All The Same

Another year down soon. One step closer. A new year comes, but they're all starting to look the same.

I'm not ready to say goodbye.

But later tonight I guess I'll have to.

I'm running out of ways to hold on. We break down the years, by the moment, by the anniversary, by the symbolic event. And now by the simplest standard of all...the calendar. I'm running out of ways to hold onto the best year of my life. But for the first time, I'm sort of ok with that.

Really...I am.

But all the same...I wouldn't mind figuring away around it.

A Very Jewish Christmas

"How does a man who knows so little, know about so much?" - T.O. Hob

"It ain't the parts kid, it's the wiring." - T.O. Hob

Belated Merry Christmas.

And an early Happy New Year.

Strange days.

Christmas Eve... Dream of interviewing Bon Jovi at a strange radio station while WRSU News Team mingles with members of That 70's Show and several strange police officers. Work as usual. Lunch at KFC where I was accosted by a crackhead with a Gerber Baby Obsession. Dinner with The Old Man and The Kid, even though I'd already eaten. Midnight Mass where I sat alone because The Kid and Spaz showed up a little late and sat six rows behind me even though I'd saved them seats. A little work a little wandering. In bed by 3 A.M. asleep by 6.

Christmas Day...Awake at 7 A.M., just over an hour after I'd fallen asleep in the first place. Right over to North Haledon to be there when the kids came down to open their gifts. Wrapping paper, early morning sunny dispositions, annoying familial tendencies. I got a toaster oven and frying pans. Fuck am I old. Back to FairLawn to remedy "The Three S's" (Shit, Shower, Shave). Over to The Old Man's house with The Kid because his wife has disappeared leaving him home alone on the holiday. Four hours of watching movies I've already seen. Mindless chit-chat. Miss Christmas dinner with the rest of the family to take the old man out. Nothing open but overcrowded Chinese restaurants. End up treating The Old Man and The Kid to Christmas dinner at a Chinese buffet. Merry fucking Christmas. Could have ended up at a bar I didn't want to be at with a bunch of people it would have been ok to be around. Instead I go to the movies...alone. Quench my new Phantom of the Opera/Musicals/Emmy Rossum obsession with an 11:00 showing of Joel Schumacher's Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of The Opera at Willowbrook. Out by 1:30. Marvel at how different the world looks. Blast Music of the Night as I zip down Annie's Road. 7-11 for Snapple Iced Tea. Home by 2:15. Read Johnathan Strange & Mr Norrel. Fifteen minutes of Love, Actually. Fifteen Minutes of Mystic River. One and one half hour of unmentionable blank spot. Asleep by 5 A.M. dreaming of hunting wolves in Paterson with friends I haven't seen for too long.

The Day After...Could go to Connecticut to see old family friend/actor and family. Could go ATV riding. Antioch meeting at 6 P.M. Don't go ATV riding so I can go to Connecticut. Family leaves too late, can't go to Connecticut because I won't be back in time for Antioch. Hour later Antioch is cancelled. Went from having too many things to do, to nothing to do at all. Call Nick to go buy trailer hitch. Stop to see The Kid at the liquor store. We don't need a hitch since he isn't riding tomorrow. Take Nick home. Head up to Best Buy to buy The Day After Tomorrow (starring...) and Napoleon Dynamite (Where'd you spend last summer Napoleon? I told you! Hunting wolverines with my uncle in Alaska.) Best Buy packed tight with post-Christmas shoppers. Fat man me can't stand struggling through aisles clogged with puerile shoppers. Leave without buying DVD's. 7-11 for Snapple Iced Tea. Back to the apartment to plan and plot for tonight and what lies beyond.

Yawn.

Looking back on the last few days I can't see any reason why this wasn't one of the worst weekends of my life. Holidays are all rubbish. Some just suck, some I spend alone, some (like this one) are just plain strange. I spent most of the past several days hovering between alone/bored and crowded/bothered. But...

No one has posted a comment on my blog in months. At least three of the blogs I read regularly haven't updated in the month of December. Of the rest only two have updated in the past week. I haven't talked to many of my friends lately. I won't have a radio show this week, so I won't be back in New Brunswick. I didn't have an Antioch meeting tonight so it will be a two week gap in between that. I was looking forward to seeing the Phantom of the Opera...and now I've seen it. I have no plans for New Years. I'm thoroughly shot. But...

As I came out of the movie theater last night I felt that old feeling. The lights were just bending in different ways and the empty parking lot looked to me like a plain of endless possibilties. Feel free to laugh, I laughed when I thought it too. And today as I left 7-11 with my Snapple Iced Tea I watched the snow slowly falling in the sky that grew darker and for the second I thought...not so bad.

Not so bad.

In The Wings

"Red Rover! Red Rover! We're a going down..." - T.O. Hob

Where did December go? I've only posted three times this month. I've been a bad blogger. I know I had my excuses, I had to come to grips with a certain story because I have this obsession with closure within the calendar year, and an even greater obsession with finishing certain stories before I start others. But even that was over a week ago and I've only posted once since then. I just can't seem to get back on track.

Maybe it's because the blogs I read have become somewhat boring. Nobody posts anymore. Between my four favorites they have exactly three posts in the month of December. Some of the others seem to be searching for themselves, while others seem to think they have found themselves (although I assure you they need to still be looking). I need to know what's going on people. You're friggin' killing me.

No one comes here anymore. Well, some people do, and trust me I do keep track now, but the readership now lacks the numbers and the variety I once imagined it to have. And considering I was only imagining like five people a day that's saying something. I fear the readers part of this blog has run its course. But that won't stop me from writing.

I'm having a tough couple weeks. Usually my real life is quiet while the world in my head is exploding, and when real life is crazy the world in my head gets nice and calm. I've lacked that zen balance thing for a bit now. Everything's going apeshit.

And that's what I'll be talking about for the next little while. But for right now I want to share two little stories.

I bought an Ipod last week. When my father found out how much I'd spent on it he went through the roof. He knew it was none of his business, and he had no say in the matter. But he still prides himself on butting in on relatively insignificant matters that have nothing to do with him. I think it comes from the fact that he's never really been a major decision maker in his children's lives. He couldn't even be the disciplinarian with me because from about the age of 12 he knew I could kick his ass, and the only kind of discipline he ever understood was physical. So he yells and screams about the Ipod, and then, realizing there's nothing he can do about something I already purchased (and enjoy immensely) he decided to get all Machiavellian. If he can't scold me he'll find a way to piss me off. One little tantrum about the Ipod turned into a four day stress-fest that resulted in me quitting (again) and the rant that appeared here on Friday night. I'm absolutely convinced that I was asked to fire two people (although they did have it coming) strictly because I bought that damn Ipod. The man has the conscience of Satan. My father is going to take every good idea I've ever given him and use the...to someone else's benefit, jut because of this damn Ipod.

So after the lecture about how something like an Ipod is a waste of money (which, well let's face it...) what does my brother ask for for Christmas? A friggin' Ipod! And whatsmore, my father is not only getting it for him, but he sounds excited about it...and he specifically asked for what accessories I had with mine so that he could buy the kid the stuff one level up.

I really do love this place. Where else would the world so eagerly play into the hands of my fears and insecurities?

Last night I dreamt of oddities I may never be able to explain. But the Angel which has so often graced my dreams, is absent as of late making every dream just a little less pleasant. But last night someone took her place. Someone else walked through the slightly skewed world that exists only in my head. I enjoyed the change of pace immensely. Although I can't imagine anyone else would have been nearly as thrilled as me. But last night's dream companion carried words of caution which left me reeling...because afterall how frightening is it when even your dreams try to convince you of something you've long been deadset against?

"Where have you gone, my fondest of friend?
Where will you be tomorrow?
Why did we stop...and not start again?
Why don't you share in my sorrow?"
- T.O. Hob's Ballad

Whiskey Confessionals: The Ineffable Prophecies

"[Humans] were born into a world that was against them in a thousand little ways, and then devoted most of their energies to making it worse." - G00d Omens

"No-one gives a crap about Mike; Thats why i'm acting nasty. You know what you can do with your life; Introduce it up your jacksie." - The Streets, Empty Cans

It's been that kind of week. Been sick, been tired. Been half out of my mind. One year blog anniversary comes and goes with barely a nod, I tell the story that in part changed my life without so much as blinking. I'm beaten, battered, and broken. I bought an Ipod. I saw The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou in NYC with Crago and Todd G. I owe the IRS at least $60K. I've fired two people in two days, just a week before Christmas. People like to yell at me. Plans don't go as they should. My head hurts. The liquor store is closed so all I have is a 357 Ml. bottle of Jack. I don't even like Jack. It will have to do.

I went to dinner with my father tonight, completely by coincidence, and mostly because he didn't seem to want to be alone. But instead of chatting nice about what's going on in our lives (which is nil anyhow) we talk business and he tells me over and over again how I'm shit and my brother's the hard worker. Me shit? Maybe so, but the kid the only hard worker? My ass.

I don't get it. Never have. Maybe never will. Fuck it. What's next?

