Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Now, it’s nearly midnight and I’m wide-awake. Fucking exhausted and wide-awake.
Before you get ready to give me some advice, I’ll let you know that I don’t drink coffee, I’ve been laying off the booze, and I haven’t been abusing any drugs of any kind. … but I would if that would help me sleep!
So, what’s the fifth night feel like? My peripheral vision is suffering and random thoughts are popping in my head like Jiffy Thought. (And if you get that reference, you’re probably suffering, too.) There’s a scream building up that’s only a couple of days away and I can hear it far down in my brain stem. I need sleep.
I suggested to Vicky that this is the longest bout of insomnia I’ve had since we’ve been together – but she reminded me about the Bahamas. Ah, yes. The Bahamas. Our honeymoon. Now, my brain was already doing summersaults, thanks to the stress of the wedding. Hell, I was hallucinating before Vicky walked down the aisle so the insomnia came as no surprise.
Then, after a few days, I sat outside at one of the tables by the bar and had a long talk with myself. Actually, there were three of me there…
I’m still seeing just one of me, but we’re only on day five…
Personally, I’m hoping I get at least two hours tonight, though three would be golden. Wish me luck.
First, back on Easter Sunday I got the best birthday gift. My wonderful hubby Ken, Trish and Bille all went in together and purchased a Mario Andretti Racing School package for me. I drove an indy style race car for 6 laps. I drove it all by myself (well, I did have to follow an instructor in the car ahead of me)! It was such a great experience. My top speed was about 143 MPH!! If any of you are half the race fan that I am, I highly recommend that you look into this. There is also a Jeff Gordon Racing School. This will be my next racing experience (hint hint). Here are the pics from race day. Trish's husband Clay also drove a car that same day. Oh and I was the only girl racing that day.
Now for today. I'm not in a very good mood today, but I was able to laugh thanks to my friend Trish. She sent me a link to a funny video...enjoy. Turn your sound on, the music is a must.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Anyone who knows me, knows that word. That, and the phrase, “Sleep and I have never been the best of friends.”
So, here I am on my fourth night of insomnia. It’s not even 10pm, but I know it. I know it the way you know… well, whatever it is you know. My brain is blasting on 11 and it won’t shut up. People told me this would stop when I quit drinking so much – I hate to prove people wrong.
Of course, since this is all in my head, the result of whacked amounts of epinephrine charging from my adrenals, there are always the obligatory side effects. A constant buzzing that seems to dull everything else? Check. The feeling that I’m about to go bonkers? Check. Being pissed because all I really want is some fucking sleep? Oh, checkity check! And, this time, I also have a constant headache and stomach problems, in addition to being extremely sensitive to the ambient temperature. Hey, at this late at night, I shouldn’t be sweating, okay?
So, here I am, ready for another night of… well, not sleeping. I’ll fill it with all the things you normally do during the daytime. It’ll just be darker, that’s all. I’ll watch a DVD - play some video games - I might go for a walk. I went for a walk last night and sat on a park bench for a while. Parks are really boring at three in the morning.
I hope you all have a very good night’s sleep. Meanwhile, if you see a guy named Morpheus, give him my address, okay?
NOTE: And, in case you think this is all rather lucid for someone who hasn't been sleeping... I just spend five minutes rereading it because I thought I'd typed a sentence that wasn't there!!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Yep, it's a survey, the kind you normally get via email. Rather than clog up your email server, though, I thought I'd post it here. Extra points to those who comment with their answers!
TWO SURVEY: If you read it, you have to do it.
Two Names You Go By:
2. Dr. T (... it's a long story...)
Two Parts of Your Heritage:
Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
2. A look of bemusement... and nothing else...
Two Things You Would Want in a Relationship:
1. Ice Cream
2. Someone who gets my jokes. (Damn good thing Vicky gets me ice cream!)
Two of Your Favorite Hobbies:
2. Writing about Writing
Two Things You Want Really Badly At The Moment:
1. A cigarette
2. and a martini
Two pets you had/have:
1. Suki (A full dinner)
2. Alacrity (A fatty snack)
Two people who will fill this out:
2. The Scarlet Blogger (or someone real... maybe)
Two things you did last night:
1. Watched as my computer broke down more and more and more
2. Watched September (a film by Woody Allen) while suffering from insomnia
Two Favorite Places to eat:
1. Vic's Place
2. Acropolis... steak bites, babieeee!
Two People that live in your house:
2. Vicky (Damn good thing this wasn't asked a couple of years ago...)
Two things you ate today:
1. Zen cereal... no, I'm not kidding
2. Spicy Chicken burrito from Taco Bell (It's all about snatching the hot sauce!)
Two people you Last Talked To:
1. Vicky, my baby...
2. Gordana, the woman who sits next to me who I thought was a pain in the ass when I started here but, then, I hadn't met everyone yet...
