y'all can't all be wrong: July 2004

Yep, next week I finally get to meet Jennifer Garrett, author of being jennifer garrett, aficionado of (most) things WNBA, gulper of 'Dew, and alum' of Wellesley. I read her blog daily, she reads mine a lot, we've ping-ponged a few emails, and we've even done the wishlist absurdity. We are friends through blogging -- no question there, but how will our rapport be for an in-person encounter? I've pondered this in the past: can font-and-electron-friends be corner-bar-friends? and I'm excited and a bit nervous to find the answer.

Regardless of how things go next week, it's still cool that people can meet and have a connection because of daily words that they craft and make public. I often think that my blog will either get me fired or prevent me from landing a good job (after I get fired for blogging, of course). If you Google my name you'll simultaneously discover that I am a freak and not very popular; if you dig a bit deeper you might learn that I'm a Socialist and don't mind calling myself a goddamn pussy. And, trust me on this one -- this is America damn it -- the two things you don't want to be are a Socialist and/or a male pussy.

Nevertheless, I hope for the day when you can't get hired because you don't have a blog. Bloggers may catch a lot of crap, but it takes a fair amount of effort to push out words on a daily basis -- even poorly written words. Furthermore, when you factor in the effort-of-aesthetic to represent individuality with CSS and three-panel-layout, you'll realize that if someone's blog induces a reaction in you, then that person probably has marketable skills and is probably worth hiring (regardless of the sex, race, religion triumvirate).

Plus, it's blogging. You don't get an editor. You don't get an income. It paints a great self-picture because you can't hide. I'd like to see it used in the election process -- i.e. require candidates to maintain a near daily blog for a certain amount of time before election day. Topics could be anything and the only requirement would be no use of speech-writers and/or editors. It would actually work too if humans didn't have such a hard time differentiating between the quantities of polish and perfection.

See you in a week Jen (oh, and I was serious about that best title thing, but it's one that wouldn't get me hired).

Apparently, all of the jobs added in June were in the service sector [src]. Sure, every man returns to dust, but before he gets there, he's gonna flip a few burgers.

You gotta have days when you fall into a hole where a hole shouldn't exist. People ask me why I'm a pessimist and sometimes I say that I can't possibly be a pessimist 'cause if you combined it with my cynicism I would have been dead long ago. But really, fuck the optimists. Optimists are masochists. They'll drive themselves into the ground over and over again solely on the promise that things will get better. Here, let's do this. You find one optimist that isn't dead or going to die and I'll find you a couple billion dead pessimists who were right all along.

Yeah, I have this great Bahamas story, and yeah, 5 and Jen, I'm contemplating my responses to your comments (5, the meaning of life is here, and Jen, pretentious is fine, just as long as it's real). But...................................... I don't want to write anymore because life is too fast. Boston next week will change that, but for now, I'm stuck in knee-high circadian shit worrying about some Vonnegut quote about using the word fuck (at least I think it was Vonnegut). You pay a high price for intellectual existence, but would you really trade the ability to think up lines like "there are friends in every beer" for the ability to get laid anyhow, anywhere? ... Someone has to be right.

Anybody watch the American Music Awards in 1991? (I think it was 1991) My memory recalls a Bob Dylan line of "you know, my daddy once told me," and then a pensive pause followed by, "well, my daddy used to tell me a lot of things." That line has never left me (hopefully, I remember it correctly). I didn't know much about Dylan then (although less than two months later I rented an apartment in the same complex, possibly the same unit, as he did many years prior); I know only a little about him now. But that quote, that one piece of haunting impromptu genius, that thing still slaps me around. I frequently say those very same words to my friends -- usually in a humorous context, but I highly doubt Dylan was trying to be funny.

In my Waukesha North 1988 High School Yearbook there's a senior quote of "a mystique does not compel its own acceptance." Eight words that stuck a muse right into my brain; I have the damn thing memorized. The quoter was Simone Rollo (the sister of my friend who wrote the backwards letter to me -- but I never knew her) and she doesn't cite so it quite possibly could be her own words (Google yields no results).

I've been shrink free for some time. I perennially entertain myself with visions of joining the Peace Corps and I've heard that they aren't too keen on third-party help for introspection and self-discovery. Therefore, I've been deliberately avoiding the psofa (I forget that the world is simply and totally understandable and that it is only me who is lost and questions too much). Eh, but I hate the buy-your-friends aspect of the psofa. Largely, that's what it is: you get sick of burdening your friends/family with your freakyhood so you just go out and get yourself a mental hooker. Then, when you're on the psofa, it's hard not to get into the mind of the person taking notes on you and realize that he is really thinking about what's for dinner or how great the sex was the night before and that he really doesn't give a rat's ass about your one-or-two-or-three commonplace psychological deficiencies that, other than names, were exactly like the deficiencies of the dude who had his ass on the psofa just an hour before you. Or, if you're not thinking that, you might at least think quid custodiet ipsos custodes? (who will keep the keepers themselves?). Maybe it's a little out of context, but you might think it. Anyway, someday, I'm going to turn the whole thing around. I'm going to go sit on the psofa and not say anything for the entire hour -- not a damn thing. Think of it as a cerebral staring contest between the shrink and shrinkee.

Note: I don't really see a shrink, but if I ever become an actor, that's the first thing I'm going to do on TV.

Should I bend down and worship the ground
Of the beautiful people who live without flaws?
Success is a virtue to share with the world
But failure's a lesson that's best learned alone
-- Bob Mould

Hey, I'll be gone for 3 days, but, don't worry, I'll be coming back. I wrote a lot yesterday (my fave of the 3 posts) and that should stave off your jonesing for words that only seem to make sense.