Fucked up if you ask me. Fucking raw. Makes me mad.

All I want to do is get out for a bit. Not be stuck here for a few minutes, grab a drink, shoot the shit, hell I'd even go bowling I'm so bored. But no. Not right now I guess. Instead I'll sit here, talking about this, and waiting for my show on Tuesday night. Waiting for The Phantom of The Opera to come out in the theaters. Waiting for anything else that seems to remotely interest me.

Because right now...it's just me.

"Or maybe it's that I realized that it is true; No-ones really there fighting for you in the last garrison. No-one except yourself that is, no-one except you. You are the one who's got your back 'til the last deed's done." -The Streets, Empty Cans

"It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people." - Good Omens

I know. I mean I think I do. We're all a bit alike really.

All of us.

Which means I'm a bit like them.

The other Palombas.

Sometimes I see it in The Kid, no matter how much he tries to be a little fucker the real deal slides through. He just can't help it sometimes. But the more he fights it, the more likely it is he'll never get it to all shake out.

It's right scary with The Old Man. How much I'm like him sometimes. We laugh alike. Never at the same things. Never at the same time. But sometimes in the exact same way. We sound alike sometimes. I'm more eloquent, I use bigger words, I can ad-lib better than he can. My voice is stronger. But, just sometimes, our voices sound alike. We say a word the same way. We roll the bass up from our chests the same way when we're angry. We make the same noise when we get really frustrated. We both say "fuck" a lot. We dial phones alike, and hold the handset in the same way. Our fingers move in the same way when we're searching for something on our desks. We scratch our noses in the same way. When we forget to comb our hair in the morning we both get that freakishly large offset widow's peak...no matter how much we fight it. I think we both smile the same way, but I don't know for sure. Neither one of us smiles enough to tell for sure.

But none of that makes a difference. None of it ever matters. They're both Palombas, but they're so much more like each other than I am like either one of them. I'm the Other Palomba. And they never really let me forget that.

I love them though. Like I love a lot of people, just more. Because they're my family. All I got sometimes. I always have been, and always will be, willing to pull them out of the fire when it gets a bit too hot. But it doesn't go both ways. The Old Man hangs me out to dry, and The Kid just leaves me hanging.

Fuck all.

I do all the work and The Kid gets just as much as I do. The Old Man stomps and shouts, and tries to browbeat me into becoming more like him in the exact ways I'd do well to not be like him. All the while I stand here trying to keep some sort of integrity. Hold onto the little bit of dignity that I have left.

The Old Man likes to remind me that everything I have came from him. And I like to remind him that it's his fault I'm here in the first place and he at least owes me the chance to make good on it. He's the reason I'm here at all (although that dubious distinction seems to be spread a bit thin lately) and I can't figure out which one of us resents that fact more on a daily basis.

I know, I got the shit end of the stick. But I can't help but think that the shit end of this stick is pretty sweet in and of itself.

Not too long ago someone I like to consider a friend said he didn't understand how people could say all the private shit they said in these things. Other people read that shit he said. Well...maybe, and maybe not. And if they do, maybe they get it. Or maybe they didn't, and now they do. Maybe they read this and walk away and think...sometimes the shit end of the stick isn't all that bad.

"I don't see why it matters what is written. Not when it's about people. It can always be crossed out."- Good Omens

"This is the end of the something i did not want to end, Begining of hard times to come. But something that was not meant to be is done, And this is the start of what was." - The Streets, Empty Cans

I Probably Will

"Think I'm going down to the well tonight
and I'm going to drink till I get my fill
And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it
but I probably will." - Bruce Springsteen, Glory Days

"It's going to be like Plato's Symposium, just with more red wine and less gay sex." - T.O. Hob

It's been one year. One year now since I started this blog. I don't think there has ever been another time in my life where twelve months has taken me so far away from where I started.

But I spent so much time thinking of how I wanted to tell this story that I talked myself right out of telling it. So instead I'll play it safe, but for a second, and come back another time with the whole story.

So here we go...

"You will curse the day you did not do what that the Phantom asked of you." - The Phantom of the Opera

Every really important night in my life has happened in the past year. The best night of my life. The worst night of my life. The night I got really drunk. The night we had a lot of fun.

The night I almost died.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about that one lately. A lot of serious thinking. And I think I've finally figured it out. I was at my worst that night, The Darkness had closed in and I couldn't see past the next few hours. I knew then it was over. I didn't know why, or how, or even exactly when, but I knew there wasn't long left. I don't think I've ever been more frightened then I was right then.

And then something funny happened. She showed up.

Now I know I've told this part before, and it was always more fun to speculate about who and what and when and where, but here's the simple truth of it. Anyone could have walked through that door right then and I think it would have helped immensely, it had just been that kind of night. I was glad it was her though, glad that it was someone I liked.

I'm big on love and respect, but when I think back on that night there's another feeling that I didn't always understand, I didn't always like.

For a long time I was afraid it was a wicked feeling, but now I know it wasn't. It was love. It was respect. But it was more...it was gratitude. A crushing, overwhelming sense of debt that to this day still leaves me reeling. I know I would have died that night, not sure how or why, but I know. And I didn't. Solely because someone showed up.

Pick apart my insecurities, smother me with talk of abandonment issues, bury me under a pile of psychological mumbo jumbo but all I know is that I was dead...and now I'm not. And I owe at least a small part of that to her.

Say what you will, but everything that has happened from that moment until now, and everything that will happen from now on in my life can be, in some small way, traced back to the moment that she walked in that door. Can you even imagine how strange that must feel?

But now...well now I have to start looking. I have to continue to make great friends, have to continue to find out who I am, have to start looking for love in all sorts of places. I have to keep going.

The stories have to be told.

If I'm ever lucky enough to grow old and have grandkids every story I will ever tell them has already taken place. It's a safe bet that if a story starts "there was a night when", then that night probably happened in the past year. It's feels so odd to know that you've come so far, and still have so far left to go.

There are so many great things, so many great people, so many great nights to remember in the past year. There was the first night, there was that night, and now there will be tonight. I'll always remember this as the year that almost was, but thankfully wasn't. One year ago tonight I was, and now I am.

And...

I hope when I grow old I don't sit around thinking about it but...

There: Getting Over It

"Old is when you stop worrying about how far you've come and start worrying about how far you've got left to go." - T.O. Hob

Giddy. I wake up at three in the morning absolutely giddy about the fact that I've managed to fall asleep, only to realize that the fact that I am happy about falling asleep means I'm already awake. Now it's three-thirty and I'm stuck with a wicked case of cotton mouth and severe morning wood in the middle of the night.

Sometimes I can't decide whether God loves me or or just loves to fuck with me.

But this isn't really an entry. It's just a note. A reminder. I'm almost there. Almost. Not quite, but...well you get it. I thought I was there for a moment, but no. Not yet.

There's a story coming, the one that lets me move on to all the rest of the stories. I was so ready to tell it and then I realized I still had some *ahem* issues to sort through. Some things I had to get over.

It comes with the realization I've been here for almost a year. Doing this for far longer than I intended. I've been here for almost twenty-four years. Doing anything for far longer than I intended. I'm sort of ok with wearing out my welcome though, I'm becoming a pro at things like that.

So yeah, I'm getting there. Getting over things one by one and getting ready to tell a story which might just set loose on the world an unchecked plague of me-ness. Wouldn't that be something?

So the thing I've gotten over at three-thirty in the morning that set this all in motion?

Singing.

As I sit here quietly (paper thin walls in this place mate) listening to The Phantom of The Opera soundtrack I've gotten over the desire. It no longer bothers me that I can't sing.

Afterall it just wouldn't be fair if I could do everything, now would it?

And Bobby McGee

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." - Janis Joplin

I crossed over the Fair Lawn Ave. Bridge last night while listening to Joplin's Pearl. I came off the bridge to a green light and slowly rolled onto Route 2o when out of the corner of my eye I saw a bright red blur that wasn't slowing down. The pickup truck had run the red light without so much as slowing and was bearing down on me without remorse.

I remember thinking that I didn't want to die listening to Janis Joplin because while I occasionally appreciate her music, I really don't like it all that much. I would have much rather died listening to something I thoroughly enjoyed.

'Course I didn't die. I couldn't. Not like that at least.

I spun the wheel pulling the nose of my car back onto the wrong side of Route 20 while whipping the tail out into the path of the truck. I leaned into the wheel, and onto the gas pulling the ass of the car just past the front fender of the truck. We didn't miss each other by much...but we did miss.

I got my car pointing in the right direction and moved on.

Me and Bobby McGee was playing on the radio. I thought of how odd that was. That song has come up three times in the past year now. I picked up the guys and made my way to the diner. The tableside jukebox was open to Joplin's Pearl. I made OJ get me change and popped in seven songs worth of quarters. No one even noticed as I hummed along with Bobby McGee...

It's been awhile, eh? I wasn't away. I wasn't doing anything else. I was getting ready. Thinking. There's a story I have to tell before this story moves on. It's a tough one. I was waiting till my time at Rutgers, at WRSU, in New Brunswick ended. But in truth that's all been over for some time now. I just haven't gotten to where I need to be, but now it's time. Not to end anything, or start anything new just yet. It's time to tell that story, so I can keep on telling this one.

