But instead I went to get the mail. I passed my car in doing so. I have a flat tire. And no spare. Time for a bike ride to the store for insta-fix-a-flat or whatever it's called.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
I left two bars tonight.
Both times there was lightning, but it was far away, somewhere else.
And it is always somewhere else.
I want to drive to the lightning, be rained on, hear the thunder, see the flash.
But I am stuck in this valley. No lightning, no thunder, no rain, nothing.
This valley is dead and it is dragging me with it.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
I have a really good memory. I store lots of knowledge, some useful and some not. I remember a lot of things that happened when I was pretty young. I am glad I still remember this story.
I went to preschool at the same school that I went to for elementary, junior high, and high school. From being around 4 till 17 I spent most of my days at a private christian school. The original building was two stories and had a bunch of classrooms. In the middle was the playground for the kids in preschool, me.
In our classrooms we each had our own nap mats with our names on them. And we had coat hooks with our names on them. And we had clear boxes stacked high up out of reach with our names on them. Those held our emergency change of clothes.
My class had one set of teachers. The other classes had their own. There was this one teacher, man she was HOT! Tall, skinny, blond, gorgeous. (Funny how at 4 I already knew what was supposed to be considered attractive.) Knowing know about the hiring practices of the school, she was about 18-20 years old.
When I had recess and and her class hat nap time or some other activity I would stand outside and look into the window at her. Creepy. Then I would go run around and swing and slide and whatever, then go back and stare at her.
One day I was standing outside of her window and the urge to pee hit me. Like a ton of bricks. But I stood there. I crossed my legs and watched. I did what some have referred to as the pee-pee dance and watched. I pinched myself and watched. Then I gave in.
I pissed my pants.
And I stood there, watching. After a minute or so I went up to my teacher, feigning embarrassment, and told her I had an accident.
It was no accident. I knew I was going to, but I would rather stand there at the window and watch this teacher.
So I got to use my change of clothes. My pants had velcro instead of a zipper. I was awesome.
And a creepy bastard.
Now that essentially went on to repeat itself in very differing situations, no more piss, but definitely social awkwardness or discomfort, for the rest of my life. It still happens. And when I realize it, it makes me laugh.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Nothing to exciting going on over here. We got hot water back at our house after 5 or so days, so I'm smelling a little better. The Fair opened, which is the like 11 day long drunken high school reunion with gang fights, underage pregnancies, tractor races, the Charlie Daniels Band, and a demolition derby. We are high class. Going to the fair is the motivation for posting again. I have some fun stuff in the works, but that is for another time.
Today I need your help.
As mentioned previously, I will be moving somewhere at the end of the year. I have some cities in mind: Seattle, Chicago, Minneapolis, Eugene, and recent newcomer Austin. Boulder/Denver dropped of the list because I couldn't bear to attend Broncos games. Here are my criteria for my new home, in order.
- Good public transportation/No sprawl. I will not own a car. WILL NOT. I'll have a bicycle though, so a little sprawl is ok.
- A "Scene". I would prefer a good punk rock/underground/whatever scene, or at least a place to see live shows, and hopefully play.
- Football. Being a Bears fan, a city with a NFC team would be nicest, but almost any team will do. Also, college football would work. That's one of the things that got Austin involved in the mix.
- Bars. Both for employment and entertainment. Everywhere has bars, but some places only have shitty bars.
- Studio apartments. I will 99% be doing this by myself, so I would like affordable housing. I wont have much in terms of possessions, so it won't have to be big.
I know about Chicago, I've been there a couple times. I sort of know about Seattle, from the couple of nights I spent there recently and from hearing Whit's stories. But as for the others on my list, I'm pretty much limited to info on the internet. That is fine, but I prefer hearing about it from someone who lives there and might have some similar interests to mine. So if you live in any of the places, or have, or spent a bunch of time, or have friends who live there, give me some info, please? Or if you know of a place that might fit me, let me know.
You guys are great, whoever you are.
Tomorrow, one story that sums up my personality/life's path. It's a good one. There's no Lita Ford.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I didn't get fired yesterday.