Two Things You're doing tomorrow:
1. Hoping for a fucking job offer
2. Hoping some non-porn-related work comes my way, too.
Two longest car rides:
1. Orange County to Seattle, Driving North, 2000
2. Orange County to The Grand Canyon, The Monster, 2002
Two Favorite Holidays:
1. Swiss Cheese Day
2. Throw Away Your Old Underwear Day
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Bear with me. Last time I mention Granddaddy... honestly... the check is in the mail...
So, I listened to all of my Granddaddy cds - all five - all the way up to the new one. Then - in case you didn't see this coming - I put in the new one. Just Like the Fambly Cat.
It's not bad. Really. It's not. In fact, there are moments of utter coolness... but those are just moments.
I will tell you that Jason Lyttle seems to have discovered multi-track recording - AND HE LOVES IT! No shit. The whole album is chock-a-block with layers upon layers of harmonious, tag-teaming instruments, and it sounds great. Now, if only he had more compelling songs for the mix. Sadly, while his technique is getting better, the energy of his songwriting suffers.
So, it's not their best. Thankfully, it's not their worst, either. There are moments that are simply chilling, not least of which when he uses the fade-out to ELO's Shangri-La. Amazing.
I still recommend Sumday. That's still my favorite. But to hear Lyttle's evolution from skateboarder to virtue-soto (old SCTV reference for ya), is well worth the price of admission. Granddaddy's missteps are better than most bands when they get it right. (But then, there are a hell of a lot of bands out there...)
"I'm in 1982," I told him, catching him up on my chronological observation of my DVD collection.
"1982," he repeated. "Let's see... My Favorite Year?" He guessed the movie title just right. I was impressed. "Tootsie?" On this one, he was wrong.
I don't own Tootsie. It's not that it's not a great movie. It is. It contains one of Bill Murray's best, and most underrated roles. But I can't buy it and I'll tell you why - I think it's socially irrelevant. The idea of a man dressing up as a woman to get a job anchoring the news is so outdated; I wouldn't be surprised if, somewhere (probably in the morning), there's a channel that does all cross-dressing news reports. They'd call it something cute like "Criss-cross News" or something.
And I can say all that now because blog entries are so different from phone conversations. You know, you can think of shit.
For instance, these job prospects. One is with a phone company and the other is with a computer company. I spoke with one this morning and was told that all the candidates, except for myself and one other person, have been ruled out - and they're interviewing one more person on Friday. Great, I thought, but why can't today be Friday? Or Monday? I have an interview with the other company today. But the lack of any solid news has left me saying very little for the past month except, "I wish they'd hire me!" (And Vicky's getting tired of hearing that.)
Or this stuff that Vicky has given me to clean my face. See, I have these little, black dots that you can only see from about three inches away from my face. Vicky has given me this facial cleanser to help clean them, asking me to eschew soap. Okay. Fine. I'll do it. But you can tell this stuff was invented by a woman because, if the problem is really dots on my nose, you'd think a guy would have come up with a nosepiece that fits over my nose and has a scrubber inside. It could be attached to fake glasses so it could be part nose scrubber/part disguise kit. Oh well.
Of course, I didn't say any of this to Clostio. Instead, he did what he usually does when there's no real news: he psychoanalyzed me. He loves doing that and, working at a vet's office, I can only guess he has cats and dogs and hamsters on a little couch all day. Maybe that's why he kept asking me if my nose was wet...
Monday, May 22, 2006
The day had started early for me. It had started the day before!
Vicky and I had gone and made a down payment on my new PC. Well, PC Club asks for 40% down when you have them build you a new PC and we put down more than 40%. We put down almost a grand! But the new box will be my best box ever; it'll be the first time I haven't skimped, when I bought a PC that isn't just close to being good, where I don't think, "This may run all of my stuff" but, rather, I think, "This will run everything BEATIFULLY!" Now, I can't wait. (I won't have the next box for a couple of weeks, because we have to pay the rest when we pick it up.)
We got home, had dinner, went to bed... and I couldn't sleep. Dammit! I hate that! So, I was up. I watched Woody Allen's Stardust Memories, his best movie, in my opinion. When 3:30am rolled around, I decided I'd hit the gym - I was bored - and jogged for an hour. Then, I went home and slept for just over an hour.
Let's recap. I'm going to Disneyland so not only do I not sleep but I also run a marathon, more than 5k! Maybe not the smartest thing...
