don’t know where to begin about the see-store. She is a tough shell to crack. Perhaps, as many are likely to tell you — it is because she is already cracked. It’s a difficult task – but something that must be done, because the previous object sitting there amongst the rest of the heartstrings is urging me on.

Sitting here in my ship, softly swaying from side to side, the dizzying rhythms of the deep calling me away from shore and safehaven, I must admit that one of the stowaways has kept my attention if but by a perverse inclination to take in its loathsomeness out of the corner of my eye. Like on dry land, when speeding across the great terrain one comes upon one of those instances of circumstance where two opposing objects meet in a horrific accident – you can not tear your eyes away from the disturbing scenes ushered to the side of your path. Here I detect this sensation, morbid fascination, emanating from that same thing that has managed to wrangle itself into my world.

My world. What has it become? I hardly recognize it.

As alluded to previously, the see-store is a creature of mysterious qualities. She began as one thing, and then, whilst away at one of the great learning institutions of this country, became another. Behind those walls some cataclysmic event transformed a loyal patron of hair care products into the prototype for a weopan of mass destruction within that industry.

I can’t account for that. I wasn’t there.

There are only fractals now. Keywords. A&W. Living at Aunt Susy’s. Zeta Tau Alpha. And mosquito netting around the bed in Michigan in the early stages of pre-madonnahood.

I remember watching the grammys when Prince won, I believe his acceptance speech back in 1984 was simply “Thank you,” — but see-store swooned…Pops laughed. I think he was somewhat annoyed because we had to keep switching back and forth from one of his favorite shows…or something. What a strange memory to seep beneath the decks.

I remember slugging my see-store by the garage door in Snellville. I wasn’t happy. I was sick of her shit. I knocked her ass to the ground. Then I got the life lesson of never hitting a woman…I still think she learned something that day. As did I.

The developmental years, for me being those teenage disasters, featured little of our subject. She was off – everywhere and nowhere at the sametime. I don’t know what lessons she may have learned traversing the country in her jingly outfits – but learned she became – and learned she is still becoming – now working towards becoming a master of education.

I think that perhaps the memory that pops up most when focusing my thoughts on see-store is that of my first Grateful Dead show. It’s easy to say now, that having taken in experiences brought about by my presence at such carnival like events has shaped the being that I have become today. It is a being that tries repeatedly to escape its form — like play-doh that oozes out of the sides of its molder, I have become something of a creature that doesn’t want to be bound by any outside fence. I am that worm that you roll over in your hands, continuously expanding snakewise into the world. Eventually I will thin it out, snap, and the remnants will be taken up and smashed into something completely different. Such is life. Such is the end.

Back to the show.

While we were headed out into the midst of this curious parking lot I had the burden of overwhelming excitement that would cling to me, and has clinged to me to this day, of a man on the brink. I was entering into something unknown. There was danger, as was evident in my mother’s eyes when she warned me, “Don’t eat any brownies or any food from strangers…” Oh. Wow. What the hell was she talking about? Strangers were going to give me food?

I was more concerned with what was lying ahead — within — the Omni. I’d prepped myself with several cassettes procured from the local library branch – and walking towards that structure under the summer sun, I was happily wondering aloud what numbers could possibly be unleashed before us that evening. I wondered aloud so eagerly and so often that the admonishment came blunt and straight to the point, “Just don’t sing.”

I felt I’d done something wrong, and looking around there were so many smiling faces that I couldn’t help but wonder whether they weren’t all smiling at my expense. Those same smiling faces – cheeks fading away into wild eyes of delight, would continue to surround me in the coming years, though they were of far more comfort after I had released myself from my own microscope.

I remember getting into the arena, sitting around for awhile while the air filled with greetings of friends and a general buzz of excitement. I remember the lights going down and thousands of other small flickering lights answering. I remember a bright light flashing down in our vicinity and a crackling voice coming from something in the dark that wielded a halo of purple hair croaking out “No smoking!” At some point the see-store grabbed me and we waded out into the masses, the music muffled behind us as we stepped into the rotunda, suddenly stepping one foot over the other into higher altitudes, and the music growing louder as we re-entered a portal.