And it was a little sad. I had put together a nice little post-Pepper's bus trip of the country that would have made me the envy/laughingstock of the adult world. I was going to sleep on couches all over the place. I was going to see family and friends. I was going to go see bands play in small clubs in cities I always wanted to go to. I was going to track down a blogger or two and use the shower. But alas, I still have a job.
There's always today though! (I was going to put a wink here, but that would have just pissed me off when I read it over.)
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
I got woken up by a phone call this morning. A fellow bartender at Pepper's was fired last night for giving away free drinks. I give away free drinks. I probably give away more free drinks than anyone else. I also give away chips and salsa. And salads. And soups. And sodas. And once a whole steak dinner. So I should be on my way out. I'm curious if they give me the ax tonight at work, or wait, or don't fire me. I don't see how they can't seem to know. Maybe they don't.
I made a mix for the feeling in my chest about the whole thing. If my pending letting go happens, and is turned into a movie, this would be the soundtrack.
If This Is It - http://www.megaupload.com/?d
Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis - Tom Waits
A New Name For Everything - The Weakerthans
Justin - Against Me!
Nature Of The Experiment - Tokyo Police Club
Never Trust a Man Without a Horribly Embarassing Secret - Bomb The Music Industry!
Save Our Ship - Broadway Calls
Time Bomb - The Dismemberment Plan
Perfecting Loneliness - Jets To Brazil
Are You There Yet Margaret? It's Me God. - The Lawrence Arms
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
;) - that is a wink.
What does that mean? It's not like a live wink, where I know if you want to fuck me or punch me or steal my wallet. You could mean one of those things, or all of those things, or none at all.
So what to do?
I ignore it, usually. Sometimes I throw it back. Like "Oh, really? Well, I feel that way too!" Too bad I have no idea if I do feel that way or not.
I am more of a sarcastic winker, I think.
Actually, I am just trying to keep up with the winking Joneses. I pretend that whatever you think I meant was what I actually meant.
Now I have some winking text messages to send, ;)
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
As pointed out by whit pointed out, it hasn't rained in a fucking long time. This desert is taking whatever it can from my body to make up for it. I thought I liked the rain, until I spent for months in Sacramento, and it rained every day for about 6 weeks. I miss every one of those days now. I miss a lot of things lately. So I am going to go to whit's house and share a beer or 5, then I will celebrate my exroommate/current friend amanda's birthday. Champagne anyone?
Friday, August 17, 2007
Things are things. Feelings come and feelings go. Possessions break down. Suns rise and suns set. The world turns. Our savings gain and deplete. We consume. We waste. We rot.
That ran through my head, over and over and over and over. The room and my head were spinning in a sea of champagne. Someone was pulling out of my driveway, I could see their headlights on my blinds in my window.I didn't want them to leave. But then I did. I took off my shirt and pants and threw pillows back from the floor onto the bed. I put on a mix. I pushed off the sheet, I pulled up the comforter. I arranged the extra pillows around my body like women who had yet to have enough of me. The light was off and the room was blue from the computer screen.
Things are things. Over and over again. Things are things.
I revealed a crush that had existed. Or it hadn't existed. It could have been made up. It could have been the adding of layers to a thirty-one second thought while standing next to someone in a line. Or it could have been consuming me whole, just under the surface. But, really, that is not the case.
I opened my phone to make things right, with the recently departed, and realized nothing had gone wrong. I pushed forward thinking "NO! She doesn't understand!", but what was there to understand? That tonight I sat in the yard and told her things I have told someone else in her chair days before, and will probably tell someone new the same things again in a weeks time? That this excitement I was feeling in seeing her exists only in the pursuit, and that once I see her the excitement fades? That someone somewhere would give much more than I am willing to part with someone of lesser quality than her? That I honestly don't really care?
Things are things.
And they are. And everyday people are creeping closer to sharing the label of things. And is that good? Or bad? Or neither? When do I start assigning worth to people? When I know there names? When I know there phone number? When I know their house? When I know how there heart breaks?
Things are things. Heartbreaks are heartbreaks. I love the people I love.
I need to stop thinking I I am some sort of hunter/gatherer and get back to falling in love.