When we met Paula and Don, we decided the best place to hit first was Disney's California Adventure. Considering my love for the kind of amusement parks - Magic Mountain - I started out being thoroughly under whelmed. Then, we went in... and had a few drinks. Margaritas and Long Island Iced Teas! Okay, I liked it a bit more. Then, we rode rides and hung out and had a great time. Vicky suggested we go on Soaring over California, which is just about the coolest thing ever. It lasted only about 4-5 minutes but I wouldn't mind a feature-length version of it! If it wasn't for the line, I would have gone on it ten more times!
By the time we left Calif. Adventure, I was already done - bone tired. And my left leg was hurting. By the time we ate and went on Jungle Cruise, both of my legs hurt, and my right hip hurt - old age, that's what I figured. Then, we took the train around to Tomorrow Land... and my back was hurting.
Can you imagine my surprise to see the Autopia running again? Wow! I really wanted to go on it, but the line for the Autopia - yes, the Autopia - was 35 minutes long! ... okay, maybe not.
Instead, we made the mistake of going into Innoventions, part ride, part show, all disappointment. It was supposed to be filled with lots of futuristic technology but it was actually filled with a lot of two or three year old technology (you know, obsolete junk) that was mostly broken from overuse. I swear! Something has happened to Disneyland - I even saw dirty bathrooms!
And, by that time, my shoulder was killing me, too. Whatever nerve I'd offended went straight up my body - and I was hurting. No more rides for me. We decided to take on one more "Innovention", a virtual vacation. What was that? It was a display for HDTV... oh my god. How sad.
So, I guess you could say the first half of our day was great. But I left the second half looking, walking, and even talking a little like Quasimodo...
But the whole thing was free - thanks to Vicky's incredible luck - and we got to hang out with Paula and Don for the day. And they're pretty cool. Paula has an infectious enthusiasm and Don is totally unflappable. (But you should understand that I tend to think most guys are cooler than me. I look at Alfred E. Newman and think, "Sure, but he's a magazine model so he's gotta be cooler than me.") And with Vicky's schedule being so busy with her CLA-test prep, I would have been excited to spend the day with her, even if I ended up in a full-body cast. So, I liked it.
Now, to find a way to straighten out my back...
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Friday, May 19, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Now, how do you manage that? Put trees in the middle of the road? That would just congest traffic more! Drop the trees on cars? Again, it would just impede traffic.
El Toro's not a small town. They don't have fields for trees or for widening roads. I'm thinking the only alternative they have is Car-Eating Trees.
Think about it.
"Look out, Bob! An elm!"
Anyway, I was heading to the mall to pick my mom up a birthday gift. My mom's birthday is coming up, so... And I had a good idea what I'd get her - but I'm not going to tell you and ruin the surprise.
(And who knows, maybe she's reading this. I never know who reads this thing. Stephanie emailed me yesterday, asking how things were, and I asked her if she'd seen the blog. She used to be a loyal reader - now, she can't even remember what it's called! The world is fickle, I tell you!)
So, I'm at the mall and there's a Tower Records. You gotta hand it to them, even after records weren't records anymore - after vinyl died its quiet death - they still call themselves Tower Records. So, I'll support a little anachronism - I go inside.
And there it is. The new CD by Granddaddy. I love Granddaddy. I have almost all of their disks. (Unlike Clostio, who illegally downloads them from what I've heard. I can't bring myself to do it. It's not that I'm that ethical - I'm just too lazy. It's easier for me just to spend the money.) Granddaddy is like cherry soda, nothing to write home about but damned good just the same. They're not Pink Floyd or Zep or ELO and they don't try to be... okay, maybe they try to be ELO a little but that's okay, too. Granddaddy is like honey to my ears - no, actually, it's like junk food. Cause I'm hooked. I want to listen to all of their albums in chronological order before hearing the final one.
Yes, this is the final one. How awful is that? And how often do you hear a band saying that this will be the final cd? Usually, someone asks about their final cd and they say, "I think it was the last one. Sorry." Granddaddy is breaking up and this is it.
Oh, I got my mom's gift, too. Just between the two of us, I got her a
Now, I'm sure you've been there - either at an interview or an audition... or a date - where you have to be sure to bring your A game. Right? It's not the minors; it's the majors! It's a great job or a great part or a hot chick and you want to impressed so, you bring it... and then you wonder if it was enough.
Well, I brought it... but I don't know. It's nice to conclude that I did the best I could. I just hate wondering if my A game is good enough.
The Senate wants to put up a REALLY BIG fence to solve this pesky, illegal immigrant problem.
I'm beginning to wonder when the Hispanic population is going to do something about this pesky, republican problem.
(The alternate punch line to that one was, "Sure, but when are they going to start handing out nets so we can catch all these god-damned pixies?")
I don't know if you heard about this but, yesterday, some US troops went into a hospital and detained about ten of the patients. The detained them based on their bullet wounds. (I wanted to provide a link but if you Google "bullet wounds" and "Iraq", you get about 40 Trillion hits.)
