Liar's Dice

Here's what I say: Call my bluff.

You don't have the nerve.

Here's a quick timetable of the last seven days: F-NH S-NH S-YM M-NM T-YC W-NN R-YM F-YM

Don't worry, you're not expected to understand that.

Here's another one: F-YF S-YF S-YF M-N T-N W-N R-YEN F-YEF

No, I don't expect you to understand that either.

Another?: R-YNG F-YNG S-YG S-N M-N T-N W-N R-N

Now for some translation.

The first one says I made an effort. The second one says I did pretty well. The third one says I behaved myself on more days than I did not behave myself. I know, it's confusing. I'm not sure I'll understand it when I look back on it tomorrow.

But for now.

The last seven days or so have brought quite a bit of change in my way of thinking of things. Last week I spent a good bit of time vomiting blood for no good reason. For a minute I wondered if I was dying. But as soon as it subsided I realized I felt better than I had felt in a very long time.

I always did things I wanted to do. But now I'm trying new things I want to do. I'm going to learn to speak a little Russian, a little German, and a little French. Then maybe I'll try Italian and Spanish. I'm ignoring the fact that I have no aptitude for languages outside of my own. I bought a sketchbook a few weeks back, and some charcoal, and some colored pencils. I still can't draw worth a shit. But I'm slowly filling that sketchbook up. I'm cruising auctions for anything interesting. Hitting Dunkin' Donuts for a hot chocolate every morning. Spending time in Go-Go Bars with the guys. Going out to dinner and movies with my girlfriend. Hanging out with the Antioch people. Playing games with the kids. Working my ass off in general. Now if only I could make some time to clean up my house and play with my dog. I'd be all set.

But what then?

Sometimes You Eat The Bear And Sometimes The Bear, Well, He Eats You.

"Last night I had a wicked dream of an unfamiliar place, a cold dark place populated by a blind and silent people. In this place I wandered, lost in the memory of sound and light." - King

Friday night, as hilarious as it was, left me rather spent and extremely grateful that I didn't have to be in early on this particular Saturday...until the phone began to ring at a quarter to seven in the morning.

When I finally stumbled home several hours later I was half past exhausted and totally tits up. I remember beginning to get undressed and then it's all hazy. When I woke up about two hours later this was what I recall.

The dream began with a rememberance of two hilarious dreams from the past several months, the first involving lube and someone's father and the second being one of which I can never speak. Quickly they disolved however. And, with rather shocking suddeness, I found myself in the physical space of a dream I'd had once before. I was in a radio station, but not one of the three I'd ever worked at, a fourth one that has often stood in for WRSU in my dreams. I found this odd, but for the moment I was aware I was still dreaming and did not want to do anything to ruin it.

And suddenly the people who I worked with there began to arrive. I'd be lying if I said they didn't cross my mind now and then, but this was the first time I'd really thought of them in quite awhle. This fact alone surprised me. But here they were filtering into this strange radio station one by one. And now we're talking but not about what we've been doing, but about the ones that aren't here. Where is so and so? And so and so? And quickly I'm losing any illusion of a dream and beginning to wonder if this is real. They seem so independent of the way I would picture them after all this time. They've changed, grown older, they don't sound like me in the way that people often do in my dreams. They're talking a lot like they used to talk. And they're telling me things I could in no way know, but have no doubt are true. My dream is fooling me. Except I can't remember how I would have gotten to the radio station, and I'm wearing clothes I know I didn't buy, and they we're moving. All of us that have shown up are moving, quickly out of the building, and we go from the top floor to the ground level without taking any steps, without getting in an elevator and now the physics have been provided to shock me back into the reality of knowing this is a dream. I'm rather relieved, I wasn't prepared otherwise.

And now we're on a bus. My bus. With my friends from home, my friends from church, and my friends from the radio station. And I have no idea where we're going. We're talking. And crying. People keep crying, I almost cry. But since I don't know why we're crying I stop when someone asks me to.

Things are getting sort of outlandish now. I can see the bus is driving up a steep narrow path. And there are signs in the shape of bears.

Someone says we're almost there.

And then we are. Pulling through the giant wooden gates of what the signs call a bear preserve. And as the bus stops we can see bears wandering around on the other side of this flimsy chicken wire fence. And I literally stand up and say, "Dream or not. I'm not fucking going in there." Everyone looks at me funny.

And the phone rings.

Dragged out of the dream and back to work, I still carry the good feelings from "seeing" so many people I care about in the same place at the same time.

The day goes on, and at the end of a fantastic night I dream again.

I'm wandering in a small city I've never seen before. The warm wet rain beats the ground around me. I'm trying to hail a cab, but having no luck. And then I see him. Someone I know. Getting out of a cab on the other side of a major road. I call his name and he looks up like he hears me, but as I begin to move towards him I see that he's really answering someone else who is calling out for the cab. My old friend walks away, I chase after him, but as I round a corner I'm in a completely different neighborhood. The guys from work are walking around with flashlights because it has begun to get dark. Someone is missing and we're looking for her. I'm in a house I have no right being in and trying to avoid getting caught by the people who own the house. I find the girl we're looking for, and I'm shocked to see I know her. The people who own the house see me and start shooting at us. I don't have a gun so we run. We get away, but I've been hit. I'm bleeding bad, and I still can't catch a cab, so we hop on a transit bus, but the men with guns are still chasing us. We break a window and hop out of the bus while it's still moving. We're in a completely different neighborhood now. A very wealthy neighborhood with security cameras and police all over the place. The men with guns and the police began to shoot at each other so grab the girl and hide down behind a car. But a dog comes and tries to chase me into the open, so I'm punching to dog trying to get him to stop biting me. I stand up in the middle of the gun fight and run at two men with guns. All three of us go crashing through a fence and roll down a hill.

I hit the bottom hard, but the men with guns are gone and now it's just me and the girl again. When I look up I see that I'm...back in the bear preserve.

We wander around until the phone rings and I wake up.

I can deduce from the way my weekend was going where a great deal of the things in my dream came from, people I saw, things I heard, places I'd been. But there's one thing I'm absolutely sure I do not get.

Where did all the fucking bears come from?

Fictitious Chance Encounters

"Hey."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah, it's been awhile."

"What are you doing here? How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"Good. It's so great to see you. What have you been doing?"

"Just working. You know, day to day, thing to thing. I'm hanging in there. You?"

"Same, everything is going really well. You ever seen anybody?"

"No, you're the first one I've run into in years. You?"

"Not so much anymore. Not in a long while."

"Yeah, I know. Look, I really wish I had more time to talk. Time to catch up, but I have to go. There are people waiting for me."

"Yeah, me too. It was really great seeing you though."

"Yeah it was good seeing you to. You should really drop me a line or give me a call some time. Let me know you're doing ok, make it one less old friend I have to worry about."

"I will, you could do the same. So I don't have to worry about you."

"Nobody has to worry about me. I'm always good. I'm Palomba."

"Yeah...I know. Bye."

"Bye."

Five Year Olds

This guy I used to live with was a seriously sick fuck. Not that he ever did anything too sick or twisted, but he just came up with sick and twisted ass shit. I'm sitting in the living room one Friday afternoon playing Tony Hawk 2 on Dreamcast and he walks in and sits down across from me...and doesn't say anything. He's not even really watching me play, he's sort of just staring at this random spot on the ceiling when suddenly, without even looking at me he goes, "Ask me what's better than two naked five year olds."

Now how exactly do you ask that? So I sort of mutter, "What's better than two naked five year olds?"

To which he replies, "Three naked five year olds."

I don't even laugh, I just keep playing my video game. He gets quiet again. A few minutes pass and without ever looking at me he says, "Ask me what's better than three naked five year olds."

