A Tale of the Fallen

I started writing my most personal and shocking entry yet, with plenty of name-dropping, when I was struck with the strong urge to go to the White Hen and grab Twix bar. And that's what I did. I am back, but have abandoned my previous post due to recent events, which will be recounted shortly. It's a shame, really, that I won't be delving into that juicy bit of writing I had begun, considering it took me about eight months to summon the nerve to do it. Well, the moment has passed, but I'm confident it won't take me as long when I decide to have a go at it again. I figure I'll be ready in about seven months. Consider it something to look forward to. Anyway, you'll forget all about that post once you read its replacement. Yes, folks, it's that good. So, without further ado....

I was having a pleasant walk to the Hen---I stopped to pet a couple of cats, I was listening to "The River Man", it wasn't too cold, and the moon was out--- when I slipped on some ice and crashed down on my shoulder. My hands were in my pockets when I fell, and thus were incapable of buffering my fall. Of all the places to land: my injured shoulder. I hit the ground so hard that not only did I fear my injury would be aggravated substantially, but that my shoulder was broken. I got up gingerly and discovered that despite a little ache, I escaped no worse for wear. In fact, by the time I arrived at the Hen, I felt pretty much the same as I did prior to the fall. And as I write this, I'm fine. Maybe it's the yoga. I'll have to look into it.

So there's your replacement post. I'm so impressed with it, I'm thinking about adapting it into a screenplay. You had the same idea, didn't you? Of course you did.

Bob TV and I had a chance to talk tonight about Spira's imminent departure and how it will affect things around here. I assured him I had no intention of leaving if I could help it, which gave him some relief. He had been suffering some anxiety over all of this ever since he had his blow-out with Spira. He wasn't sure what my plans were, whether I was going to stay or go with her, and feared he was going to have move as well. I probably should have spoken to him earlier but I kept putting it off. Now all we have to do is get a roommate, which should be easy enough , considering our rent is reasonable and our location desirable.

After our talk, we watched the season two finale of Extras. I read somewhere that there won't be a season three, that Ricky Gervais has moved on to other projects. I hope it's not true, because the show is so much funnier than all the other sterile sitcoms that have dominion over the airwaves. Let me see: twenty or so seasons of Everybody Loves Raymond and two seasons of Extras. It must be the end times.

Houston, we have a problem

After declaring that the only thing uncertain about tonight's Celtics game would be the manner in which they would lose, they've gone ahead and made me look silly by defeating the Rockets in a fourth quarter push. See where defeatist thinking gets you?

Free your mind and your ass will follow

The Celtics are playing the Rockets tonight and the amount I watch will be determined by the way in which they lose. If they make it a game and only lose by a few points, I'll stick around, but if they find themselves in the jaws of a blow out, like the last couple of games, I'm out of there. No matter what, though, they're going to lose. Such is the nature of their season.

I woke up on the floor last night in a position that had me knotted up with all my weight on my injured soldier. Is my subconscious bent on keeping me down, I wonder. I don't know, but surprisingly, my shoulder feels like it's healing. Not as a result of my sleeping position, but despite it. I think I'm over the hump and will be fully healed in a matter of days.

Soon, I'm going to sit down and brainstorm some ideas of where I'd like my life to be headed. Setting goals is not something I've been much involved with over the years--- probably because I was never predisposed towards it . Like anything else, goal setting is a muscle that needs to be exercised regularly in order for it to be of any use. Ah, but consistency is a bitch and difficult to manage. I have my work cut out for me.

Pretty soon, Bob TV and I are going to have to go roommate shopping. It looks like Spira will be gone in a month or so. It's not a surprise to me at all: she was bouncing around the idea of moving even when I moved in. I figured we'd be roommates for a year, tops. Anything after that would have been gravy. If I can help it, I'm going to stay here a bit longer than a year. Though I've grown used to moving a lot over the last six years, I'd prefer remaining in place for a while.

I'm going to start a list of all the things I'd like to appear in my life and then work to achieve them. At this point in my life, I can't continue with an outlook of scarcity. I need to rewire my thinking and look toward abundance and prosperity. Free your mind and your ass will follow.

When the whistle blows

A quiet and enjoyable weekend. I woke up yesterday at 11;50, even though I didn't go to bed that late the night before. The reason for my lengthy bout of sleep: dreams. I won't go much into the telling, but in brief the dreams were sexual---some fine ladies couldn't keep their hands away from me--- and the final one had me sparring with Yoda and defeating him. I was disappointed when he questioned my clear victory, especially since it took every ounce of my will, but at the edge of my mind I figured I was facing the business end of one of his lessons. It wasn't until another student of his made a comment that I was the victor, that Yoda relented and admitted defeat. When that happened, I gave up the notion that he was teaching me a lesson: he was just being a poor sport.

In the afternoon, Spira and I went grocery shopping at the Foodmaster and then headed over to Mckinnon's market for some meat. I bought some chicken thighs and will marinate them tomorrow in something; I haven't decided what yet, but it will be tasty. In the checkout line, I spotted the erotic cashier. She's an older woman, probably in her fifties, and latino. Every time I see her, she makes eye contact with me and holds it while breaking into a secret smile. I'm not terribly attracted to her looks-wise, but her overt sexuality hangs thick in the air, and it weakens me. Maybe she's like that from being around meat all day.