“Welcome to my section,” the fellow with the ponytail said at the end of the tunnel.

“This is us,” see-store said. And all was well. There was music. There was dancing. There was music. There was dancing. And dancing. And Dancing. And DANCING. AND DANCING AND

“Hey, are you allright?” I turned and looked at whoever it was that had interrupted my groove and my glance was answered by another smiling face of eyes.

“Yeah. uhh. I’m fine.” I answered, already feeling teenage sweat quickly flowing into every nervous pore.

“Well, you’re just dancing too fast,” he said. And everyone around him laughed. And that laughter echoed inside me. And I was sad. And I sat down for the first time all night and see-store turned to me and said,

“Hey, are you allright?” And I looked up at her and told her no, that those guys said I was dancing too fast and I feel like an idiot and

“Those guys are assholes. Don’t listen to assholes.” She almost literally picked me up and made me dance while turning her evil evil evil evil glare on those guys. Believe me, you don’t want to see my see-store’s evil glare.

So the show ended, with Baba O’Riley as the encore. I don’t remember much else of it — but I do remember that see-store and I had shared something. Perhaps the first something of substance in quite some time…

(There was, of course that time that we were both rehearsing for Cheaper By the Dozen while she was in high school and I told the director that see-store had quit and then found out that I totally got it all wrong and then got the part and I’m really sorry see-store but I swear that at that age I can’t be held responsible for delivering messages of that magnitude…I still don’t know what I was supposed to say…but I was damn good in Cheaper By the Dozen!!)

Some time later, or perhaps sometime before, time is but an invention of man, see-store presented me with the object in question. Once again I was hesitant in my acceptance, but there was no willishrinx to usurp my acquisition, and I found myself somewhat reluctantly accepting the object under discrimination. Many years have passed, but I find myself more than ever before that the following conversation took place:

“What the hell is it?”
“It’s a monster. It’s cool. Want it?”
“Uhhh…I don’t know.”
“Well, take it. It’s yours.”

So there you have it. A monster. She went about explaining the spine and the mouth and tail…Something you will have to decide for yourself upon a secondary perusing of the object…But point them out she did, with enthusiasm — an enthusiasm I see rarely effected in persons I meet in the world. Which is why I think that the see-store should be taking this opportunity to voice that enthusiasm, becoming a beacon of weirdness that yezbick.com so desperately needs more of. We have set up her home – but I fear that perhaps she is a little like me at that first concert — worried about dancing too fast. Therefore — dear readers, be you of blood or of some other earthly connection — I call upon you to hereby add your own say — no matter how fast you dance — to let the see-store know that the emptiness in the cyberspace set aside for her is unacceptable. PLEASE. For the love of all that is…errr. ummm…yezbick? just leave a comment and let see-store know we’d all like to know what exactly goes on in the mind of a Yezbick-Bays on the west coast.

Thank You. Good Night. And now you can all get back to your reality television and Ronald Reagan OD.

Oh…and I guess you probably want another object to think about too….

And this time we’ll make you think…

That said — with a full belly – Tuesday calls me out of the house – away from the daily drudgery that saturates my soul – and into the airplane hangar that Michael Row calls a garage. There I set up the laptop and microphone – moisten my reed – and blow my horn to my hearts content. I’ll also play a lil keys, some strings — not excelling at any of the above – but performing like a true Keith Lockhart – a utility man if you will. It just feels good. It’s a release of the grease of life that never seems to cease it’s coagulation during the rest of the week.

As time winds down – and the synergy of music and add extra ingredients here remains, there is but little choice to proceed to the bar. I’ve spoken of this bar before. In a sense – it is still virgin territory for me. In another sense – everybody there already knows way too much about me because of this guy. Handsome little shit, no?

Anyhow – It was his birthday this past Tuesday – and the roomie and I decided to walk up to the cantina to celebrate. Other than a bunch of loud rednecks yelling around our table, which inevitably led to mixed feelings of amusement/annoyment — nothing quite like the boobierama was presented to fascinate us.

Still – being the creative fellows we are – Monsieur and I found several interesting things on the walk home to keep our minds from wandering.

Tomorrow should be no different. Except for the fact that I may be jobless.