Now, maybe I'm wrong but I think they'd do better to look for guys with guns. Or, at least, if you're going to look for guys with bullets, it seems pointless to arrest guys with bullets INSIDE them.
What were they detained/arrested/held for? Being bad at ducking?
Pat Roberson has announced that God has told him that the US will be hit by a tsunami this year.
Now, I don't know how this guy gets people to listen to him any more. He's the same guy who said that he convinced God to turn away a hurricane and that Katrina was caused by gay people and pro-choicers. If anyone asked, he'd probably say that God told him who'd win on American Idol - and then, when the other guys wins, he'll say they weren't doing GOD's WILL.
Can you imagine him in Vegas? "Black 29? God told me to put it all on Red 17! You're going to hell!!!"
This guy's one shopping cart away from...
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
So, while driving into work today, I thought, "Hey. It's not so bad. You're just one offer letter away from getting this job."
Which was followed with, "And you're just one book deal away from being a published author."
Now, you know how my mind works. It kept going from there. And I also came to further conclusions.
Some of these may apply to you... but your mileage may vary.
I'm just one hacked up body away from being a serial killer.
I'm just one random fuck away from being an adulterer.
I'm just one shoe sniff away from being a pedophile.
I'm just one very wrong touch of a child away from being a pedophile. (I've never been good at remembering what that word meant.)
I'm just one blow-job away from being gay. (This won't work for you if you're a woman.)
I'm just one bite of a tree away from being a beaver.
I'm just one beaver away from... (Well, that might work for you if you're a woman...)
I'm just freakishly ill-timed axe-swing away from being headless.
And so on...
So, see? There's hope for everything!
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Back when Vicky and I were in Hawaii, I received a call from a company looking for writers. I won't say who but I will say that it's a good company and a good job. I had several phone interviews and that was followed by several interviews in person. This went on for over a month! But the thing is that the more I learned, the more I knew I really wanted this job. It's the brass ring.
In addition to wanting this job, I also found a play I wanted to be in. The play is "Coyote on a Fence" at The Chance Theatre. I wanted to be in it because the part was perfect for me. I don't see those come along every day and I really wanted it!
That brings us to this week.
See, the HR guy at this company told me they'd make a decision by last Friday or yesterday regarding the position. Apparently, everyone I interviewed with liked me... but they had other candidates as well. So, I decided not to call him on Friday. I'd wait for him to call me.
But he didn't.
He didn't call me yesterday, either. So, I called him... got his voicemail... let a message. But still, no word.
Now, I was supposed to audition last night but I couldn't because this new job would create a conflict. I'd need to go to training for over a week either out of state or into state (beautiful, downtown Bakersfield!), which would mean I would miss several rehearsals. This isn't normally a problem... except that I didn't know when the training would be - would I be out of town during performances?? - or for how long. So, I sent the theater an email and asked to audition tonight.
And I called the company this morning. Nothing from the HR guy, who could be traveling for all I know, so I called the woman who would be my boss.
And found out they are still interviewing candidates... more candidates... Now, what does that say? When they bring in even more candidates? It means bad things, I'm sure... but she didn't say I was no longer being considered...
Which means I can't audition tonight, either. Tonight's the last night of auditions. But you don't want to get into a show and then tell them weeks later you can't do it. That's a big no-no.
So, there's another play gone by the wayside. And I'm still not sure of this job.
Two major events in my life - stillborn.
Anybody have any Ben & Jerry's???
Friday, May 12, 2006
I got about half-way to work when I realized I'd be passing a Taco Smell, not my favorite place for breakfast but, again, I was hungry.
And, I was broke.
But then, I noticed an Albertson's supermarket with a sign that said there was an ATM inside. So, I stopped and went in. (I could have used my ATM card at Taco Hell but they would have charged a surcharge... and I'm cheap.)
God, do I miss "grocery stores". Do you remember them, those quaint, old relics of the 20th century? Stores where people sold you food. Think hard - remember them now?
Well, they're gone, folks. Fucking gone.
I walked into the store and the first thing that struck me was the lack of employees. The place was positively barren - of people, at least. Gnomes had come in overnight to stock the shelves. Checkout was done by computer. Oh well, it didn't matter to me. I just wanted the ATM.
I walked up, fed it my card, punched my buttons, the display said, "You transaction is being processed", and then it spit my card back at me without so much as a "Thank you" or, more importantly, my cash!
(NOTE: I checked with my bank. The crappy ATM machine didn't take any money from my account, at least.)
Now, I was looking for an employee because something was wrong with the ATM. But, of course, no one was there.