I hesitantly ask, "What's better than three naked five year olds?"

To which he responds by staring right at me with anger in his eyes and saying triumphantly, "Are you fucking kidding me? There's nothing better than three naked five year olds."

Now what brings me to this story on a Thursday morning such as today?

Well, for years that had been the most fucked up thing involving five year olds I could imagine...until I saw this: http://www.howmanyfiveyearoldscouldyoutakeinafight.com/

That's right. How many five year old could you take in a fight...

So I followed the link and began to answer the questions. All the while trying to think of how many five year olds I can take in a fight. Now I'm pretty sure I could take two or three full size adults in a fight at this point. Maybe five or six teenagers. At least a dozen eight graders. But then it gets sort of hazy. At what point do the numbers become overpowering? At what point is it the sheer size of the army that undoes you? So I'm thinking I could reasonably destroy approximately seventeen five year olds without so much as a scratch. And the whole time I'm thinking this fucking machine better not tell me that I can only take like six five year olds in a fight because then I'm going to be pissed off. So lo and behold I get my results:



And for a second I'm actually pleased. I'm pretty sure I can take 31 five year olds in a fight, and I'm glad the machine agrees. But then I start thinking. I bet I could take more than that. Which answer did the machine dock me for? Why doesn't the machine think I can take forty five year olds in a fight? or fifty? or one hundred? Fuck this machine.

So now I have to prove the machine wrong. I have to prove that I can take more than 31 five year olds in a fight.

The only question was where could I find more than 31 five year olds in the same place at the same time?

And then I remember who I am.

Oh yeah.

The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.

The wheels on the bus go round and round...all through the day.

Junction

This used to happen to me all the time.

It's been happening less and less lately. I get called back to the office in the middle of the night for no good reason all the time, but this is different. This is like it used to be.

I used to shut off the television, go into my bedroom, get undressed, shut the lights off and climb under the sheets. As soon as I closed my eyes the phone would ring. Never fail. It happened every night...every-single-fucking-night. Never fail.

And I would climb out of bed, get dressed, start my car and head back out into the freezing night to go back to work. Every night. Never fail.

Some nights it would happen two or three times. Other nights just that once because I'd never make it home for it to happen again. But it happened so much it damn near drove me crazy. So we worked harder, tried new things, and before long had it almost sorted out. The calls still came, but less frequently, and as luck would have it no longer just as I was getting into bed.

Then tonight. It happened again.

The phone rang.

My father is leaving for Florida in a few weeks, he's just put us on the precipice of what could be a truly destructive calamity, and in general there's a good chance work is about to get a lot tougher.

My personal life isn't exactly bang-o either. I have a girlfriend now. I still can't wrap my head around that. She's fantastic, and I love her to death, but just not in the way that she wants. And she knows that, and I'm sure it pisses her off, but...I'm just not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be. I mean I don't need a girlfriend, but I need her. I need my friends. I need my family. I need me...to be in one piece...and have my shit together right now. And oh boy is my shit not together right now.

The old afflictions are circling, the obsessions starting, the illusions creeping back in. I can't keep my hands busy, I can't keep my mind straight, I can't breathe without thinking about each and every breathe I take.

Some people would say it's the holidays, other people would blame it on the weather, but I know the truth. It's all on me. All...on...me.

We've reached a divide in the road.

Which way will we go?

The phone is ringing.

Hi, I'm An Asshole...It's Nice To Meet You.

So here's the thing. And it's not like anyone doesn't know this but...

I'm an asshole.

I've always been an asshole, I always will be an asshole.

It's in my blood.

But...

I'm not a bad asshole.

At least I don't think I am.

I'm a nice guy. I'm difficult in general, but I'm not too tough to get along with. Despite oscillating between being painfully shy and just plain socially awkward I'm often friendly and gregarious. I may be harsh and sometimes unintentionally mean, but I'm also frequently kind, thoughtful, and generous. I don't trust anyone, but I have faith in everybody. I don't love anyone but I love everybody. I cuss like a fucking bandit, but I'm also gracious and eloquent at the drop of a hat. I'm a walking talking 6'3" 350 lb. contradiction.

But...I'm an asshole.

I sometimes wish I could apologize for that.

My Life Since The Last Post Told Using Cyanide And Happiness Webcomics

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net



Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

And Everything Falls Apart

"I don't plan what's going to happen, I plan for what could happen, and then what happens...happens." - Palomba

Here we go again. And let's just remember. I'm still smiling.

"Life is just a series of extravagant failures punctuated by occassional, insignificant, successes." -Hob

Assume?

Why is it that when I assume I only make an ass out of me?

Someone explain to me how that is fair.

I'm going to attempt something rather dangerous tonight.

I'm going to attempt to go back in time.

I'm going to go back to when I was five years old and was standing out front of a church watching a wedding and this lady standing next to me that I didn't know kept saying, Chris look at this and Chris look at that till I finally turned around and said, on the verge of tears, "But I am looking!" Only to realize that there was another little boy standing next to me. Another little boy whose name turned out to be Chris.

I'm going to go back to that time when I was in high school and was explaining to this teacher about something that had happened at home when I realized this girl standing nearby had over heard. And as I realized she turned to me and said, "What?" And since I couldn't think of anything else to say I repeated what I had just said. I was confused by her look of shock. Only to realize that she hadn't heard me the first time, she had just happened to look up at the right time and wasn't questioning what I said but why I was looking at her.

I'm going to go back to that day when one of the guys pulled over next to me as I was walking home from football practice and without thinking I opened the car door and said thank you but I didn't need a ride I'd walk. Only to see that he had pulled over to pick something up that he had dropped on the floor.

I'm going to go back to the day where I was driving back to my apartment with a friend and we were talking about high school, and he said "I didn't realize you were the Outcast type." To which I responded that I wouldn't have considered myself an outcast, but certainly wasn't someone on the inside during high school due to a variety of reasons. Only to realize that Outkast was playing on the radio.

I'm going to go back to the day of SCILS graduation. After graduation a girl I had only met a few times came up to me and said congratulations, to which I said thank you. She looked at me funny, and again said congratulations. I said thank you again, only to realize that she wasn't talking to me. She didn't even know who I was.

And I'm going to go back to earlier tonight. When I made an unfair assumption that I certainly should not have made causing someone I care very much about to become sort of uncomfortable and causing me to have yet another awkward Palomba moment.

So, yes, tonight I'm going to attempt something rather dangerous.

And if that doesn't work out I'll just get together with the guys and have a few drinks.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Dreams: Or Oddly Plain Fantasies

"And though these dreams were meant for all, it is to I alone they fall." - Hob, from Piccadilly Dreams

If there was anything I could do to make this work, I would have already done it.

If faith alone was enough then it would be fine. But faith requires people. And people are so very often the problem.

People are this problem.

I am this problem.

For the first time, in my entire life, I have no answers. No right answers. No wrong answers. No answers at all.

I've been lost before. Been broken. Been beaten. Been down. But I've never been like this.

I almost can't believe there are still new challenges coming at this point.

So close to the end.

But that's the world we live in, and I'm always thankful I live in it, because things would be a lot less interesting if it was any other way.

I ask for very little but the possibility that things could work out, and rarely am I disappointed. I'm afraid though. Afraid of the impossible...or more appropriately afraid of the lack of possibilities.

If there was ever anywhere where the impossible was possible this is surely the place. And if there was ever a time where we needed the impossible to be possible...it is now.

"And so these dreams once fit for none, now belong to everyone." - Hob, from Piccadilly Dreams

Letter Pt.2

Dear God,

You're a real pisser, you know that?

Your friend,
Palomba

P.S. - I still got this one...but nice try, really.

