So What's New?

So, new things. Well, it's probably been about a year since my last entry, so there's quite a bit to catch up on. However, for the sake of brevity, I'll keep this short, and theoretically sweet.

In September, I threw almost everything I own away. Not the clothes, movies, music, or books, mind. Just all my furniture and most of my framed posters. And the iron. And my entire kitchen.

You know, all the stuff that turns your pile of crap into a home.

Why?

Well, it's simple, really. I left Louisville, Kentucky for the hopefully greener pastures of suburban New Jersey. Ah yes, Nietzsche was right! It is the eternal return of the same.

I moved back to NJ because my career and my life, in general, was stuck in a decaying orbit around a black hole I like to call "you're fucked, son." So I packed everything that would fit into my Bonneville, and headed to the friendly confines. No, not those friendly confines. I mean Mommy and Daddy's house.

Yep. 28 years old, licensed attorney. Living with parents.

This lasted about a month and a half. It was about a month and a half too fucking long.

I got myself a job reviewing documents, which is slightly less entertaining than watching paint dry. On the plus side, I get paid over $50K to click a mouse all day. It wouldn't be so bad, except my right hand is slowly experiencing carpal tunnel disease.

I also landed myself a girlfriend in fairly short order, which lasted 4 months. This was probably 2 months too long, as I never really cared for her. It was, pardon the pun, just something to do. (And BOY, did I! WOOHOO!!)

I've also been working for a pair of attorneys on and off since I got home, in the past few weeks they've finally started to give me some real work to do. Right now, for example, I'm writing a trial brief.

The case, as presented to me, was dogshit. We were going to lose it. So, with the risk minimized, they handed it to me. Guess what kids? I'm going to win this case. A little research on the pertinent issues and BLAM! all of the sudden, this isn't looking so much like dogshit as goose-liver pate.

Of course, once the bosses read this brief, they'll probably thank me and take it over for themselves. That's fine. But realistically, I'd like to stay on this one, for a change. Really see the nuts and bolts of the whole thing. I haven't really had that opportunity in a long time.

On the plus side of life, I've met a girl from NYC. Her name is, as always, not going to be featured, but if you think of a certain bronze-and-leather clad movie heroine, you'd be close to her name. It's not Jane Fonda, but you're on the right track.

I like this girl. A lot. Possibly more than I've liked a girl in quite a long time. I haven't seen her in 2 weeks and I still think about her constantly. Wow. Wow.

The last time we saw each other, before her trip to Europe, I started thinking to myself, "Hey, you DO know you're going to fall in love with this girl, right?"

So I've finally said it, semi-publicly. Cool.

and now...back to work.

Winter Olympic Fun

Ok, the Olympics are now officially upon us. Welcome to Torino, here's a shit-ton of lycra-clad Italian youths, rollerblading with FLAMES ON THEIR BACKS.

WHAT?!?! Listen, I'm all up for artistry and pageantry, but let's be realistic.

RULE #1:
Do not ask me to do ANYTHING while I'm wearing a backpack that produces fire. Especially if that fire is directed at my ass. Most especially if you want me to do this while wearing little shoes with wheels on them. In fact, let's just skip the whole "fire-producing backpack idea," in favor of "piggyback ride for a smoking-hot Italian chick." At that point, I'll be GLAD to get on the roller blades....

There's a reason we don't have the "flaming rollerblader" trick in the United States. It's called insurance companies.

In any event, the real reason we're having this one-sided discussion (diatribe?) is because my favorite winter sport is about to take center stage again, as it does quadrennially. No, not hockey, though it is definitely up there. No, not curling...though I must admit, the fact that pushing a rock with brooms is considered "Olympic" cracks me up.

No friends, I'm talking about SKELETON. (cue menacing music with light-hearted undertones...)

For those not "in the know," skeleton racing is the single dumbest sport ever conceived. It makes luge look safe. Let me break it down for you:
1) Don skin-tight lycra (yes, it's 30 below outside, do it anyway.) Oh yeah, here's a plastic helmet.
2) Grab an ice skate
3) Make your way to the bobsled track (I'm totally serious. Go on over there. Say "hi" to the Austrian team.)
4) With ice skate in hand, at edge of bobsled track, RUN DOWN THE TRACK AS FAST AS YOU CAN!
5) After about 15 feet, leap into the air, placing your ice skate in front of you. Land on the ice skate, headfirst, stomach down. (nauseus yet? I used to get a bit sick to my ol' tum laying down on a swingset....)
6) Try to remain on the ice skate as you barrel down the bobsled run at nearly 90 mph.

Are we having fun yet?

Here's a sport that was banned from Olympic competition several years ago because its not just incredibly dangerous, it's also REALLY FUCKING STUPID. But then HALLELUJAH! The sport got a reprieve in Salt Lake City in 2002. Welcome back skeleton! Welcome back stupid and dangerous sport of champions!

I had always thought the luge was the most insane sport on the planet. After all, it's basically the same sport, right? Ice skate, unprotected person, bobsled run. Wheeeeee.

But there's a key difference here: at least the luge guy is smart enough to not do it HEADFIRST. He's thinking, "Well, if I eat it in turn three, I'm gonna lose a leg. But I'll live." Not our friendly neighborhood skeleton competitor. He's thinking, "Man, if I miss turn three, the last thing that goes through my mind will be the backside of this clever plasitc helmet I'm wearing. COOL!"

With a set-up like this, you KNOW I'll be watching the competiton.

Because procrastination is an art form, and I am its Van Gogh

I love Van Gogh. I have no idea why, really. I just do. Something about his work just...I dunno...appeals to me. I can't say it "speaks" to me, because I have absolutely no idea what that means. If someone cares to explain it to me, you have too much free time, and I suggest getting a hobby. All I can say is his "Night Cafe" is my favorite, and has made me enjoy red a whole lot more than I used to.

Tonight, I sat down after UK lost to Michigan State (still no idea if that makes me happy, but at least my bracket got some help), and tried to get some work done.

I read 15 pages.

Then, of course, came distraction in the form of Yahoo-flavored Scrabble (TM). Thanks Susie.

Then, of course, came an IM from Gabrielle, a friend in California. Another hour gone.

And now, I'm blogging. Instead of getting my work done. Whee.

