Bend down the branches

Saw Inglorious Basterds with Janelle last night. I had some passes I wanted to use, so we drove to the mammoth Showcase Cinema in Lowell through late summer mist and joined the throng of moviegoers, young and old. It was evident, once we took our seats, that it was feeding time at the farm. Throughout the entire theater, the sound of chewing, of gnashing and gnawing, the crinkling of wrappers, the grunting and groaning, coalesced into a new sound, unpleasant and otherworldly. No, we were not at the cozy and subdued Somerville Theatre we've grown accustomed to attending. The gluttonous behavior of these pigs at the trough did not abate until well into the film. A snapshot of the America we're slowly becoming.

Despite being grossly outnumbered by swine, we were still able to enjoy the film. Tarantino is a master of his art and it shows. Unlike so many other films, some of them good, he never telegraphs where the story is going to go. He defies convention, at least as it concerns story arc, and that makes for a good time at the movies. Great dialog, acting, score -- everything was top notch. I want to see it again. This time it'll be at the Somerville Theater.

Seeing the movie with Janelle was a treat. Whenever we see one together, we always have in depth discussions about it afterward. To me, it's an essential part of the process, as it is when considering any work of art, but, unfortunately, I haven't found many people who agree. I'm lucky having Janelle in my life; living with her has made me even luckier. She is top of the shelf, that one.

Earlier this evening, I walked down to Starbucks in Davis Sq., purchased a peppermint white chocolate mocha latte, and took a seat in a big, soft chair by the fire place. I read from A Shadow In Summer. Near me were a couple of young ladies with their laptops out on the table, one of them had a helper dog at her side. I love helper dogs and always want to pet and hug them, but I can't because you're not supposed to. It even says so on the the sign they wear on their backs.

The girl whose dog it was kept having to tell her friend not to pet it, but it was apparent she was having difficulty refraining. I knew how she felt. So did everyone else who came walked by the dog. If they don't want anyone petting them, they should allot only ugly, mangy, dogs for the purpose. Sorry, but you're asking for trouble when you employ Golden Retrievers and other utterly cute and cuddly pooches as helper dogs. I'm just saying.

Tonight: music, music, music; A Shadow In Summer; Six Feet Under; laundry, perhaps.

Now I'm okay, but in time I find I'm stuck, because she wants love and I still want to fuck

I suppose I should deliver on the teasers I issued in the last post. Not much to deliver, though. I pretty much gave the complete run down on the show and, after giving it some thought, I'm not inclined to delve very deep into the tale of my being cast off, cut loose, by one of my friends. My apologies, then, for a couple of lame teasers. All I can say in my defense is that I was sleepy, disoriented, and possibly the victim of a dosing (Janelle may have spiked my coffee -- these things happen, y'know). In the interest of being at least somewhat faithful to my word, I'll deliver what I can.

As I said, I don't really care to go into detail concerning the matter of being un-friended (so what, I made up a word). I don't really have the energy to relive the experience, I just don't. I've moved on. If you're interested in knowing who did the dumping, go back a couple of posts. Should be very easy to figure out.

Without picking the incident apart, the one in which I get disowned via e-mail, not the one a couple of posts back, I will express that I feel more or less okay with it. Whether it's a break we're taking from each other, a permanent split, or a relationship that is active but more superficial, I don't know. We'll see. The only thing that bothers me, really, is the act itself, this being cast aside. I thought, even despite our difficulties, the bond was stronger. I was wrong.

Well, I still have other friends, and I'm grateful. Last night I hung out with some of them. Scott, after dropping off Rachael and the girls at Chippendale's for a drunken romp, stopped by the house. We don't see each other very much, which is too bad because we've always had a good rapport. While he was here, Luke Warm, Foley, and Janelle, called to report they were on their way to the house. Knowing Frank, Michelle, and Kayla were in the area, too, it looked as if a good little party was forming. Unfortunately, though, Scott had to leave after only being here for about a half hour. He was able to say a quick hello and goodbye to Luke Warm, Janelle, and Foley, before heading out. Too bad.

Still had fun, though. Foley brought some beers and the four of us, along with Rich, who checked in, shared some laughs at the dining room table. Good times. It was a good thing Foley wasn't driving. He and Luke Warm left some time after one huddled under the umbrella Janelle gave them. We watched them walk off into the night, like two lovers. It was very sweet.

What a lazy day. Rainy and raw, the perfect climate to lounge around in. If you don't mind, I'd like to continue to do so.