Monday, August 13, 2007
There is the MeMe going around, the "interview me" MeMe. And you don't actually tag anyone for it, but you volunteer. Now that you know the basics, here is what happened.
Lovely IslandGirl did it. And supersweet ImPerceptibility did it. And I thought I should do it too. With both of them. So here is the blog equivalent of a menage a tous. I'll alternate like any good threesome participant should, but I won't tell you who wrote which question. It almost adds a nice bondage/s&m aspect to it.
1. You, either by chance or fate, land on the blog page of the woman you will spend the rest of your life. What are the titles of her first five posts?
One of the best questions I have seen, ever. In no particular order.
- On the receiving of my new grand piano.
- Sorry I'm late, I was out spoiling my liver.
- On Holiday From The Holidays.
- When my feet hit the road. Or how I learned to hold on by letting everything go.
- What I actually felt last night in the basement.
I've known both good women and good drink. They have both been there to comfort me and have both been there to break my heart. I have stood on rooftops with both. I have ridden bicycles with both. I have made bad decisions with both. I would like to think that a good woman would love me, drunk or no (her or me). If at any point a drink seems more appetizing then a good woman then I have become my father, and I am fucked. I have been greater affected by both the love and hatred of good and not-so-good women more than drink. So would I give up drinking for a good woman? Yes. Would I give up a good woman for drinking? Yes.
3. Who pops out of your birthday cake and what do they say?
John Cusack. He says "Here's to you, Booth". We toast. It starts to rain.
4. Are you an accurate example of your own zodiac sign?
I am a Scorpio. My birthday is November 16th. I believe that makes me a Scorpio III. I use to hold a lot of stock in the zodiac and read all about it. So much so that when I meet someone I almost always check are sign compatibility. Everything I have ever read about Scorpios are true about me. I am complex, loyal, sexual, secretive, jealous, aggressive, inquisitive and prone to extremity. Pretty much anyone who knows me can vouch for this.
5. What do you think is the most important thing I should teach my children?
DIY. Do It Yourself. Not that shitty television network about putting new concrete steps in front of your house. Teach them the value of their own ability to make anything happen that they want to happen. For me it is mostly associated with punk rock and creativity, but it is something that the whole world would benefit from. They want to write a book? Write it and publish it themselves. They want to make the roads in their town safer for people who aren't in cars (you know, pedestrians and bicyclists)? Don't wait around for the politicians to do something about it, make it happen. That and punk rock is dead, so they create their own version of it.
6. If you do decide to leave the Antelope Valley, which city is your number one destination choice right now, and why?
Chicago. The reasons, in order. I won't need a car. I can go to Bears games at Solider Field. The music scene. And I have wanted to live there for about 5 years.
7. What is your favorite Booth! song?
The next one that is going to be written. I love all of the ones that already exist. Some are shitty, some are not. But the unknown is exciting. What's next fills me with joy!
8. Are there really antelopes in your valley?
Just the students of the worst high school in the valley.
9. Are you wearing pants?
When I started this, yes. When I got home from work, after drinking tall cans of beer and a bottle of champagne, no. Just me and my glasses and my boxers. I don't like wearing clothes that much. And I enjoy the activities that require a little bit of clothing very much. (Swimming, bodybuilding, sex, hostile takeovers.)
10. Poetry. Do you read it? Do you write it, outside of your rather poetic and elliptical blog? If you feel this question compromises your masculinity (although it does not!), I will accept a Hard Man's Answer such as "only in rock songs."
My poetry reading/writing is much like everything in my life. I do a lot of it, then I don't. I have a very addictive personality. It is pretty much all or nothing. I fancied myself a poet when I was in high school, but didn't anyone who wasn't getting laid and received some sort of shitty look from someone else about what they thought was cool? I used to write poems for girls/women. I don't do that much anymore. It could be because I haven't had those strong of feelings lately, or it could be because it just ends up getting you in trouble, but it probably has to do with a conspiracy I have entered into with all of my ex's to make money off of my poetry once I die a tragic death.
11. Please describe your favourite tattoo - when and where did you get it, what is it, what does it stand for, etc.
Better yet, How about a couple of pictures.
