I am straddling a dangerous precipice. On one side - the boring, grassy valley of banal; the other a chaotic drop into the rocks and cliches of melodrama.
I guess that first sentence pantsed me and showed off my penchant for the melodramatic.
I guess all blogs are one or the other. Some boring laundry list of dumb stuff people really don't care to read or the preteen angst of a whiny girl. So far I think I've done both! "Blog about it!" is now the burn of choice bandied about by my friends. Can't say I don't deserve it.
I am really resisting the urge to bitch about how AT&T has righteously wronged me, or how the legal system is currently failing me. I can tell you the blogs that I enjoy are just usually making fun of stuff. Right in my wheel house.
Yeah that didn't segue into me making fun of something as well as I would have hoped.
Some days I wake up on my couch and look at my dustbunny floor and remember my dinner last night of a string cheese and 3 musketeer bar - mostly because the wrappers are right there among the area rugs and ikea furniture, I think - I have arrived! Arrived at a fairly appropriate station considering what I've done to get here. Is this the staving artist of today? No it's the willingly malnutritioned underachiever of today.
I'm done with being an underachiever, I don't think I'll ever overachieve, but that's mostly a product of my healthy (read over) confidence. I am ready to achieve! What that means exactly, is still open to interpretation. Will I get a job that utilizes my talents? Or at least a job that doesn't atrophy my brain and allow or even inspire me to pursue creative outlets on the side? That's the next step. The one I have already begun. I am looking for jobs and reading and writing and hoping.
Let's do this.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
It Pours
If the shit flows downstream I am at the bottom of the waterfall right now.
Anyway.
I'm reading, and reading. I am beginning to think I am at a disadvantage here as far as life experience goes. First off, let's get the great authors of the 20th century out of the way - I am not an alcoholic. Second let's take care of all these current writers. I am not some tortured soul with some sordid childhood. My parents are still together, I never got bullied too badly, I have had girlfriends, I didn't spend my childhood friendless and listening to records. I am no wallflower, I have no pathos to mine for the good of my writing.
I could easily invent one. I could write the story of some tortured soul and tickle all the kindred spirits whose lives aren't as hard as they wish and think.
Or maybe I'm on to something. Maybe I could write something that people can actually relate to. Maybe most of us are this social middle class. We aren't all lepers and we certainly aren't all homecoming queens.
Anyway.
I'm reading, and reading. I am beginning to think I am at a disadvantage here as far as life experience goes. First off, let's get the great authors of the 20th century out of the way - I am not an alcoholic. Second let's take care of all these current writers. I am not some tortured soul with some sordid childhood. My parents are still together, I never got bullied too badly, I have had girlfriends, I didn't spend my childhood friendless and listening to records. I am no wallflower, I have no pathos to mine for the good of my writing.
I could easily invent one. I could write the story of some tortured soul and tickle all the kindred spirits whose lives aren't as hard as they wish and think.
Or maybe I'm on to something. Maybe I could write something that people can actually relate to. Maybe most of us are this social middle class. We aren't all lepers and we certainly aren't all homecoming queens.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
We all got it coming, kid.
Photo credit: http://www.lomography.com/homes/digouturblueeyes
Everything always looks so dark in nighttime fisheye pictures. Right over my shoulder is some gaping maw black abyss. How metaphorical!
I've been ramping up the reading lately. Getting me stoked to write something on my own. These somewhat poorly written faux memoirs are right up my alley. I can somewhat poorly write a faux memoir! Exclamation points abound. Only one was completely sarcastic.
I am officially looking for a job. I am doubtful I can find one that matches the freedom of my current job's pantslessness, hopeful that I can improve on the financial standing of a Chuck E. Cheese manager.
Time to put on my big boy pants and do this. I don't want to fall asleep watching DVD reruns of futurama and wake up 10 years in the future singing a Talking Heads song. I am still confident I can get a job that won't steal my soul. I'm not talking about some namby pamby touchy feely nonprofit job either, that's not my bag. I just want something that makes me feel productive and utilized. I am a man with skills! A skilled man! I don't want to be an account manager or alphabetizer. Also, rich would be nice.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Truth Bombs
I don't know how people with blogs keep their friends.
The stuff that would make for legitimately interesting blog posts would certainly piss off the only people that read my blog, my close friends. Maybe I need to be widely read before I can start spilling the beans of the crazy shit that goes down in my life and my friends' lives.