True colors fly in blue and black, bruised silken sky and burning flag

A brief post, and this is for you R.S. (I have indeed been slacking; thanks for the push). A brief post, even though I've got a myriad, a veritable plethora, of things to say. All of which will be given its due in my next post. Now? Now, I'm behind schedule and have little time to write.

Let's try something new and, depending on how drunk you are on the words I write, a little maddening. I'm thinking this post will be like a movie trailer, a teaser if you will. Are you on board, troops? Sir, yes, sir! Okay, then.

Teaser # 1:

Last night I was disowned by a friend. Some of you may be surprised by this,I know
kind of am, but this is a first for me. See, isn't that a good teaser? Isn't it maddening to know you'll have to wait to my next post for more details? Not really? Okay, but you have to admit that's a juicy teaser.

Teaser # 2:

Far less juicy, this. Went to see Ego and the Oracle play at The Burren. The place was packed from neck to nuts with nerds. Holy megabyte! Almost every other guy looked like Comic Book Guy. It was the first time in my illustrious life where I've been in a bar and felt assured I could beat up just about every one in the room. I don't suspect, unless some opens up a World of
Warcraft themed watering hole in my vicinity, or I begin frequenting gay bars that cater to the flaming, I'll ever feel that way again. After the show, when I was waiting for Mara to come out of the rest room, a thick bald guy,who I suspect worked there in some capacity, asked me if i saw a big guy causing trouble. I told him I hadn't and he told me that throughout the night, a big guy wasgoing around causing all sorts of trouble. I thought he was taking the piss out of me
because the room was packed to the gills with nerds -- not a one of them fit that bill-- and if someone was working the room in an aggressive, brutish, way, I'm prettysure I would have seen it. When I figured out the guy, who looked like a Marine withPTSD, was serious, I got a little weirded out. He asked me again about the big guy and, as I was telling him for the third or fourth time that I hadn't seen this thug, Mara came out of the bathroom and whisked me out of the bar. She asked me who the freaky guy was. I looked back and wondered if he indeed was the big guy he had been describing. Hmmm... Anyway, I guess I have to admit that there was one guy at the bar whose ass I wouldn't have been able to kick. You know what, though? He may have come in after the show which, if true, means there was a good bulk of time when I was the baddest ass in the room. I should have tested my theory and brought the ruckus. Ah, but I couldn't -- I am of pure heart, after all, and peace is my way.


Okay, I went longer than expected. And, into more detail. If I saw a movie trailer that spit out as much detail as I did in that last bit, I'd be pissed. Anyway, it's done. Whatever. Let's move on. At least I tried, right?

With what little time remains me before I go to sleep: lyrics, read from A Shadow In Summer, listen to The Crying Light On My Ipod.

There you have it.

She lives in a house that's near decay, built for the industrial revolution

I woke up Saturday morning, my head thick with a dream I had about finding cash on the ground. Despite the soft edge of greed I felt at the discovery -- a few of us were walking and, even though I was finding the money first ( it appeared every few steps), I wanted it for myself, but probably would have shared. Not often I have dreams like that. It seemed to me a portent of. Well, it didn't fall in my lap Saturday night, despite the fact that the location I was at strongly resembled the one in the dream.

The occasion was the NSI cd release party at the Stone Church in Newmarket. I'd never been there before, but had heard about some of the great performers who've passed through. Good mojo around that place.

I went up with Luke Warm and Spira and almost as soon as I got there, Shane was eager to get me on stage and ready to play.The place was smaller and had less of a cathedral vibe than I had formed in my mind. Still, with it's bar, cocktail tables, and stage with blue lighting, it was a suitable environment for live music.

The place was filling up quickly as I got on stage and did a quick sound check. Once that was accomplished, I began my set. After the first song, I knew it was going to be one of those shows, and by that I mean one in which the audience is louder than the music and not in a good way. Oh, well, it is to be expected. Usually when it happens, and I've been lucky that it hasn't happened overly much, you just make the best of it. When you're performing original songs, not '90's grunge covers, with just an acoustic and vocals, it most certainly is to be expected.

I only played about four songs before Shane gave me the "one more" sign. It had been a strange set. I couldn't hear myself that well, a phone atop a monitor sitting next to me rang incessantly (I found out it was Brian's. After I had finished playing, he approached the stage, grabbed the phone, and asked, "Why didn't you answer it?" with complete deadpan. Brian is a very funny individual), and the sound guy was uptight. "No,no,no! You can't have that beer on stage. Take it off, please. Please, take it off!" Easy, friend.