If procrastination were a drug, I'd have over-dosed in 1987.
If procrastination were food, I'd weigh 900 lbs, and Jenny Craig would run screaming from my corpulence.
If procrastination were a woman, I'd be in jail for stalking her.
If procrastination were a list of metaphors......

The problem is I have no idea how I want to spend my time, but I know I'm not getting a happy-hat from reading about products liability or corporate crime. This final semester of law school is about as much fun as placing my dick in an open drawer, and slamming it shut. Repeatedly.

(Actually, I think that might be more fun. Realistically, after the second or third slam, the feeling's all gone anyway, and it just becomes aerobic excercise anyway.)

My life is not what I'd like it to be, and that upsets me. Of course, as a Procrastination Artist, I cannot possibly get off my ass and change anything. Can I? Noooooo, I'm too busy playing PS2 and tooling about on the internet.

Is there a job out there that pays six figures for that? If so, please someone send me an address to forward my resume.

I've decided to remain in Kentucky for the foreseeable future, ostensibly to stand a better chance of getting a job. But stay here, for the rest of my life? I don't want that, and it scares me to death that I'll fall into a situation which requires me to stick around this place. I want New York City. I want Katz's Deli. I want Broadway. I want honking horns, and someone shouting, "You're blocking the box, asshole!"

Thing is, NYC doesn't have what Louisville has. It doesn't have enough green. Louisville doesn't have a smoking ban, and I can't seem to quit. NYC lacks the genuine friendliness of complete strangers I've been taking for granted these nine years I've been away from home.

And I begin to wonder, where IS home anymore? I really don't know. My parents' place in NJ isn't home, and hasn't been for years. Shoot, my old room has become an office with a superfluous bed. Kentucky really isn't home...yet. I guess it will be, once I stop moving every fifteen minutes. I tell you, just ONCE I'd like to stay in an apartment for more than a year. Just once, I'd like to make my domicile into something more meaningful than a place to keep my stuff dry. Just once, I'd like to live somewhere that doesn't require me to paint over the walls before I leave, because grey walls are so pretty-looking.

Just once, I'd like to own furniture that does not come with instructions and a hex key. I swear, two acid-junkies and an allen wrench could completely dismantle this shell of a life I have. And that doesn't put a grin on my face, either.

And, since I've fallen into "complaint pattern alpha," I might as well bemoan the fact that I'm single. I don't even want to think about how long it's been since I got laid. And, to compound the problem, I've broken my old rule about not whoring myself on-line (see post on that topic...) Thing is, I'm not even looking for that on-line, but it finds me. And I'd be lying if I didn't say there are some people out there it'd be mighty nice to actually meet. Of course, none of these people live ANYWHERE NEARBY.

Perhaps I'm also the Van Gogh of Irony?

Let's face it, whatever it is that I have to offer is getting wasted right now. I rarely leave my apartment, because I can't afford to go out. And when I DO go out, I spend my time surrounded by friends who are either married, engaged, or co-habitating. I swear, going out stag with 5 couples make me feel like I'm hosting a game show, or round-table discussion. There I sit, on the end of a table, trying to keep up with the conversation. You have any idea how difficult it is to have an odd-person conversation? Add in the fact that the other people are in relationships, and it turns into me drinking too much because I've got to do something to pass the time while being ignored.

Shit, the last woman I hooked up with decided it'd be more fun to lie there like a dead fish than get involved in the action. Which, of course, made me feel like some sort of criminal. Which, of course, led to me getting paranoid, and stopping the whole affair. Shame really, K's really a cool girl; I wonder why she thinks it appropriate to just lay there and "take it?" Personally, I find that fucked WAY up, but maybe I'm in the minority on the subject?

End of an Era - RIP Grandma Anne

Yesterday, my mother called me. It was around 7:00pm. She was tentative. I wanted to know what was up. She told me.

Yes, my grandmother died yesterday, sometime in the late afternoon or early evening. I don't know; the orderly or nurse or whatever went in to check on her, and found she had stopped breathing. Then they called my father. I wonder if they broke it to him in a good way, or just said, "Sir, your mother died, you'll need to collect what few belongings she had."

Ok, so anyone (and I can count you on one hand, most likely) who has read this blog is probably aware that my grandmother has been ill for quite some time.

You know what? I don't want to write this entry anymore. It seems like it's something I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to write a memorial to the most difficult, obstinate, intelligent, loving, cantankerous, irascible woman the world has likely ever known. A woman who laughed in the face of cancer, even when it took both breasts and her husband. A woman who laughed in the face of heart disease, even when they installed the pace-maker and diagnosed her with the leaky valve which would, 5 years later, kill her. A woman who, given the chance, would probably have laughed off anthrax and pooh-poohed small pox (she was vaccinated decades ago). A woman who laughed off polio, even when it struck her son (my father) in his youth. A woman who lived through two World Wars, several armed conflicts, the creation of Israel as a state, men walking on the moon, and nearly a century of other trivial and not-so-trivial events.

Grandma remembered the day Kennedy was shot, even at the end. But she could never get my sister's name right on the first try.

The woman I nearly believed was immortal has finally left the stage, and there will be no encore performance.

For nearly five years, I have been waiting for this. Dreading this. Hoping somehow she would get better. The woman was 94 years old - there is no "better" at that point. I watched her decline these past few years, becoming frail. Old. Unable to care for herself any longer; I saw the shame in her eyes; knowing she needed assistance, but her pride would never let her admit it.

I watched as she entered dementia, becoming paranoid at times. I watched her smile on good days. I watched her smile on the bad ones, too.

The last time I saw her, it was December, and I was home visiting. I spent an afternoon with her, nearly two hours on a Tuesday afternoon. She hadn't been so lucid in years. I took pictures of the two of us, and brought her a new remote control for her television. We made plans for lunch the next day - I would bring her some kosher deli instead of the institutional food she hated so much. That night, around 10:00pm, she went into the hospital. She should have died that night. Her pulse was 60 beats per minute, but only because the pace-maker worked so well. Her blood pressure was so low her hands and feet felt like ice. Her lungs were full of fluid. But she lived through it. I couldn't believe it, but she did.

I didn't bring her lunch the next day, but I came and ate my own at her bedside in the hospital; she never knew I'd been there. Never woke up to see me. Nor was she awake the other times I visited while she was in the hospital, before I left town. The nurses told me she was very tired, and not to worry. So I didn't.

