Saw Mara last night. Before I headed over to her place, I wondered if seeing her this early was such a good idea. I hadn't thought it was, but I had been told by a couple of friends that they did, that I might be giving her the wrong idea by seeing her so soon. I'd be giving her the wrong idea if I went over there and had sex with her, I thought. But just hanging out? I had felt assured, based on conversations with her throughout the week, that getting together would not be detrimental; in fact, it would be a healthy thing to do, provided, of course, we kept it platonic.
It wasn't easy.
I realized, almost immediately upon entering her apartment, that 1) I was, for lack of a better word, horny, and 2) Mara wasn't going to prevent me from pursuing a sexual course of action. Complicating matters even more, she appeared to be quite welcoming of such a scenario.
I felt myself entertaining the idea of having my cake and eat it to. It was the same type of rationalizing addicts on the wagon employ: "If I have this one shot, cigarette, joint, fix, huff, whatever; I'll have the best of both worlds: I won't be addicted, but I'll still be able to reap the benefits of the addiction". It's a slippery slope, that thought process, and no one gets out of it alive. Yet practically the whole lot of us are weak, fallible, and selfish in varying degrees and walk headlong into traps we think we can outsmart.
Fortunately, I had enough presence of mind to keep my hands off her and her hands off me. We went over to Yoshis and had some sushi (the black dragon maki headlined) and then went back to her place and watched Knocked Up on her lap top. In bed.
We had two options: watch the film on her bed or on her couch. I told her I didn't care where we watched it, but it would have behooved me to endorse the couch. We'd been broken up only a week; maybe not such a good idea to share a bed. Oh, the games we play. She chose the bed, of course and I didn't protest because I am weak, fallible, and selfish.
Throughout the movie, she edged closer to me. I remained still, but I wondered why I had put myself in this position. Hell, I knew why, but I thought I was smarter than that. Miffed at my weakness, and going over in my mind how shitty things could turn out if I slept with her, I strengthened my resolve to abstain from anything resembling sex. I was randy, to be sure, but I knew I could put the fire out when I got home later. Thank God for that. So, I kept my focus on the movie and when it ended, I said goodnight and went home. A narrow escape? I'd like to think not, that I was fully in control of the situation at all times, but things could have easily swayed in the other direction.
In the end, I'm not sure if I saw her too soon. I felt like Luke when he went to confront Vader at the end of The Empire Strikes Back. It was dubious there for a while, but he made it out alive, and stronger for it. Yeah, I could have waited a while, but I'm glad we hung out when we did, my horniness notwithstanding. I figured as long as I was able to stick to the script, which I deviated from more times than I would have preferred, things would run smoothly, and for the most part they did. It's important to me that Mara knows I was serious when I told her I meant to continue being her friend.
Oh, Knocked Up was pretty cool.
--
I worked on a new song last night and I think it's pretty good. Need to attach some lyrics to it and it should be on its way. Afterward, I read from Nick Redfern's Memoir of a Monster Hunter, which reads like a marriage between Hunter Thompson and The X-Files.
--
My cousin Michelle is getting married next Saturday. The other day I talked to my mother about the wedding. She asked me if I was going, which I thought was a strange question because only a few days prior to our conversation, I had told her I was going to attend, that I had just RSVP'd, indicating as much.
Once she was satisfied that I was going, she asked me if I had my clothes ready. I told her it was a little early for me to start getting getting my outfit ready, but not to worry, I'd show up to the wedding fully clothed and presentable. She offered to iron my clothes for me. When I laughed, she said she was serious and wouldn't mind. I thanked her, but said it wouldn't make much sense for me to drive an hour round trip so my mother could iron my clothes. I assured her I'd be able to dress myself just fine. I didn't tell her, however, that I wasn't going to wear a suit. Well, she'll find out soon enough.
Off to watch some Lost. I've finally been able to start watching online again. I'm near the end of the third season and I'm hoping I'll be caught up by the time the new on starts.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
I see a Mansard roof through the trees, I see a salty message written in the eaves
Rich and I were just engaged in a discussion about Netflix, and by discussion, I mean to say a shake-your-head-in-disgust bitch session (not really, but it reads better this way). Rich brought to the table a troubling account wherein he had lost the return envelope for a film he had just watched and had to supply his own. He double stamped it, put the film inside, and put it in the mail slot, where he hoped it's journey back to Netflix would soon commence unhindered.
A couple of days later, when I came home from work and grabbed the mail, I saw that the envelope he had just mailed had been returned to him. It had the word "no" scrawled on it in red ink. An arrow pointed up and away from the word in the two o'clock position towards the forwarding address, which had a big X over it. I deduced that in lieu of a "Return to Sender" stamp, the Post Office had employed a more primitive and, consequently, amusing approach. Rich, however, did not see the humor in the situation.
When I saw him that night, he was outraged that the film had been sent back to him. He asked me if I wouldn't mind sending the movie back with my next return. I told him I would and went off to watch The Illusionist. The fucking movie froze up and fragmented so many times I felt like throwing my TV out the window, where it would land on my neighbor Steve's head, crushing it beyond recognition.
Lately, more often than not, I've been getting scratched discs from Netflix. I've been pleased with their service overall, but if this trend continues, I'm going to have to consider severing ties. So, that's what Rich and I were discussing tonight, these two tales of ineptitude, and possible malfeasance on the part of Netflix. Of course, in Rich's case, his ire was for the Post Office, but Netflix had something to do with it, albeit indirectly.
"Imagine if the mailman took matters into his own hands and never let your envelope make it to the Post Office", I said. "He was probably like: ' Oh, this guy put the wrong address on here (Rich had addressed it to a location in California, where it had originated. The usual destination is Worcester, Ma). I'll do him a favor and send it back to him, even though I'm not doing my job correctly by doing so, and even though he went through the trouble of affixing not one, but two stamps on it, indicating he was eager for a speedy and safe trip to its destination."
"Whoever sent it back to me was an asshole and cost me two stamps", Rich said. "Fucking prick---the address was correct! I didn't need that shit sent back to me"
"I know, it's kind of odd the way it was handled. Whoever did it, noticed a deviation, didn't trust it, and sent it back to you. It's like if you sent a birthday card to your Aunt Rita, who had just moved, and your mailman notices it and thinks: ' This guy must have been smoking the good shit when he addressed this envelope because, if my memory serves me, Rita lives in Lexington, not Scranton. I'll be his savior and give it back to him, sparing him a lot of aggravation. Maybe he'll give me a juicy tip around Christmas.'
We laughed a bit and went our separate ways. I finished watching the director's commentary for The Illusionist. Tough going, that, with all the scratches on the disc, but worth it because it was very good, just like the film. In the spirit of the film, here's some Ricky Jay, one of the best:
Craig practically begged me to slap him during an exchange we had this morning. I'll give you a brief set up: Craig couldn't find his keys and he looked for them all over the house as I tried to haul my late ass out the door. He asked me if I had seen his them. I told him I had not. I asked him where he recalled seeing them last. He said in his bedroom He then muttered "I didn't ask you where I should look for them, I asked you if you had seen them."
SLAP!!!!
I didn't really slap him, of course, nor did I respond verbally because I should have been on the road already and had no time to get into something I wasn't too invested in to begin with. I'm not sore with Craig at all because I think what happened, especially in retrospect, was pretty funny. And I know he was frustrated with the situation and it was early in the morning, not the most resourceful and clear-headed time of day for many of us, and probably didn't mean for it to come out the way it did. Or, who knows, maybe he did. Still funny, though.
On my way to work, I marveled at how, no matter how pressed my shirts appear when I put them on, my seatbelt does a number on them. When I get out of the car, I look I had slept in my clothes. It's a disconcerting thing to deal with. I may need therapy. Am I the only person this happens to? Help me Obi Wan, you're my only hope!
A couple of days later, when I came home from work and grabbed the mail, I saw that the envelope he had just mailed had been returned to him. It had the word "no" scrawled on it in red ink. An arrow pointed up and away from the word in the two o'clock position towards the forwarding address, which had a big X over it. I deduced that in lieu of a "Return to Sender" stamp, the Post Office had employed a more primitive and, consequently, amusing approach. Rich, however, did not see the humor in the situation.
When I saw him that night, he was outraged that the film had been sent back to him. He asked me if I wouldn't mind sending the movie back with my next return. I told him I would and went off to watch The Illusionist. The fucking movie froze up and fragmented so many times I felt like throwing my TV out the window, where it would land on my neighbor Steve's head, crushing it beyond recognition.
Lately, more often than not, I've been getting scratched discs from Netflix. I've been pleased with their service overall, but if this trend continues, I'm going to have to consider severing ties. So, that's what Rich and I were discussing tonight, these two tales of ineptitude, and possible malfeasance on the part of Netflix. Of course, in Rich's case, his ire was for the Post Office, but Netflix had something to do with it, albeit indirectly.
"Imagine if the mailman took matters into his own hands and never let your envelope make it to the Post Office", I said. "He was probably like: ' Oh, this guy put the wrong address on here (Rich had addressed it to a location in California, where it had originated. The usual destination is Worcester, Ma). I'll do him a favor and send it back to him, even though I'm not doing my job correctly by doing so, and even though he went through the trouble of affixing not one, but two stamps on it, indicating he was eager for a speedy and safe trip to its destination."
"Whoever sent it back to me was an asshole and cost me two stamps", Rich said. "Fucking prick---the address was correct! I didn't need that shit sent back to me"
"I know, it's kind of odd the way it was handled. Whoever did it, noticed a deviation, didn't trust it, and sent it back to you. It's like if you sent a birthday card to your Aunt Rita, who had just moved, and your mailman notices it and thinks: ' This guy must have been smoking the good shit when he addressed this envelope because, if my memory serves me, Rita lives in Lexington, not Scranton. I'll be his savior and give it back to him, sparing him a lot of aggravation. Maybe he'll give me a juicy tip around Christmas.'
We laughed a bit and went our separate ways. I finished watching the director's commentary for The Illusionist. Tough going, that, with all the scratches on the disc, but worth it because it was very good, just like the film. In the spirit of the film, here's some Ricky Jay, one of the best:
Craig practically begged me to slap him during an exchange we had this morning. I'll give you a brief set up: Craig couldn't find his keys and he looked for them all over the house as I tried to haul my late ass out the door. He asked me if I had seen his them. I told him I had not. I asked him where he recalled seeing them last. He said in his bedroom He then muttered "I didn't ask you where I should look for them, I asked you if you had seen them."
SLAP!!!!
I didn't really slap him, of course, nor did I respond verbally because I should have been on the road already and had no time to get into something I wasn't too invested in to begin with. I'm not sore with Craig at all because I think what happened, especially in retrospect, was pretty funny. And I know he was frustrated with the situation and it was early in the morning, not the most resourceful and clear-headed time of day for many of us, and probably didn't mean for it to come out the way it did. Or, who knows, maybe he did. Still funny, though.
On my way to work, I marveled at how, no matter how pressed my shirts appear when I put them on, my seatbelt does a number on them. When I get out of the car, I look I had slept in my clothes. It's a disconcerting thing to deal with. I may need therapy. Am I the only person this happens to? Help me Obi Wan, you're my only hope!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
You remind me of something, a song that I am, and you sing me back into myself
Woke up feeling lousy about life. I couldn't tell why, though I suspected it may have been a dream that caused it. I've woken up like that plenty of times in my life, dream or no, and the only elixir is to get out of bed, go make breakfast, and get on with your day. Usually works, too. I made tasty eggs (over easy, a little ketchup) this morning---who can feel blue after eating a couple of those?