When I got off the stage and made my way through the middle of the room towards the back, I felt weird, like I had just committed a minor crime. I received a welter of cold looks from a number of people. Maybe I shouldn't say cold, but it kind of felt that way. I know, it sounds like I expected everyone to collapse to the ground in supplication, but really, it was just strange.

I don't expect praise, but I do expect acknowledgement. A nod of the head, something. If that's being egotistical, than so be it. Not for nothing, but I was just up on the stage performing for you. Whether I suck or not, at least offer me the respect of acknowledgement. I'm mostly referring to friends here; it makes more sense to me for strangers to be unresponsive.

As I packed up my guitar, a few of my friends walked right by me without a word. And yes, they saw me. Again, it's the acknowledgement and not the praise. Now, several of my friends, and some strangers, too, did make some comments, which were appreciated. And, by the end of the night, most of my friends had congratulated me. So, if I've given the impression that I was invisible to every single person in the club, it's not an accurate one.

It was great seeing friends I hadn't seen in a long time. Spending time with them made me realize how much I missed them. Hanging out with them as NSI played an inspired set brought me back to the days when we'd all see each other at various shows. Good times.

The ride home turned into a nightmare for me. I don't recall how it started, but I mentioned to Luke Warm and Spira that I had been feeling like I wasn't too popular with some of my friends, that I was out of the loop. Without going into too much detail, mainly because I really don't feel like reliving the experience, Spira and Luke Warm proceeded to go off in me. Luke went as far to say in a mocking tone, "No one likes me, no one likes me.... maybe you should go home and slit your wrists." And Spira, if I remember correctly, accused me of being a drama queen, talking in circles, always feeling sorry for myself and always making everything be about me.

Whether their accusations had merit or not, I had only uttered a couple of sentences when I was verbally assaulted. They were both shooting their mouths off at once. I was getting pounced on in stereo and, I've got to say, I was in a mild state of shock. My comments hadn't warranted the response I received. No fucking way.

At one point, while Spira was going off on me, I told her to shut the fuck up so that I could respond. She was fairly outraged at, to be sure. "Don't tell me to shut the fuck up!!", she bellowed. Too late, I'd already done it. I guess after being trodden upon for several minutes straight, with no space to speak in my defense, I was a little testy. You know, I may have some esteem issues, but I have enough self respect to defend myself.

Other shit happened, but you get the gist. I didn't sleep that night. I was too upset. Let me tell you, it doesn't feel very good having two of your closest friends got to town on you. In the morning, I took Baby Boy Z for a walk and tried to clear my head.

I was pretty successful. I was determined to learn something from the situation. While I was pissed at the treatment I received, I don't think what they were saying was without merit. I'm a human being and I'm not always at my best. I can, and have, felt sorry for myself. I can, and have, taken friends and family members for granted. I can be small, selfish, and petty.

I'm working on it.

I had a long talk about the experience with Janelle yesterday, and I felt much better afterward. She really saved the day for me and helped me flesh out my feelings about the previous night. One thing I concluded as a result of the conversation was that Luke Warm and Spira are who they are and I can't expect them to be any different. If I'm going through a rough patch, or anything near one, I should avoid going to them with it. It's always been this way and it used to bother me. Especially with Spira. But, they're still my friends and are there for me in other ways.

Always more than one side to a story, of course. I'm sure Spira and Luke would tell you that I was going on and on and on, that, in fact, I'm like that all the time, which was why they were so exasperated with me. Maybe the truth of the matter is somewhere between the two accounts. So be it.

I think we've hit a wall. I don't want to be around people who seem to view me as a miserable, melodramatic, fuck, because I just don't believe it. And, if they think that way about me, I'm pretty sure being around someone like that isn't very appealing to them.

I don't like being attacked out of hand. I don't like being told to go slit my wrists and I don't like being told all I do is talk in circles when all I'm doing is seeking clarification. I've got my faults, but so do they. I have my positives, too.

Go figure.

Post script. Just read this: If you want to be seen, stand up. If you want to be heard, speak up. If you want to be appreciated, shut up. That is going to be my mantra for a good while.

And baby, since you walked out of my life, I've never felt so low

I am returned to the swing of things, the cycle of work and rest, after a few days in Maine. Actually, I've been back since late Monday, but I've been pretty busy, too busy to write, as it happens. I've got some time now, so let's roll.