Then yesterday, the call. And now I am angry. I'm angry that I never got to say good-bye to her. I'm angry that everyone I know has called me to express their sympathy. I don't want sympathy! I'm tired to mechanically thanking people, well-meaning people. I'm tired of telling everyone I'm fine.

I honestly thought I'd be an emotional wreck over her death; she meant a great deal to me. We had a special relationship, unlike the bond she had with my sister, or my cousins. I was her favorite, simply because I made the time to speak with her, visit with her. Simply because I had more time to give than the others, really.

And now, my grandmother is gone. My parents visited with her Sunday, before she died. She told my father, "I'm going home tomorrow." He laughed, and told her she was home.

She sure showed us, huh?

Good-bye Grandma Anne. I love you and miss you.

Intelligent Design and Thanksgiving....

It's been too long since my last rant, Father....

Recently, it has come to my attention that the Dover, PA school board wants to add the "Intelligent Design" idea to their science curriculum. That's right people, Creationism's last hurrah has reared it's ugly head yet again.

Is it just me, or do we only see this kind of stupidity in red states????

Leaving that particular notion aside, I'd like to take a few moments to comment on this idea...


fucking morons!

I feel much better....

Seriously, though, what is Intelligent Design, you ask? Well, I found a website that tries really, really hard to explain it. If I wasn't such a cynic, this would be really funny. If you're one of the curious, head to http://www.intelligentdesignnetwork.org/.

However, if you're a lazy son of a bitch (like me), then I'll try to explain it to you. ID is the notion that evolution cannot possibly tell the whole story. Basically, those who ascribe to ID think the universe as we know it is the product of more than random chance...someone's got to be at the wheel.

Poor deluded fools...

Adherents of Intelligent Design believe in a Creator. They do so in the face of absolutely know evidence. They also claim to be scientists looking for objective answers to the problem of our origins. I have to ask, though, how can you objectively determine intelligent design in the absence of that controlling, creative intelligence?

Perhaps better put, the only way to find objective evidence of Intelligent Design is to find objective evidence of a Creator. Otherwise, the conclusions reached are inherently subjective. Don't believe me? Fine. It doesn't change the fact that I'm right...

Now, I have nothing against religion, or faith. Though I personally do not ascribe to either notion, I accept that my opinion on the subject is the minority opinion, and that I may very well be incorrect. If, for example, Jesus Christ comes back to the world, you can bet I'll be first on line. "Jesus, I was wrong. Apparently, you are the Son of G-d. My bad."

In my humble opinion, using science to find a Creator is like using science to underpin the notion of racial superiority. BAD SCIENCE IS DANGEROUS, NO MATTER HOW NOBLE THE GOAL

Then again, I have another way of proving Intelligent Design is utter and complete bullshit. If there is some intelligent, driving force behind the universe, why the hell are there so many fucking morons out there? Think about it: what possible purpose can morons be in an intelligently designed system? Sickness I understand; poverty and greed I can grasp. Hell, hatred and violence make sense if there's someone pulling all the strings...but stupidity?

Intelligent Design promoters are the same people that believe in a benevolent, all-knowing, all-seeing deity. The same deity that smites down the wicked, lifts up the good, and performs parlor tricks we call miracles. Sure, why not? If I had to pick a deity, I'd want one who loved me, hated my enemies, and could turn water into wine at the drop of a hat, too.

But, if this deity is so benevolent, why is it that a significant percentage of the population is ridiculously ignorant? Is it "intelligent" to design a world with so many annoyances? Is it "intelligent" to design a world where so many need a guiding hand? Is it "intelligent" to design a world where people are more concerned with extra-value meals (that have no value at all) and looking good than they are concerned with keeping the world they live in a clean, healthy place? Is it "intelligent" to introduce mass psychosis, serial killers, and televangelists upon an unsuspecting populace?

Hell's no!

Look, evolution may not be the precisely correct answer. We are never going to know that answer; that's why it's still referred to as a theory. It is not "the Rule of Evolution." Or, the "Evolutionary Constant." It's a theory because there is no way to prove it. It happens to be a good theory, though. It certainly fits all the available data. It certainly makes a lot of sense, intuitively. In fact, we have even observed evolution in action.

In comes Intelligent Design, claiming "sure, we like evolution, but it's dissatisfying to us. We don't like it that random chance put us here. We don't like it that random chance gave us two legs, two arms, and really weird genitals. We don't like it that our brains are so advanced that nothing else on the planet is remotely comparable to us. We're scared and want a blanket to cover us and makes us feel better."

Hey, I don't like inflation, pollution, or Republicans. I don't like coconuts, either. Thing is, just because I don't like certain things about the world I live in, doesn't mean I get to pull the ultimate trump card out, just to make myself feel better.

People who believe Intelligent Design is a good theory must think their Creator is sitting on a cloud somewhere, dressed in a white lab coat, mixing bright green fluids with bright orange ones, while a cool, blue liquid somehow works its way through a spiral tube of glass in the background. Maybe there's some Jacob's Ladders behind him, too...just zapping away.

If there is a Creator, he/she/it is not a mad scientist. He/she/it is not sitting there at a really powerful computer, checking up on the universe like some colossal version of the Sims.

Live in the now, people. Be thankful for what you have, and who you have to share it with. Be courteous and kind to others, but not because there's some "eternal reward" waiting for you. Do it because altruism is better than the alternative. Do it because, if everyone acted selflessly, this world would be a better, more enjoyable place.

Besides, do you REALLY think your deity of choice is fooled? The idea of heaven is pleasant, so far as ideas go, but think about it. It's like being good for a month, so Santa will put your name on the "Nice" list. Santa's not fooled, and neither is your deity (if they exist, and if they're as smart as you tell me.) Are you fooled by a child who acts properly, because he's afraid of the consequences if he doesn't?

Newsflash: acting selflessly is the opposite of being good because you want something out of it in the end. That is acting selfishly, and you can bet that if there is a Heaven, they know the difference over there.

Happy Thanksgiving...and remember to smack a Republican.

Because it's nearly three in the morning, and I'm not getting any weirder

That isn't strictly true. I am getting weirder. Just not right now. I think if hit my quotient for the day.