Know what? I have no business posting an entry tonight. I don't really feel like writing and I'd like to finish importing Hawkwind's Space Ritual into my iTunes. And I'd like to see if I can watch The Illusionist tonight.
I'm kind of tired; last night I didn't fall asleep very easily. My mind wasn't racing, or anything like that. I was just energized for some reason. I had been listening to Robert Morgan's radio show on blogtalk.com and it was tough going. The sound quality on that site is frustrating: if more than one person is mic'd up, it's a guarantee that there will be a huge difference in levels. I struggled like hell to hear Morgan speak and then when his co-host would speak up, I had to cover my ears to stifle the sound assault. I eventually stopped listening to the show out of frustration and aural torment and, you know what, maybe that's why I couldn't fall asleep right away.
So, like I said, I have no business posting tonight, so....
Know what? I have no business posting an entry tonight. I don't really feel like writing and I'd like to finish importing Hawkwind's Space Ritual into my iTunes. And I'd like to see if I can watch The Illusionist tonight.
I'm kind of tired; last night I didn't fall asleep very easily. My mind wasn't racing, or anything like that. I was just energized for some reason. I had been listening to Robert Morgan's radio show on blogtalk.com and it was tough going. The sound quality on that site is frustrating: if more than one person is mic'd up, it's a guarantee that there will be a huge difference in levels. I struggled like hell to hear Morgan speak and then when his co-host would speak up, I had to cover my ears to stifle the sound assault. I eventually stopped listening to the show out of frustration and aural torment and, you know what, maybe that's why I couldn't fall asleep right away.
So, like I said, I have no business posting tonight, so....
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I was following the pack, all swallowed in their coats, with scarves of red tied around their throats
If I Mara and I were still a couple, today would have marked our four month anniversary. She texted me this earlier today: "Happy Un-niversary!". I was at my desk at work when I read it and laughed out loud, startling a couple of my coworkers, I'm sure. She's handling this better than I hoped. We're going to get together tomorrow night, I think, and it makes me smile knowing there was a chance I'd never see her again post break up.
The Fleet Foxes had me at hello. They're the perfect storm of all that I love in music. The words epic, warm, glorious, haunting, melancholic, jubilant, and gorgeous come to mind when I listen to them, which is almost all the time. Spira's taking Seany Boy to see them for his birthday. Not fair, I say! I should be the one going with him. She can stay home and sew, or whatever the hell it is she does when she's alone. I'm pretty sure she's not that fond of music---she doesn't even know who engineered Kick Out The Jams--- which makes her going to this show and not me, music maven par excellence, a travesty of the highest order.
I have to say, Vampire Weekend are damn good. They're the darlings of Indie-hipsters across the globe and they became so before their debut album was even released. That's why I fucking hate Indie-hipsters, because of shit like that, and that's why I thought I'd hate Vampire Weekend. When I finally checked them out, though, I discovered they were equal to the hype. Been listening to them way more than I thought I would.
Off to go read from Fatal Vision, one of the best true crime books ever written. And later, if the mood strikes me, I'll write you a beautiful poem.
The Fleet Foxes had me at hello. They're the perfect storm of all that I love in music. The words epic, warm, glorious, haunting, melancholic, jubilant, and gorgeous come to mind when I listen to them, which is almost all the time. Spira's taking Seany Boy to see them for his birthday. Not fair, I say! I should be the one going with him. She can stay home and sew, or whatever the hell it is she does when she's alone. I'm pretty sure she's not that fond of music---she doesn't even know who engineered Kick Out The Jams--- which makes her going to this show and not me, music maven par excellence, a travesty of the highest order.
I have to say, Vampire Weekend are damn good. They're the darlings of Indie-hipsters across the globe and they became so before their debut album was even released. That's why I fucking hate Indie-hipsters, because of shit like that, and that's why I thought I'd hate Vampire Weekend. When I finally checked them out, though, I discovered they were equal to the hype. Been listening to them way more than I thought I would.
Off to go read from Fatal Vision, one of the best true crime books ever written. And later, if the mood strikes me, I'll write you a beautiful poem.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Fare thee well, oh my honey
I broke up with Mara on Friday. The day she came home from Florida, when she asked me on the phone if we were ok, was when I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. I told her it was late, she was tired from her trip and I was tired just because. We'd talk on Friday, I told her. Now wasn't the best time.
For the next two days, I thought about the pending break up the way I'd think about an upcoming root canal. I knew it was the right thing to do---hell, I knew fairly early on, but wanted to, because she was so sweet, give it more time to see if I'd feel any differently---but knowing didn't prevent the doubts from surfacing or stifle the urge to delay, once again, the inevitable.
When Friday hit, I felt better about what I had to do. I showed up at her apartment and wasn't there long before she put her arms around me, broke down and said she could feel me slipping away. Short of replying "Funny you should say that", I told her I was sorry but I couldn't be her boyfriend anymore.
The next half hour was difficult. Mara appealed to me to give her another chance and it broke my heart to hear it. I told myself I had to be strong and congruent. I couldn't waiver. Everything I had thought to say to her went out the window; I could do little but hold her and try to fend off the tears that would not be held back. I held her and cooed in her ear that it would be alright, everything would be alright.
Things got better. We talked in her kitchen and I was thrilled she didn't tell me to leave. We watched an old home movie---her mother's fiftieth birthday party from '92---and walked over to the grocery store via the tunnel she discovered off of Somerville Ave. When we returned, I washed her dishes, which had piled up high in her sink, while she answered some emails. I joined her when I was done and she showed me a picture she had taken of me. I asked her when it was taken. "The night we met", she replied.
When it was time for me to leave, Mara told me she didn't want me to go. Even knowing breaking up was the right decision, I felt horrible, like a villain, a betrayer of the highest order. I resisted the urge, which, out of compassion, was strong, to tell her that I wasn't going anywhere, wouldn't leave her for the world.
Instead, I told her I was sorry, but I had to go. The image of her curled up on her bed weeping, will be a hard one for me to shake, I'm afraid. I went over to the bed and curled up next to her and kissed her on the cheek. A few minutes later, she saw me to the door. We made tentative plans to see each other soon.
I called Spira on my way home. I told her what happened and got a little choked up in the process. John Wayne I am not.
I went to Walden Pond with Spira and Sarah the following morning. Sarah was the one who introduced me to Mara. If I hadn't met Mara that night, I was going to ask out Sarah. And there I was, the day after breaking up with Mara, hanging out at Walden with Sarah. In a way, things had come full circle.
It was good being out with friends. It was a gorgeous day. We swam and took a walk around the pond, stopping at the site of Thoreau's cabin. It was a strange experience in some ways; I was still raw emotionally from the night before, but also finding myself very attracted to Sarah. My life had taken an interesting turn, to be sure.
After Walden, I took a nap and woke to the sound of my cell phone buzzing. It was Luke Warm. He was pulling up to my street and was about to head over to the Burren to join the pub crawl that was assembled in honor of Michael and Pete's birthdays. It was almost six o'clock. Pretty early to start drinking, but this was the Woburn crew we were meeting up with, and they are professional drinkers.
At the Burren, I spotted Monet, a woman I had gone on a date with a few years ago. I had met her at a party and was instantly attracted to her. I told Foley outside over cigarettes that I was enchanted and wanted to ask her out. I didn't that night, but a month later, after hanging out with her and Spira a few times, I finally did.
The date didn't go very well, judging by the fact that none followed. We lost touch and that was that. For some reason, on Friday night I asked Mara if she had ever met Monet. I don't know what made me think of her, but I figured that, because the two of them lived in the same city and had similar interests, they may have crossed paths. Mara said the name didn't ring a bell.
Curious that I saw Monet the next day. She was with a guy I assumed was her boyfriend, and I didn't say anything to her, particularly because the pub crawl had begun and everyone was making their way to Redbones, but also because she had given me a look of recognition and then turned away quickly. I know that look, have given it myself before. I didn't feel much like talking to her anyway at that moment; it would have been awkward and uncomfortable and I'd already had one of those conversations the night before. And besides, she blew me off, flicked me away like a mosquito on her arm. Mara would never have done that. Made me wonder if the Universe was trying to tell me something. Can't think like that, though. I did what needed to be done, however much I wanted it to work out.
I left the pub crawl when it was leaving Christopher's and heading into Harvard Sq. I walked home with a buzz and enjoyed the beautiful evening. Luke Warm came by around three and crashed on our couch. We had some fruit and coffee for breakfast and then he left to to go back to New Hampshire to ride in The Kremlin's boat.
I went to Newbury Comics with Craig in tow and traded in a bunch of cd's. There was a bunch of stuff I wanted to get: The Acorn, Vetiver, Vampire Weekend, Bonnie Prince Billy, and possibly Jose Gonzalez. I ended up getting discs from all of the above, except J.G.. Instead, I picked up a cd of tranquil African music, which is sublime.
Mara called this afternoon and we had a nice conversation. After talking about our respective Saturday nights, she told me that she felt pretty good today, that little remained of the hurt that she had felt on Friday. I was overjoyed at the news. It seemed that things were going to be alright, that we were going to remain friends.
Oh, Mara, you are quite a woman. Thank you for understanding and being one of the kindest, sweetest, women I've ever met. I am honored to be your friend, to have you in my life. You are one of the good ones.
For the next two days, I thought about the pending break up the way I'd think about an upcoming root canal. I knew it was the right thing to do---hell, I knew fairly early on, but wanted to, because she was so sweet, give it more time to see if I'd feel any differently---but knowing didn't prevent the doubts from surfacing or stifle the urge to delay, once again, the inevitable.
When Friday hit, I felt better about what I had to do. I showed up at her apartment and wasn't there long before she put her arms around me, broke down and said she could feel me slipping away. Short of replying "Funny you should say that", I told her I was sorry but I couldn't be her boyfriend anymore.
The next half hour was difficult. Mara appealed to me to give her another chance and it broke my heart to hear it. I told myself I had to be strong and congruent. I couldn't waiver. Everything I had thought to say to her went out the window; I could do little but hold her and try to fend off the tears that would not be held back. I held her and cooed in her ear that it would be alright, everything would be alright.
Things got better. We talked in her kitchen and I was thrilled she didn't tell me to leave. We watched an old home movie---her mother's fiftieth birthday party from '92---and walked over to the grocery store via the tunnel she discovered off of Somerville Ave. When we returned, I washed her dishes, which had piled up high in her sink, while she answered some emails. I joined her when I was done and she showed me a picture she had taken of me. I asked her when it was taken. "The night we met", she replied.
When it was time for me to leave, Mara told me she didn't want me to go. Even knowing breaking up was the right decision, I felt horrible, like a villain, a betrayer of the highest order. I resisted the urge, which, out of compassion, was strong, to tell her that I wasn't going anywhere, wouldn't leave her for the world.
Instead, I told her I was sorry, but I had to go. The image of her curled up on her bed weeping, will be a hard one for me to shake, I'm afraid. I went over to the bed and curled up next to her and kissed her on the cheek. A few minutes later, she saw me to the door. We made tentative plans to see each other soon.
I called Spira on my way home. I told her what happened and got a little choked up in the process. John Wayne I am not.
I went to Walden Pond with Spira and Sarah the following morning. Sarah was the one who introduced me to Mara. If I hadn't met Mara that night, I was going to ask out Sarah. And there I was, the day after breaking up with Mara, hanging out at Walden with Sarah. In a way, things had come full circle.