It was worthwhile being in Maine, but it didn't really have the feel of a vacation. It hardly ever does anymore, at least not in the strictest sense. That said, it was as close to a vacation as I've had all summer, barring the camping trip in July.

I arrived in the late afternoon on Saturday. My parent's had arrived about an hour before me and were about to go into town to pick up some groceries. We talked for a few minutes before they left. I opted to stay put; I'd gone with them last year and by the time we returned to the house, my nerves were frayed, thanks to my mother being high strung on such occasions. No, better to stay put.

After they left, I began reading Folly and Glory. I was about eighty pages into it when my parents came back. I helped them unload the groceries and, wanting to take advantage of the remaining daylight, laced up my sneakers and went for a run. I logged a couple of miles through the sea air, Marnie Stern on my Ipod pushing me forth.

When I returned, I took a shower, made some Pad Thai and hung out with my parents for a bit. My mother goes to bed very early -- I'm talking between 7:30 and 8:00 -- so it was just me and dad until he went to bed around 10:00.

We've become closer over the years, and I enjoy the time we spend together. He's opened up to me more of late, and I get the sense that part of it has to do with the ticking clock. We reminisced about the days when I was a child and he was younger than I am now. He spoke with some regret about the friends he's lost touch with, the brothers of his past made wraiths in the night. As he spoke, he shook his head at how unnecessary it was -- they didn't grow apart because of a falling out, some event that left no other outcome. No, they just became less important to each other and it didn't need to be addressed. It happens all the time--I've been through it.

I followed him onto the deck and we looked upon the stars that stood vigil over the bay like ancient sailors. "When I was a kid, maybe about twelve or thirteen, one of my friends asked me, "What lies behind the stars?", he said. "That really bothered me. I thought about it for days."

"Did you come up with an answer?"

My dad gazed at the sky's mystery, his answer already in his eyes, and said "No, I never figured it out. But I did come to terms with not knowing."
--
My dad went to bed and I retired downstairs to do some reading. Because my sister and her family weren't coming until Monday, I was able to take advantage of the room they usually occupy. Best room in the house: water bed, bathroom with shower, view of the bay. Privacy. To be sure, I wasn't missing my sister and her brood very much.

I went outside and sat on the bench that overlooked the bay. I smoked and enjoyed the silence in warm oblivion. I felt equally alone and one with everything. Maybe they're the same thing. After a spell, I went back inside and read from Folly and Glory before falling asleep.

We went to Kennebunkport on Sunday for dinner. At the restaurant we chose, I had a tall Sam Light, a haddock sandwich, and some sweet potato fries. It was a tasty meal, though the fried fish did scuffle with my stomach later on. Once dinner was through, we walked around and looked in some of the shops. My mother had it in her head to by me something, but I didn't want her to. In a candy shop, she was giving me the hard sell on some fudge. Six dollars for two small pieces. No thanks.

My mother seemed let down that I didn't want anything, so I let her buy me a cappuccino. They had already treated me to dinner, so I don't know why another treat was in order. Maybe because I have a pure heart. Ah, that's probably what it was.

On our way back to the house, we drove up to the sprawling Bush compound and marveled at how the other four percent live. Nearby was St. Ann's cathedral, a beautiful stone structure right on the water. My mother and I went inside and took some pictures while my dad waited in the car.

I had finished Folly and Glory before we went out for dinner. What a read. Bittersweet. No more Berrybenders, no more Jim, no more Kit. What a ride, though. What a ride.

My sister's family, along with my grandmother, arrived around noon on Monday. We had a little birthday party for the twins which included pizza with an excessive amount of cheese on it and for dessert, cheesecake. After all that, I was afraid it would be weeks before my next shit.

I left after the meal. It was time. I love my family, but it was time. I felt, as I always do when I leave, a little sad. At some point in my adult life, I began to feel a little distant from my family. Just perceptible to the naked eye, but there. It would be different if I had a family of my own.

Back at home and gearing up for the weekend, when I'll be playing a set in New Hampshire at NSI's cd release party. I hope to see friends I don't often get to see. I'm looking forward to it.

Tonight: rehearse; read from Daniel Abraham's A Shadow In Summer; Six Feet Under; meditate; and maybe, maybe catch an episode of The Wire.

Others find pleasure in things I despise, I like the christian life

The weekend has arrived and I'll be headed to Maine tomorrow to spend a few days with my parents at the beach house we've been frequenting for years now. My sister and her family, along with my grandmother will be heading up on Monday. This means I'll get the room in the basement with a water bed, bathroom with shower, and a birds eye view of the bay through large windows. A massive improvement over the less accommodating rooms upstairs.

