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?