When we got back to the house, I called Luke Warm and invited him over for dinner. He accepted and before he arrived, Spira and I made some garlic and cheddar mashed potatoes, seared some spinach, and breaded some chicken. It was a great meal, and when we finished we played Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. Luke Warm and Spira proved to be good competition, but in the end they couldn't match my strength in the force. I disposed of them like Yoda disposed of the two Imperial Guards in Revenge of the Sith: quickly and efficiently .

We also watched an episode of Extras, and I laughed from the beginning straight through to the end. Ian Mckellan made a guest appearance, and his first scene with Ricky Gervais is one of the funniest things I've seen in the last six years. It was so funny I did an honest-to-God spit take at one point. Those don't come around that often, the pure ones, but when they do they signal something special is going on.

This morning I did some yoga, ate a bagel, had some juice, drank some coffee, meditated for a half hour, did some laundry, and irrigated my nasal passages. All this before noon. Ah, but you're not impressed, I can tell. Well, that's all I've got left for you, so it'll have to do. And with that, I'm on to other things.

He blew his mind out in a car

Luke Warm had a brush with death last night. He was a passenger in our friend Michael's car and while on the snow-slick Interstate 93, they were clipped by an 18 wheeler and proceeded to 360 all the way to the other side of the highway, finally ending up in the woods. By an act of divine intervention or sheer luck, they escaped without a scratch. No one stopped to see if they were alright, not even the truck that clipped them. When a state trooper finally arrived, he wasn't exactly civil to them, according to the gospel of Luke. They would have been better off if they were hot and trendy club chicks. Luke Warm didn't care how he was treated, though, because he had just escaped almost certain death. He was elated. When I spoke with him this morning, he said he feels like he has a new lease on life. No kidding.
--
Last night, Spira and I hung out in her room just like in days of old, when we'd often do such a thing. Among other things, we discussed the superiority of the white chocolate Easter Bunny over the more common brown variety. Poor Spira used to ask her mother for one every Easter, but because she's Greek, her Easter would mainly occur after every one else's by at least a week, so she'd never get one. The reason her mother gave her was that the stores were all out of Easter candy by the time she'd go looking for it. Spira would tell her to go earlier then, but her mother never remembered. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just didn't want to fill her daughter up with too many sweets. Either way, when Spira got a job at a grocery store, she made it a point to get a white chocolate bunny, and most assuredly other Easter treats, for herself. The lesson: independence has its perks. And to tie off this chunky little paragraph, I will tell you that Spira surprised me today with a sweet little gift when she came back from shopping. I've already eaten its ears.
--
When I do yoga, there are usually at least two occasions during the routine where I find myself face down on the mat with my limbs splattered about, gasping for precious breath. It's been a few weeks now and I've improved in some areas, but the one constant is those bodily demolitions. I'm not ashamed to admit it; in fact I like the challenge. It's not a necessarily pleasant experience when it occurs, but I always feel great when I'm finished. Incentive is the key, my friends.
--
Tonight, I'll meet with Luke to watch the Celtics lose to the Lakers. Kobe Bryant is the man, asshole that he may be, and I'm pretty sure he could beat us single-handedly, with his shooting arm in a sling, if he wanted to. Tonight he'll be teaching basketball 101 to the younglings in green, sling or no. The Celtics lost one of their elite former players yesterday in the person of Dennis Johnson. He was in his early fifties and collapsed while playing a pick up game of b-ball. His passing could light a spark under the n'er-do-well Celtics tonight,especially since they're playing a team that, in the time of DJ, was a bitter rival of theirs. I still mean what I said about Kobe schooling us, but maybe, just maybe, something glorious will occur tonight that will make DJ proud.

Are you having a laugh?

I interviewed for a management position at a liquor store today and I think it went as well as it could have, short of me being hired. The owner is leaving to some tropical destination tomorrow and told me he'd let me know his decision when he returned in a week. I had to hold back from telling him there was nothing to think about, that I'm the obvious, sensible choice for the position, so why not save me a week of uncertainty and say yes, Kevin, we'd love to have you as a member of our team. I chose to hide my desperation and kept my thoughts to myself. Probably the best tactic.

Last night I made the call to my parents that I had been hoping to avoid, the one where their down on his luck son calls and asks for some financial aid so that he can pay rent. Whenever I needed money in the past, I'd always go to my mother. I never felt comfortable going to my father. That is not to say I feared his response; it had more to do with the anachronistic sense of pride that runs deep and old in the veins of men. I didn't want my father to view me as weak, as someone who couldn't take care of himself. Maybe I've grown, because last night I sucked it up and talked to him about my financial problems. And you know what? He was much easier to talk to than my mother. He sympathized with my plight and didn't accuse me of being the most irresponsible, dimwitted excuse for a son the world has ever seen. Not to say my mother is a tyrant---she's not-- only she'd attach so much worry to the proceedings that if I didn't remove myself from her presence I'd start pacing and biting my nails over how fucked up my life is. My mother worries, maybe too much sometimes, but it's because she cares about her flock. Anyway, my parents pulled through for me and I have one less thing to worry about. It's good to know I don't have to face my troubles alone. I am fortunate. And grateful.

A good night of comedy for me tonight. Spira, Bob TV and I watched a couple of episodes of Extras, a show that is quickly becoming one of my favorites, The Office, and Scrubs, a show I've only recently started watching. I welcomed the funny with open arms. I needed it. BTV and Spira were pleasant with each other tonight. I hope it lasts.