A woman was checking herself out on a computer. She asked, "Are you looking for some help?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, I haven't seen anyone here except you."
But there had to be someone! I didn't want to have to drive to the gas station and eat - gasp! - gas station food!
So, I waited.
I walked around.
I walked back. The only person I saw was the woman, still ringing up her own groceries. "Nobody?" she asked.
"Nobody," I said. "I think the only way I'll get help is if I knock down a display." Several displays lined - well, everything - selling poorly animated children's films. But I didn't want to do that.
So, I left... and ate gas station food.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
First, I'm an ass. I missed my good friend, Robert's, play in Huntington Beach. I'm sure it was funny because Robert's a truly funny guy. But things have been so screwy in my life since, damn, Hawaii - well, you know how it goes, right?
Speaking of theater, I'm going to go to an audition on Monday. I shouldn't, just so you know. It's for one of those parts that I know I could do blindfolded. It's a perfect fit for me. I'd be... well, good.
Which is why I won't get cast. You know the story.
It's also at The Chance Theatre, a place that I'd do better to avoid. Look at my track record: Three Days of Rain and the 22 year old followed by Whatever Happened to Me and two scoops of disrespect. Some of you know those stories - consider yourself lucky if you don't. I haven't gone back because stepping into old places is, for me at least, like walking back in time. And there are times when even I don't want to do that.
But it's a great part.
Which I won't get.
I'm just saying.
Robert, if you're reading this, I'm sure you performed admirably and were hysterical. Please know that had things been more normal, I would have been there.
But still, there are times when someone says something particularly non-musical, historically crass, melodically insensitive that put my cackles in a bunch.
Like yesterday, for instance, someone said to me that "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" is a stupid name for a song. Did this person know anything about the Beatles? Did this person understand the greatness that was George Harrison?
Will this person soundly kick my ass when they read this?
See, I have a personal fondness for George. "My Sweet Lord" has always warmed the cockles of this old, cynical heart. Back when I was with my first band, we did a mean version of "Here Comes the Sun" to the bass line of "25 or 6 to 4"... ah, sweet memories.
And, hey, this is the Beatles! They could have written a song called, "I want to suck your Grandmothers Seeping Ass", it would have been a hit. (Of course, I'm sure someone has probably already that - but you never heard of hit because it wasn't a Lennon/McCartney tune.)
So, anyway, this morning, I started sifting the web for some interesting minutia. I'd forgotten that Clapton played lead guitar on "While My Guitar..." Eric Fucking Clapton. I had always thought the song title made a tangential reference to the blues but the meaning behind it is much more cosmic. According to Harrison, "seemed to me to be based on the Eastern concept that everything is relative to everything else, as opposed to the Western view that things are merely coincidental."
Or, as I would have sung back in my more musical days, "I can't explain it. It's Chaos Theory."
Too abstruse? Maybe words don't do it justice. What's the old saying? Talking about music is like dancing about paintings?
But I figured it sounded better than, "It's not a stupid name for a song! It's not! It's not! It's not!"
Last night, I dreamed about David Graham.
Graham, also known as David Osborne, is an actor, like myself. You've probably seen him on a dozen shows, without knowing it. Yep, he works as an extra. He's also an English teacher. I worked with him at Linksys but it wasn't until he starred with me in Everything Changes that I felt a kind of bond. He is an extraordinary actor, perfectly unflappable, completely rooted, but with the power of a hurricane. (It could have been the material, of course...)
Anyway, I dreamed last night that he and his wife moved in across the street. (David wasn't married when I knew him but I think he'd be happy with the girl in the dream, very Jessica Alba-esque.) The dream lasted only a second but I remember shouting to Vicky, "You'll never believe who's moving in across the street!"
"Who?" she asked.
My mind must have been retrospective after the night I'd had. I went to church - you weren't drinking anything just then, were you? - I went to a Catholic church to watch my mom sing. She is in a classical group called the West Coast Chorale. (Actually, I may have the name wrong because I can't seem to find their website...) I'm really proud of her and they sang beautifully. My mom's not like me when it comes to being in front of people - I crave it/She'd put it off if she could - so that makes me more proud that she's doing this because, like all of our family, she loves to sing. So, anyway, this is just me bragging about my mom.
They were great and I enjoyed it - and then I left early. Now! Now! Stop! I had to, my guts were killing me - due more to a bad bout of reflux than to overexposure to a holy place. So, I snuck out a little early and headed home... but I took a detour...
See, the church is only a few blocks away from my old house, which is currently known as Rosa's house. Now, what I haven't been telling you is that after winning the court case and getting a judgment against her, I'm getting the money back that I loaned her. Her wages are being garnished and I'm rather pleased.
There was just one thing. Getting the money back wasn't enough. I wanted to watch it being taken from her skin.