Letter

Dear God,

I got this one on my own...really.

Your Friend,
Palomba

P.S. - I'm not broken anymore. But thanks for looking out for me while I was.

Things

Things I Am Sort Of Afraid Of

1. Inadvertently Plagiarizing Someone Else's Work

2. That I Will Die Alone

3. Herpes

4. Already Chewed Chewing Gum

5. Losing An Eye

6. General Failure

Things I Used To Sort Of Be Afraid Of

1. The Dark

2. Sharks In My Swimming Pool

3. Heights

4. The Doorknob That Turned Into Goofy In Mickey's Christmas Carol

Things I Probably Should Be Afraid Of

1. Diabetes

2. Heart Attacks

3. Going Broke

Yeah...so...I don't know. I was reading through an old journal of mine and found two quotes that I really liked. Thing is in my personal journal I don't attribute quotes from other people because I so rarely use them and I assume that I will remember where they came from if they were special enough to use. Except this was five years ago or so and I have no idea where I got them from. They're too good to be my own. But I can't find them anywhere else. So here they are totally out of context, but maybe someone will recognize them and let me know.

"God save us all the men who venture to adventure, and more so those of us who leave and simply fall into it."

"Under the guidance of the stars we go, protected by the moon, driven by the sun, accompanied only by each other."

Fair?

So let's be fair here. To me of course. Fuck everybody else.

No seriously.

I did something pretty shitty. But I don't know why I feel shitty about doing it. It didn't hurt anybody, it won't hurt anybody. It's not like I meant to do it, not like I got anything out of it, or could in any way profit from it. I'm not ashamed, or embarrassed, or shy about it. It's not like it makes me the bad guy.

But it happened.

And that sort of pisses me off.

I'm supposed to be in control. I'm supposed to have everything just so. I'm supposed to be the one that calls the shots. I say the word and the whole world shifts three inches to the right.

I'm the boss.

I'm the king.

I'm the Hob.

And of course I've gone and hobbed things all up.

But let's be fair here...it's not like I've done anything wrong...so why do I feel so shitty about it?

Bravery-ish-ness

The Adventures of a Yet T0 Be Named Masked Avenger and His Sidekick Twat-Boy

Jeremiah and I have decided that if things don't start going smashingly in both of our respective lives that we could always become either a crime fighting duo or super criminals. Either way we've decided that since Jere actually has a life he'll be my sidekick that way in interferes less. I haven't come up with a name for myself yet, but I've already dubbed Jere Twat-Boy. See that works either way if we're good guys or bad guys. Twat-Boy is sort of ambiguous like.

Old Spice and Stale Crullers or Why I Love The Girl From Dunkin' Donuts

Ha, yeah, so. I've developed a slight addiction to iced coffee. I hate it. Never drink regular coffee, don't enjoy iced coffee, but I like going to Dunkin' Donuts. And I like having a routine, you know, you start off every morning with a nice large iced coffee...which most of the time I don't even drink. I go into Dunkin' Donuts every morning (sometimes early sometimes late) and try to speak to the same girl and order the same thing. If it's just me it's one large iced coffee cream and sugar. If it's everybody in the office it's four medium coffees, two milk one sugar (Phil&Bob), one cream and sugar (Monica), one decaf milk no sugar (Dad) and one large iced coffee cream and sugar (me). Sometimes I get two boston creme donuts as well. Or maybe two blueberry muffins with butter. I'm rather routine when ordering, but I always remember to smile and nod politely to confirm my order when the girl repeats it. All the girls in Dunkin' Donuts are very nice. Mostly they get my order right as well. One sort of meanders taking her time and asking me to repeat my order. One is quick and efficient always getting the order correct. One is so cute it makes me sick.

How Guitar Hero III Ruined My Life

Rookie and I are playing a lot of Guitar Hero III. A lot of Guitar Hero III. It's getting so bad that yesterday I went and bought an entire game package just so we could get a second guitar because they haven't released the extra guitars yet. I didn't care how much it cost. We needed to rock. Ha...

Fuck-A-Duck

Yeah there's really nothing to go with this one. I just wanted to use the phrase fuck-a-duck in a post. And there we go I've done it twice.

Harry Houdini Was A Hardcore Motherfucker

He was. Really. People don't realize. Harry Houdini could have kicked your ass, gotten arrested for it, escaped because he was good at that shit, fly away in his plane because he was one of the great early aviators, then write a book about it because he did that too. He also invented a safe scuba suit, so if he was near water he could have done that shit too. Harry was a hardcore motherfucker. Wish I could have met him. Instead I'm going to head over to NY one of these days and leave flowers at his grave. I know, not the same thing, but still.

Is That A Wocket In Your Pocket or are you Just Happy to see me?

And finally. I've just run through another cell phone. The plumbing in my house is shot. My pants don't fit anymore. My shoulder still hurts like a bitch. Even though I'm sitting on a pile of money I can't prove that the company is making any money. I'm sick and tired. I'm bored but busy. Everything and everyone is totally fucked. And Antioch starts this Sunday. So everything is going to be ok...

Muse

Muse /myuz/ –noun
1.
Classical Mythology.
a.
any of a number of sister goddesses, originally given as Aoede (song), Melete (meditation), and Mneme (memory), but latterly and more commonly as the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne who presided over various arts: Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Erato (lyric poetry), Euterpe (music), Melpomene (tragedy), Polyhymnia (religious music), Terpsichore (dance), Thalia (comedy), and Urania (astronomy); identified by the Romans with the Camenae.
b.
any goddess presiding over a particular art.
2.
(sometimes lowercase) the goddess or the power regarded as inspiring a poet, artist, thinker, or the like.
3.
(lowercase) the genius or powers characteristic of a poet.

Women. Can't say enough about them. Can't say anything to them. Perfect. Every god damn one you ever met. So many to talk about, so few to talk to. Women. What would any of us do without them?

I fancy myself a thinker. An intellect. A philsopher.

I like to think I can write a little. Not very well. Nothing special. But a little.

And as I reflect on this I realize that every thought, every lyric, every line of poetry or prose that I have ever written has been inspired by a woman.

So yeah, in a lot of ways I'm as every bit a fool as the rest of you.

But I'd like to take this minute while I acknowledge this to discuss those women that particularly inspired me. The women I will never forget. My muses so to speak.

The first one was *****, or history. She was beautiful, they all were, but there was something else about her. She liked the same things I liked, talked to me like she would talk to anyone else. I didn't want her, I wanted to be around her. I never wrote anything to her, never wrote anything for her, never wrote anything about her. But she was the inspiration for my first real voice. The first sounds in my head which forced themselves down my arms and out my fingertips straight onto the paper. Long after I had moved onto my next muse I would see her places. In the mall. At the movies. Driving down the street. She wouldn't remember me if stopped to talk to her. Wouldn't even know who I was. But I remember her, and remember the voice she gave me.

Then came ****, or tragedy. She was young and not so innocent, but inspiring in the way that cliches and great stories are born from. She was Juliet and she was Cleopatra and she was perfect. I wrote for her. I wrote because of her. She did not give me a voice, but she gave me a direction. If had known better, if I had been better, she would have given me a goal. But alas, she left me with feelings not stories, and emotions not poems.

******, or lyric poetry, may have been the first one I loved. Although she never knew. I knew though and it killed me. Every time I thought she was gone, every time I though I would have to hunt for new inspiration, she showed back up and gave me pause. I wrote for her and wrote because of her and though I tried a million times I could never write to her. It was, and always will be, my loss.

***** was epic poetry. Ships would move for this girl. Empires would crumble. She was Aphrodite and Helen of Troy. She saved my life completely by accident. I didn't love her, but I loved her. She was perfect. She was important to me. She was a good person. And for some reason, she gave me reason to write. I hope wherever she is and whatever she is doing that she is happy, and that everything is right in her world.