I understand that bitching about strangers in a restaurant isn't exactly gripping or hilarious.
I was talking about this with my friend last night. Well, he was drunkenly yelling at me to write down the actual horrible shit I say and have been through. Writing about last night would probably make a pretty interesting entry, but I don't think writing about the drunken exploits of 33% of my readership would be a good idea moving forward.
Maybe some day I'll write about the embarrassing love triangles and cuckolding of terminally ill people and horrible shit I say about people I know - omelets and eggs and all that.
The stuff that would make for legitimately interesting blog posts would certainly piss off the only people that read my blog, my close friends. Maybe I need to be widely read before I can start spilling the beans of the crazy shit that goes down in my life and my friends' lives.
I understand that bitching about strangers in a restaurant isn't exactly gripping or hilarious.
I was talking about this with my friend last night. Well, he was drunkenly yelling at me to write down the actual horrible shit I say and have been through. Writing about last night would probably make a pretty interesting entry, but I don't think writing about the drunken exploits of 33% of my readership would be a good idea moving forward.
Maybe some day I'll write about the embarrassing love triangles and cuckolding of terminally ill people and horrible shit I say about people I know - omelets and eggs and all that.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Code Blue
My mind was boggled and my ghast was flabbered twice at dinner this weekend.
To set the scene: Lovely Lady and I are feeling peckish. She's got a hankering for the mussels of the bar we go to too much.
It's dinner time on a weekend, so we suspect the place will be a shit show. It is, but we find a seat at the bar. We are seated between the loudest man who ever lived and a mind numbingly boring couple which consists of a pandering boyfriend and his fake wine snob girlfriend.
The LMWEL is like an infomercial pitch man, shitty movie dad and Dick Vitale rolled into one. He's there with what I assume is his son, just aggressively talking at him the entire time. Everything is shouted and everything is advice-y. Not good times.
The couple is just a typical lame-o couple. The girl orders some wine, the bartender brings her a glass. She tastes it. The 'tender asks her how she likes it and before rendering her verdict she needs to know what it is. He tells her it's some whatever white wine from Chile. Ooooh yeah I like it, she responds. Then she lectures her boyfriend on the quality of Chilean white wines, but the crappiness of Chilean reds. BLAH BLAH SNORE SNORE. If this girl had gotten a Franzia and he told her it was a Chilean white she would have said the same crap - she asked what it was before saying if she liked it. People are dumb. Wait, I'm supposed to show, not tell. I think I did both.
Unfortunately, enduring those two bookends was only the beginning of the human car crash.
Older couple, enter stage right. They look around for a seat, not finding one they manifest destiny eminent domain our corner of the bar. Reaching over an eating Lovely Lady to order and drink Chardonnays with ice. We have our food at this point. The slightly more manly half of the couple pulls up a chair for his blushing bride at the corner of a bar. Which, as we all know is NOT A SEAT. The place their icy goblets in such a place that whenever they want some they have to literally reach over Lovely Lady's muscular platter. Getting frustrated we dip out to make a phone call and take in the air (read: smoke a cigarette). We announce our intentions. The old fella didn't understand our announcement and asked Lovely Lady if we were leaving. She courteously responds with a definitive 'Nope.' Our 1/4 eaten food, personal effects and Nope were not enough to convince him, he turns to me - "You're NOT leaving?!?!"
No, sir, we are not (paraphrased).
At this point in the retelling I really want to admire this fellas stick-to-it-iveness. Kudos.
Within moments of getting outside we take a break from our bitching about the horrible people inside to notice he was, indeed, not dissuaded. He set up camp in Lovely Lady's seat. Baffling. Creepy, shitty, rude old dude is now talking and leaning and carrying on all over our dinners.
We come back in, he gets up, makes some corny joke and goes back to leaning on Lovely Lady's chair. We couldn't believe it. Lovely Lady was too creeped/grossed to finish her meal. We necessarily switched to drinking. Well, she did.
Those three sets of insanity finally made their way out and we joked and laughed with the bartenders at the sheer craziness that our night had been to this point. 'People these days...' and all that.
Then came in some younger couples. Mid 30s. The last couple to arrive comes in toting a baby in a baby carrier thing. Great, we'll have to deal with a shrieking baby. So they come in, great their friends and blow my mind. They plop their baby down - ON THE BAR. Baby on the bar. Where it stayed for the next hour and half while the parents joked and drank with their friends. Baby on the bar.