... okay, so that wasn't going to happen. But just getting the money wasn't enough. I wanted to see her suffer like I had all those years... just a little.
There. I said it.
So, on the way to the church, I gave a drive by just to see if the old house, and Rosa by extension, had crumbled to dust. It hadn't. In fact, it had a new coat of paint and the lawn had been landscaped with beautiful flowers and a picket fence. Everything looked clean and shiny... at least, those things that could shine...
It boggled the mind. She was supposed to be suffering like I had, not thriving!
Now, as much as you might think so, I didn't get angry about this. I kind of said, "Oh well," and continued to the church.
Then, on the way home, something occurred to me. Could that have been a...
And I drove back to Rosa's.
And the yard was bare and the paint was bland and the house seemed to be covered in a layer of dust.
Had it been another hallucination? One of these days, my hallucinations are going to stop and I'm going to miss them. I wish it would get here, I thought.
(Mind you, I could just have been looking at the wrong house...)
I looked away and then looked back.
The place looked pretty much like shit.
As it should.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Sean and I had just returned from watching a bad softball game and hanging out, which can be enjoyable if you go in for that. I suggested sitting out with a bottle of wine and a few smokes, which has become something of a weekend thing for me. He reminded me that he couldn't drink the wine because he had to drive. Of course, that was my plan.
But the wine was pretty awful, a blended mess of alcohol-burnt flavors and too much oak, all of which meant to mask the horrible taste with more horrible taste. I drank it anyway.
I woke up early Saturday morning and stayed up, welcoming insomnia because, well, what other choice do you have? I thought I'd browse some web sites... but then, I got infected with malware. A bad one. It started messing with everything on my PC. I can't even view Yahoo anymore to get my mail! Lovely...
Sunday morning, I awoke from a horrible nightmare. Basically, I was in a show and just fucking it up. I've known people like this but I've never been that person. At my absolute worst, I've never been close. But, in this dream, I was fucking up royally! And I awoke in a cold sweat, craving nothing more than to take that dream away. I popped in a movie downstairs, watched half, and drifted off again.
And those aren't even the high points.
But you've heard enough.
Let the week begin!
... and let's hope it gets better...
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
I was on the treadmill. I was trapped.
The first story was just stupid. The second was downright unbelievable.
A "consumer reporter" (HA) was talking about cars that get great gas mileage and how to get even better mileage out of them. That's what the banner at the top of the screen (because there have to be lots of pretty graphics for us stupid consumers) said: Great Gas Mileage Cars - How to Make Them Better.
It wasn't the tips I found so ludicrous; it was the cars! These "great gas mileage" cars were a Mercedez, two SUVs, and a Corvette... the fuck? Call me jaded but it dog forbid they actually talk about cars that get great gas mileage. My Honda Civic, for example, got 44 mpg (highway) when I drove it off the lot and, thanks to a new muffler and regular upkeep, probably gets at least that today. Something tells me that's better than the Excursion they showed on the news.
But before I could get my ire up about that, they topped it. They fucking topped it.
Have you heard about the Zarqawi blooper reel?
Yes. I'll repeat it.
The US, corporate news media is showing a video that is supposed to be an Al-Zarqawi blooper video. Yes, that's right. Al-Zarqawi, the alleged head of Al-Queda... blooper reel.
Think about that for a minute.
Let's say you're the head of an international terrorist organization that has the world in a grip of fear. (We're imagining here.) What would be the first thing you would do? Bomb something? Fight for a cause?
Or release a blooper reel?
That's what I thought.
It seems the US, corporate media has mistaken us for fools - oh wait! We are fools if we believe this! Personally, I think this goes back to the whole damn "terrorist" thing being just another weapon used to keep us in line, afraid, and allowing the oligarchy to step all over us.
I could be wrong, of course. It's happened before.
But give me a fucking break - a blooper reel?
Thursday, May 04, 2006
I have Asia going through my head.
No, not the continent of Asia - despite any accusations of my having an ultra-cavernous cerebrum, it wouldn't fit - sadly, I'm talking about the band, Asia.
Yes, I know.
You see, in high school, (here it comes) I liked Asia. I bought all of their albums. And I'm talking about John Wetton's Asia, not the Asia born later in the (I can't believe I'm saying this) 80's with that wanna be - aaaargh! This is why Tim Murphy and Sean Roberson and Sean Mullin and Tom Brandt (and on and on and on) all thought I was such a nerd. I listened to bands like Asia. (Don't even get me started on Al Stewart; it is far too embarrassing!)
Let it be known that I haven't dipped into any Asia goodness in years but there it is, playing against the wall of my skull like some too-trebly boom box from days gone by... and it's annoying!
... but not bad...