There's a doctor in town who'll cure the boy

In the middle of the maelstrom that has been my life of late, I'm happy to say I've maintained a calm center. I've had periods of doubt, anxiety, frustration, and despair, but they've been so brief as to seem nonexistent. Meditation, yoga, and positive thinking have kept me grounded and are guiding me through the storm. Along with the above, I've also had to accept that everything that's going on with me right now I put into effect. Not easy to do that without thinking you're a fool, but I've been pretty successful extracting the positive aspects of my situation. I'm not out of the woods yet, but it doesn't matter. All I'm concerned with is what's in front of me. I'm on a tightrope, and if I falter just a bit, I'll fall . The key, the essential thing, is to remain in a positive, productive state. Have I been New Agey enough for you, or are you ready for more? Actually, I dispute whether any of the techniques I've been employing are necessarily New Agey, but I digress. Let's move on to other, more sexified matters.

I've had issues with sinusitis---clogged nasal passages, for you laymen---and recently came across an article in a yoga magazine about Jala Neti, the practice of nasal irrigation that's popular in Asia, The Middle East, and Eastern Europe. It entails pouring warm water mixed with salt into a nasal passage and have it drain from the other. Intrigued, I went online and did more research on the subject, and found out that most people who do it regularly garner great results. Even people with chronic sinusitis noticed a profound change. I had talked to Spira about it and while she was out shopping yesterday, she picked up a syringe-looking device that would do the trick of irrigating my nasal passages. I tried it this morning and it was a more pleasant experience than I thought it would be. Near the end of the process, I applied too much pressure on the syringe-thingy and that kind of hurt. I felt a burning sensation behind one of my eyes and in my nose. I'll try to be more gentle in the future. I hope it works for me, because I really hate being stuffed up and sounding like a friggin' nerd when I speak. And if you know me, you know I can't fucking stand nerds! So, yeah, nasal irrigation. Check it out.

I took a walk today and thoroughly enjoyed it. I hadn't taken one in weeks because of the weather, but today was warm and sunny. I walked into Davis Sq. and then made my way to Ball Sq. The warmer weather is coming and I'll be out walking regularly again, with my ear buds on and smiling, in this beautiful part of the city that I live in.

The Final Bell?

Bob TV and Spira had it out today. It all started when she walked into the kitchen and saw an unattended pot of boiling water on the stove. Nearby, she saw a box of pasta, a jar of tomato sauce, and a container of grated Parmesan cheese, all of which were hers. When she found out it was Bob TV who was preparing the Italian feast, she asked him why he was using her food. That's when the shit storm erupted.

I wasn't there, though I did manage to hear the tail end of the dispute, and I'm not claiming this is the final word on what went down, but one thing I'm sure of is the argument didn't end well. Apparently, BTV took umbrage with Spira's accusation, claiming she's always been quick to accuse him of eating her food. This was interesting, considering that just a moment before, he had admitted the food wasn't his. I'm going out on a limb here, but that probably wasn't the best time for him to bring that up. But, lest you think this was an open and shut case, Bob TV had more to say in his defense.

After jawing at her about the unfair accusations she's leveled at him in the past, BTV brought out the big guns. He asked her why she was so sure the food was hers. After all, each item had a Shaw's label, and everyone knows he's the one who shops there. She replied that she shops there, too, and therefore doesn't equate Shaw's with Bob (I confess that I do. There have been times I've put her food on his shelf precisely because of the Shaw's label). He asked her again why she was so sure the food was hers. She answered by pointing out that he had ALREADY ADMITTED the food was his, but even without that incriminating evidence, she told him she was sure because she has an awareness of what is hers.

They continued on like this and, frankly, much of it is a tangled mess that I'm not inclined to untangle. What's important here is how it ended. Spira laid it all on the line and told him it was stupid for them to be arguing because she was planning on moving out. Like I said, I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure that threw BTV off. According to Spira, he started to probe her about this new development, asking her when she was planning on moving, and whether she was taking me with her. To each of his questions, she replied that she didn't know.

It was a foregone conclusion that the argument would end that way. In my mind, there was no other option. Spira and Bob TV are like Robitussin and Orange Juice: they don't mix well. (I hate conjuring up such a bad memory, but I've mixed OJ and Robitussin before---those crazy days of my youth---and I can attest to the fact that they don't mix well. Not that you needed any reassurance on that count). And because they don't mix well, they don't make compatible housemates. (Like how I arrived at that conclusion all by myself? Genius, I am!)

Because I'm not sure what my living situation will look like in the coming days and weeks, I didn't have much to say to Spira in the way of convincing her to reconsider her decision. For my part, I don't clash with BTV as much as Spira does, but I do find him to be incorrigible and at times have felt his presence in the house to be undesirable. That said, I've had worse roommates, and despite his negative traits, I like Bob TV. He is a warm and intelligent person. But, he's also a fucking slob, talkative, and borders on being clingy. Again, though, I've had worse roommates.

I enjoy living with Spira, though she's messy, too. But she, at least, has helpled out with the cleaning---BTV never has. We have fun hanging out together and give each other space when we want to be alone. If she moves out, I will definitely miss her. It won't be the same without her, but for all I know, I'll be back at my parents house when she moves out, though I pray that doesn't happen.