This is my molotov cocktail. It is on my left arm. Nate Hopewell did it, he did all of these. I got it right before my 22nd birthday. It is a molotov cocktail. It stands for that.
This is my dead lady and upside down crown. It is at the top of my left arm. The crown is for my distaste of government, the lady for my love of women.
Yes, this is the Morton Salt Girl. It is on my leg. The script says "When it pains, it roars". It is a tribute to one of the best bands ever, Jawbreaker.
This is my second most recent tattoo. It is on my right arm. It is a Kurt Vonnegut tribute. It is also a tribute to my nomadic lifestyle.
Most of my tattoos are music related. They are band logos, or representation of song lyrics, or just a mark of some point in my life. And all of those points in my life have a band attached to them too.
12. Please describe your favourite meal. All courses, dessert, drinks, everything. Then your lovely lady fans can make it for you if you are ever in town. Your lovely man fans as well, not to be sexist!
To be completely honest, food doesn't interest me that much. I don't crave things very often, and those craving have slimmed down especially since I became a vegetarian 6 months ago. I like food. And I like dessert. And I like drinks. But I like the people who consume those things with me more. I love the conversations, the strange revealings of the first few meals with someone, the learning of likes and dislikes, the stories that are shared and the stories that are created. Some food that is always awesome: asparagus, pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches, popcorn, and edible panties. (the last part I am not a first hand taster, but, really, they have to be great!) Give me any of these things, or anything tasty for that matter, and someone who wants to talk as opposed to watch tv or be shallow, and I will be a happy man.
There are a bunch of rules for this thing, but they are bullshit. So if you want me to interview you, I will. If you want to steal these questions and answer them yourself, do it. And if you want to be a travel partner buy a greyhound bus ticket from Bend, OR to Chicago, IL on December 26th. 14 days in advance and it will be 81 bucks. Show up to oregon early and you can have christmas with my folks and snow.
Friday, August 10, 2007
You remember people moving away. There were kids who would move in the middle of the school year. One day you are teasing some poor kid with them, the next they are telling you about Kansas City. The ones who moved in the middle of the year always moved to a "City" of some kind. Then it was the kids who you had shared a couple of years of school with, and this would be the last June you saw them. They would say goodbye to third grade, the Antelope Valley, and you. Then the family would move. Grandparents, retiring from work and constant showering of you with affection, would hit the road. Aunts and Uncles would soon follow. The cousins of course would have to go, even if their parents hit them with belts, even if they promised to come back. Neighbors would come and go, a better job, a better house, a better neighborhood. Teachers you had hoped to have the next year would be gone before Independence Day. Soccer teammates would leave just as soon as you started to remember their older sister's name.
And that was life. Person after person, family after family, crush after crush, best friend after best friend would leave the Antelope Valley. And you? You stayed.
You got the keys to your house so you could come and go as you pleased while your parents did anything BUT parent. You would sneak drinks, or pills, or porn. You made plans to join the masses, to get out! You were never coming back once your feet or tires hit the asphalt. You categorized the things that made you happy, the things that made you sad, and the things that did nothing at all. You knew what was going in you backpack/trunk/cardboard box that would help you keep living. And you planned. You put maps on your walls. You put push pins in possible destinations for your wandering heart. You ranked all of your friends in order of likelihood to join you in a cross country bus trip to a strange town. Every girl you met, you would picture them standing with you next to some lake you had only heard about on television or read about in books, hoping the picture looked right. It would consume your every thought. And one day you did it. You got out.
You left at the end of one season, and were home before the next season was finished. You walked out of your front door for the last time and the leaves on the trees were still a magnificent green, and you were back before they left the branches.
Some of your friends had moved on. Some had stuck around. You would tell stories of the things you saw and the things you did, and no one knew if you were lying, but you didn't have to. You had been ALIVE for 3 months, and these poor suckers didn't change at all. The reasons you came back? Not important. You would tell anyone what they wanted to hear. It was a girl. It wasn't what you were looking for. Your roommate was a bastard. Your band was more important than whatever you were doing there. You didn't fit in.
