Wait A Minute

// Life is too long to wait.

By Tristan Smith .
08.09.09 // Wait A Minute

With the exceptions of the GPS signals that irradiate my left-of crotch every day, and the way life slows to one frame per second when I fall off a bike or watch a very, very pretty girl walk by, I don’t believe in magic.

However.  I do believe in a variety of phenomena.  These fall somewhere between philosophy and coincidence.  And an entire category of these are based on not waiting one more minute.

If I want my food to come, I go to the bathroom.  Then my hands are clean and I avoid the “aowhoahh hooray” and pointing out who got the cutlet and who got the western omelet.

This also works for elevators.  I’ll head for the stairs, then hustle back at the sound of a ding.  I feel like I should apologize to the other riders.  But I never do.  This is because they should be thanking me.

I sometimes do not wait to finish chewing my food before responding in a conversation.  This is because a long silence with rapid chewing and gestures that say “I have something to say” is more weird than just saying it.  At least I hope so.  I’ve never noticed what other people do.  I have friends despite this or because of this.

But there are phenomena in waiting, too.  Occasionally I’ll sit in my driveway listening to the end of a story on NPR.  This is not because I want to hear it’s conclusion, but rather because a tiny bit of anticipation improves the smell of my house.  This works about 60% of the time.

(I think magic requires 98%)

View Comments / Aug 09.09 / Wait A Minute / by Tristan Smith

// The Robot Diaries: Chapter 1

By Elektrovideo .
08.08.09 // Wait A Minute

The Robot Diaries from elektrovideo on Vimeo.

View Comments / Aug 08.09 / Wait A Minute / by Elektrovideo

// We’re Only as Strong as What We’re Running From

By Charles Hodges .
08.08.09 // Wait A Minute

1.

I sat outside the strip club with Bruce, the bouncer.  I had already been in.  Got a twelve-dollar beer.  Got a lap dance.  Got the free mouth wash in the bathroom.  Tipped the blind guy who kept the sinks clean.

“Don’t fucking throw up on me, or I will whoop your honky ass,” Bruce said.
“What?”
“I said, I’ve seen five of you guys come out of the this place and throw up everywhere.  You’re the only one who hasn’t thrown up yet. ”
“I’m fine.  I’m not even with those guys.  They are a bunch of lawyers from downtown.  They were in the there celebrating how one of them made partner.  They bought everybody shots, kept talking about their wives.”
“Those guys are married?”

My phone rang.

“Wait a minute, I have to answer this.”

2.

I had been sitting at home for the entire evening.  This was the third time Jared had gone hunting for earthworms at night.  Yes, I was three months pregnant.  Yes, I watched reruns of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.  Yes, I ate the Breyers in the garage freezer.  It was Friday.  I was alone, and he wouldn’t answer his phone.  I sat there.  I sat there looking at my signed picture of Pat Sajak and his dimples.  I would have been a really good Vanna White, not because I would be good at turning letters, but because, like her, I have a beautiful, birth-given stage name – Stacy Osgold.

If Jared won’t answer his phone, then I will stay here in the bathroom and practice my poses.  Wait a minute, did I leave the oven on?

3.

I hadn’t seen Bruce in days.  Drinking, smoking, always working at the club.  Three days til the court case and we still didn’t know what we’re gonna do.  The hot peanuts made my temples sweat.  Wasn’t good with this July heat. The pears were bruising.  They weren’t even my pears.  They were Bruce’s.  My phone rang.

“Hello.”
“Hey.”
“When are you coming home?
“I don’t fucking know.  I got lawyers throwing up all over the parking lot, a limousine just blew a flat in a handicap space and I still have diarrhea from your mom’s lasagna.”
“You went back for seconds.”
“So a man should be punished for wanting more food?”
“Call me when you get home.”
“No, wait a minute, what are you doing?”

4.

I had worked at the firm for seven years.  Pricks, all of them, except my boys.  We we’re all jazzed up and ready to hit the town.  It was my birthday, and Shannon had given me a free night with the boys.  We were going to the strip club, Dollbabes – the one out by the freeway.  We were gonna get wicked fucked up and bring home some stink to the Ramada.

I hit the bouncer in the face with the bottle.  He pushed me because I had thrown up on a limousine.  It had a flat tire.  It wasn’t going anywhere.  He took me by surprise.  When I punched him, all of the blood went on the guy next to him.  It got all over his phone.  The bouncer fell to the ground and shit his pants.

“What the fuck did you just do?” said my boy.
“He’s fine, just wait a minute.”

5.

I walked in the house at 4 AM.  She wasn’t happy.  She had glitter on her face.  I could tell she had been practicing her poses again.

“How many worms did you get tonight?”
“About twenty.”
“Why are you covered in blood?”
“Because a few exploded.”
“Exploded?”
“Yeah.”
“So, let me get this straight.  You went out hunting for earthworms at midnight.  It took you four hours to find twenty, except for a couple that exploded on you?”
“I’ve got to go the bathroom.  Wait a minute.”

6.

