TO: All Crane, Poole & Schmidt employees
FROM: Carl Sack
SUBJ: Dress code
In case you’ve all forgotten basic rules of proper etiquette, let me remind you. Pants must be worn at all times. Consider this the 7-Eleven rule. But instead of No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service, it’s No Pants, No Paycheck. Better yet, consider it the Edwin Poole Rule -- No Pants, We Send You To the Nuthouse.
Questions? Feel free to stop by my office. With pants on.
This is a note to let those on Carl's f-list know that, due for several reasons, I will no longer be writing Carl at theatrical_muse
*sigh* I'm in the process of dropping a couple of my muses, but this one makes me particularly sad, as it is less for the sake of time...and more because of my inability to get on board with what they're doing to what used to be one of my favorite shows.
It's become really difficult, and frustrating, for me to be able to write Carl and particularly to then fit that into the context of prompts. It's especially hard because he's a character that I've truly come to love, in a fandom where he's essentially been used as a prop and it's easy for him to simply be this hated killjoy and not the complex character I know he really is.
That being said, I'm not chucking Carl out the window -- I just don't know the frequency that I will write him or play him. I actually have a couple of possible storylines for him of my own making, for the future, depending on how this season turns out.
My frustrations with the show and fandom aside, I have loved interacting with the people I've met in the context of playing Carl at TM, particularly mr_colbert
. I hope to still chat with you guys, and Carl will probably leave an occasional comment.
[OOC: I meant to put this up after Carl's last post, so uh...bendy-time...]
For Wednesday, February 13th.
On Carl's voicemail, and on his office email's AutoReply is the following message:
You've reached Carl Sack. As of Wednesday evening, February 13th, I will be out of the office until next Monday, February 18th. If you need to reach me, do it before 6pm on Wednesday, as I will not be taking phone calls, except in cases of emergency, while I am gone.
OOC: So yeah if anyone wants to drop by his office or call him "before Wednesday the 13th at 6pm", feel free to comment.
OOC: First of all, HUGE spoilers for 4x13 Glow in the Dark. Secondly, this was ridiculously difficult to write and I'm still processing in my head a lot of the ramifications of last night's episode, so bear with me. Also, while the entry is locked, OOC comments/feedback are MUCH appreciated.( 216. ImpossibleCollapse )word count: 545
Forget the half time show. It was more like Tom Brady and the Heartbreakers tonight.
And what do you know, I won the office Super Bowl pool.
OOC: *cries* Well at least CARL is happy about tonight's outcome. I'm not. :(
He was a senior partner. He had won a ridiculous amount of cases in his time as a trial lawyer, logged an uncountable amount of hours at the firm’s various branches. He went wherever they needed him to, did the dirty work that no one wanted to.
Carl Sack was defined by his job and he was okay with that. In the legal world, he was great.
That is, until he came to Boston.
In Boston, it seemed it didn’t matter how ridiculous you were or what a mockery you could make out of the Constitution. You could be a helmet-wearing, homophobic, gavel-abusing judge and still, no one said anything. You could be a once-great, losing-his-mind, joke of a man…and still. No one said anything.
And yet try to enforce the rules, try to win with a modicum of dignity…and no one liked you. They respected a man for saving salmon but save an endangered rooster and they made cock jokes the rest of your life.
Word Count: 166
I'm sure it'll make me
even more unpopular around here, being as how this is New England and all, but I'll say it now.
OOC: Oh, that KILLED me to write. For the record? The writer says, GO PATS!
Carl stared at the Magic Eight Ball as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk.
“Okay, ball,” he muttered to the toy, “Show me what you’ve got. Odds of Shirley dropping me by the Spring.” He shook the thing and then made a face at the answer. “Too soon to tell? What kind of crap answer is that?”
…he was talking to an inanimate object. He sat up straight, clearing his throat.
“As long as you don’t start having feelings for the inanimate object, you’re good,” he told himself. And then he wondered when he’d begun talking to himself.
He took a deep breath. He told Shirley he would try and he was. He really was trying.
After glancing at the Magic Eight ball again, Carl reached over, picked it up and stood. He went out of his office and to the empty break room. With an amused look, he set the Magic Eight ball down on the table, then walked out of the room.
OOC: The Magic Eight Ball is open for questions! Even if your character isn't in the BL-verse, feel free to have them walk in to the break room at Crane, Poole & Schmidt and ask a question to the Magic Eight Ball. I will answer all questions posed to the ball with an answer/prediction/rude remark. Happy shaking!
word count: 270 (not counting OOC, obviously)
[[Locked]] [[OOC: However, OOC comments are welcome!]
I am afraid of growing accustomed to living in Boston. Not just the view of the Charles River or the skyline or the food – but the firm, as well. I do not want to get used to the zaniness. While it does help the workday to become more tolerant of my surroundings, I don’t want to become light on my feet, complacent.
I’m afraid of waning in value. I’m a lawyer—of course I view myself in terms of value, net worth, assets and liabilities. Being held in high esteem is important to me. I am a confident man but like any normal human being, I allow my worth to lie in what others think of me. Here, I am the fuddy-duddy, the killjoy, the man who has failed to get through (well I think perhaps I’ve reached Katie at the least. Maybe Jerry, after he felt the need to go hide under my desk).
Most of all, I am afraid of losing myself here. Honestly, I’m afraid of what’ll happen if Shirley finally tires of me. It’s not that I can’t live without her. It’s that I don’t want to. There is part of me that wonders if New York will be waiting for me if Boston falls through. Always have a back up plan – that’s me, the man with a plan. Until now.
Word count: 225