I am at a dilemma-point. I am nearly finished with law school, and I have absolutely no idea what comes next. I don't really want to be a lawyer. At least, I don't think I do. Not right now, anyway.

Unfortunately, "Jedi" is pretty much out as a career path; "Supermodel Dentist" is closer to my grasp at this point.

My life has devolved into a series of predictable and ultimately unfulfilling episodes. Wake up, piss, fart, shower, dress, leave apartment, forget something in apartment, go back, leave apartment, go to class, play FreeCell during lecture, eat, go to class, come home, eat, watch tv, masturbate.

Rinse and repeat. And don't forget to wash behind your ears and between your toes, darling.

I never go out anymore. I never meet new people. I never spend my nights drunk and dancing with random women to crappy hip hop anymore. (Yeah, I actually used to do that for a time...) I eat McDonald's because it's next door, and I think I'm going to win the Monopoly game. I smoke Marlboro Lights, because I can't handle anything harsher anymore. Hell, my lungs can hardly take the Lights these days. I joined a gym, and haven't been since Rosh Hashana.

When was the last time I got blind, stinking drunk amongst true friends? When was the last time I spoke eloquently? When was the last time I wasn't pissed off at something I have no possible way to change?

Why do I wish I still had my old friends around, even though everyone's moved on and forgotten each other? Why does that happen? You spend four or five years doing absolutely everything with a group of loving, like-minded individuals, knowing how lucky you are to have made yourself such a wonderful place in the universe, and then it all goes away.

Friend Entropy, the slow moving-apart of individuals. You never consciously decide to stop speaking to each other. Life happens, gets in the way, makes you care less, and makes you careless.

And then, one afternoon, you wake up to find yourself in a new city, with new friends. But they really aren't friends, they're the people you spend your day with, wishing you had your friends. But they're miles away, living lives without you.

You like to think to yourself that they miss you as much as you miss them, but you know better. Don't you? If they think about you, it's only in the context of a story told to one of their new friends, and instead of having a name, you're "this guy I went to school with."

Where's the romance in that?

It's melancholy bullshit that keeps me going these days. Day in, breathe out. Keep it coming, because I'm on a roll. Don't throw me a curveball, or I'll miss it and be back on the bench, watching everyone else play the game.

So I'm playing the game. I just wish I knew whose team I'm playing on.

Election Day (or, Shuffling the Same Shit Around)

Can you tell I voted for Kerry?

Now, I consider myself a man driven by common sense and pragmatism. I also consider myself a liberal. If you ask anyone who knows me, they might disagree with Statement #1, and they might say "raving liberal is more accurate." In the end, does it really matter?

Probably not

So, I went out and voted today, for Kerry, in Kentucky. Riiiiiight. Just throw that vote away, buddy-boy. Imagine my surprise when Kerry took 44% of the Kentucky vote. Bush won, as expected, but at least there are a good number of people in this bass-ackwards state with Brain.

Then again, these same people passed a CONSTITUTIONAL BAN ON GAY MARRIAGE today, too, so maybe they are more like Pooh than I thought (being persons of little Brain.)

Seriously, people, let's just look at this "preserving the sanctity of marriage" bullshit. The idea is, G-d says marriage is "one man, one woman." Great, what's G-d's opinion on "one man, one woman, one pregnant mistress who just turned 19?" Or "one man, one woman, another man who the wife and kids think is just "Daddy's hunting buddy"?" Or "one man, one woman, until it gets too difficult, and we decide to get divorced?" I could go on forever with this...

The Defense of Marriage Act of 1996 (DOMA) was a stupid, puritan, and reactionary piece of legislative mung when it was passed. Now, we're not only letting states decide if they'll let gays marry, but also letting them decide if they want to follow the United States Constitution.

Ever hear of something called "Full Faith and Credit?"

Basically, each state is bound, under our Constitution, to give as much weight to the laws of its sister states as it does its own.

Apparently, when the Founding Fathers wrote that clause, they must not have meant for gay rights to be included.

It just makes me sick to think that, of the 9 states consider such an amendment this year, 8 voted it in. Overwhelmingly. I guess the liberal 90's really are dead.

So, Bush won Florida now. Great. And he'll likely win Ohio. Kerry needs Ohio, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin to win. Looks like 4 more years.


Someone shoot me.


Please.

People Keep Falling Asleep in My Presence

Yeah, major ego boost. I tell you...

Thing is, my friend R has this completely fucking aggravating trick of passing out in front of me whenever we hang out. Now, normally I'd just chalk this up to being a rather annoying personal quirk, but I get the distinct impression this girl's got a thing for me.

Wonderful way to express it, darling.

One might wonder, is our Saintly friend interested in pursuing a more physically motivated association with R? One might wonder, is he even attracted to this person? Or, the casual reader may wonder, "Why does this asshole write in such stilted fashion, using relatively archaic narrative structure, which is, in itself, interspered into a more free-flowing mileu?" Then again, perhaps you're completely fucking braindead and not thinking about anything at all.

Of course, I'm probably fooling myself on the whole thing. Nobody's reading this drivel.

As that is probably the case, I'm forced to wonder why I'm writing. This blog began in August, and this is the first post I've made since then. Partially because I haven't had time, and partially because my life is so G-D-awful boring that there's no point in actually recording anything here. Especially since there's only 1 person out there who I know has ever bothered to read any of this. Actually, she's much better at this journal-style writing. Check her blog out http://www.bintsahala.blogspot.com/"here.


Seriously though, the life of a boring person is nothing to write home about. Or write on the internet about. It's not like my daily foibles and procrastinations are worthy of note or comment. It's not as though there are thousands of people out there, waiting with baited breath, on my latest post. Which leads me directly to the following:

What the hell does "baited breath" actually mean?

I have no idea. On the other hand, I know exactly what is meant by "likelihood of consumer confusion" in fourteen separate federal district courts.

Fascinating

Yet, I never wonder if I'm wasting my life and my time. I've been confident of that ever since I gave up on becoming a product designer for LEGO when I was twelve. I should have stuck with that one: I made some pretty cool shit.

So, back to R, the half-assed narcoleptic.

R has fallen asleep on me (not literally) six times out of seven. The only time she managed to remain awake was last Friday.