"This is just thing number 654 in a continuing series of things I hold onto to keep myself going. This ends I walk out that door and start looking for number 655. Nothing else to it." - Palomba

The Evolution Of A Theoretical Hard-On

"O Rose, Thou Art Sick.
The invisible worm
that flies in the night,
in the howling storm,

has found out thy bed
of crimson joy:
and his dark secret love,
does thy life destroy."
- William Blake, The Sick Rose

I had, in my days of youth, the idea that there existed a perfect sort of love. A love that, when given range, could give a man wings. This love was my hope, my salvation, my one and only ambition.

This love does not exist.

In its place stands a myriad of emotions which float between the tangible and the theoretical. The simple and the sublime.

"In love at a distance, so much of life has to be invented." - Joyce Carol Oates

But what of life at a distance? What happens to a man who can't seem to get a grip on the reality he has been presented? Why is it that those of us with the most simple desires are often those who are left wanting?

Too often people try and forget love. They try and bury it. Try and hide it. Try and stop it from being what it is. I've never understood why anyone would want to get rid of love simply because it hurts. Anything that is worth anything hurts at one point or another.

I think every love I've ever known has hurt, some more than others of course, but every one at least a little. Never stopped me from loving anything or anyone that had some love coming to them, mostly because I knew that one way or the other it would all work out in the end.

"There's been a time in the evolutionary history of everything that works where it didn't. A time in the history of everything that is known when it wasn't." - T.O. Hob

We are so much better than this.

There is that common misconception that love needs to be something other than what it is. That love is a business in which hearts and mind are currency to be bartered and bargained with. People never remember that love is the sort of thing that makes up its own rules as it goes. People always forget that love is unique.

It's for that reason alone that I can love you, and you can not even know me. That I can love someone in ways they wouldn't even understand. It's why someone else's love can be confusing, and why your own love can be downright frightening.

It's why I can say all of that and not feel the least bit sappy, or naive, or romantic.

It's why love can be cold.

This a lesson on life and love from a man who doesn't even have the faintest practical understanding of either.

"Who are you to tell me who I can and cannot love? Fuck you! Who are you to tell me I can't love them? Fuck them! I can love them even if they don't love me!" - Kong



We judge the world too harshly sometimes and other times we simply judge wrong. How is it that we can ignore the folly of those who choose wrong when it is simple to choose right? But we can not forgive those who fail to do right when what is right is near impossible to discern from what is wrong?

Is it because we too do wrong when it is all so simple to do right? Or is it because we would like to think that, despite our histories, we would be able to make the right decision in the face of near insurmountable adversities?

Is it just that we are fools?

"I ain't never had much use for God, and he ain't never had much use for me. But if he needed me all he'd have to do was holler and I'd be there in a jiff. I much expect he'd do the same for me." - Lazarus Jones

I'm not preaching. I swear. I'm just saying. The reason that perfect sort of love doesn't seem to exist is that we won't let it. We're just like that. I can't explain it anymore than you can.

But for some reason I'm constantly trying too.

Maybe it's so that when I figure it out, you can too. Maybe you can ride my coattails into something neither one of us saw coming.

Who knows? Certainly not me. Not yet anyhow. Not by a long shot.

We're going to try and be funny. Try and be witty. Try and be our old selves. We're going to smile, and laugh, and act in ways we never have before just to see what it's like. We're going to continue to be hung up on a past that never happened, a present that is happening all too fast, and a future which could go in so many different directions.

"It's not the end of the world. It just feels that way." - King

So I stand here and shout out to deaf ears, all the while wondering how many words I have to type before I break through that barrier. How many things I have to say before I'm heard. How many emotions I have to experiene, how many thoughts I have to think, how many people, places, and things I have to learn to love before I can figure it all out.

So I stand here, and if, but for a second you stand with me know that I will stand with you when your time comes. When you stand up and make your decisions...I'll be there, if for no other reason than I can be.

I don't know what any of this is guys, and I don't know why I feel the need to put it here. But I do know one thing...

There is no light...we run on.

Conspicuous Consumption: Or The Palimpsest And The Sciolist

"Nobody really knows what it is out there." - LBJ on Vietnam

"And when he gets to heaven,
to St. Peter he will tell,
One more soldier reporting sir
I've served my time in hell."
-Guadalcanal Epitaph

"Believing and seeing are both often wrong." - Robert Strange McNamara, Secretary of Defense, Kennedy & Johnson Administrations

I guess we all fight wars of our own sorts.

Though I wouldn't dream of fighting the most horrible fights.

Much thanks to those who make it so I don't have to...in every possible way.

The Second Coming: The Jesus Lobotomy Returns

"Shit, God owns my ass. I mean, I always knew he owned me...but now he's got all my shit too." - Lazarus Jones



When God rains down on you with madness you need to pray to someone else for sanity.

I knew from the beginning.

When I woke up yesterday morning, after several fitful hours of nightmares, I had the feeling that things were about to be spoiled. I've been wandering since we've last spoke. Stuck in this cage the whole time, but wandering all the same.
As yesterday dragged on three things came to me. Three things would happen. Three simple coincidences. But I had no idea how it would all work out.

By four the pieces had started to fall, by seven the framework was in place. By a quarter after ten I imagine it was all over. And I wasn't there for any of it. In a little over six hours the world changed without me. Good for it.

But last night brought disappointment as well. Don't Tuesdays always?

Life just isn't as easy as it used to be. But for a few moments in there I was hanging tough. For a few moments I was kicking ass. For a few moments I was me. I was wandering free like the Palomba of old.

And then as today wore on, a day that started with such promise, things began to slip. The puzzles pieces cracked and crumbled till they all formed a picture I hadn't intended them to form.

Last night had segued into today and today had suddenly turned ugly.

It ruined it all.

So sitting in my living room I listened carefully as God dictated the new rules.
And then I did it again. I did what only fools do, I made the same mistake twice. I asked for something. Something I shouldn't have asked for. I knew as soon as the words left my mouth...I was in deep shit.

And I still am...

The Former Six Million Dollar Man: The Prelude To The Kong Manifesto

"You did what you could kid, it didn't work out. You just live with it."

"What if you can't?"

"I don't see as you have any other options."

"There're always options, and when there aren't enough you just make more."

I think I've spent every moment of the forty-two hours since NBC called Ohio for George W. Bush thinking about how I would blog about what has to be one of the most severely disturbing incidents of my life. If you know me you understand that my life is really just a series of disturbing incidents so that's saying quite a bit.

I spent all night, and all day, and all night again thinking about what I would say until I realized I didn't have to say it at all...so many other people would say it for me, so here we go:

Forever Haunted More Than Afraid - I don't know this kid, but his blog kicks ass, and his post-election post is pure gold.

Who Do You Work For? - Don't know this kid either, but her pre-election thoughts about this country are pretty damn insightful.

Nocturnal Vizion - A fellow Rutgers alumn who's thoughts on non-voters are spot on.

The Julmeister - Another Rutgers Alumn who is rarely wrong about anything.

One By One The Vultures Pick Away At My Sanity - A mother and a military wife, someone who seems to really understand what's at stake in this country right now and whose opinion probably should matter a little more than the rest of us at a time like this.

And there are so many more, so many thousands and thousands of more. But these are just a few.


I can't not say anything. I can't not say it all. Here's the thing. Just because I am absolutely convinced I am right, doesn't mean everyone else has to be wrong. Maybe George will do better, it's possible, it's at least something to hope for. Hell maybe he did great these past four years. Maybe with someone else in office there would have been more terrorist attacks, more wars with worse casualties, millions of more people without jobs. Maybe Al Gore would have gone skitzo-apeshit and nuked half of the Middle East by now. Maybe John Kerry would have started to catch 'Nam flashbacks in the middle of national defense meetings and begun to drop napalm on Baghdad. I don't fucking know. All I can go off of is how I feel, and what I think. I think this country just made a huge mistake, and I know that millions and millions of people agree with me. But can the 59,329,883 who voted for George Bush be completely wrong? Wouldn't it be easier for the 55,788,192 of us who voted for John Kerry to be wrong? I don't get how any of those people could say with any certainty that they are absolutely right. I think the best any of us can say is that we're pretty sure we're not wrong. But anything's possible...and hell that's about as much comfort as the 55 million who agree with me can hope for. That anything's possible, and maybe these next four years won't be that bad.

___

But I won't put all my eggs in the basket of hope...no, no. I'm writing a manifesto. I'm calling it the Kong Manifesto and it's all about a way to create a third party that actually has a chance to make a difference in what has become a two party system. As I told someone from the Nader campaign on Election Night, "A third party only makes a difference if it can find a way not to suck."

Hence The Kong Manifesto, which is coming quickly, and will be here for all of you to see and share and improve upon till even if it's still nothing, it's more than what I started with.
___

And now to the root of my title. The Former Six Million Dollar Man. I need to explain, but in as roundabout way as possible. As usual.

