Casual Weirdness

"Yeah, let me look at the menu again. Ok, I'll take an order of white toast please." - Palomba

So...uh, yeah. I've been working a lot lately. Not doing much else but that. It's slowly killing me. I guess that's ok. Nobody else seems to mind.

The week rolls, one over into another. Monday night was sort of awkward thinking about everything that's happened in the past year. It was just another marker in a long series of markers. One year to the day since I...and fill in the blank with anything you'd like. Real soon that's gone too. What do we say now? One year to the day since I was doing the exact same thing I'm doing now? Maybe my new goal should be to do nothing at all for longer than a year so that I never have to worry about not having anything to look back on.

Does that make any sense?

So Monday was uncomfortable and Tuesday was just odd. For the first time that I can remember it seemed like Matt and I didn't want to be doing the show. We were shit. He was of course better than me, but we were both still shit. And then Morgan Spurlock from Supersize Me came in and saved us in the last ten minutes of the show. Like I said...odd.

Wednesday the juices were flowing and in between massive amounts of work I squeezed in some writing. That felt nice. With that flow of creativity and random good feeling came a few other thoughts which surprised me. I'm actually thinking about getting a life. I worked 18 hours on Wednesday.

Thursday was another long one, although I did end up in Wanaque looking at real estate. I think I could buy half that town.

Friday was fun, or funny, or just plain stupid. They're all sort of the same.

I got in at three in the morning and had to be at work at 5:30 so I just sat for a bit until it was time to go back to the grind. I'm indefatigable...I'm pretty sure that's a word.

I'm also insane. I watched some of the NFL draft. Read some of Hunger. Updated my Ipod. Tried to play some video games, but my Xbox is shot. Watched parts of "Ned Kelly", "Starsky & Hutch", and "Child's Play 2"...all shitty movies, but easier than getting up and placing a DVD in the DVD player. Learned to speak Spanish. Watched a little of "Ghost" beause Tony is in it and I still find it amusing to see him in movies even though I haven't seen him in person in like five years and he wouldn't even remember who I was. Got caught watching "Peggy Sue Got Married" by the pizza delivery guy. Sucked at shuffleboard (is that what the call it?). Developed a new Theory of Coincidence which ties well with my Theory of Linear Auras. Spilled a drink on myself. Got my ass kicked at Golden Tee Golf. Found that I have a bizarre fondness of the movie "Win a Date With Tad Hamilton" Drank some iced tea. It was pretty good. Could have used some sugar.

I also spent the majority of the night trying to place a very familar smell.

A little odd, but not so odd I'd let it bother me.

And hey, where the hell are you? Where the hell did everybody go? If it wasn't for those guys that spammed my blog with "TEXAS HOLD 'EM" messages I wouldn't get any comments at all. So leave me a note, say something for christ's sake.

It's getting awfully lonely in here.

One Year To The Day

"Skeletons rule the best of men." - T.O. Hob

One year ago tonight...unless of course you go by date instead of days and then technically I suppose it's one year ago tomorrow, but anyway...where was I?

Oh yeah.

Right here.

Tonight. A night on which nothing happened. One year after another night on which nothing happened.

A year ago you couldn't have found another man happier about something not happening. A year later and not much has changed.

I'm still ridiculously happy that nothing happened on that night a year ago.

And as for tonight? Well, it could be worse. And I'm lucky it's not.

I'd almost completely forgotten about it all, and I certainly wasn't marking the days, but in the silence that precedes this entry I discovered the parts of last year I had rushed through...and in that discovery I found a memory.

I have let go. I have moved on. I am just a little bit different.

But still...you never forget the debts you can never repay.

So one last time before I bury it forever...thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

And good night.

Definition of Character: Apologies For Free

It's more like there's nothing wrong with Marv, nothing at all-- except he had the rotten luck of being born at the wrong time in history. He'd have been okay if he'd been born a couple thousand years ago. He'd have been right at home on some ancient battlefield, swinging an ax into somebody's face. Or in a Roman arena taking a sword to other gladiators like him...they'd have tossed him girls like Nancy back then." - Dwight, in Frank Miller's Sin City: A Dame To Kill For

I'm not saying I'm sorry for anything. Doesn't mean I'm not sorry, just means I'm not saying it.

There's nothing wrong with me.

I have been mocked, I have been beaten, I have been taken advantage of. I have been loved, I have been admired, I have been listened to.

I sometimes find that feeling, where I can hear every footstep, can feel the ground give way below my feet, can see the earth shake as I move. I sometimes find that place where the darkness fills the voids, the light bends to my will, and life sucks the sounds from the sky.

I never understood that place...and I don't now.

Which sort of makes this a rather pointless entry.

Had you going for a second there didn't I?

You thought this was the one, didn't you?

It's not but...

I can feel the ax in my hand.

Can feel the ground beneath my feet.

Sure they toss them to me, but I just toss them back.

The crowd roars.

The earth shakes.

I move.

They offer a fight, I give them a war.