It was good being out with friends. It was a gorgeous day. We swam and took a walk around the pond, stopping at the site of Thoreau's cabin. It was a strange experience in some ways; I was still raw emotionally from the night before, but also finding myself very attracted to Sarah. My life had taken an interesting turn, to be sure.
After Walden, I took a nap and woke to the sound of my cell phone buzzing. It was Luke Warm. He was pulling up to my street and was about to head over to the Burren to join the pub crawl that was assembled in honor of Michael and Pete's birthdays. It was almost six o'clock. Pretty early to start drinking, but this was the Woburn crew we were meeting up with, and they are professional drinkers.
At the Burren, I spotted Monet, a woman I had gone on a date with a few years ago. I had met her at a party and was instantly attracted to her. I told Foley outside over cigarettes that I was enchanted and wanted to ask her out. I didn't that night, but a month later, after hanging out with her and Spira a few times, I finally did.
The date didn't go very well, judging by the fact that none followed. We lost touch and that was that. For some reason, on Friday night I asked Mara if she had ever met Monet. I don't know what made me think of her, but I figured that, because the two of them lived in the same city and had similar interests, they may have crossed paths. Mara said the name didn't ring a bell.
Curious that I saw Monet the next day. She was with a guy I assumed was her boyfriend, and I didn't say anything to her, particularly because the pub crawl had begun and everyone was making their way to Redbones, but also because she had given me a look of recognition and then turned away quickly. I know that look, have given it myself before. I didn't feel much like talking to her anyway at that moment; it would have been awkward and uncomfortable and I'd already had one of those conversations the night before. And besides, she blew me off, flicked me away like a mosquito on her arm. Mara would never have done that. Made me wonder if the Universe was trying to tell me something. Can't think like that, though. I did what needed to be done, however much I wanted it to work out.
I left the pub crawl when it was leaving Christopher's and heading into Harvard Sq. I walked home with a buzz and enjoyed the beautiful evening. Luke Warm came by around three and crashed on our couch. We had some fruit and coffee for breakfast and then he left to to go back to New Hampshire to ride in The Kremlin's boat.
I went to Newbury Comics with Craig in tow and traded in a bunch of cd's. There was a bunch of stuff I wanted to get: The Acorn, Vetiver, Vampire Weekend, Bonnie Prince Billy, and possibly Jose Gonzalez. I ended up getting discs from all of the above, except J.G.. Instead, I picked up a cd of tranquil African music, which is sublime.
Mara called this afternoon and we had a nice conversation. After talking about our respective Saturday nights, she told me that she felt pretty good today, that little remained of the hurt that she had felt on Friday. I was overjoyed at the news. It seemed that things were going to be alright, that we were going to remain friends.
Oh, Mara, you are quite a woman. Thank you for understanding and being one of the kindest, sweetest, women I've ever met. I am honored to be your friend, to have you in my life. You are one of the good ones.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
And I'm searching for the dolphin in the sea, and sometimes I wonder, do you ever think of me
While Ann was showing me how to scan mortgages into the computer yesterday, I was distracted by how good she smelled. Whatever she was wearing, it was warm, sweet, and natural. I decided to comment after debating for a couple of minutes over whether it would be too forward of me to do so. After dropping the ball regarding the heart attack conversation ( I never did offer my condolences), I wasn't going to keep quiet this time, especially when it was a no-brainer. Who doesn't like being told they smell great?
So, as gentlemanly as I could muster, I told her and asked her what scent she wearing. I received an unexpected reply. She told me she doesn't have a sense of smell so she couldn't be sure what it was. Maybe it was the body lotion she put on that morning, she wondered.
"You really can't smell anything?", I asked, not sure if she was joking.
"I can't. When I was younger, I hit my head on the pavement and one of the consequences of the injury was the loss of smell."
I was intrigued. " What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I was being stupid---I was twenty and fell off the hood of a car and landed on my head. I was in a coma for three days."
I had never spoken with anyone who'd been in a coma before. I was riveted and had a ton of questions, but realized, because we were in a work environment, I'd have to keep them to an unfortunate minimum. So I asked her the first question that popped in my head. "What was it like waking up from the coma? You must have been confused about how you ended up where you were."
"I was, but honestly, I don't remember much because I was on a ton of meds. "
She told me a bit more about the accident, but I didn't want to press the issue---I could tell she wasn't entirely comfortable reliving the experience--- so we returned our focus to the job at hand. I was glad I told her she smelled nice. And I was glad I was able to spend some time with her. When our training session was complete, I didn't want to leave, and I don't think she wanted me to, either, but there was no other option that made sense. I thanked her for the tutorial, for being patient with me. She thanked me for sitting with her. I thought that was sweet.
--
Spira and I hung out last night. We walked over to Yoshis for dinner. Got some tuna tar tar, dumplings, and of course, some Black Dragon sushi. Afterward, we walked over to Starbucks and grabbed some coffee and walked back to my place. Just like old times, we had some smoke, talked, and played music for each other.
She turned me on to The Acorn, Fleet Foxes, The Ting Tings, and a great compilation of African music. I introduced her to Isobel Campbell, Teitur, Fred Neil, and Joni Mitchell's epic masterpiece, Don Juan's Reckless Daughter. We watched Super High Me a bit later. It was a fun night. We need to hang out more often.
--
My heart is heavy with what I have to do. I'm sure I'm making the right choice, but it hurts just thinking about it.
Fucking hell!
So, as gentlemanly as I could muster, I told her and asked her what scent she wearing. I received an unexpected reply. She told me she doesn't have a sense of smell so she couldn't be sure what it was. Maybe it was the body lotion she put on that morning, she wondered.
"You really can't smell anything?", I asked, not sure if she was joking.
"I can't. When I was younger, I hit my head on the pavement and one of the consequences of the injury was the loss of smell."
I was intrigued. " What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I was being stupid---I was twenty and fell off the hood of a car and landed on my head. I was in a coma for three days."
I had never spoken with anyone who'd been in a coma before. I was riveted and had a ton of questions, but realized, because we were in a work environment, I'd have to keep them to an unfortunate minimum. So I asked her the first question that popped in my head. "What was it like waking up from the coma? You must have been confused about how you ended up where you were."
"I was, but honestly, I don't remember much because I was on a ton of meds. "
She told me a bit more about the accident, but I didn't want to press the issue---I could tell she wasn't entirely comfortable reliving the experience--- so we returned our focus to the job at hand. I was glad I told her she smelled nice. And I was glad I was able to spend some time with her. When our training session was complete, I didn't want to leave, and I don't think she wanted me to, either, but there was no other option that made sense. I thanked her for the tutorial, for being patient with me. She thanked me for sitting with her. I thought that was sweet.
--
Spira and I hung out last night. We walked over to Yoshis for dinner. Got some tuna tar tar, dumplings, and of course, some Black Dragon sushi. Afterward, we walked over to Starbucks and grabbed some coffee and walked back to my place. Just like old times, we had some smoke, talked, and played music for each other.
She turned me on to The Acorn, Fleet Foxes, The Ting Tings, and a great compilation of African music. I introduced her to Isobel Campbell, Teitur, Fred Neil, and Joni Mitchell's epic masterpiece, Don Juan's Reckless Daughter. We watched Super High Me a bit later. It was a fun night. We need to hang out more often.
--
My heart is heavy with what I have to do. I'm sure I'm making the right choice, but it hurts just thinking about it.
Fucking hell!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
And to you who never need, fuck yourselves, I need some more room to breathe
Trying to enjoy Bob Dylan's John Wesley Harding, but the shitty harmonica playing is not only a distraction, it's assaulting my eardrums with it's high pitched tinniness. Sometimes I can tolerate it in Dylan's music, but for the most part, I wish he would have threw his damn harmonica in the trash.
Ann was talking to Sharon about her father having a mild heart attack. I debated whether I should say something, offer some kind of condolence. I didn't want to interfere, though. It seemed to me that this matter was teetering between being private and open to discussion. I didn't want to teeter the wrong way and thought carefully about what I should do. Because she was speaking to Sharon in a normal tone and doing so only a couple of feet from my desk, indicated to me that she wouldn't be adverse to me joining in the conversation. She'd probably think I was being sweet for showing some concern. But.....
But she might also think I was butting in. And that's something I really try to avoid, especially in the workplace. I determined that most likely Ann would be fine if I spoke up, but by that point it was too late, the conversation was over; Ann had left the room. I think tomorrow, if I'm granted an opening, I'll inquire about her father. I'll risk coming off as being nosy, and that's worse than butting in sometimes, but who gives a shit really? All I'll be doing is asking her how her father is faring. It's not like I'll be asking her if she ever tried anal, or something equally as vulgar. Ah, trying to do the right thing can get rather complicated, even when it comes to something seemingly minor. Such is life.
Ann was talking to Sharon about her father having a mild heart attack. I debated whether I should say something, offer some kind of condolence. I didn't want to interfere, though. It seemed to me that this matter was teetering between being private and open to discussion. I didn't want to teeter the wrong way and thought carefully about what I should do. Because she was speaking to Sharon in a normal tone and doing so only a couple of feet from my desk, indicated to me that she wouldn't be adverse to me joining in the conversation. She'd probably think I was being sweet for showing some concern. But.....
But she might also think I was butting in. And that's something I really try to avoid, especially in the workplace. I determined that most likely Ann would be fine if I spoke up, but by that point it was too late, the conversation was over; Ann had left the room. I think tomorrow, if I'm granted an opening, I'll inquire about her father. I'll risk coming off as being nosy, and that's worse than butting in sometimes, but who gives a shit really? All I'll be doing is asking her how her father is faring. It's not like I'll be asking her if she ever tried anal, or something equally as vulgar. Ah, trying to do the right thing can get rather complicated, even when it comes to something seemingly minor. Such is life.
Monday, August 18, 2008
If I were to go away, would I always look for your beautiful face in every crowd, every place?
Back from Maine in one piece, though at the onset of my trip it looked dubious whether I would be. When I left Somerville, it was hot and sunny, barely a cloud in the sky. But the closer I got to Maine, the more ominous the climate became. The sky darkened and the wind picked up. Once in Maine, I hit pockets of violent and unrelenting storms. I felt like Frodo near the end of his journey. I asked myself on more than one occasion if this turn of events portended a lousy vacation. I hoped not.
The night before I left, I was in bed thinking about the trip. Up until that point, I had thought upon it with fond anticipation. All of a sudden, I felt a sense of dread about the trip. There wasn't anything specific that birthed this feeling, but spending time with family, whether our relationship with them is healthy, can be unnerving. Read your Freud if you're not convinced.
When I arrived at the house, my parents, who had showed up an hour earlier, were getting in their car to go to the grocery store. I went with them, though if I'd had my wits about me, I would have stayed back and relaxed in the empty house.
I love and care very much for my mother, but she can be one of the most high-strung people I've ever had the misfortune to be in the company of. Especially when she's a passenger in a car. I figured, or more hoped, that because she was on vacation, the trip to the store would be a relatively smooth one.
It wasn't.
I won't relate every incident involving my mother, because there were more than a few, but I will describe one that should give you an idea of what I'm talking about. We were leaving the grocery store and it was raining. My mother told my father, who has the patience of a Saint, to go fetch the car and pull it up to the storefront so that we could load the groceries in the trunk. As he made his way to the parking lot, my mother said "Oh my God, he's not going to find the car" in a tight, nervous voice. She then called out to him: "Denny! Denny! Use the car finder button on the remote!"