******** was religious music, and to designate her as such may be doing her a great disservice. She was life. And I loved her for it. The others were reasons, and motivations, and inspirations. She was the only one who ever made me consider not writing just for her. So great was what she gave me.

********** was dance, for obvious reasons. She always got my name wrong, but at least she knew something about me. Everything I knew about her was a lie, but I knew that before she even told me anything. She wasn't afraid of me, but she certainly didn't like me, even though she always said she did. That was her job I suppose. She was very good at it. I never really thought about her, never wrote anything for her, but I wrote about her and others like her. And at the very least I owe it to them to have them somewhere on the list of those who have inspired me.

****** was comedy. It was funny how I met her, and funny how I have to see her all the time, and funny that I feel like an ass for the few minutes that I see her almost every day because the very sight of her makes me forget everything that I was thinking nearly instantly. She doesn't even know my name, probably doesn't even know I exist. I don't really know her or anything about her. I don't even really care. But it's funny, because every time I see her the things that run through my mind are enough to fill an entire book. Someday I will.

**** was music. I'm not sure about this one. It's not that there were not a million others that could have taken her place. It's just that right now she's the one that matches up. It's odd because sometimes you see someone and you know, and then sometimes you talk to someone and you reconsider. But she just sorted out rather nicely. And she has a pretty smile to boot.

**** & ******** & *** were astronomy. Because the heavens above had to be just right to lead three such perfect people into my life. They were my friends though I had no right claiming such a friendship. They were special and I loved them for it. I wrote about them, I wrote while thinking about them, and maybe someday I can write a story for them. For they certainly deserve a story.

But then again so many others deserve stories. So many others who inspired me for minutes, or months, or years. Some have faded. Some have taken back seats to others. Some come and go with shocking intensity. But they all played a part, and for that I am grateful.

Muses, and heroes, and those we want to be. There are so many people in our lives, from friends, to family members, to celebrities, and just those people that come and go that can inspire us and spur us forward in action or emotion. There's something special about each of them that brings out something special in us. And if you're reading this just think, maybe one of these people I have described is you...

Just think about it.

muse /myuz/ –verb (used without object)
1.
to think or meditate in silence, as on some subject.
2.
Archaic. to gaze meditatively or wonderingly. –verb (used with object)
3.
to meditate on.
4.
to comment thoughtfully or ruminate upon.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Truth, Justice, and the American Way.

It's sad but I remember once thinking that Superman II was a cool movie.


It was the latest in the things I can watch with the kids series taking place every weekend at my mom's house. So far we've watched both Ghostbusters, Batteries Not Included, Who Frame Roger Rabbit, the first 20 minutes of Raider of the Lost Ark right up until my brother flipped out, and the first Superman. We watched the second Superman last night. It wasn't as good as I remember.


I would like to say the last few months have been ridiculous...but the truth is they've just been the last few months. The last post I wrote that wasn't totally nonsensical (relatively speaking of course) was near the end of July. Since then I've used a toast I gave, straight dialogue from a conversation with my father, a prologue to a fairy tale I never wrote, and quotes from entries I never posted. Excellent reading if you ask me.


So what's going on in my life?


First off the summer wasn't that bad. It sucked of course, but it wasn't that bad. Things were quieter without Tim in the office and though my father was a dick throughout I've sort of learned to live with that. He can only get so worked up anymore since things have been going so well. We're in a bit of a downturn right now, but things are still going really well. September was crazy, but through hard work and extreme diligence it was only the second craziest month we've ever had. October isn't going blazingly either, but well, what are you going to do.


Nick's wedding was in September and even though that seems like a long time ago now, I never really properly addressed it. It was a really nice wedding and a really great day. Downside is I haven't seen Nick but once since the wedding which is really strange considering I've seen him on a fairly regular basis for the past 22 years and all of a sudden he's sort of gone. He's been really busy at work and I've been really busy at work and with him being married and all now it sort of seems like opportunities to hang out have been reduced to nil. He's not even online anymore so I sort of just have to assume he's doing well. Upside is I took Michelle to the wedding as a guest, not a date, and lo and behold we somehow ended up dating. Totally her idea as I remind people, I think anyone who wants to be anywhere near me is totally out of their mind, so I take no responsibility for at least half the crazy in this relationship. Just kidding...sort of.


My house is falling apart. I've never been the neatest person when it comes to my home, but I've never been dirty. Cluttered is more like it. This house is getting dirty, filthy. I don't like it, but I don't have time to do anything about it. Tuck is awesome, but he's driving me nuts and I don't have time to spend with him or take care of him. So pretty much all he does is shit all over the place and chew things up. Somehow he seems to enjoy the arrangement.


We went to the Haunted House at Eastern State Penitentiary with the kids from church a few weeks back and I thought it was a fantastic night, but it (and other recent happenings) once again highlighted some of the problems we have in the group. It scares me because these kinds of conflict often lead to people not coming back and I can't imagine doing it all again without everyone there from last year. They're such a great group of kids and I care so much about them, it's just that they all don't seem to care for each other all the time. And that's too bad. We need to work on that.


And finally...


If you've been reading for the past year (assuming of course that you exist) you may have noticed that I started doing something I never did before. I am of course talking about...drumroll please...strip clubs! It all started with a seemingly innocuous trip near the end of last July. And somewhere in there I decided that I liked those places which I previously wasn't that big a fan of. So I decided I'd go, but only for a year. See if the novelty wore off. It didn't. But still somewhere in late August I made my last scheduled trip to a local strip club, and then somewhere in early September a few of us made an unscheduled stop at one, but for the foreseeable future my little strip club experiment is over. So after a year of stories I haven't yet told Julia, Cleo, Nikki, Mary and by far my favorite Alexandria will enter the books as the greatest strippers of all time in my opinion and I will move on to another hobby that most likely involves this, or Halo 3, or maybe even body paint. No...seriously. And while strip clubs are now a thing of the past...Go-Go Bars are still totally fair game.

So...

I feel a lot like writing lately and that most likely means I'll write a lot here, but since no one will ever read any of it...

Quotes from Lost Posts

I've been posting less and less here, but I certainly haven't been writing less. I just seem to lose steam halfway through and relegate posts to the category of never to be used drafts. But, in looking back over them this morning I found a few lines that I liked from posts I haven't used in the last six months or so. So here they are.

Fiction? The world is crumbling. Figuratively that is, not literally of course. A spot of rain on an already dreary Sunday hardly qualifies as the end of the world. So there we are.

2007: A Year In Review? Call it serendipity. Call it a general malaise. Call it beef fried rice.
You can call it any of those things. Even though they'd clearly all be nonsense.
Then again...so is this.

Rapture Hello friends, my name is Christian, and I am an adult...but only when I feel like it, rarely when I need to be, and never in misty rains or heavy snows.

For You And even if you're ball deep in their backside those two words can make it all feel better, "For You." Nobody cares if you're fucking them as long as they think you're fucking them less than you fuck everybody else.

Not Quite Gallows Humor
Nurse: On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?
Me: Not real bad, so maybe a two?
Nurse: Good, good. What does it feel like?
Me: Well, you know, like, if you cut your thumb with a razor? What that would feel like? That's what it feels like.
Nurse: Good, good. Now what exactly happened?
Me: I cut my thumb with a razor.

She doesn't find the exchange as funny as I do for some reason.


Next... Mrs.Reality meet Mr.Mistakes-I've-Made...over and over and over again.

Next... I've become beautifully irrelevant.

Where... Indifference. Another word for anger, another word for loss.

Slippery Slope Finish story. 21 hour days. October Ends. Shot in November. Dead by December.