I of course texted my friends about the craziness going down. Funny responses: 'Body shots!' and the command 'Spin it!'
I am glad I am not horrified, but amused. People are crazy, rude and self centered. The least we can do is laugh at them. Not our place to straighten em out, but to laugh at them in the comfort of out-of-earshot and blogs.
To set the scene: Lovely Lady and I are feeling peckish. She's got a hankering for the mussels of the bar we go to too much.
It's dinner time on a weekend, so we suspect the place will be a shit show. It is, but we find a seat at the bar. We are seated between the loudest man who ever lived and a mind numbingly boring couple which consists of a pandering boyfriend and his fake wine snob girlfriend.
The LMWEL is like an infomercial pitch man, shitty movie dad and Dick Vitale rolled into one. He's there with what I assume is his son, just aggressively talking at him the entire time. Everything is shouted and everything is advice-y. Not good times.
The couple is just a typical lame-o couple. The girl orders some wine, the bartender brings her a glass. She tastes it. The 'tender asks her how she likes it and before rendering her verdict she needs to know what it is. He tells her it's some whatever white wine from Chile. Ooooh yeah I like it, she responds. Then she lectures her boyfriend on the quality of Chilean white wines, but the crappiness of Chilean reds. BLAH BLAH SNORE SNORE. If this girl had gotten a Franzia and he told her it was a Chilean white she would have said the same crap - she asked what it was before saying if she liked it. People are dumb. Wait, I'm supposed to show, not tell. I think I did both.
Unfortunately, enduring those two bookends was only the beginning of the human car crash.
Older couple, enter stage right. They look around for a seat, not finding one they manifest destiny eminent domain our corner of the bar. Reaching over an eating Lovely Lady to order and drink Chardonnays with ice. We have our food at this point. The slightly more manly half of the couple pulls up a chair for his blushing bride at the corner of a bar. Which, as we all know is NOT A SEAT. The place their icy goblets in such a place that whenever they want some they have to literally reach over Lovely Lady's muscular platter. Getting frustrated we dip out to make a phone call and take in the air (read: smoke a cigarette). We announce our intentions. The old fella didn't understand our announcement and asked Lovely Lady if we were leaving. She courteously responds with a definitive 'Nope.' Our 1/4 eaten food, personal effects and Nope were not enough to convince him, he turns to me - "You're NOT leaving?!?!"
No, sir, we are not (paraphrased).
At this point in the retelling I really want to admire this fellas stick-to-it-iveness. Kudos.
Within moments of getting outside we take a break from our bitching about the horrible people inside to notice he was, indeed, not dissuaded. He set up camp in Lovely Lady's seat. Baffling. Creepy, shitty, rude old dude is now talking and leaning and carrying on all over our dinners.
We come back in, he gets up, makes some corny joke and goes back to leaning on Lovely Lady's chair. We couldn't believe it. Lovely Lady was too creeped/grossed to finish her meal. We necessarily switched to drinking. Well, she did.
Those three sets of insanity finally made their way out and we joked and laughed with the bartenders at the sheer craziness that our night had been to this point. 'People these days...' and all that.
Then came in some younger couples. Mid 30s. The last couple to arrive comes in toting a baby in a baby carrier thing. Great, we'll have to deal with a shrieking baby. So they come in, great their friends and blow my mind. They plop their baby down - ON THE BAR. Baby on the bar. Where it stayed for the next hour and half while the parents joked and drank with their friends. Baby on the bar.
I of course texted my friends about the craziness going down. Funny responses: 'Body shots!' and the command 'Spin it!'
I am glad I am not horrified, but amused. People are crazy, rude and self centered. The least we can do is laugh at them. Not our place to straighten em out, but to laugh at them in the comfort of out-of-earshot and blogs.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Just Write
Wow I really didn't intend that title to be a horrible pun. Deal with it.
I started this intending to write. To become better at writing, to stay in practice. So I couldn't let a day pass without an entry this soon after I began.
This is my favorite time of year - my birthday, baseball and the weather turning the corner. So far so good.
Apparently this nice weather has inspired the people of my little hamlet to burn down their houses. I live 100 yards from a fire house and it has been jumpin' today. My window is the perfect height for their shrill sirens to blast into my living room and infuriate me at the poor sons of bitches who require their services.
Also, since I am so close to the corner I get to listen to people's excellent choice in music as they are stopped at the red light. Wow, that's an excellent song you are playing at full volume in your mom's volvo. Is that some new pop tartlet? Wow, she's great, thanks for sharing that with me.