He ended up setting off the alarm, which found the car just as effectively. My mother covered her eyes and hung her head down in seeming embarrassment. "He never listens to me. I told him to use the car finder." I resisted the impulse to go off on her and said, as diplomatically as I could muster, "He listens to you, but you tell him to do a lot of stuff." She didn't say anything to that.
On the way back to the house, we stopped at a sub shop to get some food for dinner. My father and I went inside to order the food and while we waited for it to be prepared, I said to him "I think mom's control issues are getting worse."
He agreed and said the reason he doesn't get upset with her is because one of them needs to keep a cool head. "Were her parents like that?", I asked him.
"Oh, yeah, when I used to work for Pe pere, he used to get on me about all sorts of things." I'd always wondered if that was the case. It stood to reason--behaviors are often passed down. That's why, especially now that I'm not in the midst of it, I view my mother's condition with compassion rather than anger. She's not always knotted up---a good amount of the time she's pretty laid back---but when she is, I feel bad for her because she can't help herself. I've suggested on more than on occasion, and as delicately as possible, that she talk to a therapist. She won't do it. She's set in ways and resists the notion that there's something about her that needs to be corrected.
The first night at the house was great. It was just me and my parents. My sister and her brood were coming up on Sunday. That meant I got to sleep in the basement for the first time ever. I was thrilled. I was going to sleep on a water bed, have a bathroom with a shower to myself, and a beautiful view of the moon-soaked bay.
After hanging out with the folks for a few hours, I retired to my digs. To mark the occasion, I stepped outside and sat on the bench near the edge of the lawn where the water meets, lit a pipe, and took in the calming scene before me. Ahh.
My sister and family arrived on Sunday and the placidity I was nourished by the night before was replaced with the chaos of children. I didn't feel overburdened with their arrival, but, like always, it's a shock to system akin to immersing yourself in a barrel of ice. Once every one was settled in, Kate, her husband Rich, and I went down the street to Buffleheads, a nice little restaurant, for lunch, courtesy of my parents.
We had to drive there, rather than walk, like we usually do, because Rich had sprained his foot earlier that morning chasing one of their dogs in the woods. He was already nursing a sore back, the result of a car accident, that left him out of work for a couple of weeks. Poor guy, last year when they came up, Rich hurt his knee and got the shingles (!). As far as he's concerned, vacationing in Maine is hazardous to his health and maybe he should consider vacationing somewhere else.
Kate and I ordered lobster rolls, while Rich contented himself with a burger. While we ate, I noticed a woman sitting with a large group of people at a table behind Kate and Rich kept looking over at me. She looked to be in her thirties and was attractive. At one point, for the hell of it, I held her stare. She didn't budge and continued looking at me. Finally, she turned away when someone next to her asked her a question. Not that anything was going to happen, but it was kind of thrilling and didn't hurt the self-esteem any.
I spent the rest of the day being active. I went for an invigorating run, went kayaking with Kate and the twins, and went for a walk along the sandbar after dinner, listening to Mark Lanegan and Isobel Campbell sing about love and loss on my Ipod.
I left around lunch time today, wondering if I'd ever set foot in that house again. There's doubt whether my parents will rent it next year. I think they will---they really like it up there despite the complaints that it's become too much of a hassle. As I made my way out of the house, Patrick, my three year old nephew, handed me a ball of Play dough for the road. I shrugged and said "Why not." I grabbed the ball, understanding that it was one of the more significant gifts I've received in a while. The doubts, the fear, the worry, the frustration, can disappear in the scent and softness of a ball of Play dough.
The night before I left, I was in bed thinking about the trip. Up until that point, I had thought upon it with fond anticipation. All of a sudden, I felt a sense of dread about the trip. There wasn't anything specific that birthed this feeling, but spending time with family, whether our relationship with them is healthy, can be unnerving. Read your Freud if you're not convinced.
When I arrived at the house, my parents, who had showed up an hour earlier, were getting in their car to go to the grocery store. I went with them, though if I'd had my wits about me, I would have stayed back and relaxed in the empty house.
I love and care very much for my mother, but she can be one of the most high-strung people I've ever had the misfortune to be in the company of. Especially when she's a passenger in a car. I figured, or more hoped, that because she was on vacation, the trip to the store would be a relatively smooth one.
It wasn't.
I won't relate every incident involving my mother, because there were more than a few, but I will describe one that should give you an idea of what I'm talking about. We were leaving the grocery store and it was raining. My mother told my father, who has the patience of a Saint, to go fetch the car and pull it up to the storefront so that we could load the groceries in the trunk. As he made his way to the parking lot, my mother said "Oh my God, he's not going to find the car" in a tight, nervous voice. She then called out to him: "Denny! Denny! Use the car finder button on the remote!"
He ended up setting off the alarm, which found the car just as effectively. My mother covered her eyes and hung her head down in seeming embarrassment. "He never listens to me. I told him to use the car finder." I resisted the impulse to go off on her and said, as diplomatically as I could muster, "He listens to you, but you tell him to do a lot of stuff." She didn't say anything to that.
On the way back to the house, we stopped at a sub shop to get some food for dinner. My father and I went inside to order the food and while we waited for it to be prepared, I said to him "I think mom's control issues are getting worse."
He agreed and said the reason he doesn't get upset with her is because one of them needs to keep a cool head. "Were her parents like that?", I asked him.
"Oh, yeah, when I used to work for Pe pere, he used to get on me about all sorts of things." I'd always wondered if that was the case. It stood to reason--behaviors are often passed down. That's why, especially now that I'm not in the midst of it, I view my mother's condition with compassion rather than anger. She's not always knotted up---a good amount of the time she's pretty laid back---but when she is, I feel bad for her because she can't help herself. I've suggested on more than on occasion, and as delicately as possible, that she talk to a therapist. She won't do it. She's set in ways and resists the notion that there's something about her that needs to be corrected.
The first night at the house was great. It was just me and my parents. My sister and her brood were coming up on Sunday. That meant I got to sleep in the basement for the first time ever. I was thrilled. I was going to sleep on a water bed, have a bathroom with a shower to myself, and a beautiful view of the moon-soaked bay.
After hanging out with the folks for a few hours, I retired to my digs. To mark the occasion, I stepped outside and sat on the bench near the edge of the lawn where the water meets, lit a pipe, and took in the calming scene before me. Ahh.
My sister and family arrived on Sunday and the placidity I was nourished by the night before was replaced with the chaos of children. I didn't feel overburdened with their arrival, but, like always, it's a shock to system akin to immersing yourself in a barrel of ice. Once every one was settled in, Kate, her husband Rich, and I went down the street to Buffleheads, a nice little restaurant, for lunch, courtesy of my parents.
We had to drive there, rather than walk, like we usually do, because Rich had sprained his foot earlier that morning chasing one of their dogs in the woods. He was already nursing a sore back, the result of a car accident, that left him out of work for a couple of weeks. Poor guy, last year when they came up, Rich hurt his knee and got the shingles (!). As far as he's concerned, vacationing in Maine is hazardous to his health and maybe he should consider vacationing somewhere else.
Kate and I ordered lobster rolls, while Rich contented himself with a burger. While we ate, I noticed a woman sitting with a large group of people at a table behind Kate and Rich kept looking over at me. She looked to be in her thirties and was attractive. At one point, for the hell of it, I held her stare. She didn't budge and continued looking at me. Finally, she turned away when someone next to her asked her a question. Not that anything was going to happen, but it was kind of thrilling and didn't hurt the self-esteem any.
I spent the rest of the day being active. I went for an invigorating run, went kayaking with Kate and the twins, and went for a walk along the sandbar after dinner, listening to Mark Lanegan and Isobel Campbell sing about love and loss on my Ipod.
I left around lunch time today, wondering if I'd ever set foot in that house again. There's doubt whether my parents will rent it next year. I think they will---they really like it up there despite the complaints that it's become too much of a hassle. As I made my way out of the house, Patrick, my three year old nephew, handed me a ball of Play dough for the road. I shrugged and said "Why not." I grabbed the ball, understanding that it was one of the more significant gifts I've received in a while. The doubts, the fear, the worry, the frustration, can disappear in the scent and softness of a ball of Play dough.
Friday, August 15, 2008
I left you on the debris at the Sunday morning market
It appears the Georgia Boys press conference was all bark and no bite. I didn't see it, but from what I've been reading, the most substantial thing that came from it were two new photos, one purported to be a of a Bigfoot in the woods and the other a close up of the head in the freezer. I've seen thirteen year olds do better than the former and the latter is an extreme close up with the tongue hanging out. You can barely see the face due to the camera's flash. A horrible pair of photos.
I'm still keeping an open mind, but only barely. What's interesting me most about this whole affair is the train wreck-like nature of it. How are these guys going to save face if they don't produce the goods? They must have an ace up their sleeve, and if they don't, then I guess they really are as stupid as they seem to be.
--
I ran into Elaina, one of Mara's friends, the other day on the sidewalk across from my house. I was coming back from a run and had just rounded the corner onto my street when I saw her walking my way. I said hello and she just stared at me. I repeated myself and she still didn't respond. I've been to her apartment once, for at least an hour, and saw her with her family in Davis Sq. with Mara a month or two ago. Yet here she was, only a few feet away from me, looking at me with zero recognition in her eyes. She finally figured out who I was after a few uncomfortable moments. We made some awkward small talk and went our separate ways.
I told Mara about the incident and she agreed that Elaina must not have recognized me. "How could she not, though?", I asked. "We just hung out at her place only two months ago."
"Maybe she doesn't like you."
"Or maybe she has a deep crush on me. Y'know, I think that's it. When she saw me, she froze up. Her nerves got the best of her. I've seen it happen a million times."
"Whatever you say."
I didn't appreciate her tone and considered asking out Elaina with Mara present to show her my assessment of the situation was the correct one. I changed my mind when I remembered that I don't find Elaina very attractive.
--
I've got to make some changes. I feel as if I've been in a dull trance for the last couple of years. Got to start thinking more about the future and set some goals. I have a short term list I've been working on. Here's what I've got so far:
1. Meditate
2. Yoga
3. pay off debts
4. figure out girlfriend situation
5. get back into painting
6. book some shows
7. eat Craig's Milanos and frame Rich if interrogated.
--
I may post tomorrow before I head up to Maine, but for now I'm out of here, bitches!
I'm still keeping an open mind, but only barely. What's interesting me most about this whole affair is the train wreck-like nature of it. How are these guys going to save face if they don't produce the goods? They must have an ace up their sleeve, and if they don't, then I guess they really are as stupid as they seem to be.
--
I ran into Elaina, one of Mara's friends, the other day on the sidewalk across from my house. I was coming back from a run and had just rounded the corner onto my street when I saw her walking my way. I said hello and she just stared at me. I repeated myself and she still didn't respond. I've been to her apartment once, for at least an hour, and saw her with her family in Davis Sq. with Mara a month or two ago. Yet here she was, only a few feet away from me, looking at me with zero recognition in her eyes. She finally figured out who I was after a few uncomfortable moments. We made some awkward small talk and went our separate ways.
I told Mara about the incident and she agreed that Elaina must not have recognized me. "How could she not, though?", I asked. "We just hung out at her place only two months ago."
"Maybe she doesn't like you."
"Or maybe she has a deep crush on me. Y'know, I think that's it. When she saw me, she froze up. Her nerves got the best of her. I've seen it happen a million times."
"Whatever you say."
I didn't appreciate her tone and considered asking out Elaina with Mara present to show her my assessment of the situation was the correct one. I changed my mind when I remembered that I don't find Elaina very attractive.