What an uncertain time this is. Things look grim, but I've got to keep a positive outlook. Giving in to despair is tantamount to throwing in the towel, and no matter how things resolve, I will keep fighting. And I'm not above taking donations in the form of one hundred dollar bills from any of you who want to help this charity case, so give and give freely if the mood strikes you.
---

Before I sign off, I just want to put into writing my affection for a man named Count Fuckula, who was on the show Extras. I've only seen him on one episode, and that appearance was brief, but he sure did make an impression on me. Maybe it's his name.

Take a dip into my random thoughts

Luke Warm came over last night and watched the NBA slam dunk contest. Gerald Green from the Celtics was competing, and because the team sucks so much and no other Celtic was invited to the All-Star game, it was a treat seeing one of our own in the limelight. He ended up winning the contest and I cheered as if it meant the Celtics had just won the title. It truly is the little things in life that get us by. So, good for you Gerald, you deserved the victory.

An interesting note that has absolutely no connection with the above, but has just popped into my head and wants to be let out: I was listening to the radio the other day and heard an ad for the Morning Star church. I was immediately struck by how odd the name was, considering that Morning Star is another name for Lucifer, the fallen angel. It is also the name of a weapon---the chain mace--- but why would they name a church after a weapon? Of course why would a church, ostensibly on the side of God, invoke the name of the antichrist? I found out later, using Wikipedia, my trusty guide, that Morning Star is also the figurative name of Jesus in the New Testament, so it makes sense why they gave the church that name. Kind of strange, though, that these opposites would share a name. Maybe not so strange. Lucifer can be looked at as the first son of God, though fallen, and Jesus the second. Because of this, they have more in common than, say, Jesus does does with Popeye. Anyway, I haven't given this topic an extensive look, so I'm going to leave it as food for thought . It's one of those things that, to quote Arsenio, another fallen angel, makes you go "hmmm".

I had some ocean related dreams last night that I won't bore you with, except to say that in one of them, a shark chomped me on the hip. And for some reason, I spent the rest of dream wading in the water, looking for said shark; not to enact revenge, but to get it to recreate the attack so my friends on the shore could see how scary it was and what a brave mother fucker I was for enduring it.

I've had some good meditation sessions of late. And by good I don't necessarily mean pleasant. Diving deep into the void can uncover some scary stuff, but I think we need to do that every so often in order to grow. That's my spiritual message of the day. Take heed.

Speaking of diving deep into the void, I'm planning on watching Apocalypse Now sometime later today or tonight. It's been a while since I've seen the film, and I think I'm due, though I think I may benefit more by watching something a bit more uplifting, like Aguirre, the Wrath of God, another film I have on my list. I kid about it being more uplifting, because if anything, Aguirre is more bleak. I know what you're thinking: with jokes like that, I should be doing stand up. Believe me, I would if I thought the masses were ready for my cerebral, yet hilarious, take on life.

I hate to admit it, but my interest in the life of Britney Spears has been aroused as the result of her shaving her head. Could be me, but I would interpret that action as a sign that she has fallen right off the map. How will she explain this one, I wonder. Well, like the rest of the sheeple, I'll have to wait and find out.

My girl Friday

I set out this morning to try once again to liberate my car from the glacier that had formed around it. I had a a half hour to work with, and if The Universe was feeling good towards me, I'd get it out within that time frame, and avoid being late for my interview in Wilmington. I accomplished the feat, for feat it was, in thirty two minutes. My Landlord had watched me the day before chipping away, in futile fashion, at the ice with a plastic shovel---like trying to jack up a car with a corn curl, that was---and offered me her ice chipper. Without it, it would have taken me forever to get my car out. I thank you, Marie.

I interviewed at a pest control place (my attempt at thinking outside the box) and I was there longer than it would take me to sit through four catholic weddings. For some reason, going into it I thought I'd be in and out. Not to be: I was subjected to personality tests, math tests, and was meant to read reams of literature on company policies, health benefits, you name it. While reading, I was alerted to the fact that they issue drug tests to all new empolyees. Well, let's just say I've smoked a little of the Hobbit's pipe weed from time to time. I probably shouldn't have bothered with the tests and the follow up interview because of that, but I figured I may as well because of all the trouble I went to getting there.

When I finished, I brought my paperwork to Tim, the manager of the place, and sat down for an interview. He seemed eager to process the personality test into the computer, and while he was doing that he asked if I had any questions for him.

"Well, it's not a question, but I feel I should tell you that I wouldn't pass the drug test. I'm not a chronic user, but I smoke marijuana from time to time", I said. "So, I don't know if you want to continue with this".

He looked a little put off, half smiled, and replied " Well, I don't know if that would immediately disqualify you, but it probably would".

And from there he proceeded with the rest of the interview, as if I never brought it up. He reviewed my personality profile and seemed to like what he saw. From it, he gleaned that I'm easy going, intuitive, hardly the rabble rouser, trend away from dominance and towards understanding. Yes, what he had before him, pot smoking aside, was a model employee and all around good chap.

At one point he noted that some people who test like me are often uncomfortable sharing less than positive feelings with their superiors, to which I replied, "I just told you I smoke pot". Touche.

