Future greatness

I see very bright things in this little guys future (I am a proud, bragging father).

Disaster of miniscule proportions

One trip each to Kmart, grocery store, and Wallgreens.

Four cans Hormel Premium Chunk White Turkey, one can Chef Boyardee Overstuffed Beef Ravioli, one can Chef Boyardee Mini-Bites, two cans Hormel Chili with Beans, one Dinty Moore Big Bowl Beef Stew, one box Original Club Crackers, half block of brie, one jar Goober Grape peanut butter and jelly mix, and one loaf white bread.

Six two liter bottles of water, one two liter bottle of Gatorade, ten beers, three bottles of wine, and a pack and a half of cigarettes.

Eight D batteries, six AA batteries, twelve AAA batteries, two 9 volt batteries, three flashlights, two headlamps, one camping light, one pack of candles, six boxes of matches, three lighters, propane grill BBQ with spare propane, three fully charged IPODS, and a computer to track the impending doom.

Half-day of work on Wednesday, and a “snow” day on Thursday.

Shutters closed, windows locked, drains cleared, mop ready.

Last supper of pizza and sangria with friends.

Then wait, and wait, and wait. . . .

Wake up to the bluest sky known to man, dry floors, and four messages informing me that “snow” day is canceled and my presence is required in the office.

Roll into work an hour and a half late with some explaining to do.

My first “hurricane”; fuck the weather people.

Sunday Scribblings

This week’s word is Forbidden

Dear Diary,

Dad is the greatest! I know I didn’t always feel this way. That I have spent a good deal of time complaining about not being allowed to attend school, play sports, make friends, or even leave the four walls of this house, but I see now that I was angry about nothing. As it turns out, father has been hand-picking me friends, and storing them in the “forbidden” room in the basement. He does it at night when he thinks I am asleep. By my count, he has already chosen nine boys my age. He must be planning a big surprise, because he hasn’t said anything about them. He is really good at keeping secrets.

I can’t wait for the big day, I only hope that it happens soon, and that all the boys like me; I have never had friends before.

Okay, I have to act like I am asleep now, or he will not be able to go tonight….

I love you dad!

Sunday Scribblings

This week's word is Wedding

Darling,

Your constant and incessant nagging has finally paid dividends, I wrote my wedding vows last night!! I know how eager you have been to see them, so I attached them below for your review. Please let me know if you have any thoughts, questions, or concerns; otherwise, I will see you at the church tomorrow!! Big day!!

Your obedient man

****

I, painfully unprepared, take you, pushing me every inch of the way, to be my wife, my partner in this Godforsaken life and my last fuck. I will begrudgingly accept our union and try and sink a little more into my own self-despair each day. I will neither trust nor respect you; I will laugh at you, and cry because of you; cope with you through good times, and run during bad. With this, I give you my middle finger, what is left of my decaying heart, and not an ounce of love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.

Do I know you?

My initial thoughts were of my family sitting at home, happily ignorant; of my decision to swing by the bar for "one more round"; and of my unwavering defense of the Second Amendment. But as the moments passed, I fell into my overly-observant ways. Unlike the stereotype, he was neither menacing nor mean. He bordered on polite and felt strangely familiar. He wore a cheap suit, Costco shirt and a classy red tie clad with small Scotty dogs. His black shoes were worn, but serviceable. He emanated exhaustion. Truth be told, as far as I could see, the only difference between him and I at that moment was that his hand held the gun, and my tongue served as its resting place.

Sunday Scribblings

This weeks word was Invitation

It was 2:47 p.m. on a Saturday when it arrived. It was between a J. Crew catalog and a jury summons.

* * * *

The envelope was light blue, bordered by multi-colored, hand drawn surfboards; my name and address was written in orange puff paint.

* * * *

He joked once about doing something such as this, but I never thought he would follow through with it.

* * * *

Two things were contained within.

* * * *

He was thirty-three; at various points throughout his life he had been a professional student, bartender/waiter, comic, international playboy, pubic health worker, client service representative, and attorney; no stone was left unturned.

* * * *

First, a shrinky dink in the shape of He-Man, with the following inscription on the back:

To: Big B
Date/time: Saturday, October 18, 2009, 1:30 p.m.
Place: Astoria Park
Attire: Active wear (a MUST!)
Bring: Hamm’s/Pabst (cases); Pop Rocks (many);
Twister; red rubber balls (five); rope

* * * *

He always was a planner—something I did not hold in high regard—and would settle for nothing less than perfection.

* * * *

Second, an RSVP card (again light blue, but adorned with sailboats):

Please Circle:

Yes*

* There is no other option. There is no return envelope (for obvious
reasons). You will be there. Do not FUCK this up.