--
I've got to make some changes. I feel as if I've been in a dull trance for the last couple of years. Got to start thinking more about the future and set some goals. I have a short term list I've been working on. Here's what I've got so far:
1. Meditate
2. Yoga
3. pay off debts
4. figure out girlfriend situation
5. get back into painting
6. book some shows
7. eat Craig's Milanos and frame Rich if interrogated.
--
I may post tomorrow before I head up to Maine, but for now I'm out of here, bitches!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
The days of wine and roses are distant days for me
From what I've been reading everywhere since my last post, it'll be a miracle if the Georgia boys produce an actual Bigfoot body. Loren Coleman's website has been getting too many hits and keeps crashing, so I don't know where he stands at this point. But elsewhere people, including the preeminent scientist and Bigfoot researcher, Jeff Meldrum, have written this story off as a likely hoax.
I don't really feel like I've been had, but I was hopeful that these guys, despite their sleaziness, were actually on to something. And excited, of course, due specifically to Loren Coleman's sudden and surprising endorsement of their story. Though I consider myself a serious student of Cryptozoology, I am by no means an expert in the field and defer to the opinion of professionals whenever possible. So, naturally, when Loren Coleman, the elder statesman in the field, signs off on something, I'm more apt to believe it.
And why, despite all the warning signs, did he sign off on this? Perhaps he knows something the rest of us don't; after all, despite the cries of hoax all over the net, it still hasn't been proven to be one. I think it's more likely he let his feelings get the best of him and made a rush to judgment. (Edit- Coleman's website has been hacked and no longer functions. He was, however, able to publish a post that I just read a copy of on another site, that discusses the hoax without accounting for his prior assertion that it wasn't one) I'm almost as curious to hear his explanation for his behavior as I am to see what comes of this alleged Bigfoot body down in Georgia.
We'll see what happens at the press conference tomorrow-- I'm pretty sure it would make P.T. Barnum proud in it's outlandishness---but for now I'll put the topic to bed. I'm sure you won't object.
--
Watched Cloverfield with Mara and Craig last night. Mara watched until it got scary, at which point she retired to the dining room table to fiddle around on her laptop. Chicken baby!
Am I mistaken, or has it rained almost every day for the last couple of weeks? My sympathy goes out to the people who had their vacations adversely affected by this wave of God's anger (that's what Dick Albert, the weatherman who looks creepier without a mustache, says) I was brutally ambushed by a couple of serious rainfalls on my way home from work today. I got absolutely soaked heading into Starbucks, which was only a twenty foot trek, mind you, and when I when I was unceremoniously spit out into the establishment, the barista at the cash register laughed at me. I ought to have slapped him in the face, but even in my wet and dour state, I exhibited restraint. Anyway, the rain stopped beating the shit out of me with jabs and uppercuts once I was in my car. Then the clouds parted and the sun asserted itself while I shivered and marveled at what a prick that rain was.
Man, summer's almost over and I've only been swimming once. I haven't been camping, nor have I spent any quality time at the beach. I have, however sat on the porch a few times. That's something, at least.
Haven't watched much of the Olympics, either. Mara commented last night that they've been showing women's beach volleyball more than most other events because of the hot chicks in bikinis. I agreed with her---hell, May and Walsh are fantasy fodder---but, as far as I'm concerned, it's an entertaining sport to watch, with or without bikinis. It's too bad that most men see it only as something to pull their pud to. Brutes!
Ok, I'm running on fumes and have probably committed more than a few grammatical sins and saddled you with some increasingly boring content as a result. So before it gets out of hand, I'll say goodnight to you and end this.
I don't really feel like I've been had, but I was hopeful that these guys, despite their sleaziness, were actually on to something. And excited, of course, due specifically to Loren Coleman's sudden and surprising endorsement of their story. Though I consider myself a serious student of Cryptozoology, I am by no means an expert in the field and defer to the opinion of professionals whenever possible. So, naturally, when Loren Coleman, the elder statesman in the field, signs off on something, I'm more apt to believe it.
And why, despite all the warning signs, did he sign off on this? Perhaps he knows something the rest of us don't; after all, despite the cries of hoax all over the net, it still hasn't been proven to be one. I think it's more likely he let his feelings get the best of him and made a rush to judgment. (Edit- Coleman's website has been hacked and no longer functions. He was, however, able to publish a post that I just read a copy of on another site, that discusses the hoax without accounting for his prior assertion that it wasn't one) I'm almost as curious to hear his explanation for his behavior as I am to see what comes of this alleged Bigfoot body down in Georgia.
We'll see what happens at the press conference tomorrow-- I'm pretty sure it would make P.T. Barnum proud in it's outlandishness---but for now I'll put the topic to bed. I'm sure you won't object.
--
Watched Cloverfield with Mara and Craig last night. Mara watched until it got scary, at which point she retired to the dining room table to fiddle around on her laptop. Chicken baby!
Am I mistaken, or has it rained almost every day for the last couple of weeks? My sympathy goes out to the people who had their vacations adversely affected by this wave of God's anger (that's what Dick Albert, the weatherman who looks creepier without a mustache, says) I was brutally ambushed by a couple of serious rainfalls on my way home from work today. I got absolutely soaked heading into Starbucks, which was only a twenty foot trek, mind you, and when I when I was unceremoniously spit out into the establishment, the barista at the cash register laughed at me. I ought to have slapped him in the face, but even in my wet and dour state, I exhibited restraint. Anyway, the rain stopped beating the shit out of me with jabs and uppercuts once I was in my car. Then the clouds parted and the sun asserted itself while I shivered and marveled at what a prick that rain was.
Man, summer's almost over and I've only been swimming once. I haven't been camping, nor have I spent any quality time at the beach. I have, however sat on the porch a few times. That's something, at least.
Haven't watched much of the Olympics, either. Mara commented last night that they've been showing women's beach volleyball more than most other events because of the hot chicks in bikinis. I agreed with her---hell, May and Walsh are fantasy fodder---but, as far as I'm concerned, it's an entertaining sport to watch, with or without bikinis. It's too bad that most men see it only as something to pull their pud to. Brutes!
Ok, I'm running on fumes and have probably committed more than a few grammatical sins and saddled you with some increasingly boring content as a result. So before it gets out of hand, I'll say goodnight to you and end this.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!! Revisited
This "Georgia Gorilla" story has grown legs and become a true roller coaster ride. Many in the Bigfoot community are now declaring it a definitive hoax, and even Loren Coleman, whose giddiness was palpable through his waning skepticism last night, has gone from increasingly optimistic to extremely skeptical.
What's got people doubting the veracity of these two men from Georgia's claim is the fact that a) Tom Biscardi, the so-called Bigfoot researcher with a sketchy history in the community, has been the only researcher thus far allowed to examine the body and b) the body, especially the head, resembles a big foot costume one can purchase online. And until the circus abates and serious study is allowed to happen, this matter cannot be accepted as true based on photographic evidence alone.
Apparently, these guys have already sold the body for 10 mil. I can see now an angle, if there indeed is one. Tell everyone you have definitive proof that Bigfoot exists. Slowly leak out information to get people worked up. Let on that all will be revealed at a future date. Leak pictures of the body and get people even more worked up. And finally, when it's time to present the body for inspection, say that the party that bought the creature for 10 million bucks have decided not to show it publicly. This way, you get a ton of publicity and whether a hoax was perpetrated cannot be proved substantially. "Hey, we'd love to show you guys the body, but it's out of our hands now", they may say.
I'm still excited about this story, but I'm retaining my skepticism. As many people that rushed to brandish it the real deal, just as many, or more, have outright debunked the story. This matter still hasn't panned out. I won't be surprised in the least if it is revealed as a hoax, but I'm also willing to entertain the idea that what these two men from Georgia are saying is actually true.
What's got people doubting the veracity of these two men from Georgia's claim is the fact that a) Tom Biscardi, the so-called Bigfoot researcher with a sketchy history in the community, has been the only researcher thus far allowed to examine the body and b) the body, especially the head, resembles a big foot costume one can purchase online. And until the circus abates and serious study is allowed to happen, this matter cannot be accepted as true based on photographic evidence alone.
Apparently, these guys have already sold the body for 10 mil. I can see now an angle, if there indeed is one. Tell everyone you have definitive proof that Bigfoot exists. Slowly leak out information to get people worked up. Let on that all will be revealed at a future date. Leak pictures of the body and get people even more worked up. And finally, when it's time to present the body for inspection, say that the party that bought the creature for 10 million bucks have decided not to show it publicly. This way, you get a ton of publicity and whether a hoax was perpetrated cannot be proved substantially. "Hey, we'd love to show you guys the body, but it's out of our hands now", they may say.
I'm still excited about this story, but I'm retaining my skepticism. As many people that rushed to brandish it the real deal, just as many, or more, have outright debunked the story. This matter still hasn't panned out. I won't be surprised in the least if it is revealed as a hoax, but I'm also willing to entertain the idea that what these two men from Georgia are saying is actually true.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!
This story has been escalating all night and I'm starting to go ape shit (no pun intended). It's beginning to really look like they got something here! This could still be a hoax, to be sure, but it's becoming less plausible. And if it is a hoax, well kudos to doing a masterful job at it. For all we know this could be some kind of PR campaign related to a movie, or something. But, I'm going to allow myself to pull away the veil of skepticism regarding this matter because frankly, I'm not sure I could do otherwise at this point. Below is from Loren's latest post at Cryptomundo.
I, Loren Coleman, author of The Field Guide to Bigfoot and Other Mystery Primates and Bigfoot! The True Story of Apes in America, was given an exclusive first look at the body, via an early email delivered photograph today. With the mistake at the Biscardi site, I have now been given full permission to post this here tonight.
Click on image for larger version.
Is it real? It certainly looks like the real deal, and with a surprising variety of features.
The hominoid (please note, not hominid) body, found in the Georgia woods, is now in a secure location, under armed guard, and set to be examined by a battery of academic scholars, skeptical scientists, Bigfoot researchers, and debunking writers.
Who is to say the discovery of Bigfoot won’t happen this way?
With offers of millions of dollars, just for the photographs of the body, Loren Coleman and Cryptomundo was given one copy of the first image to share with you, our readers today.
The body doesn’t look exactly like people thought it would, because the Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot has been the model in our minds. However, this looks as if it is an actual apelike primate. Indeed, the gorilla-like facial features, the robust lack of canines, and the grinding surfaces shown in the teeth suggest a bulky vegetarian with a mixture of higher primate characteristics.
Will further tests and the proposed live capture of others prove beyond a doubt that Bigfoot is a new species? Stay tuned.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one
The older I get, the less I feel I know myself. New layers are always added and I think that's why meditation is useful---it strips away the layers and let's the "self" breathe a bit. So why am I not meditating these days?
I saw creatures from nature during my last two visits at Shaws. A few days ago, a mouse crossed the aisle I was in and earlier tonight, a sparrow did it's Red Baron impression in the rafters above me. Fuck going to the zoo, I'll just keep going back to Shaws. Hope I run into an Ocelot one day.
I didn't end up going to the lecture in Boston tonight. Kind of relieved; I'm a little tuckered out. I hope Mara went.
Remember how I wrote about those guys from Georgia who claim to have a dead Sasquatch in their possession? Well, it looks like soon there will be an unveiling of their discovery to the press. I've been following this story and because these guys have appeared a little oily in their podcasts, I've kept my expectations low. But, holy shit! it's starting to look like this is the real deal. Loren Coleman, the Grand Poobah, of Cryptozoology, has just posted this:
Check out Cryptomundo for more info.