I hope to do a lot of reading. I'm bringing Pillars of the Earth and Folly And Glory, which I've been itching to dive into for a few weeks now. Without all the commotion that accompanies my sister's family, there will be a lot of quiet time. Perfect reading climate.

I also hope to work on some lyrics, do some running and kayaking, and spend some quality time with my parents.

Listening to the newest Antony record a lot. Nothing short of transcendent. It's more controlled, more focused, than his last effort, which I find myself enjoying more after having been pouring over The Crying Light for the last few days. He is an oddity, Antony, but not in a freakish, unapproachable way. It took me some time to figure out how I felt about him. Well, now I know. Check out the segment of NPR's Fresh Air with him. Great interview that focuses on The Crying Light, but covers a lot more. Check it out if you like music and interesting, creative people.

Had a dream last night in which one of my friends was coming on to me in front of her significant other, who looked sullen and defeated as he watched her grope and caress me with limbs and lips. I won't reveal who she is, but will note that, even though I think she's pretty and pleasant, I've never felt about her the way she was depicted in the dream. Still, aside from my friend looking sullen and defeated, I'm chalking this one up as a good dream.

Finished Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee today. What a fucking tragedy, our country's handling of the Native Americans. This book should be read by every American. Here's a story from the book, with a liberal amount of paraphrasing.

Buffalo Bill had given Sitting Bull, perhaps the greatest of all Chiefs, a white horse that bowed down and did tricks when signaled with a gun shot, as a parting gift when Sitting Bull left his Wild,Wild,West troupe. The day Sitting Bull died, tribal police had surrounded his house at Fort Yates in order to take him prisoner. Just as soon as they had done this, Sitting Bull's supporters swarmed around the soldiers, outnumbering them four to one. Shots were fired, and Sitting Bull was one of the casualties, by accident or design. His supporters, most of whom were part of the religious Ghost Dance movement, watched in awe as Sitting Bull's white horse started acting peculiar once shots were fired. To be sure, they took this as a sign.

Tonight: The Wire (if you haven't seen this show, stop the world, pop in a DVD, and treat yourself to brilliance); Six Feet Under (brilliant, too); music and lyrics; Pillars Of The Earth; maybe some play time with Baby Boy Z, the best of the best; and most importantly, pack for tomorrow.

Her eyes are underneath the ground

Went to three registries today -- Cambridge, Nashua, Lawrence -- and only spent a half hour in the office before going home for the day. Despite the oppressive heat, I was happy to be out and about.

While in Nashua, I picked up the new Antony and The Johnsons record, which I already like better than his last, and a used copy of season four of The Wire.

Went for a vigorous run after work. I had a lot of energy, which I attribute to the tasty and fuelifying (ok, I made up a word, but you know you love it) salad I ate an hour prior to the run. It had watermelon,oil cured black olives, feta cheese, avocado, black beans, grape tomatoes, field greens, onion, orange pepper, and a chopped up chili lime chicken burger. See what I mean about fuelifying?

It's strange, especially the older I get, peering through the windows of the past. For the most part, I'm either mired in the concerns of the present or mulling over the future. I hardly delve into the past. I do occasionally, but usually when I'm reminiscing with a friend or family member. I say it's strange because so much of it seems like a dream, outside of time and space. When I conjure a memory about someone-- for example, my friend Becca (who I'm happy to report I'm back in touch with after years apart), the scene represented seems so near, so present, yet I may be recalling a memory that occurred over a decade ago. And sometimes memories seem so distant they don't seem like they ever happened.

Enough of the past; it might make me melancholy.

Tonight: call Mara back; The Wire; music; read from Pillars Of The Earth; Six Feet Under if time; finish listening to Richard Dawkins lecture at Oxford; treat my body like an amusement park (Seinfeld reference); meditate; sleep the sleep of the pure hearted: deep, true, and wrapped in the cloak of God's ecstasy.

Looks like I better get started.

And we'll sweep out the ashes in the morning

Tried to get to bed at a reasonable hour last night, but it didn't happen. It was well after midnight before I called it quits and went to sleep. I had been watching The Wire for a good portion of the night and wasn't very tired. I defy anyone to want to hit the hay after watching Stringer Bell get his comeuppance, courtesy of Omar and Brother Mouzone. So, anyway, I'm tired. Boo fucking hoo, right?