But really you were scared. It wasn't as easy as all of these people had made it out to be. But, really, you weren't in their heads. You didn't know anything of the sleepless nights, the empty kisses, the warm drinks. You just knew they were gone and you would never see them again.
So you tried again. Or you tried to make plans to try again, but you didn't go anywhere. You told your girlfriend you were moving, and broke up with her, only to have to admit a month later that you weren't going anywhere and you still loved her. And that was life.
Till you tried to make plans again. And they fell through. And again. And again. And again.
You still lived here, but your address changed faster than you could, or wanted to, forward the mail. You made new friends, and you lost old ones. And then one day you made it happen. You left again, but this time not for good, just for a while. And you missed everyone you left behind, until it was time to come back. And you don't know if you wanted to. Not because this new place was anything special, but because where you were heading was nowhere special either.
But you showed up that afternoon. And nothing had changed. Hair was longer, or shorter. Friends missed you, or didn't. Your bed was warm, or it wasn't. But you lied in it. Your old routines became new routines. Your old fights became new fights. Your old life became your new life.
Until it wasn't your life anymore.
So you jump from a couch to a guest bed to a borrowed bed to your own bed. And you make new friends. And you meet new women. And every morning you wake up alone. And sometimes there is coffee. Sometimes there is breakfast. Sometimes there is nothing.
And here you are. Your almost 25. And your friends are hearing the same rumblings they have heard a thousand times before. Some new city. Some new plan. Some new life. And you understand if they don't believe you. And you understand if they think you are crazy. And you understand if they think you will fail. Because you have all those same thoughts every time you tell anyone what you want to do. You look into eyes of lovers and friends and strangers and hope to see some sort of encouragement, some sort of support. But it's not there, and you don't blame them. You won't hold it against them, because you'll probably need their couch in a few months anyways.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
This mix is for my friend Bobb. It has bands we talked about last night, and it has songs that hit my melancholy of late. I'm not finding the words right now, so I'll just let the mix speak for itself.
Maybe Just a Minute - http://www.megaupload.com/?d
Mystery Achievement - The Pretenders
Your Little Hoodrat Friend - The Hold Steady
Every Man Has A Molly - Say Anything
When The Heart Breaks Deep - David Dondero
Christmas Lights - Paul Baribeau
Soft Pyramids - Q And Not U
Consequence Of Sounds - Regina Spektor
All Your Faithless Loyalties - Two Gallants
Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven - Saves the Day
Martyr Me - The Get-Up Kids
Wont Be The First Time - As Friends Rust
Happy Birthday To Me (Feb. 15) - Bright Eyes
Excerpts From Various Notes Strewn Around The Bedroom Of April Connolly, Feb. 24 - Cursive
The City - The Dismemberment Plan
Reptilia - The Strokes
Posted by anthony at 4:29 PM
I own a large package. It is not my dick. It is a box of self-destruction. It manifests itself in areas of addiction: booze, women, writing, music, using people for my own happiness. I make horrible decisions. I say horrible things. I look out for only myself. And that is me. There is no hidden aspect of my life. Ask me, and I will tell you. I don't worry about coming off as a sinner or a saint, because I am usually both. I just worry about living. It gets me into trouble. It makes me feel alive.
I have spent the last week thinking about the same thing. How to approach it. How to handle it. How to respond to it without being crazy. But I am crazy. And it is wearing me down. And I think they know it. And I think I am playing into their hands.
I owe bobb a mix, it will show up tomorrow.
Monday, August 06, 2007
so, about this "digging" thing. to be completely honest, I am not a big fan. When someone says they "dig" something I think they are just trying to relate to me to convince me to not do drugs. But for the sake of the MeMe, I will continue to refer to it has the seven things I dig about Whit.
- He invites me to dinner/cocktail parties. As you could probably guess, I am not much of a dinner/cocktail party guy, I tape bottles of malt liquor to my hands for shit sakes. But Whit still invites me over, and to show my appreciation I wait until the third round of drinks to suggest shots. And I keep my pants on.
- He is ALWAYS listening to music. When I lived there and when I didn't if he was awake there was music playing. All sorts of styles, all sorts of awesome.