She calls me, bored, and wants to hang out. I was bored, too, so I was down. We went and saw the new movie "Garden State." I highly recommend this movie (and not just because I'm from Jersey...) Then we went to a local watering hole that serves some of my favorite microbrews. (Rogue and Bell's being two particualar favorites.)

But I've digressed again, haven't I? Sometimes I think about writing a book that is a total digression. You know, start off with some characters, then have one launch into a tangent that takes up four hundred pages, before coming back to the original point...

Biff: So, Muffy, what's bothering you?

Muffy: Well, Biff, I was talking to Gladys the other day...you remember her from the office Christmas party? No? Oh, she was the one who's brother's wife had that mastectomy...Gawd, what an awful thing. My mother had a mastectomy five years ago, it was terrible......

****400 pages later****

...and so, basically, I'm pissed off at Gladys because she borrowed my white out without asking."

THE END

Sure, it'd be a ridiculous book, and no one would read it. But, I tell you true, the critics would love me for doing something new and unusual, even if it tanked.

And I've run out of things to say....

What a Week I'm Having...Part Deux

Okay, this is actually not the current week, but a gripe from a few weeks ago, into last week. Really, the problem is my car. My formerly beautiful 1995 Pontiac Bonneville. Bathsheba, the vehicle in question (so named because once she was beautiful and black), has been giving me such problems, I don't know how I manage to keep her running.

Okay, from a previous post, we know I had to get Sheba fixed in late June. Right, well I drove her to Louisville, and about a week after my LAST post, she over-heated. Again. So, I took her in and found out that the previous repair was incomplete, and possibly the guy engaged in fraud. (The investigation is pending, so I cannot speak more of that matter at this time.) So, the good folks at the Pontiac dealership took Sheba, fixed her, and charged me $1,181.73. Plus nearly $350.00 for the rental car.

Current car repair tally: $2,215.29 (or thereabouts)

Then, THREE DAYS after getting the car back, the "tension rod," which holds the serpentine belt in place, snapped on I-264 during rush hour. Wheee. Cost of repair? $411.85 Then there's the rental car, which was another $89.99

Current car repair tally: $2717.13 (or thereabouts)

THEN, my battery died the day I got it back from Pontiac-people. Not only died my battery die, but when I tried to jump-start it, my cables got fried, and a burned the ever-loving shit out of my hand. Yeah, BIG happy-hat people. Big. That particular repair (just three days after the previous problem, and the evening I got my car back, cost me $90.

Total Cost of Car Repair, July/August 2004: $2807.13 (or thereabouts)


My car's blue-book value is somewhere around $3,500. Did I mention I have no money?

But, now Sheba's running perky, which is good. Especially since any plans I might have had concerning replacing her are totally and completely out the window.

And I still have no job.

But there IS good news:

I finally have food in the house I can eat.

I'm done whoring myself on online dating services

I first got involved with online dating about 2 years ago, on the recommendation of my cousin, who met his wife through such a service. I figured, if J can meet his wife, surely I can find someone to take out once or twice. Right?

WRONG

Contestant #1 was L. L was a good match, realistically. We were into similar things, held similar views on the world and politics. She loved the Yankees. We went on two dates, and then things went to shit. Apparently, L had a problem with blowing people off. Ok, ok, I had a problem with L blowing me off. We'd make plans, and she'd just no-show. Or, she'd never return phone calls. Or she'd just leave me hanging. When pressed, L was indignant, "We're not serious, you know."

Yeah, I know, sweet, but come on! All I'm asking for is a little courtesy. Is that too much to ask? Plans change? Just call me and let me know! I'm secure enough in myself and with myself to take a rain check, fer chrissake!

And then we have Contestant #4, A.

(Contestants #2 & #3 were just bad ideas....)

A contacted me because (a) she thought I was cute, and (b) because we're both living in Louisville, but originally from NJ. We got to talking, first via e-mail, and then on the phone. She seemed really cool. She seemed really nice. She said she looked like Taylor Dayne.

For those of you out there unfamiliar, Taylor Dayne looks good.

So, A and I decided to meet up at a local watering hole for drinks and pool. Another bonus point, since I love to shoot pool, and I don't mind drinking while I do it. I walk in, and there's this woman staring at me. She did not look like Taylor Dayne. She looked like she ate Taylor Dayne, and then stretched her face over her own like some Silence of the Lambs reject.

But, I was already there, and let's face it, there was nothing preventing me from having some beers, shooting some pool, and bowing out gracefully at the end of the night. You know, be a nice guy, try not to hurt her feelings? Good plan, but as we all know, execution is critical for the success of any plan.

Well, I didn't execute. No sir. I did not execute at all.

Instead of following my hastily laid plan, which would have been the intelligent maneuver, I proceeded to drink about 6 beers in the space of two hours. I was buzzed. Then, she asked me if I'd like to go get high.

It was, I believe, at this point that my brain took a vacation, leaving the controls in the less-than-capable hands of my cerebellum. Yep, the "lizard brain." My brain and I are still having problems as a result of this error in judgment.

So, we go back to her place, and smoke a bowl or two. Then, she's kissing me. Impromptu of nothing, she's kissing me. (Well, that's not fair, we were on a date.) The next thing I know, and I mean literally 45 seconds later, my pants are off, and she's singing karaoke on my personal microphone.

At this point, I'm completely flummoxed. Not that the experience was new to me, but the sheer rapidity with which I found myself in a denuded state was rather shocking. Still, I was not yet at the point of problems.

Perhaps 5-10 minutes later, she's asking me if I would like to watch some porn. WHAT!? You're telling me I can sit here, do NOTHING, recieve some fairly decent stimuli, and not even pay attention to you? Are you kidding? Are you serious? Did I win Powerball? So, being the slightly drunk and certainly stoned chap I was, I said, "Sure. Whatever you want."

Looking back, this was definitely where my brain should have kicked in and pointed out a few things. Like the fact that this woman was 6 years my senior. Like the fact that she was treating my like her own personal salt lick within moments of getting me into her apartment. Like the fact that she owned a library of erotic books. Like the fact that she was, perhaps, large enough to sustain her own moon. But no, my brain was not there; I got a postcard from him though. My brain was in Amsterdam at a sex show. That asshole's always getting me into trouble...