* * * *

The sounds emanating from my body at that moment—a muddled mess of laughter, sobs, snorts, and shouts of confusion—were, as I imagined, exactly what he intended. After regaining my composure, I placed his invitation in my pocket and found myself, for the first time in my life, looking forward to a funeral.

Good, I guess....

The question was simple: “what word defines you?” As he sat, reflecting on his life, all he could summon was the word Good (definition: “serving the desired purpose or end; suitable”). He was a Good student; a Good husband, brother, son; a Good friend; and, as far as he could tell, a Good employee. But what he was not—painful as it was to digest—was Great (definition: “remarkable or outstanding in magnitude, degree, or extent”). In that moment, he felt his life squandered, for people are inherently Good (i.e., suitable), but only a select few are Great. It is those individuals that make the world better, the rest . . . they just make it a more palatable place to exist.

Sunday Scribblings

Fuck the “best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup” shit. I want mine to be dark as the ocean floor, thick as oatmeal, and bitter as rust. No sugar, sans milk and a cup the size of a mixing bowl. I expect nothing less than a slap to the head and a kick in the balls. It is the offensiveness of the experience that jolts me to life, not the copious amounts of caffeine. You may question my approach, but this early morning reminder of the painful and truly grotesque allows me to make it through each and every day, for no matter how bad the remainder may get, it will never be worse than its detestable start.*


*Today's word is Coffee (http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/). I would like to thank Quin Browne (http://www.quinbrowne.com/) for introducing me to this exercise.

Into the black

He watched as she bent invitingly over the bar in an obvious attempt to attract the attention of the overworked bartender. The hatred he sought—over her youth, sexual prowess and ever increasing control over him—could not be summoned. He was instead gripped by the fact that she was everything he ever longed for, but nothing he needed. As the justifications ran internally wild, he could not escape the reality that, at twenty years his junior, she may have been old enough to touch, but was altogether too young to be decent for a man of his age…profession…and marital status. For a blinking moment, he knew what he had to do; but before his conscious could catch hold—as it always threatened in moments of solitude—she was back, eagerly displaying the drink he didn’t want, but desperately needed. With out it, there would be no her. Without her, there would be no purpose.

“Bottoms up,” he whispered, as he knocked back any chance he had to escape the destruction of his future.

My words, your potential problem

They are my words, thousands on thousands of them—but my name is nowhere to be found. For upwards of twelve hours a day, five days a week, I slave over lengthy pieces, only to send them off into the world as the words of another. I knew as much when I took the position—I just did not realize that the archaic structure, rules and constant time constraints would drain me of my desire to put words on paper. If I were more skilled, I would find a way to break out of the traditional, but I am a conformist, deathly afraid to rock the boat and make my superiors question their decision to put their reputation in my hands. For me, no matter how painful it is to watch something I have written walk out the door without so much as a mention of my existence, it is more painful still to know that any possible disaster will have a minimal impact on my career, but could quickly thrust those that trust me into an unflattering light.

Almost there

Seventy-seven minutes left in my twenties; somehow I expected something different, I guess I was wrong.

Welcome to the neighborhood

All I wanted was a cigarette on my terrace. It was late. I was tired. She lives across the street. I do not know why, but I was drawn to her open window. Nothing outside of the ordinary was occurring—she was fully clothed, sitting on her couch, seemingly watching television, stroking her dog—but I was transfixed. I fully intended to look away if she noticed me; she did; I didn’t. In a moment of panic, I ventured off my intended course, hastily concluding that by nervously averting my eyes, my innocent gaze would appear as something sinister, so I maintained eye contact; plan deviation has always been my downfall.

For the first time since the incident, I ventured back out; her shades were drawn. I fear that I am now the creepy guy across the way. . . . I moved into my apartment five days ago. This is going to be a long year for the both of us.

Food tales

I received the following email the other day. I found it quite humorous, so, with permission, I am reprinting it.

***

i think only you would appreciate these thoughts. i was eating blueberries and as i was placing yet another handful in my mouth, careful to only eat the ones with the crunchy taught consistency of fish eggs, i glimpsed one that had been squished open. a wave of revulsion cascaded over me as i saw the white grape-like flesh inside. i had imagined that, like their outer layer, the insides were a resplendent deep blue, almost black. i imagined a skull opened with the brains showing in my moment of disgust as i placed this lone broken soldier to rest with his soft and structural integrity-compromised brethren. the feeling passed and then i finished the box.

i also cut open an organic red bell pepper only to find a poor mutant half grown pepper child living within the guts of its healthy yet heirloom tomato shaped host. i imagined the movie "the hills have eyes". then i threw it away and proceeded to eat said host with my fingers.

Off the radar

Sorry for the extended absence, the past few weeks have been hectic. If all goes as planned, things should slow down soon enough.