On Tuesday night we covered the election for WRSU down in Rutgers, I went into Tuesday night assuming that it was our last show. The plan always was that we would pack it in when Matt got a job, and last week Matt got a job in radio (as has Julie, and as has Mark which means that there are jobs in radio out there, they just aren't meant for me). So with Matt having a job I assumed we were done right then and there. But we weren't, seems we have at least one more left, and when I found out about this I was reasonably pleased...except that I know I'm just prolonging the inevitable.

So much of my memories of the best year of my life are tied to that place, and some of the greatest people I've ever met came from that place. So I'm sure you can see why I am not looking forward to leaving.

I remember arguing with a ticket clerk at an airport in Tulsa because she wouldn't let me on an earlier flight. I remember getting on that plane and making it back into New Brunswick just in time to catch the new news crew coming out of the studio. I'd heard their broadcast and they were fantastic. And there they were coming out of the studio with me, a relative stranger, waiting to congratulate them. They had no idea it took an argument with a ticket clerk, a connecting flight in St.Louis, a bribe to a cab driver, and me pushing the Pontiac at a hellacious pace to make it back in time to be there when they came out of the studio.

I remember driving all night, straight through back from Atlanta to get back in time for a show that ended up being cancelled. And I remember being glad I made it back in time anyway.

I remember spending nights in bars so nervous that I could barely stop shaking and so shot that I could barely hear a word anyone said just so I could feel like part of the group. I remember shaking, and vomitting, and bleeding afterwards...but rarely regretting a minute of it.

I remember getting the call that my step-grandfather died ten minutes before we went on the air. I remember punching the wall, then shrugging it off thinking, "We have a show to do." I remember slipping out the back door of the wake early, changingfrom my suit in my car, and speeding down Route 1 to make it to a graduation party because I didn't know how many more times I would get to see these people.

Most of all I remember sitting in that studio and thinking that if the rest of my life could be just like that, it wouldn't be great, it wouldn't be perfect, it wouldn't be much, but my God I could have lived with that.

I rarely explain why I make the choices I make, but as I begin to change some of those choices I think I should.

I never say exactly what the bus company is worth. Never. I give hints, ideas, clues...enough to let people think that I'm only doing it for the money. People can seem to deal with that. They are ok with thinking that someone is giving up on their dreams because there's enough money involved to change misery into happiness. Except I've always lied about how much the company is worth. Always intentionally given people the wrong idea.

It's worth more than I've let on.

But I'm not in it for the money. I've always been in it because I'm afraid. Afraid of what else is out there. Afraid it might make me happy. People can't deal with that.

I'm so damn afraid of getting what I want because what happens if I get it, and then I'm still not happy? What then? At least this way I could think that if I ever got what I wanted I would be happy. It would give me hope.

It was a stupid fucking idea and I'm realizing it now when it might be too late. I knew all along that it was probably the wrong idea, but I thought that if anybody could make it work it would be me.

Whoops.

So here's where I'm at. I don't know what to do next. I don't know how to, or whether I even want to, get out of the mess I've gotten myself into.

All I know is that I spent a whole week preparing for a personal disaster on Tuesday night, and when I didn't get it that little part of my mind that doesn't work so well decided it couldn't let all my preparation be for naught. So it went and created a whole new disaster.

I would have to give up my car, my home, most everything I own and more money than most people can regularly imagine. I'd have to be crazy to do it.

I'd have to be crazy.

But has anything up to this point led you to believe that I'm anything but?

Click This Title To Hear Me Lose My Mind

Click that title to listen in on my ongoing mental breakdown live on the radio.

Or check me out at http://www.upsaid.com/futurerem

Once more for the road on 88.7 WRSU FM in New Brunswick.

On all night...till Kerry gets elected or till the cows come home.

One Way Or The Other

"Did...did the world always look like this?"

"Yeah, it did."

"Funny, I never noticed."



Tonight is the end of a lot of stories. Tonight is the end of things I can't even begin to tell you about. I wish it wasn't, so desperately wish it wasn't that I'm not quite sure how I'll be able to let it all play out. I think that's what gets me most, that the right thing to do is just go with the flow and let the river take me where it will.

Tonight I'm not supposed to fight it. Just let it do what it does and wait to see what happens.

One way or the other there is a game to be played. The future will be decided. On the day when the American public has to make the decision most crucial to its survival in the past twenty years...so do I.

Why is it that there's seems so much simpler than mine?

Even I know which way they should go...

Get the picture?

But what about me? What about that monster who haunts your dreams?

Where do I go from here?

What do I say?

Why do I have to be me today when all I want is to be someone else?

Someone who doesn't have to take one on the chin for the good of the world.

I guess it always had to be that way. There never was a Plan B.

One way or the other...except for me they're all the same.

I'm going to miss them all so much, miss it all so much. Nobody would fold the hand I'm holding...except me. I'd throw it in in a heartbeat for a second chance. Hell knowing me I'll probably give it up anyway.

I don't know. I just don't know.

For the first time in my life, I don't know what to say,

I don't like it. But one way or the other, the end is coming.



"Did...did the world always look like this?"

"No. I don't think it's ever been this beautiful before."

"Yeah. Ain't that something?"

Secret Window And The Daylight Savings Conundrum...Part II: What About Me?

"Dude, you're emotional, like a woman."

"I'm having a problem with medication."

"You're on medication?"

"Well no, that's the problem."

I have three hundred DVD's yet today I dozed through a $4.95 VOD viewing of Secret Window. I can't explain it either.

I think I realized my worst nightmare tonight...I lived through the same hour twice.

There is an answer to every question. A right to every wrong.

I was ready to go again. Ready to disappear. But things keep happening that stop me. I can't go now because it will look like I went for the wrong reasons. So I put my hand down and return to my seat and wait again for an opportunity to catch a break.

I don't like Mondays anymore.

Tuesday is the end of so many different stories that I haven't figured out just yet how to deal with it all. There are so many exciting things happening to so many different people I know that it bothers me how excited I am for them. There is no good reason for me to feel even remotely happy, but there it is. I just like to see people do well.

At the same time though I don't understand. Here are all these people shooting for so much, and getting it in large gobs. Here I am, wanting only one thing, working my ass off to show God I deserve it...and I just can't seem to catch a break. Maybe I should have aimed higher, so that when I missed low I still hit something worth hitting.

I've grown paranoid. Grown tired. Grown old. My body's catching up to my soul, and my mind is already long gone. The journey is coming to an end. But I already know the sad truth...

There's no way out. Nowhere to go.

There is no light...we run on.

Good Evening Mr. & Ms. America & All The Ships At Sea

"I can feel them you know. The ones who are out there." - Palomba
"What about the ones who aren't?"-King
"I feel them too."- Palomba
"How do you tell the difference?"- King
"That's the problem, I can't."- Palomba

I can't tell anymore. You're all starting to feel the same to me. If you're from Norman, Oklahoma or Palisades Park, New Jersey...I can't tell the difference. I know there aren't as many of you as there used to be, but that's to be expected.

I know this gets worse and worse. Seems like less and less. But...

I never promised you anything. Never made any guarantees other than to say that I will be here until I don't need to be here anymore, and then I'll be somewhere else.

Manhattan, Montgomery, Mobile, Morocco, Madrid...they all feel the same.

The Brunswicks do too. New Brunswick, North Brunswick, South Brunswick, Old Brunswick...you get the picture.

Hawthorne blows my mind. But then again it's running together with Haledon, Wayne, Wyckoff, etc., etc.

So look...I know someone's here, sometimes, occassionally, rarely. But I can't tell who, at least not exactly, not anymore. From Chappaqua to Britain to Singapore and back you're all starting to smell the same to me. No offense meant, but I just can't feel you like I used to. So I guess I'll have to work on seeing you.

It's just about time for the sun to rise...all the better to see the world with.

Isolated Memories And King Size Dreams: How About For Once You Find Me ?

"Come on kid, you know me better than that. Now get out of here. I got a world to save." - King

"Maybe it's because I'm not other guys." - Palomba

I drifted off to sleep sometime after four this morning, trying my hardest to fight The Afflictions. Lately they've let the world beat me down on its own, but last night they felt the need to help and while The Darkness was fairly weak The Fix had me for hours.

Before I fell asleep I thought of a night not too long ago where I asked God not to let me dream, because I was convinced nothing I could dream of would do anything but further sour my disposition. I believe he obliged that night, so last night I begged another favor.

I asked God to let me dream big. King size dreams for a king size guy.

And as I felt myself slipping away for the night I was thinking nothing but good thoughts, as pure as they were pleasant, not a wicked thought in my head.

Now I've seen what God can do with my good thoughts, and I'm frightened enough that I may never think of them again.

Last night I dreamed of my life being perfect. I'm not ready to tell you how, because I'm not sure it's at all possible and wouldn't dare focus any more energy on things that can not happen.