The extra hours I was getting at work as a result of Ellen's departure, ended today. At the end of the day, Marcy told me I should go back to my old schedule until business picks up. As far as I can tell, business has picked up and, last time I checked, we're down a person. Ah, but I know not to expect too much from this job. It's great on a few different levels, but it won't sustain me for very long and there is no upward mobility to be seen. Tis a good thing school is on the horizon.
--
Mara and I went back to The City Slicker Cafe for dinner on Friday. On our way there, we ran into Scott, one of my drivers from the Taylor days. It was good to see him. He was the only one who called to wish me well when I was fired.

As we were saying goodbye, Scott looked over my shoulder at Mara and asked her if she was my wife. "No, we're just friends", she said with a grin.

Later, I apologized for not introducing her to Scott. " I thought you had stayed by the road when I went to say hi. Hope it wasn't uncomfortable for you."

"It was fine. You just didn't know how to introduce me", she said.

Actually, I thought, I did know how to introduce you -- as a friend. But the point was taken, nonetheless.
--
Luke Warm and I went to the Fells on Saturday. A beautiful day for it. It was good spending quality time with him, something we hadn't done in a while.

Back in the city, we walked over to Christopher's for lunch, where I asked our cute waitress if wedding cake was on the dessert menu (it wasn't). Had a tasty veggie burger and a frosty Blue Moon. Hit the spot.

After lunch, we walked over to Foley's place, drank screwdrivers, and watched the Red Sox lose to the Yankees. Luke Warm and I found Foley's deep-seated hatred for the Yanks to be endlessly amusing. He said some things about some of their players I'm afraid to share here. Yeah, it was that bad.
--
Almost finished reading Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee and am trying to decide whether McMurtry's Folly and Glory, the concluding novel in The Berrybender Narratives, or John Banville's, The Sea will be the next book I read during lunch break. Might be Banville, I think. When I head up to Maine this weekend, I'm bringing Pillars of The Earth, but I want to bring another book. Folly and Glory might be the one. I bet I could finish it in one or two sittings and still have time for Pillars Of The Earth. We'll see, readers, we'll see. I'm sure you're dying to know.
--
Just listened to a good chunk of Antony and The Johnson's new album over at Pitchfork. I can already tell it's better than his last. May have to pick that one up before the trip.

The C's just signed Big Baby today. Great news! If they had let him walk, it would have been to the teams detriment. Me thinks he's the real deal, but we shall see.

Going to have some news for you on the music front in the coming days. I'm all excited. Stay tuned.

Tonight: music, lyrics, Six Feet Under, maybe The Wire, maybe a little PS2 b-ball, plenty of reading. Ciao.

She's not a girl who misses much

Not very inspired to write tonight; this will be short, replete with malformed, unfiltered thoughts. So, in other words, aside from its length, it will mirror my other posts. I won't take it personally if you take a powder on this, especially considering I'll be doing the same, but there's got to come a point when you fully commit to this blog. I'm just saying.
--

Lately, a little more than ever, I've been wondering how long it will take for me to be completely alone, without friends and family. My life's been trending that way, especially with regards to friends, which is mostly the result of geography and busy lifestyles, and, even though I don't see that as an outcome, I admit to be a little concerned. After all, I don't have a family of my own and a few of my close relationships haven't felt that way in a while. But, dear readers, that is not necessarily reflective of the truth with a big T. It's hard envisioning myself as a hermit. No, the pure-hearted are not wired for that eventuality.
--

Been trying to figure out which song disgusts me more:

This



This

Lullaby, by Shawn Mullins (I tried copying the video from YouTube but was blocked from doing so. Probably done as a service to prevent this horrible, horrible, song from spreading like the cancer it is.)

Or This:



I was prevented from copying the video of this song, too. The song is just as shitty and annoying in this live clip, so I included it. Could have done the same for Mullins, but I almost threw up in my mouth when I tried, so I aborted the attempt.

So, which song disgusts me the most? It's a draw: each song fills me with the same urgent desire to commit suicide. There are plenty more songs out there that are vulgar and suicide-inducing, but these three in particular have gnawed at me for a while now and since Therese has been listening to a new soft rock station at work, I've been hearing them a lot, and by a lot, I mean too much. Oh, and that Marc Cohn song, Walking in Memphis sucks really, really, bad, too -- completely vulgar and insulting in every conceivable way.