So, she flips on the TV, presses PLAY on the VCR, and I am immediately treated to a back-door entry sequence. My first reaction was something along the lines of, "Ok, so she likes it like that. Then, to my horror, the camera zoomed out, and the woman had a pair of testicles. A LARGE pair of testicles. Now, I'm thinking, "Why does this chick have balls?" In retrospect, I was fooling myself.

Then, the angle changed. As did the positions. Sure enough, I'm watching two men treating each other to a flesh enema.

You know, I have nothing against homosexuality. I believe that in this world it is hard enough to find someone who makes you feel complete. If that person ends up being the same sex? Fine. Have fun. Just don't ask me to watch, please. I like the ladies, some guys like guys. I've had plenty of friends in my life who were homosexual, or bi-sexual, or what-have-you. I think love and lust are wonderful things, and whatever gets the motor running is cool with me. Well, necrophilia and pedophilia are out of bounds, and I've never really gotten my head around the whole "shit on my chest, baby," thing, but I'm digressing.

Point is, I'd heard about two men in coitus. I've had some fairly graphic discussions with some of my friends about it. I'd even created a mental picture. But man! I ain't never seen it before then. To tell the truth, I'd prefer to never see that again. It looked really painful, and hairy, and...um...yeah.

So, of course, I turned the movie off. A's all in a tizzy. "Why'd you do that? I thought you said you wanted to watch a porno."

"You didn't tell me it was a gay porn."

"Oh, but if it was two girls, that'd be fine?"

"YES!"

"Well, that's gay porn."

"NO! That's PORN!"

I'd love to be able to say that the evening ended there. I'd love to be able to say that I gathered my scattered clothing and left. Really, that's a great way to end this story. But, then, I'd be lying if I said that. No, I spent the night with this woman.

Like I said, my brain was in Amsterdam at a sex show. What was I supposed to do?

And that, dear friends, is the last online love connection I'm planning on making. This shit's just too damn weird for me.

I called it on 9/11

No doubt about it, everyone remembers where they were, and what they were doing on 9/11. Hell, I don't even need to mention the year anymore, do I? Nope, that day has become my generations "Where were YOU when Kennedy was assasinated?" I sometimes wonder if comments like that last bit trivialize the impact of 9/11 on America, and Americans.

Then I remember how 9/11 REALLY was, at least in Bloomington, Indiana.

Let's just get this right out: that day was so shocking it shut my brain down for about 3 days. It took me that long to get in touch with my friends and family in NYC and NJ, and until I knew everyone was OK (well, not everyone...), I couldn't even come to grips with the tragedy.

I still can't look at pictures of the Towers. I just can't. I guess there are a lot of people like me, in that respect.

But I'm not here to write about 9/11, or the Towers, or the $2.99 Wal-Mart patriots out there with the plastic flags hanging off the windows of their cars, "United We Stand" bumper stickers festooning their vehicles. No, I'm not going to go into that rant; I've done it before, and I'm tired of that particular level of bullshit.

Thing is, around 2:00 on 9/11, sitting with some friends and trying to get a grip on myself, I remember the conversation we had while watching CNN. D remarked how this didn't sound like the act of a bunch of cowards (which many of us agreed with, and Bill Maher echoed hours later.) Then, I remember thinking, and saying, how 9/11 was going to be the best thing that ever happened to George W. Bush's Presidency. I remember telling my friends that when Bush came up for re-election, I wouldn't be surprised if someone got on TV and suspended elections, for the sake of National Security.

"My fellow Americans," it would begin, "due to the Justice Department's sure knowledge that terrorists plan to disrupt voting in the coming Presidential Election, we are hereby suspending national elections for the duration of the crisis."

Sure, you're thinking I'm a conspiracy nut, right? Well, I wasn't entirely serious when I put the idea out there, nearly 3 years ago, but since then, I've been taking a real close look at what our government's been up to. Especially recently.

DISCLAIMER: The following is going to look like a conspiracy theory. That's because it IS a conspiracy theory. However, I am not a left-wing loony-toon, neither am I currently under psychiatric evaluation. Nor am I insane or a paranoid. I simply see things, hear things, and have put them together in this manner.

Here's the thing: Tom Ridge announced recently that Al Qaeda is supposedly planning to "disrupt" elections in November. HOW? WHY? And what, pray tell, could ANY terrorist really do to disrupt elections on the national level? Blow up EVERY polling site? How about half of them?

Realistically, absent such mammoth undertakings, the polls are as safe as they've been since we stopped allowing partisans in the building years ago. It sounds to me like Phase 1 of "Operation: Scare the Voters."

What are we supposed to think? Sure looks like we're supposed to be SO SCARED of VOTING this Fall that enough people won't show up to vote, which would then pretty much hand Bush II the election.

Hey, if there really is a clear and immanent danger, why not just make everyone vote via ABSENTEE BALLOTS?

Then, the other day, our friendly CIA chief decides to step down, pre-empting his termination over the intelligence failures which "allowed" 9/11. Of course, the Bush Administration has been fingering the CIA for 2 years now on this, and refuses to accept any culpability for the attacks. The CIA is also apparently at fault for telling the White House Iraq had WMD, when it didn't.

So, with the elections "in jeopardy" we have lost the top spy in the country, and there doesn't seem to be too big a rush to replace him. Does there? Thing is, George T. was a good man, a Clinton man. Me? I think he saw the way the wind was blowing, saw where this Administration is going, and opted out. If he'd wanted to tag along with Bush and Cheney, they would've spun this differently, mark my words.


So now, we've got election worries, and no head of the CIA. Plus, we already know that everyone in Bush's administration with the slightest bit of integrity won't be back. (Poor Colin Powell...) Bush and Cheney (or should I say Cheney?) are lining things up right now, and I worry about where this is going. I worry that Tom Ridge will keep popping up on TV, telling us about how the Department of Homeland Security has learned Al Qaeda plans to bomb polls in fifteen states, but they don't know which polls, specificially. I worry that a National State of Emergency will be declared in October, just in time for the World Series. I worry that Bush will be President again, until he just decides to take over.

Look at the Federal judges he's installed. Congress is certainly backing him up with WHATEVER he wants to do. By next year, we'll be installing AT LEAST 2 new Supreme Court Justices (if Bush wins, how "conservative" will these people be?)

To me, it sounds like the United States is headed for some serious trouble. Things keep on like this, and I might consider Canada.


