I’m sitting alone in my shitty house with a not-so shitty location. At least during the summer. Right now, however, it’s winter. And cold. Snow will be on the ground by this time tomorrow. I won’t have anyone to cuddle with. To fuck. To even leer at. Unless someone happens upon the place while I’m outside tomorrow afternoon, because I’ll sleep in. Very late. I do that. Every day, usually. Even when I’m working. Some would say that’s lazy. Counter productive. I won’t disagree. Won’t agree either. But if a woman happens by and sees me in my soccer socks and short shorts, eating peanuts out of a can and thinks “damn, that’s hot,” then I’m in business.
Not counting my chickens.
Speaking of chickens, I wonder if chicken heads still think when they’re cut off. I mean, the body still runs around. Does the head still think?
Thinking is about all I do nowadays. I went to a buddy’s house yesterday. To get drunk, supposedly, and watch his six month old do six month old things. I drank four beers, ate some crappy frozen pizza and got a backache looking up at his giant television that’s hung in a terrible place on the wall for the person sitting on the left side of his giant leather couch -- me, on this night.
I could have done all those things -- minus the backache and giant television and baby and human contact other than me, most likely masturbating -- at home. I guess I made the right decision. I got a free haircut out of the deal. And a night’s sleep with actual heat. Although my sinuses get all fucked up when I sleep in heat. So now, my throat is itchy and my body is covered with static.
Maybe I’m never happy?
I spent a day at work. Did the late paper tonight out of choice. It was a good choice. There were more pages and that kept me occupied longer than the early two would have. I don’t understand why Grimace, which is the name I have applied the big, fat guy who works with me, stays in the office so long after he’s done. I have no life, and I’m assuming he has no life either. But I finish, I leave. I don’t want to be there, if anywhere. Oh well. I spent too many years of my life wanting to be in a newsroom. They’re sad places now. Empty cubicles and young people who don’t know the difference between their and there, let alone how to get a news story without a press release.
The Chicago paper put the wrong photo on their front page of a Hispanic baseball player that became a Cub. Some people tried to make it a race thing. If he’d been white and all that. Well, more than one paper fucked it up. And the source of the fuck up finally became known -- a bad cutline by the original photog with the AP. Gasp! A photog who fucks up a cutline? Anyways. Of course it shouldn’t have happened, and I believe up until about 2005 or so, there’s no way it would have happened. Now? All bets off.
One comment on a story about it I saw really made me want to puke. “That’s why newspapers are dead. All the Web sites just fixed it. You can’t just change a photo on 1,000s of newspapers.” Yeah, he/she is right (and wouldn’t it be funny if he/she was a ladyboy?), but … you’re also not held accountable for your fuckups. And the short attention span of he/she won’t remember that the web site always fucks shit up. But he/she will remember that one fuck up from the paper. Because it was on paper.
What the fuck is wrong with this country? The potential next president, put targets on congressional districts, and now months later is saying they weren’t crosshairs. Fuck you. They were. Own it. I’d actually have one once of respect for you if you admitted, that in fucking hindsight, it may have been crude. But instead, you lie. Fuck people.
I take responsibility for my fuck ups. I shit my career down the drain. I charged up my credit cards. I made really bad decisions about not wearing a rubber. I eat bad food. I drink too much. I didn’t brush my teeth enough in my 20s. I didn’t get the oil changed in my car for over 65,000 miles. Yeah, fuck it. I’m a pretty stupid guy sometimes. But, I keep trying.
I’m also going to New Orleans just for the hell of it. I’m starting to get my old itch back. Or, I’m finally allowing myself to fucking scratch it again. Just do it. See what the fuck comes of it. If I fail, fuck it. I took a class at UVA once. I was in over my head. Failing it. I didn’t study for the final. But, I still took it. Did well enough to get a D+ in the freaking class. Sometimes, the brain is a wonderful thing. Even when most of the time it isn’t.
It stinks in here. I’m done.
Showing posts with label random shit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random shit. Show all posts
Monday, January 10, 2011
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Mobile.
My phone. It’s not much use to anyone, like me.
There was a time not too long ago when you could look at the received or missed call list -- I never erase any of them -- and the oldest call would be over nine months old. I tried once to wrap my mind around that. It really means that no one really ever calls me much.
My made calls list was pretty long. I don’t make a lot of calls, but I tend to make a hell of a lot more calls than I receive. Not really surprising.
***
I wonder what goes on in that bar across the street. All I see go in are old folk. But how much longer before they will be me instead of me watching? I have no idea. About either.
***
Summer has passed by. It always seems to take one big moment to push summer out. An event that ushers in fall.
I always kind of look at fall as death. It’s when the leaves die. That’s the only reason I feel that way.
***
How does a person cope with going to work, and not doing anything while they are there? I’ve never understood it.
My grandfather instilled that ethic in me. He didn’t miss a day of work in 40 years. They gave him a piece of paper and took his photo for the newspaper.
I was in the newspaper when I was five years old. A little kid eating ice cream.
***
The hotel next door is apparently open tonight. The seafood festival is in town. Folks are drinking. Hanging out with friends. Driving drunkenly about.
A cop drove by earlier. He looked a me standing in front of my house. I looked at him. A couple of drunks were leaving the bar, getting in their cars at the same time.
The cop kept looking at me.
***
It’s raining again. Five days in a row it rained a lot. This is the sixth day, I figure. Tomorrow it’s supposed to rain some more. If it goes on for 34 more days, does that mean someone should have been building a boat?