When I got to the house the entire thing had been engulfed in flames.  No one had a chance.  Smoke poured out and some papers were blown out of the hole in the kitchen.  As I sat there watching the rookies control the spread, a piece of paper fell into my hands.  It was a signed 8 x 10 of Pat Sajak.  My wife loved Pat Sajak.  She was going to love this.  It was in fine shape, a little warm yes, but in fine shape.  I folded it and put it in my pocket.  After an hour the fire still raged and I had a thought, I said, wait a minute, did my wife like Pat Sajak or Alex Trebek?

View Comments / Aug 08.09 / Wait A Minute / by Charles Hodges

// Fuck You Beatles

By Joey Camire .
08.07.09 // Wait A Minute

Irony.

Last night I spent about three hours working on my post for today.  I had written a short essay, or whatever you would like to call it, and was experimenting with kinetic typography.  It was working surprisingly well.  I was learning a new program, and making something cool. BAM. Crash.  Never saved. Fuck me. The irony, based on what I had written was unavoidable.  I had just had three hours yanked out from underneath me.

1 x 180 minutes.

I don’t know how enjoyable what I wrote will be given that it is not at all visually stimulating now, but I hope the experience makes you smile.  I may try to start over and build it again.  However, I will more than likely just chalk it up to a good violation from the powers at be and take my new skills and build a Kinetic Typography piece in the coming weeks.

Here is what I had written.  If you are interested.

Fuck the Beatles.
Fuck ‘em all.
Every single one of them.
Time is not on your side.
No it ain’t.
They lied to a generation
Time is like a school yard bully.
Bound and determined to make you cry.
Only less in-you-face.
And a lot smarter.
Time is a stealthy foe.
Striking constantly.
Moving silently across your face.
Through you hair.
Up your back.
Around your prostate.
Constantly picking at everything you value.
Stealing your youth like candy from a bowl.
It never missed an opportunity.
And never will.
In that way, it is the perfect opponent.
Everything you’ve ever wanted to do, but waited . . .
Time has taken from you and will never give back.
Doesn’t sound like a friend in your corner, John.
Inevitably we’ll all lose the battle against time.
Though some may put up a better fight.
But know this . . .
Next time you ask someone for a minute…
you are asking for something you can never pay back.
When you ask someone for a minute, make sure it’s worth it.

View Comments / Aug 07.09 / Wait A Minute / by Joey Camire

// Poor Bethany

By Alex Aloise .
08.06.09 // Wait A Minute

View Comments / Aug 06.09 / Wait A Minute / by Alex Aloise

// My Effing Watch Stopped Working

By Jake Dubs .
08.05.09 // Wait A Minute

So needless to say, I’ve been waiting more than a minute.

Zing. I’ll be here all week.

Sorta. Not really. I mean, I’ll be checking the site all week, but I won’t literally be here here.

Know what I’m saying?

No?

Wow, this got awkward fast.

Welp, see ya.

I appreciate you letting me have the last 36 seconds of your life.

It would have been cooler if I took exactly a minute.

Y’know, in celebration of this week’s topic.

Maybe I will.

What else do you have to do right now besides get to the end of this?

It’s probably been a minute by now, right?

I’ll read back through it and time it to make sure.

There. An exactly one minute post.

But only If you don’t play with that instant rim-shot more than once. That bastard is addictive.

Thanks for your time.

I wish I could use it to power my watch.

Only I can’t.

That would be crazy.

K. Bye.

View Comments / Aug 05.09 / Wait A Minute / by Jake Dubs

// Mystery Solving Animal

By Todd Lamb .
08.04.09 // Wait A Minute

View Comments / Aug 04.09 / Wait A Minute / by Todd Lamb

// A multimillionaire of minutes.

By Ben Cheney .
08.04.09 // Wait A Minute

I’m a multimillionaire.  A multimillionaire of minutes.  Over the course of my life (if I’m lucky), I will own about 40,435,200 minutes.  If I lived in a land whose currency was time, such as that of a gold pocket watch that hangs from a gold chain and is attached to a train conductor’s vest that is worn by a man with an enormous, bushy mustache and kind, sparkly eyes, it seems I would be rather rich.

But I don’t live in a gold pocket watch or an antique grandfather clock or an unnecessarily loud alarm clock or any other time piece for that matter.  This doesn’t change much, though, because I’m still rich with many minutes.

I’m not reckless with my minutes, but I’m not frugal either.  I strive to be productive and disciplined, making sure my minutes are always put to good use.  But, I can afford to wait for a minute in many situations, because to wait for a minute is to have patience.  And, in my mind, practicing patience is time well spent.

But I think this is rather rare.  Most people agree to wait for a minute, but end up tapping their foot on the ground to the beat of whatever song is stuck in their head at that particular moment because after several seconds they have reassessed the situation and have come to the ultimate conclusion that they don’t actually have the minute to spare.  They may have a quarter of a minute or half of a minute to spare, but a whole minute is far too precious.  They get angry and annoyed and anxious and agitated because you are wasting a minute that they think they don’t have to spare, even though they probably do, because, like me, they are rich with many minutes.

Keep this in mind.  Be generous with your minutes, and practice patience.  Because you a multimillionaire.  A multimillionaire of minutes.

View Comments / Aug 04.09 / Wait A Minute / by Ben Cheney

// Waiting is Hidden Hesitation

By Jordan Childs .
08.03.09 // Wait A Minute

View Comments / Aug 03.09 / Wait A Minute / by Jordan Childs