An interesting aspect of the job description is the fact that because the work is seasonal---not very lucrative in the winter---most employees are laid off from November to March. I say that it's interesting because if I got the job, I'd be laid off as soon as I was hired. I brought this up to him and he just smiled put his arms up in the air and said, " Uh, yeah, I can't say for sure, but that's probably the way it would go. We'll see what happens with the job. If I were to be offered it, and it's dubious that I will be, I'd be looking at going to work at five in the morning. I'd also have to take a physical and get my pesticide license. I'm still mildly intrigued about the job, despite all of that. It would be interesting, for a while at least, killing invasive critters for a living.

Winter is the lash of a whip

Yesterday, my household was full, as Bob TV was on vacation, school was canceled for Spira, and me, well you know why I'm home. Bob TV called us out of our rooms at one point and asked us if we'd like to partake in a "nooner" with our neighbor (I'll let you figure out what a nooner is). We obliged, and after some conversation about sleep deprivation and Sin City, a movie everyone seems to adore, save me, we all went on our merry ways.

I had a good session of yoga in the afternoon. If it wasn't for that and meditation, I'd probably be a wreck. Every bit of peace and balance I can get makes a difference. I've been reading selections from Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramhansa Yogananda for further positive reinforcement. He talks a lot about Kriya Yoga, the method of divine contact through meditation, and I'd love to learn it someday, though I think the only way will be through taking a class, or by meeting a guru somewhere who's willing to impart his knowledge on the matter to me. You're right, I'll probably have to take a class.

After dinner, Spira went out to clear the snow off her car and do some shoveling. I joined her when it became apparent how daunting the task was proving to be for her, given the fact that each shovelful of snow weighed eighty lbs from the rain, and everything else was solid ice. It took some time but we did it. When I went to clear off my car today, I was dismayed to find that I was snowed, or rather, iced, in on the street. And when I discovered that all the rain had formed a pond around my car and then froze solid, I almost cried but was afraid my tears would turn to ice. My tires were half deep in ice. I spent over an hour chipping away at it, with minimal results. I have a job interview tomorrow morning and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to get out. My only hope is that it warms up enough to melt the ice. We've barely gotten any snow this winter and I still loathe every second of the season. I wonder why.

Luke Warm came by last night to watch the Celtics end their eighteen game losing streak against the Bucks. It was about time. Good to see the guys in green with smiles on their faces after a game.

I finally shaved my head today. Not too short; I have about an inch in length (only on my head, though). I used my beard trimmer for the job, and it took me well over an hour to accomplish the task. My hair had gotten so long that the trimmer wasn't catching it cleanly. Spira was disappointed I cut off the hair, but I need every advantage I can get going on interviews. I'll probably grow it back, but for now it's the short route.

Happy days revisited

My last post was written in the grip of despair, and doesn't reflect my overall state of mind. If I was remiss in stressing that point, I hope this entry will do the trick. I'm in a better state of mind now. As is evident in the last post, I can succumb to moments of bleakness. I'm not always like that---hardly ever, thank God---and I have an abiding strength that allows me to recover, to climb out of that hole I was in, and move on. I'm relating this not only to assure those of you who read the post that I'm ok, but to assure myself as well. Though it would spare me some embarrassment by doing so, I've elected not to delete the post. I'm not ashamed of what I said---I was acting in accordance with what I am: a human being with a welter of emotions. I am not a reptile. I am alive, damnit, and though I wish it was all massages and beaches, life is about the bitter as well as the sweet.

Happy days are here again

It's startling how much I've mis-managed my life. Over the years I've realized that, though I am intelligent and personable enough to carry on a conversation, have some artistic talent, and a decent sense of humor, I'm severely lacking in general life skills. Or to put it plainly: I can't take care of myself. This has never been more clearly illustrated than in my current situation.

I've lived in my apartment since June, and haven't worked a day the entire time. I've lived off a small severance package from the job I was laid off from just weeks before I was slated to move, and unemployment checks. To say that finding a job was a top priority from the get go, would be overstating it. I did look in the beginning, just not with any regularity. I put it off, with the idea that I had plenty of time to find work. It wasn't until fairly recently that I stepped up my efforts and searched hard.

My unemployment ran out weeks ago and I'm flat broke. I can't afford to buy anything: food, gas, nothing. I've let matters degenerate to the point where I've put myself into a hole so deep it'll take a miracle to climb out of it. As it stands, the likelihood of me being able to pay rent is slim. Not only that, but I'm behind on all of my other bills. It can be said that I am completely fucked right now. And it's nobody's fault but mine.

Not only did I fuck things up for myself, but it looks like I'll be doing the same for my roommates, one of which vouched for me when I moved in. She is my best friend, but if things don't improve, will probably not be so anymore, and rightly so. If I can't pay rent, they will have to cover it, and they won't be able to do that. I could be responsible for them getting kicked out.

I love my apartment and do not want to leave it. If I do, the only place I'll be able to go will be my parents house, provided they'll take me in. And this wouldn't be the first time, either. I moved back a few years ago, when the house I was living in was sold and the store I was working in closed. If I have to do it again, I don't know what I'll do. The forecast doesn't look very good, so it seems likely.

Why am I sharing this bleak accounting of my life? Mainly because I just had a talk with Spira, my other roommate, about my situation, and there wasn't much I could tell her, no way to reassure her. I listened to her vent about the screw job I'm putting her and Bob through, and all I could tell her was that I'm doing all I can to find work and collect enough money for rent. Beyond that, all I could do was see the look of disappointment and worry on her face. I've seen that look too many times from people in my life. Too many, by far.