Dreams are the honest part of us. They tell us what we want, what we can get, what we deserve. Your dreams can't lie to you, you won't let them. So what does it mean, when you think you want something so badly in real life, only to have your dreams tell you other wise. In real life I lie to myself and say I don't feel a certain way, even though deep down (and not so deep down) I know that I really do feel that way. Except that in my dreams I really don't feel that way. And I'm not lying to myself, or tricking everyone else. I just feel the way I pretend I feel out here...in the dream it's genuine, and I'm happy about it. In the dream it really is that way. But what's real in dreams...

Last night we meandered through a world that I'm sure will never exist, but one I would gladly trade this one for lock, stock, and barrel.

It would have been nice to say that these dreams came from my inner most desires, or that God projected the future right down into my head. But in the last second before I slept all the other thoughts were chased from my head...leaving only one.

Jean Daste, wearing all black, sprinting across a beach of white sand. He's just realized what he's lost. And now he means to get it back.

A whole night's dreams from a single scene in a movie none of you will ever see.

"It's a fuckin' barge man." - Kong

"No, it's my life in a nutshell." - Palomba

The Walking Wounded: Death

"I don't know why you bother trying, you don't have much of a chance do you?" - T.O. Hob

We are those who have lost, those who are missing.

We are those that you think about, but have no feelings for.

We are those that are left over...but have never really understood why.

We are those that are lonely.

We are those who are yet to discover why life is worth living.

"It's not much of a chance. But it is a chance, isn't it?" - Rigby

It Is Written

"When a man expects anything to happen, nothing can surprise him. When a man expects nothing to happen, anything can become a pleasant surprise." - T.O. Hob

We play this game again in the dwindling hours of our collective consciousness. Soon we drop off, finding new ways to express ourselves, or retreating back into our old guises of cold and aloof cogs in the mechanics of society.

There is no light...we run on.

But there is...something.

Today it is the fact that I fell asleep last night thinking of reassuring words and grandiose speeches meant to stoke fires and rouse a little rabble. Last night I went to sleep thinking of how cold I was going to be soon.

I've been kicked around an awful lot in the past year. On the day I started this blog I said it would only run for the last few months of college and straight through the summer. I've overshot that a bit for my own personal reasons but I know that in a few weeks I'll be faced with a decision. Do I keep this going? Can I?

I've told most of the stories I ever meant to tell and while there are always new ones, they aren't always interesting. Were they ever?

With college now in the rear view and an uncertain and unfullfilling life coming up on the horizon I have to buckle down and decide how to play the hand I've been dealt. Decide how to get what I want. Decide how to not be alone, but still be myself.

It's getting harder and harder to harness the emotion I used to be able to draw some sort of defiant strength from.

It's just getting colder and darker, quicker and quicker.

So here we go...staring down the sunset and wondering what's next. Wondering where I'm going when I'm still trying to figure out where I came from.

I've done it before and I'll do it again. I'll write about today...

"It was a good day. Not spectacular in any particular way, but pleasant in every little way. He said the right things, saw the right people, and when he closed his eyes at night he knew he'd done right by the world...and the world had done right by him. It was a rare day, of the sort that makes life worth living."

Never would have guessed I could still be an optimist, would you?

Last night was full of dreams, both old and new. A night where my inner demons stood up on their soap boxes and shouted me down as both a saint and a sinner. It was odd how many people appeared in my dreams last night, how I interacted with them, how they didn't just pass through. Odd in a way I'm getting used to. One of those little dream vignettes reminded me of something I imagined Hob once said. Fucking A', it's Tuesday.

"You know what kid, you win half the battle just by showing up." - T.O. Hob

Stone Cold: Unflappable

"I am well aware of your concern sir but can assure you that I have not had a drink in the past thirty-seven minutes and am therefore both exceptionally capable and shockingly overqualified to be driving a vehicle as such." - T.O. Hob

It's never good when you're the scariest thing in a haunted house.

Last night I met Crago in Bayonne and shot out to Philadelphia. No, not for cheesesteaks (damn vegetarians) but to go to the famous haunted house at the old Eastern State Penitentary. We were meeting a few of Crago's friends but since I tend to drive really fast we left Bayonne a little before they left New Brunswick and we beat them to Philadelphia by an hour.

Turns out Crago's sister was there, so he calls her and she says it's a bit crowded. We get down there and begin to understand how crowded is an understatement. This place is several city blocks long in every direction, and the line goes all the way around the building. We pay for our $25 tickets ($25 x {Thousands of people waiting on line in the cold}=someone made a shitload of money) Then end up waiting outside the prison for three hours. But we're not alone, there are a thousand miserable people to commiserate with.

Finally our section of the line makes it into the prison...only to find another line. This is where they tell us that we can either pay $5 more to skip to the front of the line or wait for another hour. We wait on line in protest of the general unfairness of the situation. We wait for a very long time.

Finally (again) we actually make it to the main entrance of the place. Now we all expected it to be a ghost tour like thing because this is an old abandoned haunted prison. Instead it's a cheesy Halloween haunted house that you can go to anywhere and pay $8 to get into...except it's bigger.

Originally everyone decides I should walk behind the girls so no one sneaks up on them, but before we even get into the entrance the guys have moved around so I'm in front. Big man goes first. There are a lot of blind corners, pitch black hallways, and seizure inducing strobe lights. But I just wander through the whole thing completely unfazed. Never understood how people could be scared at things like that. But it's absolutely hysterical when someone jumps out at you...and you end up scaring the hell out of them.

We get through what seems like an endless array of minimum wage tour guides with faux bloody wounds popping out of blatantly obvious mock walls with minimal screaming from the others and zero reaction from me when we come to what we know is the home stretch. I haven't even flinched but as I round a corner a particularly well disguised wall drops and this gore covered girl jumps out at me.

She's half hanging out the door and less than an inch from my face. Every ghoul and goblin in that place blinked when they ran up against me, not a single one got me...but this girl wasn't backing off. She just hung there, so close I could feel her hot breath on my face. I was holding mine, not just because she surprised me, but because she was easily the prettiest girl I've seen in a month. Not in the classic movie star sort of way, but I could tell under all that gore and grime she was flawless. And she had balls because she just hung there...so damn uncomfortably close it was painful. She just hung there and didn't flinch. It couldn't have been for more than a few seconds but we locked eyes and did battle...and neither one of us blinked. Crago laughed behind me because seeing a 6'3" 300 lb. shit ugly monster staring down a girl dressed as a zombie must be pretty damn hysterical. I could feel everyone behind me moving so I moved on, and she didn't retreat until I walked away. Good for her.

Last night was just one of those funny nights. I went from having nothing to do, to hanging out at an abandoned prison and not getting home till 5:30 in the morning. Only me, only me.

But I had one of those strange feelings last night. That something was going on, something I should know about. Something I could have changed. But something I didn't...

Odd.

I was standing in an old prison and felt at home. I was wandering the streets of Philadelphia and felt at peace. I was driving at 95 mph up the Turnpike and thought that maybe I should slow down a bit...because maybe crashing and burning would be a bad idea.

Funny how things can change so many times on one night. Even funnier how it can happen over and over again.

"I don't know. Sometimes I just know things." - Palomba

Legends Walk The Walk

"You hung a man who was meant to hang. What's so wrong about that?"- T.O. Hob

"Everything Hob, everything." - Palomba

"Fools rule the night kid." - King

The option of compromising your youth to secure your future is a tempting one. One that all too many of us fall into. One that all too many of us are eager to avoid...but rarely do.

All these great things coming and going and all we ever really manage to get hung up on is what we're doing wrong and how it's going to screw up what we do next.

We are such fucking fools.

But we are so much better than that.

This is where I do what I do. This is where I can tell you what I know.

We're all in this one together. All of us twenty-somethings who are just getting "started" in this world. We're living and dying in all the same ways. We're fighting the same fight.

So why can't any of us seem to win it?

We're afraid and we're stupid and we're falling faster than we have any right to.

We don't know how lucky we are. How great you all are. How sure I am that it's all going to turn out ok. You read this and you doubt. I know you do, because I do too. But I know. I know. I swear to God I know. If I didn't think this was all going to shake out alright then would I still be playing the game?

You know me better than that.

We're not alone. How can we be? How can so many people going through the exact same things ever think they really are? And shit, when it's all said and done, I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here. So when you start to doubt, when you start to wonder, when you're just about ready to give up. Know that you are not alone...how can you be when I'm waiting right here?

"A legend ain't a legend just because you say it is. Legends walk the walk." - King

Black Coffee And "Dirty Assfuckers" Creme Donuts

There's some foul logic about bad nights that dictates they can only get worse, never better.

I was pissed off already, the Yanks were trailing 2-0 and the bases were loaded. My two-way starts to go off, so I mute the TV to answer it. It's one of my managers.

I ask what's wrong, and as they reply Javier Vasquez throws his first pitch. Let me break this down for you.

Manager: Bus number seventeen (Johnny Damon swings the bat) is on fire (Damon connects the ball flying hard off his bat) on the parkway (the ball is high, it's deep...) with kids still on it. (and fucking gone.)

So I'm out the door before my manager's done talking and before Damon can do his victory dance around the bases.

Long story short...