And there you go folks...

The Good Fight.

And so it goes...

I've learned something troubling in the last few days. I can't get angry anymore. Last night I tried to, I didn't really have a reason to, but I never needed a reason before. So I tried to get angry and I really couldn't do it. I could say I was angry, I could act like I was angry, I could scowl and growl and sulk like I was angry...but I couldn't really get angry.

I can't get excited anymore. I don't look forward to things like I used to. I used to be able to get excited for the littlest thing (even if I never showed it) a movie coming out, a video game I wanted to get, a book I wanted to read. A party, a trip, even something as silly as a good rain on a grey day. Not anymore. I enjoy all these things still, but I never really get excited about them anymore.

I'm happy and I'm depressed and I'm lost and I'm strong. I don't get it either so I guess you could say I'm confused. I'm having weird dreams. But not the weird nonsensical wisdom filled damn near prophetic dreams I used to have...just weird dreams. Last night I dreamed of arguing with my mother about unrefrigerated left over chinese food in a house that neither one of us ever lived in.

"Mom is that chinese food still good?"

"It was ok."

"No I don't mean was it good, I mean is it still good."

"I told you I liked it. I don't know if it was really good."

"No mom, I mean is it still good. Like not spoiled. Not rotten."

"I guess it was pretty rotten to be honest."

"No mom...nevermind."

Then I ate a magic donut given to me by the cute girl from dunkin donuts who was somehow living in the cupboard in the laundry room of this house my mother and I had never lived in.

It was a good donut.

See what I mean?

And then someone I care a lot about just told me something I really didn't want to hear about someone else I care a lot about.

And that goes two ways.

And I did nothing. I didn't get angry, I couldn't get all worked up, I almost got upset, but I just couldn't. I wanted to fight, I wanted to rage, I wanted to do something. But I couldn't. Not now anyways. The overwhelming feeling that I had wasn't anger, wasn't sadness, wasn't confusion. It was disappointment. I was disappointed in myself that I couldn't stop two people I care very much about from falling into the same silly trappings of life I've watched so many people fall into before.

And I'm worried. Worried that they won't get it in time to fix it. Worried that they'll never understand.

See it's not that we were a team, it's that we are team, and always will be. No matter what we say or do. No matter how much time passes.


When you fight with your friends,
you still have us.
When your family is fucked,
you still have us.
When the world's stacked against you,
you still have us.
But when you turn your back on us?
You've got nothing.

Think about it.

Ducks Eat For Free At Subway

In the beginning there were saints and there were sinners, there was good and there was evil, there was right and there was wrong. And then, with time, those lines which had divided blurred and the certainty which had defined the world was no longer.

And in the second half of the 333rd day of the year of the Yang Metal Monkey was born a man who would become a monster, a boy who would become a beast, a child who would become a creature.

As youth became wisdom, as new moon turned to old and back again, this half child half jument, this sick and twisted beast of burden retreated from reality learning to live between what is, what was, and what never would be. All the while waiting.

And as time passed the thing learned pity, and longing and hurt. It learned who to fear and who not to trust. It learned patience, and practice, and finally its position in the whirlwind.

So this king of lesser creatures would take his place, halfway between heaven and hell, perched on a line which grew ever narrower till one day it simply ceased to exist at all. And with this change came catastrophy. With this change came herald of a conclusion.

The beginning of the end is beginning.

Yesterday we were, today we are, and tomorrow we might be.

There is no light, we run on.

A Toast At My Best Friend's Wedding

This was the toast I gave as the best man at Nick's wedding...a text book example of saying something nice while saying nothing at all, but a very nice toast either way if you ask me.

Good Evening...

First I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the bride and groom's parents for being such gracious hosts...a round of applause for the parents please.

There you go.

And second I'd like to thank Nick and Kathleen for giving us a reason to get dressed all fancy, eat good food, and drink entirely too much.

I've known Nick for over 20 years, which means there are a lot of stories I'm not allowed to tell tonight. But I can say without reservation that Nick is a good person, a good man, a great friend and will surely make an excellent husband. And I can say that as his friend it brings me a great deal of joy to see him end up with someone as fantastic as Kathleen. Someone who will make him very happy, someone who he's about to begin building an amazing life with.

You don't get to see two people so perfect for each other come together on such a perfect day very often, and it makes you appreciate it all a little more. Makes you happy that things have gone so well for your friends. And I'm sure you'll all join with me in wishing nothing but the best for our old friends Nick and Kathleen.

They say that old friends are indeed a rare commodity. So let us drink to friendship, and let us drink to love, and let us drink to the luck which leads us here today to share in a moment like this.

And so a toast that looks back fondly on the past while smiling fairly on the future.

If you'll raise your glasses with me now...

May your daughters be beautiful,
may your sons be strong,
and may your lives be happy, healthy, and long.

With love and respect,
we drink to Nick and Kathleen.

Salud!

See? I'm not much to look at, but I sure can talk purdy.

A Conversation About Where My Bonus Went

Dad:

What do I get Tim for his birthday?

Me:

He wants a new car.

Dad:

I'm getting that for him anyway.

Me:

I was just kidding.

Dad:

Oh.

Me:

You fucking suck. Shouldn't he have to at least do something? Like mow your fucking lawn every once and awhile? Or clean your pool? How come he just gets a new car?

Dad:

I don't know. But what do I get him for his birthday? I usually just give him money...

Me:

But?

Dad:

I'm already just giving him money.

Me:

You really fucking suck.

Fury?

So I really think I should be angry right now.

But I'm not. Go figure.

I've been sick since Saturday night (which was a great fucking night by the way considering all I did was go see Harry Potter...for a third time) but I still went in to work early yesterday. And after not sleeping for two days I finally got some sleep late last night, and woke up at 4 A.M. to be in to work early...again.

So I was just starting to feel better a little after lunch, plugging away, making the company more and more money.

It was looking more and more like my lofty projections were not just going to hold up, but that we would actually exceed what I had predicted. This is a good thing. A very good thing. But once again I've fucked myself by being too good.

We try to get our "bonuses" done by the end of July every year. It's not really a bonus per say it's more like part of our salary that we only take once we're sure we've done well for any given year, so in a way it's more like profit than salary. Either way it usually turns out to be a pretty substantial chunk. So my first year I was very pleased with what I got, not that it was a lot but that it was more than I expected (even though it probably was less than I deserved). I was a little pissed in retrospect when my brother got more than me his first year, but being pissed in retrospect doesn't count. My second year I got a pretty substantial chunk as well, although this really worked out to be for a year and a half, it was still a lot. I was more than happy with that too. So after the year we've had I expected at least what I got last year...but I was in no rush.

With tomorrow being the last day of July I decided to bring it up by simply asking if my father had decided when we were going to figure out our exact amounts. When he replied by saying he didn't think we would be able to take our "bonuses" this year I was a little shocked. If anything this would be the year to take a bigger bonus. A real difference maker if you will. And here, without any thought, he wiped that possibility away. I thought I would be angry. I was counting on at least a certain amount of money. The minimum I expect is counted in my yearly projections as part of my salary. This isn't like a Christmas bonus, this is like half of what I make in a year. Gone.

After all I've done.

So I should be angry. Should be furious really. But I'm not. I don't need it. It may make things a little tougher because there were a lot of things I'd planned to do with that money, but I'll just do without. I'll still have more than most, and far more than I need.

Make no mistake, I could just take the money. I'd be well within my right both legally and morally. I could take all the money and it would be neither illegal or immoral. No matter where the money is, it's all ours. It's not like I'd be taking someone else's money. But I won't. That's how this game works. If I take the money I'm fucked. It will make things that much harder around here. If I don't take it he'll just waste it all on some foolish idea to make more money, but at least I'll still be in the right.