Most people in their thirties are established in their lives, have moved steadily up whatever ladder they're on. Most of them are well positioned in their careers, have a significant other, kids, property, etc. I am the negative image of that scenario. In no way whatsoever can I consider myself a success. I do have a good group of friends and family, that's for sure. But, increasingly, I've felt myself more and more removed from the closeness of those relationships. As more time has passed without me having advanced in any noticeable way, in fact regressing in some areas, I've had less in common with those around me. That is not to say they're feelings for me are conditional ---there's been no indication of that---but the shame I've felt over the way I've handled my life, has made it difficult to engage in social activities in any meaningful way.

I realize this is depressing stuff, but I think I need to express it in this way. As much as I've done a number on my life, I don't consider myself a bad person. But, the question I keep asking myself more and more is, "If you can't even take care of yourself in the most basic of ways at this stage in your life, and the only way you seem to get by is with the aid of others, then what is your function on this planet? What are you contributing to this world?". The stark reality is that I'm not contributing and my function, if I even have one, is that of a screwup. It doesn't please me seeing myself this way, but when I pull the veil of illusion aside, it's what I'm left with. My mother often tells me for such a nice guy, I've had the worst luck. The fact that she tells me this often should give you some insight into the way I've managed myself.

My past is littered with disappointment and regret. I remember being in my early twenties, lamenting the fact that I was perennially single, and cheering myself up with the thought that, for all I knew, the girl of my dreams was a year, a month, or a week away. Who knew what the future would hold? Of course, as the years went by, and I was still in the same situation, I was forced to drop that method of cheering me up.

These are the darkest days of my life in a lot of ways. I'm scared because I suspect they will get darker. It's a crapshoot: I could be on the brink of a new, positive turn in my life, the whole darkest before the dawn scenario, or I could find myself in a hole I won't be climbing out of. I know all of this sounds bleak --- I'm generally a positive person with an easy laugh---but it's where I find, or to be more accurate, have led myself. How much mediocrity can I put up with in my life before I've had enough, before I take some course of action to change things? Thus far, the answer is I've put up with a lot and nothing has come from it.

I can't help but think the image my friends and family have of me is one of pity. And if that's the truth, then I believe it is deserved. I'm exposing myself here to people I know and others that I don't. This is my penance; despite the fact that I keep a blog, I'm a private person. Letting out much of my dirty laundry is uncomfortable for me, to say the least.

Tomorrow, I will again search for jobs and pray that I find one. It's all I can do, at this point. I smile bitterly at the pinch I'm in, and wonder why I'm trying to get out of it. Should I bother? Won't I just fuck something else up in the future? Yes to both questions, though I'm not sure as to the why of the former. Maybe it's because it's human nature to keep clawing and fighting, even when things appear to be at their worst. Or is it? I hope it is. What I know is that I have not pulled my weight as a human being for most of my life. What I know is I've found myself in another hole, only this time deeper than any other I've found myself in, and I've dragged others down in it with me. For everything, I apologize to those I've affected.

A Second Christmas

A group of friends and I went to visit our friend Kreg down in Falmouth this weekend to celebrate what is now known as Second Christmas. The name came as a result of two factors: 1) Last year, when it began, our friends Tracy and Ray brought a Turkey to Kreg's and they all made what amounted to be a Christmas dinner and 2) Kreg's mother is fascinated with Christmas decorations. Almost every square inch of the house is covered with them, and they don't come down until the end of winter. For lack of a better word, it was interesting entering the house that Christmas built in the month of February. Wer'e thinking of heading down again next week for Second New Year's Eve.

All told, there were ten of us in attendance and it was great seeing everyone. Tracy and Ray brought their daughter Faith, the cutest baby I think I've ever seen, with them and it was great spending quality time with her. She entertained us all with her animal impersonations, though I think she needs to expand her repertoire; when I asked her to tell me what sound a dung beetle makes, she presented with a puzzled stare. She's still young and she's got plenty of time to impress me.

Kreg had allotted rooms for couples, singles, and even snorers, as far as the sleeping arrangements went. Mike and Luke Warm were the snorers, so they got to sleep in the office. I shared a room with Spira, which, with its two twin beds, frilly curtains, and stuffed animals, obviously served as a guest room for the grandaughters, or a couple of flaming grandsons. As it happened, I probably should have been thrown in with the snorers because twice during the night, Spira woke me up because I was snoring. I don't know whats happened to me--- I used to never snore, but now I'm keeping people awake with it. And to make matters worse, Mike, a professional snorer, told me he could hear me snoring through the wall! Could it be that next year, I'll be herded in a room with the snorers, those lowly creatures? It could be. I shudder at the thought.

Yesterday morning, Spira, Mike, and I walked down to the pool house to swim and hang out in the sauna. We had the place to ourselves until an old timer came in to take inventory or something. He was followed shortly by another old timer accompanied by what appeared to be his grandchildren and daughter, none of them flaming. At that point, we decided to head back to the house; it's hard to relax in a pool with the cast of Golden Girls scurrying around. While Spira and Mike were off changing, I had to contend with one of the old timer's evil stares. In hindsight, I wish I called him on it, especially since I'm pretty sure I could take him in a fight. Mike and I left before Spira and when she was leaving one of the Gestapo agents gave her the third degree about not covering the pool and asked her to identify herself and to explain who in the association she was affiliated with.