Thank God (and this is the only silver lining on this horrendous night) the bus wasn't on fire. A defective heater coil was giving off smoke and causing something to overheat causing the condensation from several damp days to turn into steam.

Where there's smoke, there isn't always a fire. But that didn't stop me from having to spend nearly two hours making phonecalls and double checking that the rest of my buses weren't having problems.

So I head home, but I'm kind of hungry and a little pissed I couldn't go out, so I stop at Dunkin' Donuts to get a Coolata and a donut.

I order my coolata but instead get a black coffee (par for the course at this D&D). I wanted a Boston Creme donut. But the way this night is going I just couldn't bring myself to say the word Boston.

Me: Yeah can I get one of those. (Pointing at the boston creme's).
Retardo Counter Guy: These? (pointing at glazed).
Me: No one of those, the ones with the creme.
Retardo Counter Guy: These? (Pointing at the absolutely cremeless sprinkled donuts)
Me: No, no. One of the B-*coughing*-on Creme donuts.
Retardo Counter Guy: These? (Pointing at a fucking bran muffin)
Me: Fuck it I'll take a kruller.

So I left with my Black Coffee and slightly stale Kruller, knowing that I wouldn't get a parking spot again when I got home and would therefore have a parking ticket in the morning, knowing that I would spend most of tomorrow placating angry parents whose kids were on a bus full of steam tonight, knowing that the Yanks season was just about over and I hadn't even gotten to see the game...but also knowing that all things considered tonight could have been much, much worse.

And in a lot of ways I'm sort of lucky.

Ain't that some shit?

Amazing Acts of Self-Restraint (or Not)

"Hotel bars. That's the best place to meet women...and it's convenient too." - My Father (giving me advice on how to score women when I was a senior in high school)

"God bless you brother, I mean you no harm." - Eddie (The Checkers Bum)

I find a story in anything that happens to me. I always have. It's part of wanting to be a writer. Without time to write my stories anymore I write here. Everything that happens to me becomes an entry. I've been trying really hard not to post everything I think of here, it would get too cluttered and be horribly boring. I've spent the better part of the day fighting the urge to post things here. So instead of posting whole entries here I've turned every entry into a one or two liner.

Here we go:

Half-day Wednesdays rock. Today I took my lunchbreak before I even went to work.

We went from having seven shows left, to no shows left, to having no idea when we'll be done. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Everyone I write about here is a character in my story. In the stories I write I background my characters so eventually I'll do that here as well.

In six months I went from having money, to being broke, to having money, to being broke, to having money...etc. etc.

There is one thing in particular that I would really love to do, but my better nature and common sense goes against it.

In the past year I have changed quite a bit, and think of a lot of different things. I can't remember what I used to think before I started thinking about the things I'm thinking about now.

John Kerry can take Ohio and Pennsylvania but if he loses Florida Bush can still win the election. If George gets elected again I might start a revolutionary movement.

People stopped leaving notes on my blog. It makes it seem like I'm talking to myself and that's really friggin' depressing.

I can make people smile, I can make people cry, I can make people think. But I can't make people like me.

In April I predicted the Yankees and The Astros would meet in the World Series where the Yanks would win in seven despite Roger Clemens winning three games for the 'Stros. As of right now it could still happen.

I've never been in love, but somehow I still know what it feels like. I've never been dead, but I can tell you what that feels like too.

I find new and interesting ways to get into trouble every single day.

I have to fire a seventy five year old man because his drug test came back positive for Cocaine. Being the boss is neither easy nor fun.

I'm going to start riding random trains even though I have nowhere to go and somewhere else to be.

It's frightening when you have the same dream as someone else, even more frightening when you know they'll have it before they do.

I'm terribly easy to find...in a crowd, on the internet, anywhere in the world.

I can hear what you're thinking, and feel what you're feeling. But I can't do anything about it unless you let me know you want help.

I know you're out there. Even if you won't admit it.

This entry is entirely too long to be about absolutely nothing. But since people won't comment...this is what they get.

Run Of The Mill

There are no ordinary entries here.

Nothing that can be taken for what it is.

Nothing that you can miss and still follow the story.

There's nothing simple here.

Or at least that's what I would like you to think.

I don't know anymore. I just don't.

Why do I do this?

Why do I keep on putting so much precious energy and emotion into this?

Camus once said that normal people will never understand how much effort some people put into simply being normal. That's me in a nutshell. So why then put so much energy and effort into proving that I am as normally abnormal as they come?

Fuckin' A.

It's Tuesday.

We're Gonna Die Like This You Know...

"Not dead, eh? Bit surprised I admit. Spot of luck on your part don't you think?"- T.O. Hob

I think this was a good weekend. I spent most of it bored and alone, battling an array of my most vicious demons, but it was still a good weekend...really, stay with me on this one.

No one was around Friday night, so I stayed home and just thought for awhile. I watched Shaun of the Dead...twice, and then fell asleep for the first time on my new couch. Apparently God still has dominion over my bedroom and wasn't comfortable with the idea of sharing.

I worked all day Saturday, and well into the night. By the time I got over to North Haledon to visit the kids it was almost their bedtime. So of course I took the opportunity to get them completely riled up. Think indoor arena soccer in the living room and a hermit crab deathmatch in the lanyard ring of doom. My mother must be so proud.

I got home in time to duke it out with the demons, spending the better part of the night so deep in thought that I almost missed it when The Afflictions caught me. They wrecked me per usual, but somewhere in there, just for a second I went so deep that I actually touched some of those old feelings...and it felt so good to feel that it simply chased The Darkness away. But I was distracted...and it disappeared, leaving me wondering how those feelings could flee so quickly.

I watched the Yankees trounce the Red Sox then fell into a rather dreamless sleep.

I woke up early this morning and we went ATV riding. Tim fucked up my brand new truck, had an allergic reaction to a bee sting, and got pulled over by the cops on the way back. He ain't heavy Father, he's my dipshit brother.

But the day was fine, we had fun...and we didn't die. Which, sometimes, is a plus.

"We're gonna die like this you know, miserable and old." - Taking Back Sunday

"Well yeah I thought she looked like you. But that was before she took her clothes off." - King

Night's Like These

I never forget a face.

But then again there are a lot of things I can never forget.

When I was a little kid my father used to take me to this Chinese restaurant. A little dingy place that any rational person wouldn't have looked twice at. Even then it was covered in a fine layer of grit and grease that made everything smell of eggroll and even freshly cleaned silverware a little slippery. Everything was red. From the walls to the floor to the faux leather seats in the booths. We didn't go there often, but we went there often enough that every little detail from the chips in the bricks to the tears in the seat covers was engrained in my memory.

When I was about twelve we stopped going there. No reason, my father just stopped taking me to a lot of places around then.

Flash forward to yesterday. My father and I are driving (on business of course). He asks me if I want lunch in that way that lets me know he's hungry and can't eat unless I do, and since I'm sort of hungry I agree. We drive past the little chinese restaurant with no intention of going there, but then he mentions, and suddenly it sounds like a good idea.

The windows still haven't been cleaned and the minute we step in the door the air we're breathing feels a little bit heavier. Nothing about the place has changed. The same old man is working the door, sure he's a bit older, but he wears it well. The seats are torn in all the same places, and a few new places as well. The floor is slick and slippery and reminds me of the time I toured the kitchen at Brower Commons. Eleven years later the lunch buffet still costs $4.95.

Everything is still red.

Some things never change.

I was driving home from work today, passing through a rather unseemly part of Paterson, when I saw a girl walking up a hill. She was beautiful in a way that most people don't notice, that most people don't care about. But that wasn't what got my attention, it hardly ever does. I recognized her. I'd seen her somewhere before.

This wasn't a part of town where I would have any reason to recognize anyone. Not the part of town where outsiders spend a lot of time. But here was this girl, as out of place as I was, who I knew that I knew from somewhere. Then she looked at me, she stared at me...I couldn't figure out why.

And then I realized...I was staring. She was staring at me, because I was staring at her, and I could tell from the look on her face she didn't like it. I'm not the type to stare, or leer, or even sneak glances at a beautiful woman. I just don't have it in me. But in that second where she fixed me with that gaze of pure hatred, I recognized her. Not two weeks ago I'd seen her, she was the girl from Other People's Mistakes. I knew she didn't recognize me, but I sure as hell recognized her. Coincidences. Maybe someone is trying to remind me of something. She looked at me today, the way she looked at me that day, it made me feel sick.

Some things never change.

And other things do.

I suppose we have a fighter's chance. That's about all I can hope for. About all I ever really wanted. It might just be all I need.

I can't forget it. Can't forget them. Can't forget her. I guess I don't want to.

Tonight I set out to undo The Jesus Lobotomy, not sure how, not sure why.

I can't explain why I need to get those feeling back, I just know if I want to keep on feeling anything, I have to. I feel as stupid as that sounds right now. But fuck it. In the end a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

And...

In the end we do portend that made of might are mighty men. And willow trees on bended knees do bob and sway with awful ease. The king, the queen, the pauper too do tell the lord what he shall do. Till God awake and then he sees... That men are made on nights like these.