In the mean time.....

what happened to all the fun we were supposed to have together
How the fuck am I supposed to know
but you promised
I know . . . and
I hate you
I know that too
you’re a bitch
always have been
do you even care
I quit doing that years ago, I thought you noticed
I need a drink
I beat you to it
why does that not surprise me
go fuck yourself

Once bitten

This is something I wrote a while back. I got to thinking about it as I spent the better part of five minutes this evening chewing the nail on my thumb:

While they serve a plethora of practical purposes, I primarily view my fingers as a snack. The way I see it, they are the smorgasbord of the body, with each individual digit presenting its own cornucopia of flavor. The beauty lies in the fact that no two bites are the same, as each is dictated almost entirely by that days actions. For example, I may dive into a salty, luscious, vibrant nail or cuticle on my left hand in the morning, only to spend my afternoon feasting on a sour nub that requires a butcher’s precision on my right. As you watch me feed, you may find yourself repulsed, but before you judge, think about it, what better way to surprise yourself than with a nibble of the unknown? Now I realize that many are disgusting by my actions, but to those individuals, this is all I have to say: fuck off, I don’t criticize your meals, you shouldn’t criticize mine.

Decisions

My career path has gone in a direction that would offend most in my profession. I started out on top, nabbing what I, and many of those around me, considered to be a life altering position at a very prestigious outfit. After three years of constant abuse, I bolted and took a job at a less reputable company with the expectation of permanence. Unfortunately, smaller stature did not equate with a better life, so I cut bait after a year and took a term post on this island that was necessarily limited to two years. As that time quickly dwindles, I am now faced with a decision that will affect the rest of my life. I am no longer the young, energetic, workaholic I once was and am now unwilling to sacrifice my future wellbeing for another’s bottom line. The problem is, I have no clue what that step should be. As I confront this problem, I realize that everything I find interesting in life renders my six figure education—which I am still paying for—useless. The rational side of me says that I should give it another go and continue to try and prove to myself, and those around me, that I did not make a mistake in going down this road and that I still have something to offer to the world through my institutional instilled knowledge; but the irrational side of me sees this as an opportunity to break free from the daily grind and finally do all the things I talk about, but never have the courage to undertake. I have a restaurant to open, a clothing store to look after, an adventure company to run, a world to travel, and a very bad book to write. This time though, unlike the others, the fear of continuing to do what is comfortable, for no other reason than that is what I am trained to do, scares me more than striking out on my own and failing miserably.

A beautiful beginning

The manner in which the two of you interact reminds me of a schoolyard romance: the touches innocent, but meaningful; the giggles constant, but genuine; the looks long, but appreciated. When your hand brushes her skin, it is impossible not to notice her lips part and eyes tighten in what can best be described as rapture. Outwardly, the two of you lack commonality; you are an accomplished professional with the world at your finger tips, she bubbles with youthful exuberance, searching for the meaning of the life she is just now creating. Nonetheless, there is a truthfulness to your budding relationship that is taken for granted at our age. As an outsider, I envy the way in which you relate, the chainlessness of your combined existence, and the blind happiness that keeps the both of you coming back for more.

If you do nothing else today, watch this

I watched this for the first time today, and besides being struck by the pure and utter joy on the faces of all those involved, I was left with a profound sense of hope; in what I am not sure, just hope.

http://www.vimeo.com/1211060?pg=embed&sec=1211060

Exhaustion

The first thing to go is my patience, without it I begin to attack viciously those around me, blaming them for all that life has seemingly failed to provide me at that given moment. The next is my civility, allowing me to vocalize all things normally kept hidden in the darkest sections of my mind. Following that is rationality, plunging me into a world dominated by crippling doubt and a sea of what ifs and why not. Finally, and when I have truly bottomed out, I lose the ability to control my emotions. As the days string themselves together, and the collection of these normally hidden defects magnify, I become unrecognizable, lacking even the basic abilities usually associated with adulthood. This is when I begin to scare those around me. It cannot continue.

The circle of life

The fear of losing those I hold dear not only keeps me awake at night, but often causes me to drown those I love with constant affection. I now fear that this unchecked desire has lead to the unfortunate—and ultimately preventable—tragedy before me.

There were signs a few months back that my need to give you all that this world had to offer was burning you out, but I ignored them, choosing instead to chalk up your antics to the heat, childhood angst, stress, etc. I know now that I was wrong—that I should have paid more attention to the outward manifestations of your internal turmoil; that I should have set you free and allowed you to grow and blossom at your own speed.

As I say these final words, please know that I will live with this failure for the remainder of my days, and that no matter how many others come after you, you will always be the one that had my heart first.



10-1-07 to 7-1-08.