Later on,Ray, who's from England, showed me an episode of Only Fools and Horses, one his favorite shows from back home. After that, we all had dinner. Overall, it was a great weekend. Spira, Luke Warm, and I were the last ones to leave. On our way home we figured out that we could have stayed another night if we wanted to, but turning around didn't seem like the right thing to do as we had our sights set on the city.
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It could be said that, because of Doug, I had good day today. I watched American Movie, a film I thoroughly enjoyed, and learned about from him. Also, he had left me a comment on another blog entry about my ailing mp3 player, suggesting I try recharging it. Well, I had already done that, but right after reading his comment, I examined my charger and discovered that, though it was plugged in to the mp3 player, it was not plugged in on the other end. I immediately remedied the situation and now, hours later, my mp3 player has returned to me. It may seem like a small thing, but I really love that thing. I take it everywhere I go and there's a lot of music on there that I don't have in any other format. So, cheers Doug, and thanks for the help.

Kevin makes a case for the occurrence of signs in his life

I walked to the White Hen this morning, Nick Drake and his sweet voice sliding out of my ear buds. My mission was to get some coffee and when that task was accomplished---with military precision, I might add---I left the store, looking forward to more Nick Drake for the walk home. I managed to hear a little of the gorgeous "Northern Sky" before the music stopped and everything froze.I couldn't shut the unit off or get it to perform any other function, no matter what I did. I love my mp3 player and use it often. In its library are many albums I don't own in any other format. I had over thirty cd's stolen from me over the summer all of those are on my mp3 player. I also acquired many other albums from my friend's cd's. The last line I heard before things went awry was "Brighten my Northern Sky". What could that mean? Was it a message telling me things are going to get brighter? If so, what a terrible method of getting the point across to me, given the fact that the my day grew substantially dimmer as a result. I would have preferred the message conveyed to me with a thumbs up image in the clouds or by a stranger passing me on the street who stops in front of me and says "You will prevail, my friend. It's always darkest before the dawn".

Maybe the message, if there was one, was of the ominous sort. The fact that my mp3 player went into a coma for no apparent reason during a time when I'm grasping for any sort comfort I can find to help take the edge off, could well indicate, as if I needed a reminder, that I'm waist deep in the shit house and not coming out any time soon. I'm not sure that would qualify as a sign, necessarily, since it's not so much a preview of things to come, but only a reflection of my current state, but what do I know. Is the Universe kicking me while I'm down? If it is, what an asshole!

I'm a believer in the existence of signs. I think we are guided, gently, by an unseen hand, from time to time. That unseen hand could be called God, the Self, the Universe, The Void---take your pick. Whatever it is, I don't believe it can be expressed by any available means. The problem for me is determining what qualifies as a sign and what doesn't. Now, unless I'm presented with instances like the stranger I described above---an overt sign---I'll never be sure if what occurred had a special significance for me, because sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And what do you call someone who is adept at interpreting even the most subtle of signs? Schizophrenic. If you try hard and often enough to see messages in your environment, you will soon find yourself in the hedge-maze of schizophrenia , unable to back your way out. So, it's crucial, while on this endeavor, to keep yourself in check. It took me months to realize that not only was my tinfoil hat a symptom of schizophrenia, it was also a far from original one. I thought I was more creative than that, buy my thinking was erroneous, it seems.

Looking back on the events of my life, I recognize, from my perch high above them, the instances of signs. I see situations where, just when I needed them most, friends or family would contact me. Or, I'd come into some money at just the right time. When one door closed, another would open. The imprints of signs are there to see if looked upon with a keen eye. The map is not the territory, but it does give you an idea of what's around the bend. I'm sure you've heard the story of the car approaching from the opposite direction and as it passes you, the driver yells out, "pig!!". And the whole time you're stewing over the unwarranted insult, there is a pig in the road just around the bend.

There is the possibility that the belief in signs is just wishful thinking. It could be argued that given my current plight, when I feel my control of events is slipping ever faster, I've convinced myself, while side-stepping reason, that something beyond me is holding my hand through it all. I don't think that is so, but I won't discount it, either; I'm well enough aware of the constructs of the mind, of the illusions it can create to maintain order and stability.

Sign or no, my mp3 player has flat-lined and it's dubious whether I will be able to revive it. Damn, I really love that thing. Parting with it will be sorrowful.

The Ecstatic Truth

My life is falling apart around me and I don't necessarily view it as a bad thing. As much as I try, I have yet to convince myself that I'm doomed for all of eternity. I don't know, I think I'm headed for a paradigm shift and that it will be healthy for me. Sure, I've had my patches of worry and despair, but I've also had the underlying sense that as bad as things appear to be now, I'll soon be in a better situation. All that is happening is the old skin is flaking off to make way for new, healthier skin. Or so I hope. Am I sounding too New Agey for you? Don't fret, I may masturbate to pictures of Sylvia Browne on a daily basis, but I don't subscribe to her beliefs. For those of you not aware of who I'm referring to, take a gander, because the joke won't work without having a visual in mind. Still doesn't work, huh? Maybe the joke is just fine, but you're too addleminded to know its worth. Anyway, I'm not going to go into detail about precisely what's happening because the reason I'm writing in the first place is to get some distance from it, albeit temporarily. It's not interesting stuff anyway, so please don't think I'm depriving you of a real potboiler because I am not. Nothing picaresque or tragic, just a crappy comedy of errors.