- He yells. He yells at co-workers. He yells at patrons. He yells at the Steelers.
- The story of the popsicle-corndog. Ask him to tell you about it. It is a gem.
- He is the type of dad I would want to be if I ever became a father.
- He never lets an opportunity to make a joke pass. Especially if it is about girls from the local high school.
- He is a great friend. He has already help me when I was in one self-imposed jam, and I know when I get into another, self-imposed or not, he will be there to help, or laugh at me, or buy me a beer. It all works for me.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
My understanding of how rain is obtained in movies is this: person pulls up a truck filled with water, hose attached, turned on, "it rains".
My understanding of how decisions are made in my life are this: person pulls up a truck filled with ideas, I become attached, turned on, "it rains". (it's not as sexual as it sounds, I promise.)
I've touched on this before, but I am going to try to expand the thought process this time.
When looking back on the things I did when I encountered the fork in the road I see a pattern, a way of thinking. I never pulled over. I never asked for directions. I just put on a blinker and went. Deciding on which colleges to apply to? Yup. Deciding to move? Yup. Falling in love? Yup. Falling out of love? That one too.
This has led to many days in unfamiliar places. Sometimes I wished to go back, and I tried, and I just ended up leaving again. Somethings I don't miss at all. I can fill a column of accounting homework paper with homes and jobs and friends and lovers that I have not and will have no problem never seeing again. (double negative? probably.) Then I also have a column that I miss tremendously, some weeks more than ever. I want to go back to those things. Some I have tried. And some of the time it didn't work out. And other times it did. And other times I haven't even been back, because the opportunity presented itself and I couldn't take it, or it never showed up.
I exchange other people's happiness for my own. I am a selfish person who requires a lot of attention and a constant update on what the people around me are feeling and thinking. Something may work for a while in keeping me happy/together/in one place, but once it stops I am done. I don't try to fix things. I don't try to figure out why that thing no longer works for me. And I don't try to figure out if I am the cause of the problem.
This all comes from my dealing with some feelings the last few days I have woke up. I feel I have been pushed into dissatisfaction with life, but really I have just been waiting for an excuse to drive that car into a lake like I'm a Kennedy.
3:15 in the morning. My eyes are about to go on strike. We are in last minute negotiations, they want rest, I want more work. I am prepared to hire scabs. I know some people, their families are hungry, they wouldn't mind reading blogs and myspace pages all night long. In fact, they would love to. I hope if my eyeballs do strike the other unions don't try to show any solidarity. The brain seems into not letting things affect him, at least lately. And the liver, he's on a leave of absence. Sort of like Joe from Joe versus the Volcano, just no sunkist or whatever. (I just realized I don't know why Joe stops working in that movie, oh well.) It's those pesky fingers that I worry about. They are always trying to rally all the other unions together. They are some real motherfuckers, could be why I like them so much.
BREAKING NEWS: EYES AGREE TO KEEP WORKING. WORKDAYS 23 MINUTES SHORTER!
Now that all of that is settled, the post. My life is nothing but late night phone calls. At least now it is. It's either calls from friends to warn of cops, or calls from cops to warn about friends, or guys who don't like my taste in things, like blog titles or figures or sports teams, or girls wondering where I am, or people looking for money, or my dad looking for money. My life is all of those things. And for good measure there are also the late night calls I wish would be made. But my phone doesn't ring with those numbers or names. And I don't use those numbers either, even though it is all I think about. (side note: good to see being sober doesn't hinder my poor decision making abilities or curb my tendencies of crazy.) I don't wake up thirsty for water, just someone's voice. Someone who wants me to be with them, wants me dead, or wants me to die with them. It's not a horrible thing to wish for. Besides, I have free nights and weekends.
Friday, August 03, 2007
ok, ok, ok. I haven't put anything up on e-bay. And I haven't updated this. But come on, I've been busy not drinking.
It's a lot of work. Not because I crave it, but because it is such a common part of my life. But I have been doing it. I have been tempted, that's for sure. I've stayed strong though.
Just wanted to let it be known that the not-drinking hasn't killed me. I am going to bed. I have an idea for a post. It makes me smile.