A Day In The Life (And Other Banalities...)

So I have been having this on again, off again epiphany about a certain woman in my life, and I feel like it is time to divulge it to the world. My girlfriend of four years, Alex, is it for me. It's one of those things that I have always known, but I suppose embracing that in its entirety is like inhaling a bowling ball. Nonetheless, check my esophagus, cuz I am inhalin' waylon. I am so not the typical emo dude, emoting himself all over his friends in a sad Death Cab for Cutie kind of way. Not me. I am just me. And I think the catharsis comes in the form of saying it, confirming it, and embracing it.

So Alex, as if you didn't know:

You're it for me. I know how you feel about PDA, so this isn't gonna go over as swimmingly as I may hope. After all we have been through, good and bad, I choose you.

Moving on, the move is in full swing. The house was closed on. I am no longer a resident of 13 Rosewood Dr. Pretty fucked, if you ask me. So many good things have happened in this house, that I am spending one of my last nights ever in. Merrick, here I come. I met a new neigh-bot when we were moving shit into the new house last night. Her name is Lorraine, and upon finding out my musical background, she insisted on informing me that she has audio acuity. I instinctively apologized, and then had this revelation: Fuck you. My parents worked their rears off to buy this house, for me to enjoy. That includes my musical pursuits.

I am done with the venting of grievances and airing of my undulating feelings towards Alexandra. Thanks for your time.

So yes, as previously mentioned, I am officially leaving my longtime home of Massapequa to enjoy the "shallow" depths of Merrick. For anyone who may not understand what shallow infers, take a drive down to Merrick sometime and you'll soon realize I am not referring to the sea level. I don't belong there. My family doesn't belong there. It is a semi-stab in the back that I won't be finishing my college career in the home where I began pre-school. I reflect, and yes, it seems trivial at times. But how I am supposed to de-sentimentalize my abode of so long? And the expediency in which this move is occurring, jesus. The thought crossed my parents mind on the Fourth of July. Within a week, we had a sign on our lawn. I am not as afraid of change as I was as a kid, but I am still too shell shocked to react as an adult. I have been to my new house ONCE, and we are already boxing things. I hate this process.

As I write this, Freddie G is asking how to spell Hors Doeuvres. When I told him he looked at me and said "Ours Devours? What da fuck?"

Please enlighten me with your insights and conclusions.

On a lighter note, I am reconnecting with old high school friends, and it feels great. Except for Andrew Demarco. He's still a douche.

So it has been a few days since my last post, and there will certainly be a shortage of Freddie G. anecdotes in the next few days, as the man is in Texas for a tradeshow (someone has to keep tabs on all the hotel rooms in Austin, and I know of no man more qualified). But before he trekked into the land of the Alamo, our man celebrated his birthday right here, in Hauppauge! That's right people, Wormtail has turned 42! Wormtail, by the way, will be his new alias, as I was informed the more I use his name it will become more googleable. Fear not, though. Once I leave Samson, I will have some F-man stories backlogged and ready to posted, full name and all. Wormtail was the name I had decided on after watching Vanilla Sky and noticing Tim Spall has a striking resemblance to the G. What do we think:


But I digress. So the man walks in for his birthday jubilee at Samson, and is crushed to find that no one had a clue that today was the anniversary of the day the earth was blessed with his presence. While grumbling to himself that this was indeed, "Da worst fucking birfday eva..." I make my way to the break room, where I had a delicious cup of coffee and a free bagel (the freeness making it only more delicious of course).

So as I consumed my free sesame bagel, I overhead the faint sound of mumbled singing. Although barely audible, I knew the melody as, of course, the birthday song. I returned to my box only to find my cohort, Matt, grinning from ear to ear. Afraid to speak aloud, I instant messaged him, begging him divulge exactly what the singing was about.

Apparently, Mr. G had said that his birthday was going miserably, and REQUESTED the attention of the office for a moment, so that the audience herein could sing to him. That's right, folks. Our boy asked people to sing the birthday song. It then dawned on me that the singing wasn't faint due to distance. It was dim because of the lack of desire to sing to the G.

It is sad when someone has to ask to be sung to on their birthday, but it is miserable when you have to beg for attention. This is reminiscent of an episode of The Office, for those who enjoy this show. I'll leave you with this quote:

"Oh wow, doughnuts."
"Yeah, they're for my birthday."
"Wow, it's your birthday?"
"You forgot"
"Yeah, I guess I did."
"Well, then I guess I forgot to give you a doughnut."

PS- In personal news, my parents have decided to move. More to come, as my life begins to disintegrate.