Temporary Holding Pattern

To Whom It May Concern,

I AM STILL HERE

Sincerely,

ME

Very Good, Carry On. Nothing to see here.

I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere.

There goes that monster who haunts your dreams.

Someone's always watching, and sometimes it's me.

There is no light...we run on.

Poppin'

Tonight's magic word is tomorrow.

As in:

Tomorrow we decide.

Tomorrow we learn.

Tomorrow we forget...about today.

Yeah, tomorrow.

Issues: Or How I Need To Learn To Take A Joke

"You haven't really lived until you spend all morning vomiting up orange juice and stale granola." - T.O. Hob

Issues. Hmmph.

I think we've played this game once before, someone makes a joke, a genuinely funny joke of which I appreciate the humor...and then I spend all night thinking about it.

So last night Matt made a joke about me having issues. I said something about how if no one called in to the show I would go home and be depressed and sad.

I was kidding.

Matt counters with (completely losing his gameface) "Oh, so that will be your issue THIS week?"

Which of course is funny, except that last week I had a lot of "issues" and it put me in a rather raw mood. Coming into a good mood this week the last thing I wanted to hear about was last week...or to suddenly find out that maybe people knew about my "issues".

(Not that I try to keep any of my issues secret...in fact apparently I put them all up on the internet for both acquaintences and complete strangers to read...yeah, I'm talking about you.)

It's funny though because I can't tell if he actually did, or was just making the obvious joke. The glaringly obvious stare you in the face joke. It's hard to tell with Matt sometimes, whether he's taking the easy joke or working the complex one.

See last week I couldn't make it to the bar with the news crew, and I said something to Rob about me not being in the mood for it. It's egocentric of me to think that I would even come up in a conversation once I've left the room. I'm one of those out-of-sight out-of-mind sort of people where people don't pay me much thought unless I'm sitting right in front of them.

But all it would have taken was for Rob to walk into the bar and say to Matt and Julie, "Chris isn't coming because he's fucked up." And for either one of them to respond in a way that belies exactly how little they've ever thought of me, exactly how much they loathe even my simplest presence, exactly how bothersome they find me, "Yeah, that guy has fucking issues."

End of story.

I'm a pariah all of a sudden. Furthermore...what exactly would they think those issues are? How easily can any of a million things that have happened in the last few months be completely miscontrued as being something they are not? Hate to break it to you pal, but around here that happens an awful lot.

Of course it's probably all in my head. But...

Paranoia? Ain't that a pip?

I think the only thing that could have been worse then making that obvious joke would have been not making it. Because then I would have spent all night wondering why the joke wasn't made.

You starting to get the picture folks? I'm completely out of my fucking mind.

But last night was still fun...we still kicked ass.

Ain't that some shit?

A Shout Out To The Blog-Ocracy: An Open Letter To The Blog Community

"You don't dull a knife because its blade is too sharp, you simply find tougher things to cut."

- Palomba

The first blog I ever read shut down this week. Posted its last entry and disappeared into the sunset.

It belonged to someone I'd seen around, and the only reason I read it is because I was amazed I had stumbled upon it. It was just one of those strange coincidences. Whenever I think of something profound, I do a websearch to see where my mind stole it from. Sometimes the thoughts really are mine, and sometimes they're not. Sometimes it just happens that someone else was thinking the exact same thing I was. I did a web search for something else...and there she was.

I've been reading it ever since, and along the way I picked up a few dozen others. I've read hundreds of these things now. There are some I read every day, others I stop in at when I'm bored.

The thing is somewhere along the way I started to feel like it was wrong. I didn't know, or hardly knew most of these people and here I was sharing little bits of their lives with them. Their highs and lows, their victories and defeats, their make-ups, break-ups and everything in between. Reading about other people's lives without them knowing it, it made me feel guilty. But of course they put those things out there on purpose, they wrote those things because they wanted them to be read. Much like I do here.

But they would feel odd if they knew I was reading them. Anytime someone tells me they read my "thing" I answer the same way, "You shouldn't." Not because I don't want them to, but because this tends to bother people. I know because other people's blogs bother me, and this one is slightly more fucked up than other people's blogs.

So what brings about this deeper look at what I've begun to call the Blog-ocracy, a loosely tied together series of webpages that are essentially public versions of people's private journals?

A rather minor incident from Tuesday night, of course nothing is minor on Tuesdays anymore.

On Friday morning I posted an anonymous comment on Julie from WRSU's blog. She had posted an entry that seemed uncertain, made it seem like she was getting down on herself. It made me feel bad that someone who has always been so nice to me was feeling down, so I did what I always do when someone is feeling down...I said what I was thinking, in this case it turned out to be something nice and reassuring.

Of course she read this and even commented on it in her next post, and I never thought it would come up again. Except that I underestimated the average persons penchant for a good mystery. The anonymous tag made the note something of interest.

So how did it come up Tuesday night in the radio station?

Simple...or not. There was a single copy of the Daily Targum left in the rack on Tuesday night. (I always take a copy of the Targum into the restroom with me, you know in case I run out of toilet paper, old joke, still not funny) Usually I just leave it next to the sink for the next guy to read, except when I came out of the can Mr. Belding from Saved By The Bell was standing there, stopping for a quick break between the Cap & Skull room and his apperance with Screech downstairs. So I took the Targum back to the newsroom and dropped it on the desk. Where three hours later Julie picks it up and reads in her horoscope that someone from her past is going to give her good advice. Since I'm the only one in the room she reads it out loud to me. She seems surprised that her horoscope is actually accurate and says as much. But by the time she brings up the post by the anonymous commenter I'm already halfway through writing this entry...in part because I already knew where the conversation was going.

I was halfway through writing this entry while she was still telling me about the comment because, for a second, I actually thought about not confessing that I was the anonymous commenter. It's irrational, but for some reason I was actually embarassed that I had been reading her blog. Embarassed that I read all those blogs I read. All of a sudden I was doing something wrong, something I shouldn't have been doing. It was like I had some sort of scopophilia (please let that be what I think it is) except it involved blogs, a blog-ophilia if you would. Suddenly, just by doing something I've been doing for a long time, I was doing something wrong.

I had to stop her from explaining any further, so when she got to the point where she said she had no idea who could have posted the comment I interjected. Except I couldn't actually say it, so I went all Koko the Gorilla and twice jabbed two fingers into my own chest. She stopped, and besides being utterly shocked I couldn't tell whether she wanted to hit me or hug me.

Of course that wasn't the end of the conversation, I had to explain that I've been reading her blog for awhile now, which means two weeks ago when she was telling me about all the things that had happened to her since we'd last talked...I already knew them. And I had to explain how I'd found her blog.

Which is a remarkable coincidence in and of itself. See there's this blog I've been reading for a long time now, by a girl named Sarah. I've been reading it since before I even knew Julie, which is strange because Sarah happens to be one of Julie's best friends. Now her blog is one of the best I've read so I read it fairly often, and somewhere along the way she linked to Julie's. So now I'm not just reading the blog of someone who knows someone I know, now I'm reading the blog of someone I know.

Out of the millions of these things out there, and the hundreds of these things I read it took two clicks of the mouse to get back to someone who actually knows me. And only a half dozen strange coincidences for them to find out about it...on the same week that the first blog I read (and first blog of coincidence) went away.

Now not to seem that I'm making mountains out of mole hills here. Tuesday night's oddities alone didn't give birth to this entry, nor did that original blog going away. Talking to someone about my blog last night had a little to do with this as well. But the real trigger wasn't what happened in real life, but what people have written.

I've always been obsessed with Dante's Inferno, a story which at its core is about a man chasing heaven through the depths of hell. Purgatory and Paradise are splendid, but I've read Inferno so many times at so many different points in my life that it means a lot to me. I own a half dozen different copies of it, and I almost bought an old rare copy of it a few months back. To compensate on losing out on that one I bought an illustrated modern interpretation from Barnes & Noble. The rare edition would have cost over $1,000. This one cost me $22...and did the trick just fine.

The original opening lines as writ by Dante always fascinated me:

"Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself

In dark woods, the right road lost."

But the new interpretation of those lines by Birk & Sanders struck me twice as hard:

"About halfway through the course of my pathetic life,

I woke up and found myself in a stupor in some dark place.

I'm not sure how I ended up there; I guess I had taken a few wrong turns."

And, yeah, that's me.

And this is my Inferno. All these other people share their lives with me through their blogs, and here I share mine.

People have told me time and time again that they've started to read this, and ended up, without intending to, reading the whole damn thing. I figure people like that know me just about as well as anyone in my life. And the people who know me that read this know me far better than they ever would have liked.

It's a new week I'm about to get through that nine day stretch and see what happens next. Tuesday might be my last show at WRSU, but I've decided that I'm going to try and stay in touch with the people I met during my time at Rutgers. I may never see New Brunswick again, but a little bit of me will always be there.

So much has happened, so much has changed, but somehow things are all still eerily familiar.

If you've kept up, now you're caught up.

This is where I am at, I'm not sure how I ended up here; I guess I've taken a few wrong turns.

