Every chance we get

I spent the evening at a bar full of karaoke. Some friends of mine were supposed to meet another friend or two of mine there, but they didn't show, and we had a good time. Some women were celebrating either a co-worker or a friends birthday. Some men had brought their other halves out for the evening. Some people came out looking for love, some came out looking something that would feel better than the love they have. I came looking for more drinks and maybe a song.

Science journals and science teachers around the country probably say things about people's true character when they are alone. I challenge them to not make the same assumptions at a bar filled with karaoke. Don't get me wrong, many a folk do their best to impress the crowd. Some succeeded, most fail. But really, the person that you would hope to be comes out at karaoke. You may lean more in the area of shy than normal, or not. You may lean more in the area of gospel than normal, or not. You may care more than normal, or not. The perfect you shows up to sing that song, and the perfect audience, in some cases, shows up to sing along.

Karaoke has almost exclusively been involved in the times in my life when I have been single. Why? Ask Freud. It might be like a peacock showing it's feathers, or it might be like a camel showing it's ability to spit. Do I hope my karaoke skills would catch someone who would appreciate every minor crack in my surface? No. And would I want to fall in love with someone who would sing "You Ought To Know" to tens of strangers? No. But would it be cute to be a touring karaoke team that hops from bar to bar to bar to bar for cash prizes? Not really. But it is better than sitting around your house for the fifth night in the row? Sometimes.

What it comes down to is this. Go karaoke. Go with an open mind, and an open heart. Sing the songs that made you feel young when you were young. Sings the songs that you wished made you feel young. Just fucking sing.

whiskey is soon again my friend

Things had gotten bad around these parts. I had started to have recurring disagreements with a friend of mine. Whiskey. He didn't want to stay inside anymore. He wanted to go out and mingle with the lawn, or the concrete, or the asphalt, or the sand, or the water.

Basically, Whiskey was making me puke.

But not the last few days. We have reunited and continue to enjoy eachother's company.

The last time we fought was sunday. And it wasn't even about us, it was about the Bears playing football like a crew of assholes, well, at least one of them was being an asshole.

Things should be fine this sunday, things should turn around (my friends and family hope so, I'm sure).

the days grow shorter

As previously mentioned, summer's over. That is still the case. If the other areas of my life hold true, then soon I will miss it.

But I don't know if I will.

Summer is everything at once. Summer is overload. Summer is excitement. Summer is death. Summer is the worst decision you have ever made followed by the best. Summer is endless nights of endless drink and endless conversations. Summer is everyone you ever wanted to be with and no one at the same time. Summer is the crowd your parents warned you about. Summer makes a man mean. Summer makes a man strong. Summer makes a man.

And it is over. The hibernation is setting in. The fatigue is here. The late nights are fewer. The empty beds spring up more often. The jokes we told don't get the same laughs, the love the same looks. Less people come around. They don't stay as long. They don't try as hard.

And neither do I.

I pray for apocalypse or armageddon or terrorism or strokes. I take a little longer to apply the brakes, I wait a little longer to push the gas. I say less and less and less to everyone from random faceless names to my parents.

I cried last night. In the middle of a small crowd. Just enough. A friend of mine played some songs, for probably the last time. And he played this song that showed up at a time when I was finding my own bearings and missing a lot of things. A time when nights were spent at places I used to live with people I used to know and the world I used to live in was changing, and I was on a couch or in a guest room. And the song was about a man who I didn't know, with a problem I didn't have, but a coping mechanism I could relate to.

So I cried. Enough to have to wipe tears away. Enough to feel a little better. Enough to say I cried.

I can recognize this feeling in my chest. And it spreading to my arms and my head. Things will be different soon. Smiles will be had by all.

Hello fall, I don't think I recognize you.

all it takes is technology

I had a friend send me a message over my cellular phone last night. She asked me if it had rained here.

I told her no, and called this place a shithole.

Then it started raining.

Thank you for sharing.

you ain't done nothing with your life

This gentleman, I don't know him. But what he stands for, what he represents, with his suit, and his crew cut, and his model rocket; no thank you.

I stood outside of Pepper's yesterday with two men who should have been wearing suits. Their briefcase bags were heavy with reports and findings on consumption and waste. They ran numbers in their heads of where they were succeeding and where I was failing. And it wasn't just the ability to raise money for charity. Or the ability to get other people who should have been wearing suits to drink at our restaurant. The areas where I wasn't failing counted for nothing. Any amount of commitment I had so far displayed to the company had no further bearing. He didn't say it, but he didn't have to.

I am no company man.

I may have shown flashes in the past. But not lately, not anymore. I have holes in my shoes. I don't wash my shirts as much as I should. I don't shave. I don't care. I am Robin Hood of the drunks, giving from the rich to anyone who will take it. Salads, Chips, Steaks, Guacamole, Beer and Shots.

When mediocrity is being embraced and hard work is being ignored. When the men and women who should be wearing suits are screaming in ears every 2 minutes about charity so they can have a larger bonus. When minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years of work go unaccounted for to save on benefits and vacation pay. When your place of employment ruins your ability to enjoy yourself while you make them money. When these things happen, I am holding the back door open and profits are running out the back door.

It will end soon. I won't come back for a break, or won't show up for a shift, or they will ask me to never come back. There will be tears of joy and high-fives at my employment's demise. Drinks will be shared, stories of the good times passed around. I will continue to exist. Pepper's will continue to exist. Those men will get their suits, and they will have them taken away. And there will be more tears with less joy and high-fives of a stronger sort but by many more people.

And that day will be glorious.

i didn't forget about you, and i didn't forget about me, i just did a lot of this

Summer's Over

When I sat down to make this I realized I didn't have the patience for it. So here is a mostly chronological slideshow in celebration of the end of summer. The song is by Latterman.

youtube is the new crack

meaning it was introduced to innercity neighborhoods by the CIA.

I watch some of the most ridiculous things on youtube. I just watched the first 45 seconds of a "summer's over" slide show video set to an Atari's song. Nothing like anime drawings of beach volleyball to let you know your life is slipping out of your grasp.

I will now go make my own "summer's over" slide show. It will be a first.

a post that was started two days ago

My computer is next to my bed. It is on an upsidedown milk crate. (They were out of cinderblock.) A night or two ago I decided that instead of sleeping I would drink a 32oz beer and try to find something on the internet about the Antelope Valley that would make me want to stay, or at least appreciate it. My jumping off place was Flickr. I searched through tags, looked at profiles, went to people's myspace profiles, went to their blogs, looked at groups and sets, picture after picture after picture.

I had seen it all before.

I'm ok with it, actually. The Antelope Valley is familiar. Too familiar. There are probably little pockets of interesting that I haven't found, but I don't even care to look anymore. It is the same people doing the same things in the same places.

I know that my new home will eventually become the same thing, but there is the possibility of it not turning into that for at least a year, and that seems nice.

There was a fire down the street today, that was nice.

i keep wanting to blog....

about how the antelope valley is stuck in 1986 with the amount of blow that seems to be going into people's noses, but then I realize it's probably not that interesting to anyone who isn't from here or isn't doing it. It seems people who enjoy their coke enjoy the fact that they do it almost as much as doing the actual drug, and that doesn't even compare to how excited they are to tell you about it.

Which is funny, because I like being a drunk, and talking about it, but I don't see it as that big of a deal. Must be all of that christian hypocrisy left over from the glory days.

God bless the Antelope Valley, I wish it was closer to the ocean so my dreams of it falling in wouldn't be so far fetched.