Have you figured out the common thread with these (so called) songs? What's that you say? They're all swill ladled from the same pretentious bucket? Why yes, you're right, they are indeed, but most of all they suck, they just plain suck. I can't emphasize that enough.

That felt good. I've been holding these feelings in for too long. I feel lighter than air.

Ok, I'm going to go do something else. The post wasn't so bad, right? Not focused, to be sure, and mostly cranky in tone, but c'mon, I've had a long week and my brain is sleepy. And, it was lengthier than I predicted. And, I included a couple of videos, which took some effort, albeit not much. But, effort, still. My grade of the post: C+. Almost went with a B-, but it didn't feel right.

You never know, maybe, with time, this post will be regarded as one my greatest. Maybe academics in tiny coffee houses will pontificate over its finer points. Maybe my future wife will regard this very post as the impetus that compelled her to finally seek me out, after years of fawning over my blog, and fall deeply, deeply in love with me.

Maybe.

And all other desires that distract me day and night, are false and empty to the core

Has the catch phrase "It is what it is" run its course? Is it still viable? No to the former and yes to the latter. Its had legs because its application covers a wide range, unlike, say, "You go girl", and the like. So, yes, I think it's still okay to use the phrase without being dated, but I warn you: the time is fast approaching when you will no longer be able to. I'm speaking in the cultural sense; regarding my personal feelings on the matter, I think it's been overused and has become a short cut to thinking, but, really, as far as catch phrases go, it's pretty good. Having said that, I predict I'll be rather done with it in a couple of months. How did I come up with that time line, you ask? I have no idea, but it feels right.
--

I arrived at the Cambridgeside Galleria this morning and the entrance I usually use to the parking garage was gated off, so I used the one adjacent to it. It took me to the basement level. I parked near an elevator at the Best Buy entrance. As I made my way to it, I realized the reason why the other entrance was blocked, was because the mall hadn't opened yet.

I took the elevator up to street level and stepped out onto the next tier of the garage. It was empty and dark. I couldn't exit through the mall, because it wasn't open, and the only other exits were for emergencies. Rather than walk all the way down to the street, which from where I was, was a considerable distance, I got back in the elevator and made my way back down to the basement.

It's a massive garage, so it took me a few minutes to find my way out. When I emerged onto the street, I didn't know where I was. When I found my bearings, I made the determination that I was on the opposite side of the mall, which meant my walk to the T was going to be a longer one.

When I finally hopped on the T and took a seat, I was a sweaty disheveled mess. A pretty blond woman sat facing me from the other side of the train. She was dressed in black and looked like she just stepped out of a magazine ad. Not a hair out of place, not a drop of sweat. Whenever she looked my, I felt like a pariah, a sweaty, disheveled pariah. I was the Quasimodo of Cambridge, on full display and ready to inspire discomfort and dread in my fellow passengers. I cursed her for not succumbing to the heat, for being so put together. C'mon, girl, show me that you're human! Sweat a little -- it's fucking HOT out! It seemed she was cut from a finer cloth than the rest of us.
--
When I left my parent's house last night, I was drained. I had come off a busy day at work that involved visits to the registries in Lowell and Nashua, the former a frustrating affair that does not warrant a detailed account in this post. Equally as frustrating was class number three with my parents on how to use the Internet. Frustrating, but not painful; as slow going as the process has been, it's a service, such as it is, that I'm happy to be providing for my parents. Plus, I've been getting free, home cooked meals out of the bargain, so I can't complain too much. It is what it is.

Tonight: Six Feet Under; maybe The Wire, too; read from The Pillars of The Earth; some music; meditate; and sleep. Sounds like a plan.

Ten thousand bedrooms are all too few

Despite getting stuck behind a funeral procession on my way to work this morning, today went rather well. Because a funeral home is on my route, it stands to reason I'll get stuck behind a train of cars antenna-ed with little red flags every so often. Heck, maybe more than every so often. So, the fact that I'm delayed by a funeral procession at least three times a week isn't surprising. What is surprising, and vexing, is how I manage to be the first car or second car waved to a halt by darkly clad attendants so the procession can proceed unhindered. Today, for example, it looked like it was going to be smooth sailing. There was no one rushing out to the street to handle traffic, no one milling about their cars, but yet, when I reached the funeral home, the suits swarmed into the road and bid me to stop. I was already ten minutes late. This was a set back. It happens to me whether I pass the home ten minutes earlier than usual, whether I'm on time, or whether I'm fifteen minutes late. Shit luck, I guess. Not as unlucky as the the individuals being brought to the cemetery, though. Maybe this is the Universe's way of telling me I'm going to die soon. Fuck, now watch me go and die because I wrote that. You'll be able to revisit this post and show all your friends and say "Dude, this guy thought he was receiving signs that he was going to croak, and look what happens, he goes ahead and croaks shortly thereafter!" Ah, whatever. Maybe the Universe just likes making me late. The gods and their games, I tell you.
--
Hmm, there's something I feel the need to address, but can't quite bring it to mind. Oh, I know! We've reached and exceeded the ten thousandth mark! Hazaaahhh!! I know there are other blogs that receive ten thousand hits a week, but those are the ones that are interesting. My first post was in December of'06 and I've just hit that mark. And, you know what? It's a fucking achievement, son!