Zac Moussaoui, alleged terrorist mastermind evil genius puppet of the Neocons, wasn't given the death penalty yesterday but it's amazing to me that it was even considered. Here's a guy who - at most - talked about terrorism. He's guilty of - at most - conspiracy to commit a terrorist act. Even if you buy into the 9/11 lie, all he's supposed to have done is help plan it. Did he get on a plane? Did he fly anyone into a building? No. So, you can't pin him with a murder rap.
But can you believe the mouth on this guy? It's almost as if he wants everyone to think that's how Muslims are and... Hey! Wait a minute! Is it possible that's his plan? Is it possible he works for the Bush crooks, the same bastards who were probably behind 9/11 to begin with? Hey, it's not like we haven't put a puppet on the stand and later sent him up to a tropical resort - cough - maximum security prison to live out the rest of his days now. Hello, Mr. Noriega!
Meanwhile, gas prices are at records highs. They haven't been able to distract you from that. The Repugs say they want to give you a tax cut to help with that. You know, instead of sticking it to the oil companies that are gouging you at the pump. What would a tax cut do? Well, first, you'll have to accept that, like all Republiconartists tax cuts, it'll be for the to 1% who own 99% of the nation's wealth. The net result will be to short-change the treasury and that will force the feds to cut more and more services people rely upon - not the military, though... heaven forbid! So, no more social safety net. No more care for the elderly or the sick. The Repugs have wanted to obliterate the New Deal since Reagan and they're doing a damn good job thanks to most people's naivety.
Did you hear the one about Vicente Fox? The President of Mexico almost passed a change in Mexico's drug policy, making it legal to possess small amounts of pot, coke - even heroin! This freaked out US politicians, afraid of "drug tourism"! I love that: drug tourism. Would there be drug tourism? Shit yes! And, why not? Hell, the only way TJ's making any money at all these days is because of the hookers. Why not open up some coffee shops while they're at it? The mayor of San Diego was terrified at the prospect of his freeways being clogged full of tourists... driving through, not stopping. Now, personally, I couldn't go (see the last One Path) but I don't see anything wrong with it. I'm sure a new TJ Hiatt would open... and a Marriott... and a Westin... and a score of Best Westerns. Hell, who'd wanna go home? The combination of drugs and pussy would make TJ a western Mecca.
And there'd also be a bajillion new Ben & Jerry's, Cinnabon, Mrs. Fields, Micky D's....
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Vicky had a list sent over to her this morning of ten things I should do now that she and I are... trying...
So, I figure this might be a good time to go over that list and see how I measure up... according to the list, I mean.
1. Check with my doctor.
As I started reading this, I thought it would mention things like heart disease. You know, don't want to die of a heart attack mid-attempt, right? Well... no. Actually this mostly deals with medications I might be taking that might lower my sperm count. Dying is okay. A low sperm count is not.
2. Get in touch with my medical roots.
Again, this doesn't have as much to do with my death as the as-yet-not-conceived baby's. Well, that is certainly in the offing. With my mom's somewhat mysterious genetic background (having been adopted, she's not quite sure if she's French Canadian, Jewish, or Venusian), it looks like I have some "genetic counseling" to look forward to...
3. Stock my fridge with healthy foods.
Before you think it - No. This has nothing to do with staying healthy. They just want me to stock lots of sperms producing foods, like foods with plenty of zinc and folic acid. I'm no longer so much a person as I am a sperm machine. Hear that balls? Your time has, er, arrived.
4. Just say no to partying.
No booze, tobacco, cocaine or heroine. Shit. There goes my fun. But I'm drawing a line at a couple of beers and, maybe, smokes one night a week... at least until we've been "trying" for a while, until Vicky chains me to the bed and restricts me from doing anything but "trying".
5. Check my workplace for hazards.
They're talking about, of course, sperm hazards. Guess I shouldn't play on the company's rhoshambeaux team.
6. Meet with a financial advisor.
Ah, the high cost of sperm - oh, wait! This is one that actually has nothing to do with the pasty, little fellers! But with so much doubt as to if we'll be able to pay next week's bills, let alone set up a trust fund for junior (or juniess), I think I'll be putting this one off just a bit. Anyway, I need to invest in zinc and folic acid futures.
7. Buy some boxers.
Give those little bastards some swimming room. Vicky has been pushing me in that direction - non too subtly, I might add.
8. Steer clear of the hot tub.
Don't want to boil the little fishies alive!
Shit, with all this pressure on my sperm, I'm tempted to jump into a hot tub - something I haven't done in nearly half a decade! But I am just sick of all these accusations about my sperm. It's like wearing a bicycle helmet; it takes the fun out of the damned thing!