I think I am going to throw water balloons at them from now on. Hey kids thanks for jumping on the metal basement door right below my window every day! I dedicate this headache to you. But hey, it's a pretty street
Also, since I am such a hipster, the Holga wasn't enough - here's a polaroid I took.
I started this intending to write. To become better at writing, to stay in practice. So I couldn't let a day pass without an entry this soon after I began.
This is my favorite time of year - my birthday, baseball and the weather turning the corner. So far so good.
Apparently this nice weather has inspired the people of my little hamlet to burn down their houses. I live 100 yards from a fire house and it has been jumpin' today. My window is the perfect height for their shrill sirens to blast into my living room and infuriate me at the poor sons of bitches who require their services.
Also, since I am so close to the corner I get to listen to people's excellent choice in music as they are stopped at the red light. Wow, that's an excellent song you are playing at full volume in your mom's volvo. Is that some new pop tartlet? Wow, she's great, thanks for sharing that with me.
I think I am going to throw water balloons at them from now on. Hey kids thanks for jumping on the metal basement door right below my window every day! I dedicate this headache to you. But hey, it's a pretty street
Also, since I am such a hipster, the Holga wasn't enough - here's a polaroid I took.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Photos
For my birthday a lovely lady got me a camera. A Holga camera. I got my first roll back today and I think it is pretty nice. I like trucks apparently.
The rest are here: http://www.lomography.com/homes/boneshark/albums/holga
Also, my apartment is way too hot.
Out of the way, old man
Tonight I went to see some music. The first tinge of crotchety-ness came with the minor feelings of annoyance I had that I was missing a television show. To go see the singer of my favorite band of all time.Uh oh.
It was Tim Barry, lead singer of Avail.
Avail was my very first "real show" - circle pits and sweaty dudes and all the rest. I was hooked. That was THIRTEEN years ago. If that show were a baby it'd have tits by now. I immortalized my favorite band with a tattoo of their logo. My tattoo is almost ten years old - if it were a Great Dane it'd be pissing on the carpet and begging to be put to sleep.
Also, I wasn't seeing Avail tonight, I wasn't running around and sweating and getting jumped on and losing my voice. My ears aren't ringing. I saw the singer, performing an acoustic set. I was standing around and sweating and getting jostled and losing my patience. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed an acoustic set. 15 year-old Tony is rolling in his grave.
On the way home Taking Back Sunday came on my Zune (I know). A band that is, admittedly, 'after me'. They have a greatest hits album - called Notes from the Past. KILL ME. This is a band who is the third generation of music scene I saw from the start. Lifetime-----Saves the Day----Taking Back Sunday. There are bands popular right now who site them as an influence. I am a goddamned living fossil. I am a Trilobite. I thought about crashing my car into the nearest wall, but shuddered at the thought of a spike in my car insurance.
I hope my AARP card gets me a discount at The Church.
It was Tim Barry, lead singer of Avail.
Avail was my very first "real show" - circle pits and sweaty dudes and all the rest. I was hooked. That was THIRTEEN years ago. If that show were a baby it'd have tits by now. I immortalized my favorite band with a tattoo of their logo. My tattoo is almost ten years old - if it were a Great Dane it'd be pissing on the carpet and begging to be put to sleep.
Also, I wasn't seeing Avail tonight, I wasn't running around and sweating and getting jumped on and losing my voice. My ears aren't ringing. I saw the singer, performing an acoustic set. I was standing around and sweating and getting jostled and losing my patience. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed an acoustic set. 15 year-old Tony is rolling in his grave.
On the way home Taking Back Sunday came on my Zune (I know). A band that is, admittedly, 'after me'. They have a greatest hits album - called Notes from the Past. KILL ME. This is a band who is the third generation of music scene I saw from the start. Lifetime-----Saves the Day----Taking Back Sunday. There are bands popular right now who site them as an influence. I am a goddamned living fossil. I am a Trilobite. I thought about crashing my car into the nearest wall, but shuddered at the thought of a spike in my car insurance.
I hope my AARP card gets me a discount at The Church.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Theories
Two new theories I've come up with recently:
Daughter
In lieu of drowning her, because having a daughter would make me kill myself, I've decided to name my fair progeny Harold. No man would want to date Harold. Problem solved, baby saved.