You know, that pic of the sultry Syvia is distracting me something awful, but I will see this writing business through and not give in to the beast within. I'm going to move on to something more wholesome, and if I can't manage that, which I don't think I can, I'll aim for something rated PG, or PG 13. Yeah, PG 13 feels about right. Let's move on.

I caught a Werner Herzog reference on the Simpsons tonight. The kids of Springfield elementary were having a field trip, and while on the bus, they encountered some icy patches on the incredibly steep incline they were driving up, so Principal Skinner had them drag the bus with chains. In mid drag, the German exchange student says "I feel like Fitzcarraldo", to which Nelson, the bully, replies, "that film is so over played", or something like that. Good stuff. If you haven't seen it, Fitzcarraldo is a film by Werner Herzog, where an actual steamboat is pulled over a mountain using primitive methods by the natives in South America. Wonderful, ambitious film. Les Blanks made a documentary about it called Burden of Dreams, that serves as a great companion piece. And you get to see Klaus Kinski go berserk.

I placed a follow up call to the place I interviewed at Monday, and I was informed by the receptionist that Marilyn, the woman who I needed to talk with, wasn't at her desk so I should leave her a message on her voicemail and she'd get back to me. She never got back to me. I'm hoping it's because she wants to have information to give me when she calls. Well, at least I called. What action should I take if I don't hear from her tomorrow?

Ok, I'm done with you. I'm off to better endeavors.

The third phase of the fourth day, volume one

I have the Celtics game on in the background as I write this. They're playing the Heat, the reigning champs, and unless a miracle occurs, they will lose. Again. However, it's the third quarter and we're only down a few points. These guys are scrappers, but they lack experience. My friend Chris left me a voice mail today, telling me he had an extra ticket for tonight's game. Somehow, I didn't get the message until a few hours later, and when I got a hold of him, he had already given the ticket to his father. That's ok, because like I said, they're going to lose.

I haven't heard back from place I interviewed at the other day, and I think I'll give them a call tomorrow to see what's up. Strangely, I feel weird about calling, even though I know it's better if I d. If I get the job, I'll be making a good amount more than I did at my last job. O' God of Employment, hear my prayer:If you grant me this job, I'll be forever in your debt, as I currently am with the Credit card God, the Car insurance God, and the IRS God. Amen!

My shoulder has been bothering me for over a month now. I think I pulled a muscle at the gym and it has yet to fully heal. I'm hoping the yoga will help. Ah, you don't care. Let's move on.

I just watched a documentary called Spin on Google Video. It was about the, well, "spin" the media and politicians put on the '92 presidential campaign. The footage was comprised entirely of satellite feed from various networks that the maker of the film had compiled from old tapes. Because he had a satellite dish, he was able to witness what went on during the commercials of live broadcasts. So, what you have in this documentary are candid moments from the likes of Bill Clinton, George H. Bush, Larry King, and Al Gore. You see the candidates get coached on how to deflect questions about abortion and AIDS; you see Pat Robertson refer to callers as Homo's on the Larry King show; you witness Larry King kiss up to Bush, Clinton, and Perot, during separate interviews. And one comment in particular King made to Clinton I found to be strange. He told him he should talk to Ted Turner because he would "serve him". It sounded like a master/servant set up. They're all draconian bloodsuckers, but we love them for it. Anyway, check it out if you have access to Google, which you know damn well you do. Not that you need to be reminded of how evil politicians and their talking head subjects at the newsdesk are.

The Celtics lost their 16th in a row while I was writing this. At least they're consistent.

The first phase of the third day

The Celtics are playing Detroit tonight and will lose, making it their 14th loss in a row. They will lose because A) they really, really stink and couldn't beat a team of sixth graders even if they were spotted twenty points and B) The Pistons are not a bunch of sixth graders, they are one of the elite teams in the NBA and will handily defeat the lowly Celtics. Fortunately, the upcoming draft is going to be rich with talent--some real throughbreds-- and if the Celtics are gifted with a high pick, which they most certainly will be, they will soon be climbing out of the pit of mediocrity. So, I pray to the NBA gods that Greg Oden or Kevin Durant will be wearing a green jersey next year, and that Gerald Green, Rajon Rondo, and Big Al Jefferson will live up to their potential. Viva next year!

I am so broke. I hope I get that job I interviewed for yesterday, because it's coming down to the wire as far as my finances go. After giving it some thought, I've decided to teach guitar. I've never been against the idea, nor have I been excited by it, but if I can make some extra money doing it, then why not? I think I'll teach beginners because it's more enjoyable for me to see someone learn from scratch than to teach some jaded kid who's been playing for a couple of years Godsmack tunes. I need to formulate a plan and proceed with it. I'll keep you posted.

I planned on taking a day off from yoga today, but I couldn't help myself. I began with the intention of only doing a few stretches, but one thing led to another and before I knew it, a half hour had gone by. My goal is to do it every morning before work (when I get a job, that is) so that my day will start off in a clear and balanced way. That's the plan, anyway. We'll see how I feel if I have to do it at six in the morning.

I'm going to call Luke Warm and see if he's watching the game. If not, I'm going to watch Night of the Hunter.