This rant was brought to you by the number 69, and the letters, L, S, and D.

What a Week I'm Having

The past week, including today, has just been shit. Shit, shit, shit. Let me count the ways....

1) I did not get the job I thought I had. That's right, after waiting around whilst a certain NJ lawfirm played grab-ass for five fucking weeks, I finally learned this past Tuesday the truth. I am not going to be hired on.

Look, I understand that not every resume I send out will be received favorably. I understand not every prospective employer will hire me. Honestly, I get that. What I don't understand is why would they tell me they (a) have work; (b) need someone to do the work; (c) pay that person handsomely; and (d) inform me that I fit the bill? Is it malicious? Is it entertaining? Do they enjoy causing me to quit my bartending gig in anticipation of actually beginning my chosen career with some sense of panache?

After consulting my handy-dandy Magic 8-Ball (patented), "all answers point to YES."

So, as the faithful reader now knows, your Saintly friend has no job, and no woman. (If I had a dog, I'm sure it would've died at some point this week.)

I swear, sometimes I think my life is a Kenny Chesney song...

The intervening days passed, barely. With no job, and nothing to do, I pretty much sat around the house (where there is STILL no food) and smoked grass to pass the time away. Not a bad gig, really, but I'd much rather be working than sitting on my ass.

2) Saturday night, I ventured into NYC to see my friend's girlfriend's friend's (say THAT three times, fast, motherfucker!) dance troupe perform.

I know precisely jack shit about modern dance.

Ok, ok; I know precisely shit about the dance in general.

Still, the performance was quite good, if a bit...I don't know...angry? Apparently, our choreographer friend stamps her work with furtive, angry movements. And sensual ones. It's hard to tell what sort of emotion she's seeking to illicit. But the dance was not the problem Saturday night. Oh no, indeed! The problem was my friend, let's call him Johnny Two-Shoes.

My friend's girlfriend has another friend, who we'll call Fatima. (Why Fatima? Because I like the name.) Fatima is an attorney in NYC, and she's a hottie. Oh mai oui! Fatima and I met last August, and I was infatuated; it seemed she enjoyed my company as well.

So there we are, after the performance, enjoying some champagne and conversation (this is Fatima and me, now) and I suggest we go grab some dinner. It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday night, I'm on Seventh, suggesting a meal to a woman I hardly know. (I was very proud of me...) She's cool, so we grab the coterie; my friend, his girlfriend, J. (a cool chica from S. Africa), and Johnny Two-Shoes.

Did I mention Johnny Two-Shoes was recently appointed Cock-Blocker General by the Presidential Go-Home-Alone-You-Miserable-Loser Commission?

The six of us end up on 7th and 22nd, at some Thai place. I like Thai food; I practically lived on it in college for about a month there... Johnny Two-Shoes, meanwhile, sits down across from Fatima, who I'm hoping is gonna invite me over for breakfast, and starts acting like a complete ass. And, of course, he's not content to ruin his own image, oh no; Johnny-Boy wants to take me down with him.

All it took was one sentence: "Hey, man, you're turning 26 in August, right?"

DUMBASS MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!

See, Fatima's 31, and apparently she thought I was like 28 or 29. Apparently, she has a problem dating younger men. And, apparently, this includes inviting them for breakfast just the once, too.

So, no horizontal bunny-hop for your intrepid blogger. Again.

(I swear, I'm just going to open up a Home for the Chronically Unlayable one of these days.)

3) Today, which really puts everything else into perspective.

See, there I am, my beautiful Bonneville all packed and ready to drive back to Kentucky. I get in, start her up, and hit the road.

I made it 20.4 miles.

Apparently, I have a broken water pump, which in turn caused my engine coolant to leak all over the outside of the engine, instead of being fed into it. (For those of you who know nothing about cars, engines need coolant on the inside.) This of course, leads to my overheat (at 20.4 miles from home). How did I learn about this problem, you may ask?

Well, after waiting the obligatory two hours for AAA to arrive, I caught a tow from some guy named Joe. Joe was a good egg. Joe was not, however, from AAA; so I gave Joe $109.50 and he dropped me off six miles away. Scott, manager/owner of a friendly auto shop, informed me of the above situation, and continued to point out that, not only did I need a new water pump, but I needed a new serpentine belt and a thermostat as well. All told, I'm paying this guy $522.73.

For those of you playing along at home, driving 20.4 miles today cost me $632.23. Actually, it's $661.10; I got gas, too.

My car will hopefully be ready tomorrow morning at nine. Then, of course, I gotta figure out a way to get to it, considering it's 30 or so miles away, and I'm back in Mom and Dad's place, sitting on my ass.

Again.

Motherfucker.

Let's Talk About Conspiracies

For as long as I can remember, which is to say, since I was about 4 or so, I've always loved to read. I read voraciously. I read like a starving man gulps water. I read with fanaticism in my heart and head.

As a law student, I'm required to read roughly 200 pages of cases and explanatory text each night. Every night, when I finish reading a funny, if antiquated, opinion by the ultra-hip Judge Learned Hand (Who names their son "Learned Hand?") I'll pick up a book and read until I fall asleep.

And I tell you true, I remember almost everything I read.

I could tell you the plots to any number of Hardy Boys Mysteries I read at age nine. I could chart Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth from memory. I can tell you exactly what happens in a comic book I read at age thirteen, if only you show me the cover art. I don't say this to brag; after all, what kind of person boasts about remembering meaningless plot developments? I merely point out you REALLY don't want to play Trivial Pursuit with me.

I won't even bring up my encyclopedic knowledge of Classic Rock.

Tagging alongside my appetite for the written word is my equally ever-present need to write. Scenes, plays, fiction, satire, high fantasy, introductions without material to be introduced, you name it. Most often, I find myself writing feverishly for about 5 pages, depicting characters I've never thought about beforehand, in situations with no backstory. I consider these to be "middle" bits, of stories I have not written.

I often wonder if I could take all those little "middle" pieces, put them together, and get an entire book out of them. If I ever try it, and it works, I have no idea what kind of book it will be.

I find myself thinking along these lines because, I really haven't tried to write anything in months. Then, on a whim, I've begun this little 'blog. I don't know where I'm going with it yet, or even if I want it to go anywhere at all.