I could be entering into the world of unemployment by my own volition after today’s shift. We’d had a meeting at the job a coupla weeks ago where I spoke of an upcoming venture into the balmy wang of America to visit the grandparents with my parental units. I was told, even though I didn’t have the dates handy, it wouldn’t be a problem to get the time off. The non-problem, of course, turned out to be a problem – when I didn’t get said dates of departure from the parental units in time to put in a schedule request. The schedule had been made the same day I received those dates – and I noticed that the planned excursion from the 18th thru the 25th was thwarted by three shifts – Friday, Saturday and Sunday. In times gone by, those shifts wouldn’t have been a problem – but the restaurant is working with five cooks now – two of whom are also occasional bussers. This made rearranging the schedule impossible. I posted a note asking for the shifts to be picked up, along with an offer to trade out – but at last glance – only half of the double I’d been pegged for on Sunday had been scratched out.

Four years of underemployment may now be dissolved. Four years. So that after this Tuesday – I’ll have no reason to get outta bed at all – until I go to Florida on Thursday.

The past two weeks have been something of a headache. Changes were being made to the schedule with a lack of communication. Management shifts were replaced by cooking shifts — and that double on Sunday was something like a nail in the coffin. Seniority didn’t mean shit anymore. The cooks/bussers were refusing to work doubles on the busiest day of the week – which left me to carry the load. Adding a cook would eliminate the need for those doubles – but that would be too easy.

Yesterday was also an eye opener. A former cook who still comes in from time to time to pick up odd shifts had decided to pick up the busy brunch shift. I watched as the GM bent over backwards to keep this guy happy. It was curious for its peculiar generation on this day. I hadn’t seen behavior like this in many moons.

Still – I am wary of making that leap into the abyss. I hope somehow the remaindered shifts will be scratched out when I show up today – but if anything is painfully obvious – its that my happiness on the job isn’t as important as choice others. I’ve never walked away before without two weeks notice. I don’t wanna do it now — but I don’t see how I could be walking into anything but an improvement.

Classes don’t begin in earnest until the fall – and I want to get back into the swing of academia, if only because I have no other long term plans – and I enjoy the enlightenment.

I can’t wait until Tuesday.

Today was at best describable as a curiousity that can be reflected on but should not be delved into at any great extent, (which unfortunately I manage to do anyways) for the risk of destroying the fragile yolk that contains all its vitality is great. Advancing through the day was akin to the ordered egg – not quite over easy (difficult to make – easy to break), nor was it over hard (easy to make – no fear of the break) – rather it wound up somewhat akin to over medium – the perfect blend of form and content.

Before the first slam on the snooze the subconscious became the stimulus for awakening when I was delivered into a pseudo-nightmare. Perhaps the cause could be attributed to the long hours I spend in repetitive motions – turning to glance over the shoulder, the eyes locking in on an order – then twisting back to deliver, an automaton performing menial tasks while the mind takes the snaps of the whip – hardly a bristle on the hairs of the mane – long since fenced in.

Since the change in the weather arrived – not quite bundle-worthy, no longer short-warmy enough – the wardrobe has had to adjust. I’ve grown unfamiliar with the winter clothes over the past year – failing to recall which jeans were too tight – which hung comfortably loose – not obnoxiously revealing my hiked up boxer waist band. It is my custom to brandish a belt with any article of clothing that has loops produced for the sole purpose of containing such an accessory. It just seems odd to wear pants without one these days — even if a shirt is blocking the waistline from view. (One must ask oneself – what is the purpose of beltloops? Should we not attempt to saturate every possibility of fulfillment in our lives?)

Unfortunately – in the waking hours of the day – I often find myself not to be functioning at full capability. For a string of early morning risings – hurried efforts to arrive at the menial job on time led to inattention to vanity. After twisting and turning countless times – kinesthesia in the kitchen inevitably led to lubrication of the epidermis in the form of sweat — thus causing a descension in the level of heighth that my leg coverings could maintain. Putting two and two together you can easily come to the conclusion that this cycle of events inevitably leads to a case of plumber’s crack. Not acceptable. Not for me. I don’t let just anyone take a peek at the wonders of my self – if even just a portion. There is a lot hidden here – there is a lot hidden even from my own consciousness – and perhaps it took my subconsciousness to reveal the bitterness my own life has formed – hidden somewhat by the glossy coat of an over medium effort.