I'm starting to get excited. I've been into Sasquatch since I was four years old. No kidding. I used to go on tracking expeditions out in the woods in my back yard. If Loren Coleman, one of the most level headed and intelligent authorities on the subject of Bigfoot, is looking like he's about to be on board with this, then it looks like I may soon be able to utter "I told you so" to the naysayers about me. And if it's a hoax, well, I won't believe in this primate any less, and in a way, I'll be glad. I'm not sure this species would benefit from being outed.
Alright, that's all I've got tonight.
I saw creatures from nature during my last two visits at Shaws. A few days ago, a mouse crossed the aisle I was in and earlier tonight, a sparrow did it's Red Baron impression in the rafters above me. Fuck going to the zoo, I'll just keep going back to Shaws. Hope I run into an Ocelot one day.
I didn't end up going to the lecture in Boston tonight. Kind of relieved; I'm a little tuckered out. I hope Mara went.
Remember how I wrote about those guys from Georgia who claim to have a dead Sasquatch in their possession? Well, it looks like soon there will be an unveiling of their discovery to the press. I've been following this story and because these guys have appeared a little oily in their podcasts, I've kept my expectations low. But, holy shit! it's starting to look like this is the real deal. Loren Coleman, the Grand Poobah, of Cryptozoology, has just posted this:
I have just talked with Robert Barrows, R.M. Barrows, Inc., Advertising & Public Relations, Burlingame, California, who informed me the following release has been distributed to news agencies worldwide. It is now in the hands of the media at large, and they will be going with this story. The embargo on the news is lifted. Therefore, here it is for Cryptomundo readers.
I feel, in all honesty, this, indeed, may be the real deal, and I say this carefully after reviewing information that has been shared privately with me. I cannot say more yet. But people will be very surprised. ~ Loren ColemanCheck out Cryptomundo for more info.
I'm starting to get excited. I've been into Sasquatch since I was four years old. No kidding. I used to go on tracking expeditions out in the woods in my back yard. If Loren Coleman, one of the most level headed and intelligent authorities on the subject of Bigfoot, is looking like he's about to be on board with this, then it looks like I may soon be able to utter "I told you so" to the naysayers about me. And if it's a hoax, well, I won't believe in this primate any less, and in a way, I'll be glad. I'm not sure this species would benefit from being outed.
Alright, that's all I've got tonight.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Oh, the snow fell without a break, Buffalo died in the frozen fields you know
Talked with my sister this morning about going to Maine this weekend. My mother says it will be the last time they rent the house by the ocean because it's just too much hassle. Despite feeling a little antsy (to put it politely) when I'm cooped up in the place for more than a few days with my family, I truly hope she'll reconsider; we've been going there for years. It's a family institution, for crissakes!
My sister and I agreed that if my parents decide not to rent the place next year, I'll pick up the slack and we'll go in on it together. It's a little pricey, but given the location and what it represents--a location where the family can get together for more than two or three hours at a clip-- it will be money well spent. I have visions of turning the place into a haven of thieves and malcontents, whores and drug-addled journeymen--- a real den of iniquity. However, in the interest of shielding my sister and her family from the horrors such visions present, I'll try only to envision more family oriented pursuits, like Scrabble and reading on the deck, taking place there.
I'll be heading up on Saturday. They're only renting the house for a week this year and this weekend will be my only window of opportunity. I'll be missing out on Mark and Becky's party where a good group of my friends will surely be . It's too bad the two events will collide. Maybe I'll be able to work something out.
It's increasingly more and more difficult to maintain friendships. And by maintain, I mean being actively, or even semi-actively, involved with friends. It's just not feasible for anyone most of the time, and when it is, it seems even the simplest things, like going out for a cup of coffee, take a herculean effort to accomplish. I'm not complaining, just observing. It is a little lonelier these days, but there are always new experiences to look forward to. And with that, I will change topics and refrain from becoming maudlin.
I was thinking about a good friend last night and wondered what could have happened between us if things played out differently. A fanciful thought but as lame as an injured horse. Unless, at the conclusion of my reverie, I determined I'd take whatever steps necessary to make her mine, and then took action, what was the point?. Well, I guess not everything has to have a point, especially our thoughts, which can be all over the map and disjointed, but I think you know what I mean. She is something, though, and you know, I think we would have paired up nicely. Just a thought.
--
Webster Tarpley's 9/11: Synthetic Terror arrived in the mail today. Good timing: I had just listened to a lecture given by this scholar last night and was eager to dive into the book. I read the preface already and will henceforth read from it sparingly. I'm still reading Bonehunters, which is a huge book, and Lonesome Dove, which is also huge. And there is also Watchmen to contend with. I'll try to finish at least one of them before I go headlong into Tarpley's tome. That's the plan, anyway, which knowing me, will likely change.
Off to White Hen for some supplies. Will relax tonight because tomorrow night I told Mara I'd attend a lecture in Boston given by a woman who converted to Judaism. Can't say I'm terribly amped about this, but you've got to be supportive, right?
My sister and I agreed that if my parents decide not to rent the place next year, I'll pick up the slack and we'll go in on it together. It's a little pricey, but given the location and what it represents--a location where the family can get together for more than two or three hours at a clip-- it will be money well spent. I have visions of turning the place into a haven of thieves and malcontents, whores and drug-addled journeymen--- a real den of iniquity. However, in the interest of shielding my sister and her family from the horrors such visions present, I'll try only to envision more family oriented pursuits, like Scrabble and reading on the deck, taking place there.
I'll be heading up on Saturday. They're only renting the house for a week this year and this weekend will be my only window of opportunity. I'll be missing out on Mark and Becky's party where a good group of my friends will surely be . It's too bad the two events will collide. Maybe I'll be able to work something out.
It's increasingly more and more difficult to maintain friendships. And by maintain, I mean being actively, or even semi-actively, involved with friends. It's just not feasible for anyone most of the time, and when it is, it seems even the simplest things, like going out for a cup of coffee, take a herculean effort to accomplish. I'm not complaining, just observing. It is a little lonelier these days, but there are always new experiences to look forward to. And with that, I will change topics and refrain from becoming maudlin.
I was thinking about a good friend last night and wondered what could have happened between us if things played out differently. A fanciful thought but as lame as an injured horse. Unless, at the conclusion of my reverie, I determined I'd take whatever steps necessary to make her mine, and then took action, what was the point?. Well, I guess not everything has to have a point, especially our thoughts, which can be all over the map and disjointed, but I think you know what I mean. She is something, though, and you know, I think we would have paired up nicely. Just a thought.
--
Webster Tarpley's 9/11: Synthetic Terror arrived in the mail today. Good timing: I had just listened to a lecture given by this scholar last night and was eager to dive into the book. I read the preface already and will henceforth read from it sparingly. I'm still reading Bonehunters, which is a huge book, and Lonesome Dove, which is also huge. And there is also Watchmen to contend with. I'll try to finish at least one of them before I go headlong into Tarpley's tome. That's the plan, anyway, which knowing me, will likely change.
Off to White Hen for some supplies. Will relax tonight because tomorrow night I told Mara I'd attend a lecture in Boston given by a woman who converted to Judaism. Can't say I'm terribly amped about this, but you've got to be supportive, right?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Time, it's a crooked bow
Mara and I went to The Highland Kitchen for supper last. She loves this place and really wants me to love it. Sadly, I don't really love it. I'd been there with Spira a couple of weeks ago and the calamari I had was so spicy hot, my tongue burned hotter than the forges of Hell throughout the meal and a while after. And the bluefish cakes were tasty, but for nine bucks, they could have made the two they presented me larger than acorns.
Mara had talked this place up pretty heavily and I want to share her enthusiasm, but I just can't. This place likes it's food spicy! We had mussels for an app and there was so much curry in the broth, I had to look around to make sure we weren't in Calcutta (we weren't). Fortunately, there was some bread on the table to assuage the pain from the curry. I like curry, but I like it like a friend I don't always want to see but am usually happy when I do. After last night, I won't need to call on that friend for quite a while.
The HK had mercy on me and didn't load my cheeseburger with hot sauce or jalapeno peppers. I was grateful, to be sure. Mara had a salad for her entree and I noticed she kept waving her hand in front of her mouth.
"What fire are you attempting to put out?", I asked.
"Maybe it's just me, but I think they dosed the pecans in this salad with pepper."
"Let me try one."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I've got to have it confirmed that this place is run by sadists."
I ate a pecan and she was right---it was coated with hot pepper. I resolved that if I eat there again--which I may, because they do have good food-- I'll order a pitcher of beer and extra bread before I eat. Maybe that's what they want me to do. I'll have to think on that.
--
Before dinner, we hung out at the dog park by Union Square and watched a bunch of pooches chase each other, sniff asses, and in one case, fuck. I hate not having a dog. To me they're way more awesome than just about everything.
--
Had a dream the other night that I was in Iceland visiting Brianna and her family. Luke Warm and some guy who vaguely reminded me of Vince Vaughn had come along for the ride. It was a really long dream and vivid. I don't really want to get into it, but here are some things I remember.
1. The air was thick and humid. In Iceland? Sure, why not.
2. They had a Shaws grocery store, but they spelled it Shws. A distaste for vowels, I guess.
3. At the dinner table, I asked Brianna's sister if tourists always bring up Sigor Ros and Bjork when they visit. She said they do.
4 I only stayed for the day.
--
Watched some of the Olympics with Mara last night. We watched women's beach volleyball, swimming, and some gymnastics. I particularly enjoyed the volleyball. Mostly because I was watching tan, statuesque, scantily-clad women scamper about, but also because I genuinely enjoy the sport. Seriously.
--
Feel like I have something more to add, but I can't seem to recall what that something is. Probably not very important. Think I'll dive into The Bonehunters and maybe read from Watchmen after that. Ciao, readers.
Mara had talked this place up pretty heavily and I want to share her enthusiasm, but I just can't. This place likes it's food spicy! We had mussels for an app and there was so much curry in the broth, I had to look around to make sure we weren't in Calcutta (we weren't). Fortunately, there was some bread on the table to assuage the pain from the curry. I like curry, but I like it like a friend I don't always want to see but am usually happy when I do. After last night, I won't need to call on that friend for quite a while.
The HK had mercy on me and didn't load my cheeseburger with hot sauce or jalapeno peppers. I was grateful, to be sure. Mara had a salad for her entree and I noticed she kept waving her hand in front of her mouth.
"What fire are you attempting to put out?", I asked.
"Maybe it's just me, but I think they dosed the pecans in this salad with pepper."
"Let me try one."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I've got to have it confirmed that this place is run by sadists."
I ate a pecan and she was right---it was coated with hot pepper. I resolved that if I eat there again--which I may, because they do have good food-- I'll order a pitcher of beer and extra bread before I eat. Maybe that's what they want me to do. I'll have to think on that.
--
Before dinner, we hung out at the dog park by Union Square and watched a bunch of pooches chase each other, sniff asses, and in one case, fuck. I hate not having a dog. To me they're way more awesome than just about everything.
--
Had a dream the other night that I was in Iceland visiting Brianna and her family. Luke Warm and some guy who vaguely reminded me of Vince Vaughn had come along for the ride. It was a really long dream and vivid. I don't really want to get into it, but here are some things I remember.
1. The air was thick and humid. In Iceland? Sure, why not.
2. They had a Shaws grocery store, but they spelled it Shws. A distaste for vowels, I guess.
3. At the dinner table, I asked Brianna's sister if tourists always bring up Sigor Ros and Bjork when they visit. She said they do.