***
The rain plops down on the ground. A ground so saturated, I’m really surprised it’s not a river here too. The land is mostly sand, however, so it just soaks on through.
I use the words really and I guess, too much.
The dripping of the rain off of my roof is soothing. Except when it hit’s the aluminum can that someone left in my side yard. It’s a Milwaukee’s Best Ice can. I don’t want to pick it up. So I don’t. It just sits there.
One day, it will either be picked up, or it will blow away. That’s a given. Where it ends up from there is a mystery?
It may go to a landfill, rotting with egg shells and screen doors. It may go to a recycling place, where it’s eventually melted down and turned into something else. Or it may just sit in the side yard for decades, buried under weeds and garbage.
Maybe the asshole yelling “Hey!” outside will fall on it, and in doing so, cut his jugular?
This do happen like that every day.
***
I can’t think of any really good friend of mine, past or present, that isn’t married or in a long-term, committed relationship.
Except for two people. They’re both journalists, too.
No wonder I feel empty.
I hope they don’t feel the same way.
***
Am I still a fan of anything anymore?
I try to watch sports, but rarely get into them. I used to live and die when watching a game.
Now, about the only time I feel that excitement is standing in the audience at a Lucero show. That’s the one time I feel completely alive. Completely unselfaware.
That’s funny.
***
I haven’t bought a new suit since 1998.
Heck, I’ve never bought one. My mom bought it for me. For when I started interviewing for jobs.
I still wear that same blue suit.
It’s out of style.
It looks kind of raggedy
I’ve never bought a TV either. All of them have been hand-me-downs.
Same with microwaves, clock radios and MP3 players.
I finally bought my first car at the age of 39.
It didn’t make me feel “all grown up.”
It felt more like an anchor around my waist. Another reason to not be mobile.
How silly is that? Having a car, but not feeling mobile.
I still haven’t gone on a proper roadie in it. Been to DC. That really didn’t count.
I’ve got to take it to Arkansas. Or Memphis. Or New Orleans. Then it will be officially “my” car.
At least the Gator seems to like her.
She does need a name………
There was a time not too long ago when you could look at the received or missed call list -- I never erase any of them -- and the oldest call would be over nine months old. I tried once to wrap my mind around that. It really means that no one really ever calls me much.
My made calls list was pretty long. I don’t make a lot of calls, but I tend to make a hell of a lot more calls than I receive. Not really surprising.
***
I wonder what goes on in that bar across the street. All I see go in are old folk. But how much longer before they will be me instead of me watching? I have no idea. About either.
***
Summer has passed by. It always seems to take one big moment to push summer out. An event that ushers in fall.
I always kind of look at fall as death. It’s when the leaves die. That’s the only reason I feel that way.
***
How does a person cope with going to work, and not doing anything while they are there? I’ve never understood it.
My grandfather instilled that ethic in me. He didn’t miss a day of work in 40 years. They gave him a piece of paper and took his photo for the newspaper.
I was in the newspaper when I was five years old. A little kid eating ice cream.
***
The hotel next door is apparently open tonight. The seafood festival is in town. Folks are drinking. Hanging out with friends. Driving drunkenly about.
A cop drove by earlier. He looked a me standing in front of my house. I looked at him. A couple of drunks were leaving the bar, getting in their cars at the same time.
The cop kept looking at me.
***
It’s raining again. Five days in a row it rained a lot. This is the sixth day, I figure. Tomorrow it’s supposed to rain some more. If it goes on for 34 more days, does that mean someone should have been building a boat?
***
The rain plops down on the ground. A ground so saturated, I’m really surprised it’s not a river here too. The land is mostly sand, however, so it just soaks on through.
I use the words really and I guess, too much.
The dripping of the rain off of my roof is soothing. Except when it hit’s the aluminum can that someone left in my side yard. It’s a Milwaukee’s Best Ice can. I don’t want to pick it up. So I don’t. It just sits there.
One day, it will either be picked up, or it will blow away. That’s a given. Where it ends up from there is a mystery?
It may go to a landfill, rotting with egg shells and screen doors. It may go to a recycling place, where it’s eventually melted down and turned into something else. Or it may just sit in the side yard for decades, buried under weeds and garbage.
Maybe the asshole yelling “Hey!” outside will fall on it, and in doing so, cut his jugular?
This do happen like that every day.
***
I can’t think of any really good friend of mine, past or present, that isn’t married or in a long-term, committed relationship.
Except for two people. They’re both journalists, too.
No wonder I feel empty.
I hope they don’t feel the same way.
***
Am I still a fan of anything anymore?
I try to watch sports, but rarely get into them. I used to live and die when watching a game.
Now, about the only time I feel that excitement is standing in the audience at a Lucero show. That’s the one time I feel completely alive. Completely unselfaware.
That’s funny.
***
I haven’t bought a new suit since 1998.
Heck, I’ve never bought one. My mom bought it for me. For when I started interviewing for jobs.
I still wear that same blue suit.
It’s out of style.
It looks kind of raggedy
I’ve never bought a TV either. All of them have been hand-me-downs.
Same with microwaves, clock radios and MP3 players.
I finally bought my first car at the age of 39.
It didn’t make me feel “all grown up.”
It felt more like an anchor around my waist. Another reason to not be mobile.
How silly is that? Having a car, but not feeling mobile.
I still haven’t gone on a proper roadie in it. Been to DC. That really didn’t count.
I’ve got to take it to Arkansas. Or Memphis. Or New Orleans. Then it will be officially “my” car.
At least the Gator seems to like her.
She does need a name………
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