The old man likes to screw with people, someday it will bite him in the ass. Or maybe it won't. Either way it doesn't affect me very much.

What's done is done.

Fog

I can feel them.

I am not afraid.

Let them come.

I will show them hell.

Sit on It...and Rotate

I think I tore my rotator cuff.

I can't really be sure though, because I'm not really sure what a rotator cuff is. And since I'm not a pitcher for the Yankees I don't really know who to call to find out.

I've done some shit in the last two days that I'm not particularly proud of. That's beginning to be sort of a mantra of mine. Next step is figuring out how it makes a difference.

Bad week last week, crazy week this week. Not really sure which way is up right now but I wanted to share a quick story while I had a chance.

I got a bad phone call the other day, from someone I hadn't heard from in awhile. Turns out an old friend of ours, who I also hadn't talked to in awhile, is very sick. So sick he might not make it. Cancer. It's sort of scary. Shit like that isn't supposed to happen to good people like him, and all you can do is sit and wait. Been so long since I seen him it's not even like I can just call him up and see how he's doing. Way I see it in six months I'll hear he's dead, or hear he's not. Either way it won't make much difference, just like I can't call him to say I'm sorry he's sick, I won't be able to call him and say I'm glad when he's well. It's just another sad story that doesn't really affect me, all I can do is hope and pray for an old friend I likely won't see again either way.

This afternoon, as I was beginning to pull out of the fever that has enveloped me for most of the last two days, another friend left me a message saying she needed to talk to me. Right away. When I asked if she was ok, she said she wasn't.

Now the terror which swallowed me at this moment is almost as bad as anything I've ever experienced before. I'm not the sort who is afraid of very much, but here I was scared shitless of God knows what.

Now the old friend who is sick is certainly a friend, but he's someone who hasn't been a part of my life in the last three years or so. Someone who I care a lot about, but...well you know. Now this other person is certainly a friend too, a different sort of friend most likely, but someone who I still see occasionally for the time being. Someone who I care a lot about, and for a second I imagined that my week was about to get a lot worse indirectly.

So when she told me that a common friend of ours was going away, I was just glad everybody was ok. I was relieved that it was just something bad and not something worse.

Relief...not a feeling I'm entirely used to.

God damn old ghosts are all riled up.

And there ain't a thing I can do about it...

Not right now anyways.

Da-Dum-Dum

Well...

I got a lot on my plate coming up.

Forti's wedding next week, hopefully some stuff with church, Nick's bachelor party and wedding, going to meet up with Crago and Todd some time in July, going to hang out with my cousin James one of these days, and I might even try to squeeze in a vacation somewhere in there. I would like to spend a little more time with the kids too.

So things are sort of good.

Saturday was Forti's bachelor party and it kicked ass, it was really good to hang out with some of those guys too. Sunday was nice, I spent a bit of non-work time with my father for Father's Day and hung out with my little sister for her first 12th birthday...I say first because she is staying 12 forever, or so I have decided. I only spent a little time in the office over the weekend, which was really nice too.

So things have been good, and there are good things coming up.

I've also made a few decisions. I'm probably going to get a new car soon. Going to try and sit down and write a little bit more. Realized I need to spend more time, and less money, in strip clubs. Enter the go-go bar concept and a summer full of possibilities. Going to head down to AC for a bit over the summer and get some gambling in, something I haven't done in a really long time. Going to find something good to read, because it's taking me entirely too long to get through the shitty little book I' m reading now.

And business is, well, business is good.

How strange is that?

We're making good money, and a lot of that lately has to do with me getting better and better at what I do.

I'm making more money...which is nice too, seeing as I have to get money from somewhere to pay for the aforementioned go-go dancers.

I like coming to work more without Tim in the office, and I like seeing Tim more when I don't have to see him in the office. And he seems like he's doing well...so this is looking like a good move all around.

Things are getting better before they get worse, which is nice because they used to get worse before they got, uh...worse-er?

I can sort of all live with that.

But it's not all good.

One of my dogs died today. Stray sort of just wandered into our parking lot one day many years ago and decided that he liked it, so he would stay. And stay he did. He was never much of a guard dog, but he was a good dog anyway. I'll miss him.

I'm busy. Ridiculously busy. There's just a lot going on right now, and the old man makes things a little more difficult. Tim being gone may have made things easier in general on me, but it also means there's a little more for me to do. Even if Tim did half of what he had to, and less than half of what I asked him to do, he did something. And now I have to do that too. It's the season switch which means everybody wants something...and I'm the one they're asking for it.

I can't get my damn lawn mowed. I had a guy in to look at it last week and they swore they'd be in last week and here we are Tuesday with nary a blade of grass mowed, and another warning from the town about shoving a fine up my ass. Because I need one more problem right?

As great as Saturday was, Friday sucked. Besides being one of those long awful horrible days we all tend to have every now and then, I offended someone I care a lot about...simply by being me. I'm harsh, I know, so does everybody else. I like to break balls, I know, so does everybody else. I kid because I care...and because I'm an asshole, I know, and so does everybody else. So when you offend someone simply by being you (even if you're me) it doesn't bode well for, well, everything.

So what's next?

Ha...

We will see.

The Streets: A Non-Story Story of My Day

I was walking down the streets of hell the other day when Lady Pain approached me and screamed:

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Walking down my streets like you don't got a care in the world, all smiling and whistling some happy song?

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

And though I hurt, and though I tired, I pushed her aside and I continued on down that road.

And as I was walking down the streets of hell Lady Night approached me and screamed:

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Walking down my streets leaving little bits of light where you go, all upright and proud scaring my nasty little friends away?

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

And though I was frightened, and though I was scared I pushed her aside and I continued on down that road.

And as I was walking down the streets of hell Lady Death approached me and screamed:

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Walking down my streets with a skip to your step and a pop in your stride, all large and loud doing the things you do? Working hard, watching out for everybody, spending time with the people you love and care about, spending time with yourself and your thoughts, constantly making sure that all is right in the world...or as right as you could make it be?

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

And though I was nervous, and though I was uncertain I looked her straight in the eye and said:

BITCH, DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

I AM CHRIS MOTHER-FUCKING PALOMBA!

YOU CAN'T STOP ME...YOU CAN'T EVEN SLOW ME DOWN!

And with that I pushed her aside and I continued on down that road.

Now ain't that some shit?

Yakko's World

I remember being 12 years old and watching this.

I think 45 seconds in or so my mind just went, "Fuuuuuuck."



14 years later I still watch this before going to bed some nights and just laugh my ass off.

I'm simple. Get used to it.

Conversations I Swear I Haven't Had With Myself In The Past 24 Hours

"You know what could possibly go wrong if I don't show up for work this morning? I'm the only one in the office on the weekend, I bet no one would even notice. And if they did? So what I'm the boss. Yeah that's it, I'm not going to work this morning. Fuck 'em all. That's right, bad ass Palomba, not showing up for work at 6:00 A.M. on a Sunday morning. Better not fuck with me, I'm a mean nasty irresponsible badd ass motherfucker who's not going to work on Sunday morning. And you see what I did there? That was Badd with two d's like the white people pretending to be black people used to use in the titles of those blaxploitation films. Yeah...I should have been in one of those movies, they could have called it 'Badd Ass Palomba And That Sunday Morning Where He Didn't Go To Work Because He's A Baddd Man Who Doesn't Give A Fuck' Yeah..."

"Shit. Where are my pants? I need to get to work."

"Damn dog shit on the floor again. Stupid dog. Stupid, smelly, shitty dog. Why did you shit on the floor again dog? Huh? Why? You never see me shitting on the floor do you dog? And it's not because it doesn't sound like fun, it's because I'm a responsible adult and responsible adults DO NOT SHIT ON THE FLOOR! Stupid dog. Stupid, smelly, shitty dog."