Tip One Back For Old John Paul

"Mitch Hedberg and Frank Perdue die and The Deuce hangs on a little longer. How's that fair? How many chickens did the Pope sell? What did the Holy Father ever say that was funny?" - Lazarus Jones

"Somehow Lazzy I think you miss the point." - T.O. Hob

It's a scary time for the world, even if you don't realize it. We rush through things. Ignore the fact that we don't even wait for people to stop breathing before we start mourning anymore, but damn soon we're going to be naming a new Pope. One to replace good Old J.P. II. It would be tough to top what Number Two meant to the world, but I'm afraid the Catholic Church is going to finally react to the horrible things going on in house and that they'll do so in the worst possible way. They'll go for a hardliner. The RC's need a moderate, someone who will embrace the world, not just purge the evils. I'm afraid what we're going to see is someone who tries to flush out all the shit, and then blocks out everyone else, leaving dangerous gaps in the world.

I suppose it doesn't really matter though, we're all fucked anyway. Right?

So my father was back in work for the first time in awhile today, and I swear I must be able to tell the future because I know exactly how things are going to go. But there were the curveballs.

I almost bought a house today. I decided I didn't want to undergo the financial burden it would but on me. Somehow the topic came up of how much money my father has. He always says he's comfortable, in part because he doesn't know what he's worth. But the funny part is that what he considers comfortable is what I consider moderately wealthy. He's not loaded, but he's got some cash. His arguments about how he's not "wealthy" never make sense. Today's was a new low. He starts talking about some guy who owns this $40 million dollar yacht, a $35 million dollar yacht, and a $10 million dollar yacht that he only uses to go back and forth to the $40 million dollar yacht at this dock that connects to the boat club my father belongs to. So there are all these millionaires who sit around at the boat club bitching about this kid who owns about $100 million dollars worth of yacht and makes them all look bad. This kid who made ridiculous money playing golf. This kid who happens to be named Tiger Fucking Woods.

My father's plea of poverty today involved the fact that he doesn't have as much money as Tiger Woods.

Welcome to the club.

I tried to explain that if you're going to bother comparing yourself to someone you should compare it to someone in the real world, not a guy whose worth a million times more than you on a bad day. I always start with, I've got more money than the guy who squeegees my window at the traffic light, of course that's not always true, but still...

Today sucked. Work was ridiculous again, I didn't get to see Sin City, I'm tired and feel like hell. But so what?

The god damn Pope is dying. It's not just shitty, it's actually kind of sad.

You did pretty good JP, for what it's worth I was impressed.

Here's to you.

Thanks.

April's Merry Fool

"No time for a real entry right now, Team One is rumbling into town to put me out of business and I have to go defend the fort (and buy them breakfast)." - Palomba, from Night In The Lonesome October, October 1st, 2004

Wait, wait, wait...haven't we done this before?

If October was for being Lonesome, then April will have to settle for being Weird. It starts today

Team One, Sin City, No Sleep. Fuck you and your mother.

Time to make something out of nothing boys, let's play ball.

"Staple it together and call it bad weather? What the fuck does that mean Jack?"- T.O. Hob, A Friday Morning Musical Critique

Burn Baby Burn

Disgusting Fact #1: My face is beat red and feels like I have a wicked sunburn.

Disgusting Fact #2: I worked 16 hours today.

I don't know man. I just don't know.
So the real inspection at the company starts tomorrow and despite my best efforts we're just not ready. I can only do so much. My father came back from Florida today, and was barely on the ground when he started to grouse about how I've been running things. He's entitled, it was his company afterall, but it's still frustrating. He says I work far too much, but in the same breathe tells me I'm not doing enough. He tells me I do too much by myself, that I need to delegate more. But in the next moment he's telling me how I can't trust anyone to do anything. He'll be back for six days. Those six days will be busy, but since he will want to split the work 50-50 and everyone else will work harder because he's back those six days will be far easier than a normal day. So if we catch a slow day here somehow we'll end up sitting around twiddling our thumbs or at the very least only work ten hours in a day. And then he'll somehow think that I'm fucking up horribly when he's not there and that's why I have to work so much. The minute he gets back on the plane everyone else goes back to jacking off, and I spend the next week trying to fix the half of the things that he did because with the not being around and all he tries to jump into the middle of things and ends up making more of a muddle of things then anything else. So the time right after he goes is the busiest for me. Which means I'll be stuck there all day and all night. Which means he'll think that the minute he left I started fucking things up again.

I can't win.

I was just reading a story about how the Monterrey Aquarium freed a Great White Shark that had set a record for surviving in captivity. I figured Great Whites are pretty tough animals and sharks can live a while, so it must have been in captivity for quite awhile. Then I found out it was only held for 198 days.

That didn't sound like a lot to me. Then I read that the previous record was sixteen days. Sixteen fucking days. It only took sixteen days for a tank to break the spirit of one of the greatest predators in the world. Sixteen days! And that was the longest it ever took...until this guy wanders along. And 198 days after they capture him, they let him out. 198 days and he beats the tank. So the toughest Great White Shark this side of Jaws finally beats the man and what do they do? They release him into the wild, where he has to fend for himself. Fight against man and mother nature for the right to fight another day. He lasted 182 days longer than the runner-up, he beat the tank, beat the man, but he's still only fifty-fifty to live out his natural life span. Sometimes you just can't win.

I feel a bit like those Great White Sharks, and whether I last sixteen days in this cage or go the fucking distance I won't kid myself, how can I when I know the truth?

I just can't win.

Well maybe I could, but I'd probably have to cheat.