4 I only stayed for the day.
--
Watched some of the Olympics with Mara last night. We watched women's beach volleyball, swimming, and some gymnastics. I particularly enjoyed the volleyball. Mostly because I was watching tan, statuesque, scantily-clad women scamper about, but also because I genuinely enjoy the sport. Seriously.
--
Feel like I have something more to add, but I can't seem to recall what that something is. Probably not very important. Think I'll dive into The Bonehunters and maybe read from Watchmen after that. Ciao, readers.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Black sails in the moonlight, black patch on your eye, you shiver your timbers, baby, and I'll shiver mine
I'm finally sick of the rain and its arbitrary, violent appearances. Almost every day this week, I've been caught in it, usually during a run, and I've come to the conclusion that Mother Nature, an entity I now believe exists, has a sophisticated sense of cruelty. Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with this. I just want it to stop raining.
I was talking with Anne this morning at work about the Wilco t-shirt she was wearing. She told me they're her favorite band and has seen them live numerous times. It occurred to me that the last three women I've been interested in---Miss Anonymous, Mara, and Ann, who, I'd think about asking out if I were single---have been into Wilco. I found out Miss A. was a fan when she quoted some of their lyrics during an online chat. They were from a song I didn't recognize (may as well state for the record my own opinion of Wilco: I like them more than Cold Play and 35% less than the Flying Burrito Brothers. Whatever that means.) I found out Mara was a fan during breakfast one morning. She had her Ipod on shuffle and a song of theirs I didn't recognize came on.
So, is there something to this? Am I drawn to women who like Wilco? Maybe, but they're a pretty popular band and the chances that I'll meet people who enjoy them are fairly high. Now, if it was American Music Club, a band I like better, that these three were into, well, then we'd be on to something. I'd have to marry them.
Regular readers of mine know that, despite my deeply poetic and classy rendering of the English language, I'm occasionally--well, maybe more than occasionally--given to crassness and vulgarity. I won't apologize for this-- I grew up on the brutal and unforgiving streets of Chelmsford and that was the way we talked. But, I do understand that my forays into the low speech may be disturbing to those of you who have lived privileged and sheltered existences. And I also understand that when I bring it to you loose and raw, you get turned on a bit, too. I'm not your therapist, so I'm not going to get into all that. What I'd like to do is dispense with the formality and introduce a new segment that may be vulgar and crass called "Fuck You". It will probably never see the light of day after this, but who knows-- maybe it'll stick. Here goes.
FUCK YOU to the girl who almost slammed into me as I was crossing Willow st. today. I was halfway across when she turned onto the road hauling ass in her hulking SUV . She had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting me. She missed by a foot. I pointed at the crosswalk to let her know it was there in case she didn't see it, shook my head in disgust, and continued walking. She sat there in the middle of the road for about another minute. I kept looking back wondering what her fucking problem was.
FUCK YOU to those tiny, animated adds that appear on the screen while you're watching a show on TV. I guess, even though there are more now than ever, we need more commercials. Another reason not to watch TV.
FUCK YOU to the primary reason not to watch TV: 97% of it appeals to the lowest, and I mean lowest, common denominator. It takes me about twenty minutes to find something that even remotely stimulates my brain. And that's coming from someone who loves The Beverly Hillbillies and Hogan's Heroes. If I were the commander of an Alien fleet approaching Earth I would gladly, and with the fullest confidence, give the orders to annihilate. "We're doing the Universe a favor by obliterating this planet of stupid, senseless worms", I'd say. And then, once the act was done, I'd say "Let's go to my quarters, slip into the hot tub, and lose ourselves in erotic pleasures" to my sexy assistant Veronica.
FUCK YOU to this post. I'm out of here, bitches.
I was talking with Anne this morning at work about the Wilco t-shirt she was wearing. She told me they're her favorite band and has seen them live numerous times. It occurred to me that the last three women I've been interested in---Miss Anonymous, Mara, and Ann, who, I'd think about asking out if I were single---have been into Wilco. I found out Miss A. was a fan when she quoted some of their lyrics during an online chat. They were from a song I didn't recognize (may as well state for the record my own opinion of Wilco: I like them more than Cold Play and 35% less than the Flying Burrito Brothers. Whatever that means.) I found out Mara was a fan during breakfast one morning. She had her Ipod on shuffle and a song of theirs I didn't recognize came on.
So, is there something to this? Am I drawn to women who like Wilco? Maybe, but they're a pretty popular band and the chances that I'll meet people who enjoy them are fairly high. Now, if it was American Music Club, a band I like better, that these three were into, well, then we'd be on to something. I'd have to marry them.
Regular readers of mine know that, despite my deeply poetic and classy rendering of the English language, I'm occasionally--well, maybe more than occasionally--given to crassness and vulgarity. I won't apologize for this-- I grew up on the brutal and unforgiving streets of Chelmsford and that was the way we talked. But, I do understand that my forays into the low speech may be disturbing to those of you who have lived privileged and sheltered existences. And I also understand that when I bring it to you loose and raw, you get turned on a bit, too. I'm not your therapist, so I'm not going to get into all that. What I'd like to do is dispense with the formality and introduce a new segment that may be vulgar and crass called "Fuck You". It will probably never see the light of day after this, but who knows-- maybe it'll stick. Here goes.
FUCK YOU to the girl who almost slammed into me as I was crossing Willow st. today. I was halfway across when she turned onto the road hauling ass in her hulking SUV . She had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting me. She missed by a foot. I pointed at the crosswalk to let her know it was there in case she didn't see it, shook my head in disgust, and continued walking. She sat there in the middle of the road for about another minute. I kept looking back wondering what her fucking problem was.
FUCK YOU to those tiny, animated adds that appear on the screen while you're watching a show on TV. I guess, even though there are more now than ever, we need more commercials. Another reason not to watch TV.
FUCK YOU to the primary reason not to watch TV: 97% of it appeals to the lowest, and I mean lowest, common denominator. It takes me about twenty minutes to find something that even remotely stimulates my brain. And that's coming from someone who loves The Beverly Hillbillies and Hogan's Heroes. If I were the commander of an Alien fleet approaching Earth I would gladly, and with the fullest confidence, give the orders to annihilate. "We're doing the Universe a favor by obliterating this planet of stupid, senseless worms", I'd say. And then, once the act was done, I'd say "Let's go to my quarters, slip into the hot tub, and lose ourselves in erotic pleasures" to my sexy assistant Veronica.
FUCK YOU to this post. I'm out of here, bitches.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
So put a quarter in your ass cuz you played yourself
So Cloverfield was a lot better than I hoped it would be. And my expectations weren't that low, either. The film had all the markings of a "Hollywood" film, one that was by the numbers from start to finish. Instead, though it was accessible, Cloverfield stayed true to itself and didn't pull any punches. Almost every thing about the movie I found impressive. A truly entertaining experience.
Short post tonight. I've got stuff to do and time's a wasting. Caught this video tonight that I'll share with you. Seems highly unlikely this one is faked, unless everyone was in on it. Possible, but not probable. Reminded me of the scene in Close Encounters of The Third Kind when everyone's gathered on the hilltop to witness the UFO's.
Short post tonight. I've got stuff to do and time's a wasting. Caught this video tonight that I'll share with you. Seems highly unlikely this one is faked, unless everyone was in on it. Possible, but not probable. Reminded me of the scene in Close Encounters of The Third Kind when everyone's gathered on the hilltop to witness the UFO's.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
No one hurries home to lonely women
There hasn't been much actual work to do at work lately. So little in fact we've all had to cut a day out of our week. I'm still collecting unemployment, so I should be alright for a bit, but I hope things pick up; I like this job.
Soon, I'll be making a change in my life that won't be very pleasant to go through, but one that has to happen. I promise I'll reveal what that change is when the time comes, but for now I'll have to remain frustratingly vague. Of course, I didn't have to bring this up at all until I was ready for disclosure, but I guess I like teasers. I don't know what that says about me.
Will probably watch Cloverfield tonight. I've put off watching it because, though I found the premise appealing, I had the feeling it was going to stink. It looked like it was a cross between The O.C. and Godzilla based on the clips I saw. Hope I'm wrong.
Ok, I'm off. Here's a cool clip for all you geeks. Made me want to read Michael Talbot's The Holographic Universe again. Love that book!
Soon, I'll be making a change in my life that won't be very pleasant to go through, but one that has to happen. I promise I'll reveal what that change is when the time comes, but for now I'll have to remain frustratingly vague. Of course, I didn't have to bring this up at all until I was ready for disclosure, but I guess I like teasers. I don't know what that says about me.
Will probably watch Cloverfield tonight. I've put off watching it because, though I found the premise appealing, I had the feeling it was going to stink. It looked like it was a cross between The O.C. and Godzilla based on the clips I saw. Hope I'm wrong.
Ok, I'm off. Here's a cool clip for all you geeks. Made me want to read Michael Talbot's The Holographic Universe again. Love that book!
Monday, August 4, 2008
It's getting to the point that I'm no fun anymore
Got back last night from Laconia. Certain bumps in the road notwithstanding, it was a fun time. I hadn't seen Brianna in a year and, now that I think of it, the same goes with Mary. The line up was a good one: Me, Mara, Spira, Luke Warm, Mary and her husband Dan, Brianna, and Rob. A laid back, cohesive group.
When Mara and I arrived (we were the last to show up), we all drove down the street to the beach. Unfortunately, the water had too much bacteria in it, so we couldn't swim. Dan, Rob, Mara, and I played some frisbee, which proved to be the wrong activity for Mara, who strained her calf muscle .
We didn't stay too much longer at the beach and went back to the condo, which I should mention here, was pimped out. Huge TV with killer sound sytem, leather couches, dishwasher, the works. Once there, Mara spread out on the couch and put some ice on her leg. It was tough to gauge how severe her injury was, but she could barely walk. Fortunately, Rob's a doctor, and was able to assure Mara that she'd be alright if she just rested the leg.
Dan got the grill going that night, and we had burgers and hot dogs for dinner, along with a nice tomato salad. Afterward, we played a movie trivia game called Seen It, and another game I can't seem to recall the name of . Whenever this group gets together, we play games. Not head games, though; just board games. Not that you needed the distinction, but I figured I'd throw it out there.
Most everyone, except for Me, Brianna, and Luke Warm, went to bed fairly early.I slept on a sofa bed in the living room with Mara. Luke Warm slept at the foot of the bed, faithful dog that he is. As I was getting ready to go to sleep, I realized Mara and I were about to be sleeping in the same room with the most brutal snorer this side of the Rockies. I didn't say anything to Mara about this, not wanting to saddle her with even more hardship. The last time I shared a room with Luke Warm, I ended up going out to my car to sleep in the freezing cold. That was after throwing my shoes at him to get him to wake up. He never did. I prayed to Thor for a snore-less night. For Mara's sake more than mine. I knew the horror that potentially awaited me, but Mara, poor kid, might not make it through the night, I feared.
Thor was kind. Luke Warm didn't snore, or if he did, he did so as gently as a mother's kiss because I didn't hear him. In the morning, Mara and I engaged in a little funny business while Luke Warm slept. Who knows, maybe he was awake, the little pervert.
The day was spent at the pool swimming and playing tennis at the court adjacent to the pool. It was my first swim of the summer and, though it was pleasant, I wasn't too thrilled at getting my ears clogged with water. I could barely hear for the next 24 hours. Oh well, such are the hazards of swimming.