I think I was hoping to be funnier?

The Love Letter that Wasn't

Now, you should know, when I start out with a title like that, you're in for a bumpy ride. Then again, since I haven't actually put anything down yet, maybe it won't be that bad. Time, as usual, will tell.

Tonight, I hung out with some of my closest friends; one in particular is the subject of tonight's diatribe. We'll call her Jenny, just to keep things suitably anonymous. Perhaps I'll slip up later, but for now, it's Jenny.

Jenny and I have dated several times, beginning when I was sixteen, and most recently ending this past February. Or maybe January? I suppose it depends on which one of us you ask...but, for the sake of integrity, posterity, and consistency, we'll just say February, since that's when I found out it was over.

The thing about Jenny is, all these past ten years we've known each other, is that I cannot stay away from her. Even when I wasn't emotionally attached, something about Jenny always kept me coming back for more. Maybe it was because she always kept my ego in check. Maybe it's because she's a hottie. Maybe it's because she's one of the perhaps 5 people on this planet I can be completely honest in front of. Maybe it's all of those put together...

Jenny's ruined a lot of things for me, most notably the smell of vanilla. She's been wearing vanilla oil for as long as I've known her, and I tell you true, I cannot deal with that smell anymore. Unless it's her smell. Then, it's like being home again after months away. (An apt analogy, since the majority of our quasi-relationship has occurred whilst I was hundreds of miles away.) But I'm digressing, aren't I?

Jenny (still not her real name, mind you) loved me for a long time, and most of it, I had no idea. I never knew if I loved her, which is a strong sign I didn't. Then, somewhere around New Year's, I realized I DID love her. And it was everything I remembered, and a whole lot more. It was the great thing my life has been missing.

Problem was, Jenny wasn't in love with me anymore. Oh no, she'd given up waiting for me to come around. Over ten years, bad timing has been our hallmark. I wouldn't be suprised if the day I realized I loved her was the same day she decided to move on. If it wasn't so damned ironic, it'd probably be depressing.

Jenny is still one of my closest friends, and I'll admit, I'm having a lot of trouble divorcing my romantic and carnal urges from the platonic ones. Tonight I had a big problem. Something about that woman just makes me forget the rules..

It's not like I haven't tried to get her back, because I have. She wasn't intertested. And I don't blame her; in fact I understand her feelings as completely as a man can understand a woman's feelings. That's a big part of the irony.

But tonight, I had to say something, had to try again. Ultimately, I failed again to get her back.

Sometimes I think this limbo is killing me. Sometimes I couldn't care less. Ambivalence in love is no fun, believe me.

I've recently realized there have only been three women I've ever truly cared about in my life. Jenny, and two others. The first was another girl in highschool; we lost touch years ago, though occasionally I hear from her. She never writes back. The other was about as brief as brief can be. Only a few days, years ago. I don't really know if I regret caring for her, despite the pain that came later. All I can say is that for a short while, I thought I'd found someone special. She never believed I cared for her, to this day I still don't know what she thinks about those days. I often wonder, though.

The point of tonight's (or should I say "this morning's"?) diatribe has escaped me. Of course, eloquence went the way of the dodo a while back, too, so what am I worrying about?

Either way, I'm starving, and there's still no damn food in this house.

Zen Happens

...and then, there's Urgent Care

Today began with a rude awakening. There I am, blissfully asleep, enjoying some fairly interesting random neuron-firings, when my mother walks in and wakes me up. Gee, thanks.

You ever get woken up from a dream? Of course you have. This morning, it was right at the point where all the confusing shit in my head was about to be explained to me, courtesy of one of my friendly neighborhood dream-people. (Sometimes, I call them dreople, but that just confuses the issue...)

I fucking hate it when that happens.

I mean, it really pisses me off when that happens. Here I am, all set to learn why there's a talking monkey wearing a unitard, trying to sell me life insurance, and then POOF! Welcome back to the waking, daylight, no-fun-at-all world.

Then, it's a quick shower and dress, and I'm off to the "assisted living facility" to pick up Grandma. Yet another doctor's appointment. Well, the doc went fine, but he wants me to take her to the Urgent Care Center across the street for tests.

What, really, is the difference between Urgent Care and Emergency Care? Personally, I'm waiting for a drive-through service.

So, I've been sitting here, with my wireless connection, for the past three hours, whilst Grandma is poked, prodded, sampled, juilliened, and frappeed. And, of course, this place smells like death and feces.

I often wonder, do doctors and nurses voluntarily have their olfactory senses cauterized before embarking on their careers?

And now, back to your regularly scheduled day...

Zen Happens

I'm hungry...

I'm hungry. It's two o'clock in the morning, and I am completely famished. I'm living in my parents house for the past month or so (a visit which is, at turns, enjoyable and interminable), and these people have NO FOOD IN THE DAMN HOUSE.

Allow me to be completely clear on this point:

I am fucking tired of low carbohydrate dieting.

Sue me. Hate me. Revile me. Tar-and-feather me. But please, PLEASE get some fucking bread and pasta here, pronto. I think I might waste away...

Would it be so fucking hard to have a bag of pretzels? Or some crackers? Maybe, and I don't want to start a revolution here, but maybe some cookies? I am not on this stupid, and ultimately-it's-got-to-be-unhealthy, diet. Thank you.

You know what my dining choices are around here? If you said Canadian bacon, steak, and a whole fucking mountain of salted cashews, you win a prize.

Prizes will be awarded at the sole discretion of the author, who has no prizes to give, nor any conceivable method of actually getting such a prize to the intended recipient.

Now, at two o'clock in the morning, a lot of people are probably thinking, "Fuck it, man, it's late. Go to bed." Yeah? You ever tried falling asleep when you're hungry? It's easier to pass a fucking kidney stone through that little hole in the end of your prick. Well, perhaps that's an exaggeration...

You might be wondering why I don't just by some groceries for myself? I'll tell you; I tried that. Didn't work. Neither of these diet-mongers could handle the Temptation of food that actually might have carbohydrates in it. They ate everything. Let me get this straight: Jesus can walk the desert without food and water for an extended period of time, and then, on his last breath, tell the Devil to take a flying leap instead of accepting some bread and water from him? And my parents can't handle a bag of Rolled Gold? Thank the old G-D we're Jewish.

Zen Happens