"Man I wish they made cheese in a bucket. That would be the greatest thing ever. Right up there with that story of the guy in a wheelchair who got stuck on the grill of a semi-truck and got pushed down the highway at 50 mph. Man that was some funny shit. You know what they should do? They should put some cheese in a bucket and give it to that kid. Then this would be like the best week of his little wheelchair bound life. Getting to ride on the grill of a semi-truck and getting a free bucket of cheese. Awesome."

"Was I that big of an idiot when I was fifteen? No wonder girls didn't talk to me. It's a wonder my parents didn't take me out back the barn and shoot me in the head. I think this kid's retarded. And I don't mean in the traditional jocular he's so stupid he could be retarded sort of way. I mean maybe he needs a helmet, a harness, and a few hours a day in that small padded room that smells like stale urine."

"Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs."

"Oh shit, is that cop following me? Am I speeding? Oh fuck, I forgot to put the license plate on the front of the car. He's definitely going to pull me over. No big, I'll just explain or pay the ticket. Oh shit! How the hell do I explain having a sixteen year old girl in my car at ten o'clock on a Sunday night...while I'm doing 20 mph over the speed limit...without a license plate on the front of the car! FUCK! Oh, hey, wait...it's a taxi cab not a cop car. Whew...hey, is that taxi cab following me?"

"What's that smell?"

"Holy shit? That's it? That's how they end the fucking show? Do they expect us to put up with that. I'm calling HBO in the morning and telling them they can take my subscription and shove it up their ass. Fade to black...well, I guess it was sort of cool. Poignant even, wait, no fuck it. That was bullshit. And you didn't even get to see when the car crushed Retardo's head. They cut away and just made the noise. I bet that's not even what a head popping sounds like. I bet it sounds totally different like no one would ever expect. Ok, so it was sort of hot when Meadow said 'fucking' in the restaurant and AJ's girlfriend wasn't half bad either. But what the hell was it with only having the Bing dancers on CCTV during the scene with Tony's lawyer? It's the final episode get those bitches out. Every guy in the show should have been shot and every chick should have been running around topless. Except the one who plays Tony's sister. We don't need to see that, they could have just shot her too. Didn't someone say they were thinking of making a Sopranos movie? Fuck that. I've been paying to watch this shit for the last three years there's no way they're getting another ten bucks out of me...unless Meadow gets naked. I'd pay to see that."

"Maybe you need to get your fat ass in shape so that eating pringles and jacking off doesn't require cold compresses and a three hour cool down period. Just a thought."

"The M1 Garand is the main reason we won World War II. If not for that brilliant piece of weaponary we might all be speaking Nazi right now. I base this totally on the fact that when playing Call of Duty on XBox Live I always kick some Axis ass using the M1 Garand."

"Is it supposed to curve like that?"

Timothy

I fired my brother today.

And make no mistake, though I may say it in many ways over the course of the next few paragraphs and many more over the next few days, I fired the kid.

He had it coming.

Tim and I are nothing alike. We never have been. Since he's been old enough to talk he's never been anything but nasty to me, and though I'm often ashamed to admit it I never really tried to change that. If the kid wants to hate me, let him hate me. I never liked it, it always bothered me, but it's always been how it is.

I haven't always been very nice to him either. I've judged him when I should have helped him, I've pressured him when I should have let him be, I've been jealous when I should have been supportive.

That's what brotherhood seems to be in the Palomba family.

I'm not innocent in all of this.

Tim's always had the touch when it comes to people. He could spit in their face and shit on their laps and they'd still think he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I have a small but dedicated group of friend and acquaintances but it's nothing in comparison to the swath of popularity that the kid leaves in his path. He doesn't keep friends for as long as I do, he's never as tight with his friends as I am, his friends can't count on him the way mine sometimes do. But I've still always been jealous of his way with people.

But Tim also has this limitless supply of conscience. He can be rude, nasty, disingenuous, lascivious...shit just break out the thesaurus and underline any word that has to do remotely with being a jerk. And he never feels bad about it. I've never done even a little bad thing in my life and not felt horrible about it afterwards. I inadvertently took someones Coke from the office fridge the other day having forgotten that I already drank mine. When I realized I had to apologize a million times and replace the Coke or I couldn't have gone on with the rest of the day. And it wasn't even somebody I remotely like! Tim could fuck his best friend over and not think twice about it. I don't envy people like that, I pity people like that.

The kid's not lazy. He's a worker when he wants to be. But the problem is he wants to be less and less often. Running a business like this, a family business yes, but a fairly large fairly fucked business takes a lot of effort. It means working late, working weekends, working when you'd rather be doing a million other things. It means getting shit done. Tim doesn't get that. He wants to work when he wants to work and fuck all to everything else. So when shit needs to be done Tim is very often not there. You can't count on him at all, and he's not the type to step it up in a pinch either. He's even worse when you really need him than when you only sort of need him. This has been obvious his entire life. So I've developed a strategy to deal with it. I make sure I never really need him.

He wants everything, but wants to give up nothing. It's a perfectly human attitude but a perfectly unacceptable one as well. I come in between 9-10 most days. Anytime something is wrong I come in earlier. Very often as early as 5 or 5:30, earlier when we're busy or the weather's bad. I close every night (because Tim couldn't do it right.) Most nights I don't get out of here till after 9 or 10 at night. I work every weekend, all weekend. Coming in between 5-5:30 on Saturdays, and being in and out up until 9 or 10 at night, opening up usually around 7 on Sundays and being in and out until 7 or 8 at night. All those times of course being flexible with the companies schedule. The busier it is the more I'm here, or the more fucked up it is the more I'm here. Tim generally is supposed to be here at 7 in the morning and stay till about 5, Monday through Friday. He was supposed to stay two or three nights a week and split weekends with me, but that never really worked out. He rarely shows up at 7 when he's supposed to, even if we've told him it's important. At least once a week he doesn't show up till 10 or so. And it's happened maybe four times in the last two months that he's gotten stanko the night before and not shown up till after 1. When this happens, to his credit, he usually stays a little late to make up for it. For all this he is paid on the exact same schedule as I am. He made his first year what I made my first year, he's making his second year what I made my second year. His first bonus was roughly $5,000 more than mine. I have taken no vacations in the last two years, and take on average of three to four days off for the entire year. Tim doesn't take many days off either, but he rarely comes in on the weekend and just got back from a ten day vacation in Europe.

I don't hold any of that against him.

Now people with normal jobs, or who aren't self employed are looking at this and going, "Fuck all! That's a lot of work." But people who run their own businesses, particularly of this size, get it.

I was technically Tim's boss, but I rarely ever told him what to do or even asked him to do anything, for the most part because he would ignore me anyway. Lots of times when my old man told me to tell Tim to do something I would just do it myself to avoid the argument. It added quite a bit to my already full plate, but you have to do what you have to do.

It was just getting old though. Hearing about how much he hated this place, how much he couldn't wait till he got out of here, how much he wished we'd just fire him., how he wished we would just give him his cut so he wouldn't have to have anything to do with this place anymore. It got old having to hear his catchphrases like, "It's not my problem." and "It's not my job." and "I don't want to do that." And every time he'd say one of those things I'd swallow it and add yet another bit of work to my pile and another few minutes to my day.

It gets old though, having someone tell you how much they hate what you've chosen as your career. How horrible a place is that you love being a part of (even though it can be pretty horrible at times.) It gets old listening to a kid who doesn't really have a whole lot of options bash your choice when you know you had far far more options than him. And at some point when you don't have to listen to it...you inevitably choose to stop listening to it.