I was going to say that Kenneth Lay should be executed if he's found guilty (I'm not buying the "I was duped" defense either). And -- I'm still saying it. But what I really want to say is love your neighbor as yourself (if your neighbor is Kenneth Lay, you're excused). I really like that philosophy, regardless of who said it, or who said it first. I'm going to make this world a better place before I die, even if I have to pull a lot of teeth and eat a little humble pie. It may take a beer or two, but I still believe in humanity -- all of yous.

Cough, sniffle, sizzle, feverrrrr, but Boston was a blast. Dream doors are back open. I travel for the insanity, for the unsettling intensity that incites creativity, for the people you meet -- the lessons.

I do, however, have an illustrious future ahead of me. I am a great devotee of pretty women in general and parlor maids in particular. I believe in everything. I am a man of letters, and so successful that I am above shedding tears when rejection slips come pouring in... I sleep twelve hours a night. I eat mountains of food. I drink vodka only in company. I have a commendable circle of friends. -- Anton Chekhov [source: Conjunctions Spring, 2003 via Harper's April, 2004]

Unsure of Chekhov's motives, but, wow, "I believe in everything," indeed. It's STP for the ego and combined with Roger Fisher's text on maintaining a vision, I have no insurmountable opposition. Answers are subtleties, nearly invisible, but always within reach -- like a fine spider-thread that shows itself when you give it the right angle and light.

Is there a greater honor? Whether you're a good guy or a bad guy, you lived your life, you did the things you do and someone came along and placed (conscious) ultimate importance on having you permanently removed. If I had to do it all over again ~~I'd stop and smell~~ I'd live my life more like those who have been assassinated. Et tu, Brute?

And then you're defenseless. Worse, no defense can be interpreted as an implicit defense, so you're hosed all around. So it's best not to have crushes, but there's no way I'm giving them up. Not everything that is pursued needs a destination of a stellar dyad. I am a follower of emotion and if there's one thing that others continually misinterpret in my life, it's my pursuit of emotion versus true compassion. Yeah, I'm empathetic, but don't take it as compassionate; I'm as selfish as the rest -- I just need to do it with subtle psychological manipulation and subterfuge. Crushes give me the emotion so I can paint with words and music and convey the secrets of desire. Other than that, if-you-don't-give-a-fuck, then-I-don't-give-a-fuck -- has anyone ever written a better line?

"We'll spend lifetimes building each other up and seconds tearing each other down." -- tqb circa 1998

It's an enlightened thought, if not too original -- a good thing to keep in mind if you are one of those who are in a relationship. Of course, later in the same entry I go on to say, "when she says you're the best, she told me that too." So much for enlightenment.

I am numb for no reason. Death is not painful, death is numb. Numbness fosters no creativity. I look at words and they give me nothing; I write words and they give me less. "Might as well go for a soda, 'cause nobody drowns and nobody dies." Well, what good is that? Might as well be numb for the rest of my life, drinking soda. I think I'll do something stupid and go drink whiskey -- see if that works. Either that, or I'll go workout.

I'm not sure if it's my romanticism or my quest for aesthetic purity [and superiority ;-)] that makes me detest twist-tops on soda or beer bottles. There's no way you are going to go for the gusto without a bottle in one hand and an opener in the other. Plus, no man alive has ever not drank a beer for lack of an opener.

Why do I play my part? Fuck me. I look at stars through city smoke and urban haze. I try not to give a fuck and then I always do. Then what -- what do you get? I mean, the only advantage that I have in life -- and I'm going out on a limb here because I know some geniuses (not self-described ones either) -- is (maybe) intellectual advantage. But I play stupid alot (fuck you) 'cause it allows me to clandestinely assess my immediate environment and keeps me out of harm's way. But really, everybody's a goddamned genius, so I really got nothing. Sober life is all about differentiation and drunken life is all about communion -- it's a little fucked up if you ask me. Everybody's looking but nobody is trying -- except when it's bar time and "Dancing Queen" does its thing on the juke box and then we're all friends. ABBA for Christ's sake -- we've got people killing each other for religion and asshole leaders starting wars 'cause their daddies have a family feud and we've got a lot of great intellectual texts about this that and that other thing, but y'all are leaving me with ABBA to cure my ills. Well, hey, just to spite you -- I'm going to move to Sweden.

Nothing except for getting de-linked. Don't wear your blog on your sleeve and you won't get hurt (but-hey-man, I'd rather get dumped by a woman than have some blogger de-link me).

I thought that that was clever, but these !!! lyrics eyed up the cake and then mercilessly took it:

You've got the moon and you've got the stars,
I mean, what else is there to have?
Wait, don't answer that, don't answer that.

Note, for those of you who reside in Seattle, !!! is playing Neumo's on Saturday, July 24th. With all of this heat, it's probably the thing to do.

There are times in life when all of your stars are aligned, all of your chips are in place, and you've done all of your homework. Your ship is just about to come in and you've reached your destiny. It's all yours and your last task is to reach out and push the button to make it all happen. Simple, except that you are in one of those dreams where you can't move your arms or legs, and you can't even scream to voice your frustration.

Sanity check #1: If you were fighting a war and needed a trench mate, would you rather have Bush or Kerry backing you up?

Bush on the Democratic National Convention: "clever speeches" and "big promises."

The White House on if Bush watched Kerry's speech: White House spokesman Scott McClellan said Bush did not see the speech. "He went to sleep last night. That was a late speech," McClellan told reporters, but he said Bush had "read some of the coverage."