So it is now time for me to introduce you to the man, the myth, the legend: Freddie. We'll start with a brief back-story:

Fred Giovanelli is a former Sam Ash employee/manager. Like most of my coworkers, who have had some affiliation with Sam Ash (once my internship is over, I assure you I will rail against this "fine music retailer") A basic grunt, working repair. As he worked his way up the ranks, he became a manager of the repair shop, and (and this is the hilarious part) roadie to Jack Knight, the now VP of operations at Samson Technologies. So as Mr. Knight progressed into the enthralling world of music products, so followed Mr. G. Freddie G. was made Trade Show Coordinator, a seemingly important job with much travel.

The Catch: Freddie G's only task is to book hotel rooms. I swear. That's it. He books hotel rooms for the various employees who travel to musical tradeshows. Also, whilst on two of these tradeshows, he has had full blown heart attacks. As a matter of fact, today at work, he almost induced number three! He sat in his box and wept (I swear, wept) and kept pounding his chest, claiming, "Fuck, I need a hospital, Fuck, Fuck..." He's a true class act.

So as a preamble, understand this man does no work all day. I know this from sharing a wall with him in my shitbox of a cubicle. I listen to his conversations, and either laugh myself to tears, or just plain cry about how meaningless his and my time at Samson are.

Catch #2: Freddie G. is Paul in a Beatles cover band. Here's a Pic:


The majority of this man's phone calls per day revolve(r) around this band, The Remnants. Thus, let me begin Chapter One.

Freddie begins a phone call with a man identified only as Rusty. Rusty is well known around the office as the drummer of
The Remnants (a new replacement). After some sluething, i learned that Rusty is 400 pounds, plays a small Ludwig drumset (looks similar to a Fischer Price Set) and is, I shit you not, the heir to the Cheese Doodle. Mr. Rusty's grandfather is the inventor of the confectionery cheesy treat that has filled our lunchboxes since youth. Apparently in Rusty's case, doubly so.

So, to end this already long post, let me get to the story and quotes from this ensuing fiasco.

Freddie is calling to review that evenings set list, which will contain Day Tripper, Birthday and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (but no Eleanor Rigby, FUCK ELEANOR RIGBY IN HER ASS, says Freddie). Freddie begins reviewing the evenings attire. "Yeah, blue fuckin vest wit da fuckin tie. No, the blue vest, fuck! Wait, did you just email me? I fuckin HATE when you email me. Look at dis shit, i ain't got no fuckin use fah dis!" On and on, typical Freddie. But then it gets good:

"So you takin da PA? Whoa, Whoa, I can't take da fuckin ting! Fit it in ya cah. IN YAH CAH! Jesus, you bitch, what, are you smokin ova deah? You stupid ass, you just recovered from lung cancer! You are the only dumbfuck I know who still smokes two packs a day after cancer. Anyway, you have to take da PA. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T FIT DA MIKES? PUT EM IN YA FUGGIN GLOVE COMPARTMENT. JESUS, IN YA POCKET YOU ASS. YOU WEAR SIZE 50 PANTS, PUT IT IN YA BACK POCKET."

At this point, the office is being disrupted by this saint of a man, so someone shouts out, "Jesus Freddie, this is ridiculous!'

Freddie's response: "Ya hear dis, Rusty. People can hear our conversation, and day say yous are ridiculous."

He proceeds to yell for ten more minutes, and hangs up on poor Rusty. He stands up from his cubicle, looks directly at me and says, and I quote:

"Some people, huh? They are just so fuckin out of da loop."

So this is my first official posting on my new Livejournal, which was prompted after reading my girlfriends Livejournal for four years. I don't believe people have the desire to read my words, and I used to believe that it was unbelievably superficial and self-centered. But the more I reflected, the more I wrote to myself, the more I realized the cathartic undertones that lie within posting your meager thoughts to a disinterested crowd. It goes hand-in-hand with song writing, in that by venting your words through music, you can turn the mountain back into the mole hill, so to speak. So I guess my intentions are three-fold:

1- To use this journal as a tool in transforming my myopic outlook (at times) to a more worldly view, all while maintaining a non-pretentious tone (a goal I find hard to achieve, I admit)

2- To share my various opinions on world happenings, whether political, social, musical or literary, but not preaching, cuz no one likes the preachy guy.

3- Most importantly, to document the life of Frederick Giovanelli, aka Freddy, for the duration of my stay at Samson Technologies. My new summer home, a bit different than camp, but still retaining some fairly ridiculous scenarios that I'm sure will enlighten you and, at the very least, encourage you that working a 9-5 at an unhappy place is not the way to go. The Tales of Freddy G. (this is how I will title every post in reference to this interesting specimen of a man) will surely shock and roll you.

So in closing, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it, whether it is only Alex and her myriad of Livejournal friends, or whomever else stumbles into this cove of frustrated mumblings.

Coming Soon....

The Tales of Freddy G.- Chapter 1- Freddy G. and The Cheese Doodle King!