Beard
Men should have to earn beards. You need some certified manly acts to grow this spectacular facial display of better-than-youness. Owning a fixed gear bike or animal collective LP does not earn you a beard. Having a stab wound earns you a beard. Smoking way too much weed does not earn you a beard. Winning a fight against an animal that outweighs you earns you a beard.
An inability to grow a beard obviously disqualifies you to have a beard, but it does qualify you to bemoan your horrible genetics and second class life arc. Sorry.
Daughter
In lieu of drowning her, because having a daughter would make me kill myself, I've decided to name my fair progeny Harold. No man would want to date Harold. Problem solved, baby saved.
Beard
Men should have to earn beards. You need some certified manly acts to grow this spectacular facial display of better-than-youness. Owning a fixed gear bike or animal collective LP does not earn you a beard. Having a stab wound earns you a beard. Smoking way too much weed does not earn you a beard. Winning a fight against an animal that outweighs you earns you a beard.
An inability to grow a beard obviously disqualifies you to have a beard, but it does qualify you to bemoan your horrible genetics and second class life arc. Sorry.
Master Plan
Here's the plan:
Start blog.
Be charming and prolific.
Write short story/novel.
Be published.
Profit.
Not seen: Work jobs, develop soul crushing ennui
I hope that my current job editing/proofing articles with the absolute worst, mind boggling grammar has yet to affect my personal style. I mean, a book written by someone who seems like they don't speak English and runs everything through a thesaurus with no understanding of what they are trying to say might be entertaining, but I don't think I have the stomach for that.
I've written things in the past. I've written good things in the past. I've written things that were performed, published, praised and enjoyed in the past. I am older, wiser and have way more funny stories now. I've shrugged of my teenage angst which stretch inappropriately into my early twenties. I still think too much and read less than I'd like and you'd suspect. I have had suspicions that my self-important assholery could find a perfect outlet in blog form.
I saw a woman wearing her shoes on the wrong feet today, it reminded me of you.
I suspect I'll write a little about the things I enjoy, and a lot about the things I hate. I mean, hey you can like all the same crap I do, but I'll really be impressed if our hate venn-diagrams overlap. I'm channeling Bukowski, Camus and Thor.
likes:
Baseball
Sneakers
Beard
Beef n' Carb diet
Rock
Roll
Sharks
hates:
Everything else
Start blog.
Be charming and prolific.
Write short story/novel.
Be published.
Profit.
Not seen: Work jobs, develop soul crushing ennui
I hope that my current job editing/proofing articles with the absolute worst, mind boggling grammar has yet to affect my personal style. I mean, a book written by someone who seems like they don't speak English and runs everything through a thesaurus with no understanding of what they are trying to say might be entertaining, but I don't think I have the stomach for that.
I've written things in the past. I've written good things in the past. I've written things that were performed, published, praised and enjoyed in the past. I am older, wiser and have way more funny stories now. I've shrugged of my teenage angst which stretch inappropriately into my early twenties. I still think too much and read less than I'd like and you'd suspect. I have had suspicions that my self-important assholery could find a perfect outlet in blog form.
I saw a woman wearing her shoes on the wrong feet today, it reminded me of you.
I suspect I'll write a little about the things I enjoy, and a lot about the things I hate. I mean, hey you can like all the same crap I do, but I'll really be impressed if our hate venn-diagrams overlap. I'm channeling Bukowski, Camus and Thor.
likes:
Baseball
Sneakers
Beard
Beef n' Carb diet
Rock
Roll
Sharks
hates:
Everything else
First
So, this is it.
I am starting a blog, a blog to hone my skills and stretch my atrophied writing muscles. Return them to their once-Herculean stature.
Good to see my penchant for self aggrandizing rhetorical devices still exists.
Join me, won't you?
I plan to violate every rule of good writing I have read and I preach to people I advise. Because I can. Don't be hectoring? Broken. Don't be too conversational? Would I be using rhetorical questions if I weren't? Have fun with that syntax. Yes, that's a direct order.
I am starting a blog, a blog to hone my skills and stretch my atrophied writing muscles. Return them to their once-Herculean stature.
Good to see my penchant for self aggrandizing rhetorical devices still exists.
Join me, won't you?
I plan to violate every rule of good writing I have read and I preach to people I advise. Because I can. Don't be hectoring? Broken. Don't be too conversational? Would I be using rhetorical questions if I weren't? Have fun with that syntax. Yes, that's a direct order.
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