The pseudonightmare involved this turning motion – continuously – ad infinitum, ad nauseam, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Odd in the sense that I could perceive this without actually experiencing it in the nightmare because in my slumbers I was only clued into the aftereffects – but it was there – I knew what I had done…Having clocked out and returned home – eagerly anticipating the shower that would cleanse the slime from my shell – the hot water having already obscured my reflection in the mirror – I could feel the pain in my back. It wasn’t the normal pain, the dull sense that my spine is curved, the added stress on the hips and lower espalda, there was something different. So I leaned over and with my still grimy palm cleared away a space in the mirror to view what the few have relished. In an effort to discern what exactly had become a unique sensation – I repeated the motions of the day – and revealed the shredded remnants of a human form one could only expect to see on rotten.com. The twisting and turning of the day had chafed my unseen side to the muscle. There in the reflected glass were visible the sinewy threads of my back — like a cow hung in the butcher shop. I could see the inner workings of life. It was horrendous.

I awoke and glanced at the clock and saw that I still had over half an hour to replicate the working state from the night before. I cast myself into sleep only moments before the alarm awoke me for the first time. Snooze. Then again – the alarm roused me – and upon opening my eyes I was in a different world. Everything was made of gold. The sun wasn’t necessarily beaming through the windows – whose blinds are left aloft so that the rays act as a natural alert in case of alarm failure – the sun was blasting its way across the sky – and whatever clouds were in said sky were magnifying the effects tenfold. I literally could not see anything but gold. Disturbing.

After a few more snoozes it became inevitable that I would have to make my way to “the office.” Driving along still pondering the pink-eyed bandit that returned my stare raccoon-like into the mirror – I safely found my way to the usual parking spot to the side of the deli. Once inside – I knew – everything would be different.

A few cups of coffee and a few earlybird customers gave way to a rather odd encounter with one of the newbies on the floor…I never saw him come back into the kitchen but he greeted me with a “Hey Kevin” on his way out — but it was in front of the drink station where he would approach Maia, who had met him only once while she was training him, and ask herr, “Could I ask you a personal favor? I’m going to the Falcons game today and I was wondering if I could borrow some money.” This was somewhere along the lines of 8am…The game wasn’t until 4 in the afternoon. We all thought it a little freaky – and the easy conclusion was that he had been up all night on a speed binge…The question immediately went up on the 86 board as the quote of the day — but the peculiarities of this Sunday Brunch were far from over.

Not soon after Kristen came back into the kitchen and grabbed Coleman — and visibly upset explained that there was a man out there who had demanded a seat and when she wouldn’t see him demanded to see her boss. Probably not the best of ideas as her boss is now her husband…His main beef (Ha Ha! That used to say man beef — and…yeah…whatever)was that he didn’t like the deli policy of not sitting incomplete parties – and he had already stated that he was meeting someone…When Kristen told him he’d have to wait he went off on her…So she did as he requested and retrieved her boss — and the man soon found another unspoken policy I’m sure he didn’t agree with – we at the deli try to treat each other with respect – and we don’t serve assholes…So he was sent on his way…

Amazing how a tiny box can attract so many different people just by way of offering the same food, day in, day out. Conditioned…like rats.

But perhaps to top the entire morning off – right at the peak of the brunch rush – an entire dojo walked in. “Kevin – just come over here and look at the door, now…” Paul the runner said with excitement. I stepped out from behind the line and saw a group of middle aged guys all decked out in their karate gear…I couldn’t contain my own excitement – and exclaimed – “Put Him in a Body Bag Johnny!!!” – much to the delight of all…Fortunately — they didn’t hear me…and the day drudged on…

That said – I now begin another string of days off…For some reason they want me to go in at 3 on Wednesday — even though we close at 5 — but I’ve already decided I won’t be wasting anyone’s time…I do enough of that here at home…So I have four days off — to ponder and train myself to avoid Davezilla’s wrath for my constant improper use of ellipses. Perhaps I should look into my addiction to hypens as well.