But...

"Everything does happen for a reason, and sometimes the reasons have reasons all their own."

- Palomba

The Disclaimer: This is one of those long winding entries that no one will have the patience to read. I don't just know that, I'm counting on it.

These Are Not The Droids You're Looking For

I am so confused.

This is not me.

Not me you're hearing, not me you're seeing, not me at all. I'm not me, not right now, not anymore.

Questions don't always need answers, like poems don't always need to rhyme. But in time a rhymeless poem will grow on you, an unanswered question just festers. It still won't hurt as much as the questions not asked.

I am lost. I am tired. I am angry and afraid. I am bothered. I am tormented.

I am so confused.

IS SHIT

Why ruin a perfectly good streak of blogging with this little message?

Because it's 4 A.M. on a Saturday and I'm getting ready to go to work.

That's right.

Is Shit.

Goals

Starting today I am going to play the game a little differently. Not permanently, just for now.

Starting today I will wake up every morning with a goal. Something to accomplish that day.

I will wake up in the morning knowing what I want, and go to sleep knowing that I've gotten it.

No matter how small the goal this will be my silver lining.

Some days will be fun. My goal will be to laugh a lot, or go see a movie, or buy something nice.

Other days will be more work. My goal will be to finish all my paperwork, pay all the bills, organize my affairs.

There will be days where my goals are about other people. I will make someone smile, I will make someone cry (in a good way of course), I will make someone feel something they haven't felt in days.

There will be days when my goals are about me. I will make an effort to see them, I will make an effort not to think about her, I will think about nothing but her (no effort required).

When my day looks to be tough my goals will be simple. Show up for work on time, eat lunch without interruption, go for a nice relaxing drive.

And when the days look to be easy, well then the goals will be too. Afterall, why ruin a good thing?

There will be days where, no matter how hard I try, even the simplest of goals will stay just out of reach. But there will be days when even the impossible is just an arm's length away. Either way...

If I get through the next two days I will have bested one of the rockiest nine day stretches of my life. Monday no longer holds my salvation, and Tuesday could be the end of a good run...who knows what that will do to me. Nine days could become ninety, and it all could disappear. But...

I will wait for them in the high grass...and they will come. I won't be ready, and I'll only know of one thing to do. It's simple really.

A man stands up.

And starting today...that's my goal.

Elephants Never Forget

"Any question to which I am the answer, is a question you probably don't want to be
asking." - Palomba

"This is going to really creep you out, but..." - Palomba (at least three times on any given night.)

The fourth and final entry of the day...unless I go mad again between now and midnight.

I know I'm moving too quick here...by the time anyone stumbles upon the newest entry, the three previous ones are already buried. You can go back and read them...or not.

So I can't yet make you understand why last night wrecked me in the ways it did, but I can guarantee you that it's not what you're thinking. With me has it ever been that simple?

Paranoia. Paranoia. Nobody is coming to get me.

I never forget a face. Never forget the way those faces look at me. I never forget what people I care about say to me. I never forget the way I feel, but sometimes I do forget why I feel that way.

I don't think I can ever forget why I felt the way I felt last night.

They say there are ways. Ways to make yourself normal. Ways to control how you feel, how you act, how and who you are. They have ways. They say they can make you the person you're supposed to be...Nuts to that I say. I can make me the person I'm supposed to be...maybe I'll need some help, but not that kind of help. Not me, not yet.

I'm getting there guys, I swear to God I am. I'm not there, I'm not even close, but I'm closer than I ever have been before. I'm afraid. I know it doesn't make any sense, I know I shouldn't be, but I am. I'm more afraid right now than I ever have been in my entire life. I think I could explain it, and someday maybe I will.

For now though...just understand, the people I've known and loved. The people who have meant the world to me. People I see everyday and people I will never see again. The people who have made up my entire existence. Just know, that even once you've forgotten me...I will always remember you.

Afterall...elephants never forget.

"You have that uncanny ability to surprise and scare the shit out of people at the same time, don't you?" - T.O. Hob

"Yeah, ain't that something?" - Palomba

The Stand: 24 Hours

"Everybody has it in them to make a stand...it's figuring out what to do next that proves to be the real challenge." - Palomba

I knew from the beginning that last night was going to be a tough one.

Pulling into New Brunswick was awkward. It was like visiting a house you used to live in only to find that the people there were using your bedroom as a bathroom. Like they just didn't understand how it was supposed to be.

The world seems to have taken an affinity to dropping bombs on me as of late, and I must admit I'm beginning to do the same out of sheer resentment.

Last night's surprise came early. Matt, in between Karl Rove jokes, mentions that it might be our last show...catching me only a little off-guard because I go into every show assuming it will be our last. But I don't think my reaction was what I intended it to be, because Matt spent the rest of the night trying to convince me we'll have at least one more show. He's a good guy.

We kicked ass by the way, and Julie joined us live in studio to add the much needed third voice to the program. As we were in the newsroom listening to the new guys do the News at Ten she starts reading The Daily Targum. She reads her horoscope, and it says something about someone giving her good advice. And she laughs and says something about an anonymous comment on her blog...which of course, I wrote. And now have to admit I wrote because to discuss it as if I didn't write it would be like lying. And we all know how I feel about lying, particularly to people I like to consider friends.

So then everyone is heading down to the Branch, and of course I want to go because I'm bored out of my mind, but as we head down The Darkness catches me and I know if I have a drink it will only make me feel worse, and feeling worse right then is not something I think I could deal with very well. So instead of going into the bar I end up explaining to Rob that I'm not feeling very well and must, unfortunately, beg out of the night's festivities.

I head home. But the whole time I'm thinking about how I barely can think and hurt all over for no good god damn reason and all I want is for it all to stop just long enough for me to pull my shit together and figure out how I plan on getting to sleep that night.

I can't find anywhere to park, I've found the only Dunkin' Donuts in the world where no matter what you order you get black hyper-caffeinated coffee instead, my head is shaking. I've vomitted twice and can't stop my nose from bleeding. The whole world is spinning, but refuses to go black.

Then I have to go to work...and tell my father exactly how little I trust him. And since no one ever stands up to my father but me he doesn't know how to react. Sometimes he gets angry, sometimes he just laughs. He never understands. Today he just laughed. And assured me I had nothing to worry about, of course I could trust him. Somehow I think he missed the point. If I don't trust you old man, than how can telling me you're trustworthy possibly make a difference?

Ok, yeah so I had to cancel ATV riding on Saturday because if I'm still in this sort of mood I'd most likely just run the damn thing off a cliff...and that would be a bad idea. Because I have one more radio show left, and there are a whole lot of people who I would like to see again...when I'm feeling somewhat more human.

Chapter Five, In Which Our Hero Blinks

"I run. I fly. But no matter how far, no matter how high everytime I close my eyes... I'm stuck back in this fucking room. This fucking room where the whole world looks at me like I'm somebody I'm not. Somebody I swore to God I would never be. Maybe if I could stop closing my eyes...yeah that's it. I'm never closing my eyes again." - Palomba

"Like all good shows this one starts with an admission...I admit, I almost quit." - Palomba

Today, for the first time in a long time, I blinked.

I know you don't know what that means. But I do.

Today Part Four ended. It didn't even last a full two months. The chapters are moving quicker than I can fill the pages now. It's all getting a little ahead of me.

Tonight I knew I was in for a tough one, so I folded before the game even started. And I'm still kicking myself for it.

I am so much better than that.

The Darkness started creeping up and I opened the door and called for my boys. They came back quick, and hit me hard, but they knocked it down for a bit. And for that I'm grateful. What they did next I will never forgive.

Rigby talks too much. King thinks too much. Kong doesn't think enough before he talks.

It would be so much easier if those three were real people...then I could be angry at someone besides myself.

I didn't realize everyone was going to the bar. I really didn't. I thought everyone was sticking around for a minute to watch the game. If I had known they were planning to go drinking I would have begged off saying I had to hurry home to get to work. But since I'd just been standing there like an ass watching the game I couldn't rightly say I was in a rush. So I waffled, flip-flopped, did a complete 180. First I said I was going, then I said I wasn't. But now I had to explain myself. And I did...but I couldn't lie, I had to tell the truth. I said I couldn't go beacuse if I did would have a drink...and drinking in the mood I'm in is a bad idea. A little bit of booze would only serve to exacerbate my current condition.

So the The Darkness and The Trio kicked my ass before I could even make it into the Olive Branch. Which means that I started Part Five much like I started Parts Two and Three...scared and alone. Which is sort of odd when you think about it. Shouldn't things be getting better?

So this is my story...and it just keeps going on. I play my part in other people's stories, and in a way they play their part in mine. I should have gone to the Branch tonight. I'm running out of time to do things like that, hang out with people like them, feel like I felt before it all brought me tumbling down on this otherwise perfect October night.

If you're reading this...no matter who you are, know that my story just became a little part of yours. And know this...

No matter how many times it starts and stops your story will always have one more beginning than it does an end. Everything that ends has to start somewhere...but not everything that starts really needs to ever end.