For whatever reason, I was razzed about some of my physical shortcomings this weekend by some members of the group. It's not too often that it occurs-- never, actually--but it did this past weekend. It wasn't brutal, but my ego was bruised. The worst of it was whenMara let me have it at the pool and wouldn't let up. I didn't want to get retaliate and have it turn into a big situation, especially when I was pretty sure she was only trying to fit in, but I certainly let her know she wasn't doing me a service.
I went back to the house and packed. I tried to not to dwell on matters, and did so successfully, I think. Still, though, I would have rather these matters never existed. I'm aware that I'm not particularly handsome, but when people feel the need to remind me of that, my confidence level shrivels like a mushroom left out in the sun. Nonetheless, my skin is not so thin that my good time was ruined. I went back to the pool and played a little tennis with Brianna, Spira, Rob, and Rob's boyfriend, Dave, who had just arrived. Spira and I were the only ones who spoke Tennis as a second language. The rest had played often in their lives. Still, though, we acquitted ourselves well, despite the fact that Spira, channeling Barry Bonds, hit more than a few out of the court. That shit was very funny to me.
After we finished playing, I found Mara off by herself in the parking lot. She was upset. She felt terrible about what she had said to me and felt everyone had given her the cold shoulder after I had gone back to the house. As angry as I wanted to be with her, I only felt compassion. I knew she wasn't trying to hurt me, not in the way that lasts. She was with a group of people that, for the most part, have known each other for years and speak candidly in front of each other. I should have been more sensitive to the difficulty she felt she was having fitting in. After we talked a bit, she felt better. I told her if she ever did something like this again, she'd be feeling the whip of my backhand. On the tennis court, that is ( awww, isn't that cute how I made you think one thing, but meant another?).
It started to cloud up, so we went back to the house. Mara and I loaded my car with our luggage and when that was accomplished, we all went out for some ice cream. When we finished eating, Mara and I said our goodbyes to everyone. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay another night with everyone, but I had to work today.
We hit so much traffic on our way home, that it added another hour to our drive time. It was stop and go through the entire state of New Hampshire. Not a pleasant ride. I took Mara to get some groceries when we got back to town because she was going to be immobile for the next day or so.
When I dropped her off at her apartment, she couldn't find her keys. We searched everywhere in my car to no avail. I called Mary and asked her to check the condo. Everyone looked, but came up empty. Fortunately, Mara's landlord was able to let her in the apartment. The keys are still AWOL.
There are some things about this weekend that I can't address, but would like to. They involve affairs of the heart and if I could do so without uncovering a whole bunch of stuff that should probably remain covered, I would spill my guts. Alas, I guess some things should never see the light of day. At least not until the timing is right.
When Mara and I arrived (we were the last to show up), we all drove down the street to the beach. Unfortunately, the water had too much bacteria in it, so we couldn't swim. Dan, Rob, Mara, and I played some frisbee, which proved to be the wrong activity for Mara, who strained her calf muscle .
We didn't stay too much longer at the beach and went back to the condo, which I should mention here, was pimped out. Huge TV with killer sound sytem, leather couches, dishwasher, the works. Once there, Mara spread out on the couch and put some ice on her leg. It was tough to gauge how severe her injury was, but she could barely walk. Fortunately, Rob's a doctor, and was able to assure Mara that she'd be alright if she just rested the leg.
Dan got the grill going that night, and we had burgers and hot dogs for dinner, along with a nice tomato salad. Afterward, we played a movie trivia game called Seen It, and another game I can't seem to recall the name of . Whenever this group gets together, we play games. Not head games, though; just board games. Not that you needed the distinction, but I figured I'd throw it out there.
Most everyone, except for Me, Brianna, and Luke Warm, went to bed fairly early.I slept on a sofa bed in the living room with Mara. Luke Warm slept at the foot of the bed, faithful dog that he is. As I was getting ready to go to sleep, I realized Mara and I were about to be sleeping in the same room with the most brutal snorer this side of the Rockies. I didn't say anything to Mara about this, not wanting to saddle her with even more hardship. The last time I shared a room with Luke Warm, I ended up going out to my car to sleep in the freezing cold. That was after throwing my shoes at him to get him to wake up. He never did. I prayed to Thor for a snore-less night. For Mara's sake more than mine. I knew the horror that potentially awaited me, but Mara, poor kid, might not make it through the night, I feared.
Thor was kind. Luke Warm didn't snore, or if he did, he did so as gently as a mother's kiss because I didn't hear him. In the morning, Mara and I engaged in a little funny business while Luke Warm slept. Who knows, maybe he was awake, the little pervert.
The day was spent at the pool swimming and playing tennis at the court adjacent to the pool. It was my first swim of the summer and, though it was pleasant, I wasn't too thrilled at getting my ears clogged with water. I could barely hear for the next 24 hours. Oh well, such are the hazards of swimming.
For whatever reason, I was razzed about some of my physical shortcomings this weekend by some members of the group. It's not too often that it occurs-- never, actually--but it did this past weekend. It wasn't brutal, but my ego was bruised. The worst of it was whenMara let me have it at the pool and wouldn't let up. I didn't want to get retaliate and have it turn into a big situation, especially when I was pretty sure she was only trying to fit in, but I certainly let her know she wasn't doing me a service.
I went back to the house and packed. I tried to not to dwell on matters, and did so successfully, I think. Still, though, I would have rather these matters never existed. I'm aware that I'm not particularly handsome, but when people feel the need to remind me of that, my confidence level shrivels like a mushroom left out in the sun. Nonetheless, my skin is not so thin that my good time was ruined. I went back to the pool and played a little tennis with Brianna, Spira, Rob, and Rob's boyfriend, Dave, who had just arrived. Spira and I were the only ones who spoke Tennis as a second language. The rest had played often in their lives. Still, though, we acquitted ourselves well, despite the fact that Spira, channeling Barry Bonds, hit more than a few out of the court. That shit was very funny to me.
After we finished playing, I found Mara off by herself in the parking lot. She was upset. She felt terrible about what she had said to me and felt everyone had given her the cold shoulder after I had gone back to the house. As angry as I wanted to be with her, I only felt compassion. I knew she wasn't trying to hurt me, not in the way that lasts. She was with a group of people that, for the most part, have known each other for years and speak candidly in front of each other. I should have been more sensitive to the difficulty she felt she was having fitting in. After we talked a bit, she felt better. I told her if she ever did something like this again, she'd be feeling the whip of my backhand. On the tennis court, that is ( awww, isn't that cute how I made you think one thing, but meant another?).
It started to cloud up, so we went back to the house. Mara and I loaded my car with our luggage and when that was accomplished, we all went out for some ice cream. When we finished eating, Mara and I said our goodbyes to everyone. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay another night with everyone, but I had to work today.
We hit so much traffic on our way home, that it added another hour to our drive time. It was stop and go through the entire state of New Hampshire. Not a pleasant ride. I took Mara to get some groceries when we got back to town because she was going to be immobile for the next day or so.
When I dropped her off at her apartment, she couldn't find her keys. We searched everywhere in my car to no avail. I called Mary and asked her to check the condo. Everyone looked, but came up empty. Fortunately, Mara's landlord was able to let her in the apartment. The keys are still AWOL.
There are some things about this weekend that I can't address, but would like to. They involve affairs of the heart and if I could do so without uncovering a whole bunch of stuff that should probably remain covered, I would spill my guts. Alas, I guess some things should never see the light of day. At least not until the timing is right.
Friday, August 1, 2008
One hand is tied to the tightrope walker, the other is in his pants
Looking forward to seeing Bri, Mary, and everyone else up at the lake tomorrow. Should be a fun time. Although there will probably be room inside the house to sleep, I'm bringing my tent anyway. Could be the nearest thing to camping I'll get this summer. Too bad, I miss camping.
Been feeling strange lately. I've had this underlying sense that I'm not positioned where I should be in life. But at the same time I feel as if I'm exactly where I should be, according to the Grand Script. And I'm starting to feel older. The years crumble beneath my feet and avalanche into the dark abyss. And I'm helpless to stop it. These thoughts hold no value in terms of them being enlightening, because they're ones I, and probably everyone else with the most basic sense of self, have chewed over before. But they have served to remind me that I should make the most out of the time I have available to me, because it is in shorter and shorter supply with each passing moment.
Ultimately, I believe time is just a man made construct, but we nonetheless fall under it's jurisdiction. We nurture it, give it strength. I don't suspect we'll see beyond time, and it's bedfellow, space, for a long, long....well, time. Strange, but it's only been recently that I've acknowledged that my youth is behind me. I guess it was something I wasn't too keen on relinquishing. Still, though, I feel youthful, which should count for something.
I'm sure, because I've studied your reading habits, you skimmed over the above philosophizing, but if you're looking to skim over lighter fare, keep reading. The next paragraph is as light as a fawn's eyelash.
I was washing dishes this afternoon and I saw Stan, my neighbor from across the street, step onto his porch. He had the look of someone checking to see if the coast was clear, moving his head about like a squirrel in the grass . I discovered why when he swiveled his frame towards me and I got a frontal view. He was naked. When the realization hit was the precise moment we made eye contact. Guess the coast wasn't exactly clear, eh Stan? He quickly went back in the house, embarrassed at being caught. Strange what you see when you're doing the dishes.
Just watched Rendition. Pretty good, but not great. I thought I'd like it better. I still haven't watched Au Hasard Balthazar. It looks to be a rather heavy film, which means I'll have to pick the right time to view it.
I'm knee-deep into The Bonehunters, and it's been engrossing, to say the least. The more I read from this epic series, the more I appreciate it. The pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together and I marvel at how Erikson is able to keep the story, grand as it is, in check.
And that's all I have to say tonight. Lucky you.
Been feeling strange lately. I've had this underlying sense that I'm not positioned where I should be in life. But at the same time I feel as if I'm exactly where I should be, according to the Grand Script. And I'm starting to feel older. The years crumble beneath my feet and avalanche into the dark abyss. And I'm helpless to stop it. These thoughts hold no value in terms of them being enlightening, because they're ones I, and probably everyone else with the most basic sense of self, have chewed over before. But they have served to remind me that I should make the most out of the time I have available to me, because it is in shorter and shorter supply with each passing moment.
Ultimately, I believe time is just a man made construct, but we nonetheless fall under it's jurisdiction. We nurture it, give it strength. I don't suspect we'll see beyond time, and it's bedfellow, space, for a long, long....well, time. Strange, but it's only been recently that I've acknowledged that my youth is behind me. I guess it was something I wasn't too keen on relinquishing. Still, though, I feel youthful, which should count for something.
I'm sure, because I've studied your reading habits, you skimmed over the above philosophizing, but if you're looking to skim over lighter fare, keep reading. The next paragraph is as light as a fawn's eyelash.
I was washing dishes this afternoon and I saw Stan, my neighbor from across the street, step onto his porch. He had the look of someone checking to see if the coast was clear, moving his head about like a squirrel in the grass . I discovered why when he swiveled his frame towards me and I got a frontal view. He was naked. When the realization hit was the precise moment we made eye contact. Guess the coast wasn't exactly clear, eh Stan? He quickly went back in the house, embarrassed at being caught. Strange what you see when you're doing the dishes.
Just watched Rendition. Pretty good, but not great. I thought I'd like it better. I still haven't watched Au Hasard Balthazar. It looks to be a rather heavy film, which means I'll have to pick the right time to view it.
I'm knee-deep into The Bonehunters, and it's been engrossing, to say the least. The more I read from this epic series, the more I appreciate it. The pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together and I marvel at how Erikson is able to keep the story, grand as it is, in check.
And that's all I have to say tonight. Lucky you.
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