I've always enjoyed writing, but never did so on a regular basis. I kept journals here and there, but they weren't fashioned in the interest of honing a craft; they were the raw results of my venting process. Here, I'll vent, to be sure, but the intent from the beginning was to use this blog as a canvas to improve my writing skills. The canvas was blank, I didn't have syllabus in place. The main objective was to write on a regular basis and, by doing so, become a better writer over time.

Have I? Sure, but not in ways that are immediately apparent. Hell, I'm not that sure at all. Fuck if I know if I've improved. I do need less editing these days, even though, for better or worse, I never did much in the first place. More than anything, I'm pleased that I stuck with it. There's your improvement. I know what it's like to start something and not see it through, so the fact that I've been doing this steadily for nearly four years is an achievement.

Despite the questionable quality of some of the post found within this blog, I've had some steady readers over the years and I'd like to tip my hat to all of you. Knowing that people are going to read what I write makes me try a little harder than if I was jotting my thoughts down in a little journal. I'm sure many of you would like me to try a lot harder, given some of the slop I produce. I'll see what I can do on that front. Not making any promises, though.

Can we reach twenty thousand? Sure. I don't intend to quit this blog anytime soon, though I may start up another one with a different bent. I'll keep you posted.
--
Ellen quit today. She left work last Wednesday wishing everyone a good weekend. Marcy asked her why she wasn't coming in on Thursday and Friday and Ellen responded that she was flying down to D.C. to see her daughter. "I thought you knew I was going on vacation", she said.

Ellen had asked for the days off weeks ago, but, because other people had already requested those days off, was denied them. Marcy had told her there was a slight chance she'd be able to take the days off, but not to count on it. Well, Ellen counted on it and bought her plane tickets for that week.

"I never gave you permission", Marcy told her.

"Well, I bought the tickets already. I'm leaving in the morning."

Marcy was not pleased. "Call me in the morning before you come in to work on Monday".

Ellen said she would and, as she made her way out the door, she looked at me and mouthed the words " I think they're going to fire me".

Not only did Ellen book a vacation when she shouldn't have, but she had no intention of calling Marcy before she came to work today. She told Therese as much over the weekend. So, when she arrived at work this morning and signed in, Marcy asked her why she didn't call first.

"I figured if you were going to fire me, I'd rather you do it to my face."

"I'm not going to fire you, but I am going to write you up and suspend you a day without pay. That's why I wanted you to call first. I didn't want you coming in today."

Marcy presented a written warning to Ellen for her to sign. Ellen refused, saying she'd rather quit than sign it. And that was that. All this, before my arrival. I must have been stuck behind a funeral or something.

When I came in, Marcy called everyone in to the main part of the office and explained what happened with Ellen. Therese cried. Maureen looked shocked. Sharon looked the way I probably looked: nonplussed. I will miss Ellen, to be sure. She's a firecracker, that one, and was always good for a laugh and never filtered her comments, which, as a consequence, were often wince-inducing.

I'll miss her, but I wasn't upset at the news that she left. Maybe it's because I've been at jobs where the turn over rate was through the roof, or maybe it was because she telegraphed her departure in numerous ways weeks and months beforehand. She didn't need the job -- her husband makes a ton of money -- and only worked there because she wanted to keep busy. On several occasions she told me she was going to quit. No, I wasn't surprised she left.

The office has become smaller again. I think they'll have to hire a replacement for Ellen. They didn't hire any for the last four people that left, but now, I think they'll have to. If they don't, well, maybe that will present an opportunity for me to get more hours and a raise. We'll see.

Ok, I'm going to go for a run. Tomorrow: work, the registries in Nashua and Lowell, and then to my parents for dinner, and more Internet training.