9. Be bike savvy.
i.e. Don't pound your balls, dumbass. I don't usually bike but this makes it tempting.
You know, when someone tells you not to do something...
And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?! Do I see people sending Vicky emails telling her to focus on her eggs. Eat eggs. Fry eggs. Poach eggs. Hard boil the fuckers?! No! And, yes, I do find this rather insulting!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I just received another email. It seems that sitting in the full lotus position with lavender and chamomile sprayed on my scrotum while dunking it into a cool bowl of milk is supposed to help... something...
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
But I ask you to think back a bit into the past. Because, as prolific as I've been in the last year or so, there was once a time in my life when writing did not come easily. (Hell, that admission should even throw old friends for a loop.)
1988. The year I got married... the first time... It was also the year I finished my first novel, My Side. The novel stank on ice (no shit, man) and took me four years to write. FOUR YEARS! To be honest, I spent most of my time talking about the book I was writing, rather than writing it. (Um... unlike now...)
The next book took me three years - then, two years - then, a year... it's something you get more efficient at as you go... kind of like...
After my divorce, my continued writing was far from a foregone conclusion. I didn't write for two years. (Imagine that!) I only started again because of the pressure of some really great people (Hello Annie and Lori if you're reading this.) and... well... vanity. And I got to kiss women, so...
But it wasn't until Vicky that my writing started coming out this steadily. I'm a fucking machine.
And here I am writing The Courtship of Eddie's Fa - er - I mean Love of Your Life. (Okay, well, that's how it feels!) After 22,500 words (the goal is 90k), we've seen the death of the dues ex machina up to her burial and much more. But I tell you this to demonstrate how different all this is for me. Normally, I'd go from death to burial in a single sentence! (The movie version will have this in the first five minutes!)
I'm halfway to halfway... I'll keep you posted.
Monday, May 01, 2006
There! I said it!
I know it's horrible. It's the worst thing in the world. I should want to spend my every waking moment basking in her luminescence - and I do... most of the time... But sometimes, actually it turns out to be about once a week, I just need to walk away. I need to regroup, refocus. I need "me time".
I feel horrible about this because I know it's wrong... but I do it anyway.
Last weekend, I hit a local bar with Sean and we had beers (well, I had beers) and caught up.
This weekend, I went to San Diego to visit Tim. Tim knew I was coming. Tim had told me to come down on Saturday. But - you see this coming, don't you? - Tim wasn't there! Nobody was home! Thank dog Tim gave me a key or I would have been stranded... and pissed!
So, what to do? You're a hundred miles away from your wife and you don't feel much like driving back and you have this whole house to yourself and... hey, wait a minute...
So, I stuck around. I took a nap. I read. I smoked. It was... wonderful!
I actually finished the book I'd been reading and went to a local bookstore to pick up some more. My first book: Pregnancy Sucks (for Men). It's my first pregnancy book to get me ready for the big day... the day that lasts for years and years. It was pretty cool and, best of all, helped me realize that all of my fears are not unique to me.
Now, Vicky gets angry when I tell her how I feel but, dammit, I'm petrified! And I found out that it's okay! Whew! Apparently, it's normal to wonder if you're going to be a good dad or not. So, you know me, that was like opening up a dam... a poorly sealed dam, mind you, but a dam all the same. What a relief!
I stuck around Tim's place until about 9pm - and I'd arrived at 3pm - feeling much better.
Now, Vicky never writes anymore but I can tell you that she needs her time away from Ken just as much as I need my time away from Vicky. That's cool, in a way, because I'm sure that'll provide us with downtime from the baby, too.
By the way, Vicky's horribly disappointed in me. She now refers to the failure of my "SUPER SPERM". Okay, let's just settle down! She came up with that term because I told her not to worry about getting pregnant. I told her that it only takes one time. This weekend, she reminded me that we had one time already and my sperm have really disappointed her. But I didn't tell her which "one time" it would take! The way I look at it, practice is a good thing. We'll get there.
Anyway, I've got books to read.
Relax, Vicky. Before you know it you'll be throwing up in the morning and getting hemorrhoids... I promise to be nearby! (Except, maybe, for a few hours every weekend or so...)
It's all about the illegal immigrants, actually the people who support the basic human rights of the illegal immigrants. The plan these people have is to take a day off: no working, no shopping, no nothing.
And, as a woman here said, "How dare they..."
How dare they what? Not shop? Hell, I have no money. I must be one of them! Not work? Sign me up! I'd like a day off!
I find it ironic, even comical, that the same people who complain about illegal immigrants would complain about them doing exactly what they want them to do: go away!
Oh, wait. They're also protesting, marching, expressing their point of view. God forbid! We wouldn't want anyone in this land of free speech to actually... um... speak.
I have to work so... consider me spoken.