And that's what happened today.

And when he said, "It's not my job. It's not my problem. I'm not doing that. So if you don't like it, fire me."

I did.

And when he laughed and said, "Well you can call dad and explain this one."

I said, "I already have."

And in a rather awkward moment the kid stopped to ponder what the hell had just happened before exiting the office in a huff.

I had already told my father that if Tim didn't come around I was going to have to let him go. I knew coming into work this morning that this was how things were going to go. I knew because if Tim is anything he is predictable. And I had tried to avoid this moment for as long as possible because as much as I don't want Tim here, I never really wanted to fire him. Today I had no choice. Things needed to be done. He wouldn't do them.

Tim played his last card a little too far.

He's always known my father likes him more than he likes me. My father respects how hard I work even if he doesn't always appreciate it, and recognizes that I put a lot of effort into everything even if it isn't always done the way he wants. But he just likes Tim more, and the kid has always taken advantage of the fact. What he may have forgotten though is that there is a very sad but very real possibility that our father likes money more than he likes either one of us. And one thing is very, very clear. I have made my father a shitload of money over the last twelve months. And Tim has made him none. It wasn't even really a fair fight.

Now I'm not naive enough to think that this is anywhere near over. There's a very good chance that, with or without my blessing, Tim's going to be back and be exactly the same as always. But things will be different this time, because he will know he just got his last pass, and that next time he won't just lose the privilege of being able to come here and work like a slave like the rest of us. If he comes back, and blows it again, he loses everything. The car. The cell phone. The health insurance. The money. Everything.

We've been playing a game this whole time, but the games over now. Or better, we're still playing...but this time it's for keeps.

Ha...how's that sound?

I've always been able to say that no matter how much we dislike each other, that Tim's my brother and I love him. It just seems like every time I have to say that lately I mean it a little less.

And that's just sad.

"He ain't heavy Father, he's my dipshit brother." - Palomba

Ishtory

What is it that allows us to spend no more than a single second looking into the darkness of our own hearts before fear itself pushes us away from the very thing which we have come to examine? Is it the certain knowledge that we will most certainly be no match for the things which lurk deep in the souls of most men and therefore deep in the souls of some of our number? How many persons can we profess to be without giving credence to the idea that each of us suffer our own unique afflictions and that the commonness of our common maladies serves only to mark us as one and the same, not many, but one, a minion of a deranged and sweetly corrupted mind's vision of a flawed perfect reality.

Lash out. The silence like darkness serving only to stifle the few gasps of precious creativity left in the shallows of a once deep well. Cry. For those who are losing that which they knew they could never really have. Piece of mind, peace of soul, pieces of little things we do control, slipping from our stolen grip like memories of dreams from our waking moments. Lonely is the man who lives only for himself. Lonely is the dog who lives only for his master. Lonely is the world which keeps on spinning while everyone in it wishes only to stand still.

Severed from the body of errors to which it had previously given life the idle heart beats in a slow rhythmic staccato calling out to someone, anyone, to give it purpose. Fear fills the void left by once lingering necessity. Objects at rest cower from the inevitable.

Take comfort in the knowledge that people such as we exist so that you may feel better about yourself.

There is no light...we run on.

Hello There Mr.Poe...

"In night my dream divide the parts of me which live and die for only I to see what lies the world will know of me." - T.O. Hob



Maybe it's all that's (not) going on. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's everything.



I've been dreaming a lot again lately.


Some wild wild dreams, others sort of normal but sort of nice. It's been strange. Everything is getting blurry again.

Work has been...ok. Nothing spectacular but I'm finally holding my own after three years of constantly feeling like I was drowning. I've always been able to point towards the numbers, point towards the facts, and say that was how I knew I was doing well. But there was always some way for the old man to discourage that. Within the next few weeks I will have cleared up the majority of the financial problems he left me, we'll set a new high watermark for liquid assets in the company, and we'll have a better idea if the projections I've made for next year are going to come through or not...if they do it will be our best year ever. There's still a lot wrong, still a lot I have to do, but for the first time I won't have to craft a fantastic argument about anything I've done. I can just say, "Here's a million dollars. Now leave me alone." Ha, that's sort of nice when you think about it. Of course he's smart enough to know that he's lost this argument and he's already started in on a new one about the future of the company. I somehow think that screaming, "When is enough enough?" Isn't going to persuade him.

I got my Marek Malik game used stick on Monday. And I know nobody gives a shit about Marek Malik but it was the stick used to score the last home goal of the 2007 regular season. A day later I was able to acquire the jersey he was wearing when he scored the goal so it makes a nice little set. I also will be acquiring three autographed Henrik Lundqvist Jersey's, a Lundqvist puck, a Eddie Giacomin puck and picture. And a few other random things including the lineup card from the final game of the Rangers sweep of the Thrashers last month, their first playoff series victory in over ten years. Big things for that team next year...guaranteed.

Tim is in London this week, a place I've always wanted to go but have never been able to make it to. He knows this and of course will rub it in my face as soon as he gets back. I won't let it bother me though, someday I'll get there. And if not...well, it is what it is.

The two hour season finale of Lost the other night was one of my favorite tv episodes ever. Heroes finale on Monday was good, but not as good as the rest of the season. Lost was the opposite. While I wasn't as harsh on it as others were this year, it was clear that the season finale was f'ing superb. And how hot did Evangeline Lilly look in the flash-forward? We really need to get this girl on a series where she's not stuck on a deserted island so she could dress up a little on a regular basis. Ha, hey, that was almost straight of me.

I stayed up all night last night and went to see the new Pirates of the Carribean movie. Spider-Man 3 was a big let down, this was not. It rocked. And not just because Keira Knightley is f'ing gorgeous, but because it was actually a good movie.

I don't know guys, I'm not saying things are going great, or that things are looking up. I'm just saying I had a good week after what, despite my best efforts, was a bad week last week.

I'm still all fucked up...but it could be worse.

Right?

Used to Ways

Now this is the law of the jungle-as old and as true as the sky...

Maybe it used to be that I was different. I don't know.

I struggle fifteen seconds at a time now, beating back the darkness that creeps up on me still...but it's different.

There was a time when I fought it with raw power, using every ounce of strength I had to come out on top. It used to leave me tired, and beat down. Then I outsmarted it. I danced around that shit, tossing an occasional jab, just enough to keep it at bay. And as it lingered an arms length away I laughed at it, just to show I wasn't afraid.

But Blow One Blaring Trumpet Note Of Sun, To Go With Me, To The Darkness Where I Go...

I have had people, doctors, other suffererers, tell me that what I have is a type of clinical depression and that I should have it checked out, and like I do with anything that afflicts me I laughed at that. And like everything else I didn't get it checked out. I considered the facts on my own, and made my own decision. If I don't let myself be depressed how can it be depression? If I can stop it on my own, how can it be a sickness? If I won't let it hurt me, how can it be a problem? Everyone gets a little sad now and then. So I made my own decision. Granny used to say the only reason to have guns is so you could stick to them...and I have. I beat it back at every corner and though the melancholy often swallows me whole, it never beats me. And I rest easy in the knowledge that it never will.

So Huge So Hopeless To Conceive As These That Twice Befell, Parting Is All We Know Of Heaven, And All We Need Of Hell...

Life can be a struggle. Not my life in particular. I would never dare to say that. But life in general I suppose. And as I watch everyone struggle through I just think to myself, "You poor bastards, you just don't get it yet do you?" Because if they knew, if only they knew.

And The Heart Must Pause To Breathe, And Love Itself Have Rest...

I started writing this on Thursday morning. It seems like eons ago. Thursday night we got together to send off our old friend House, who is moving to Oklahoma to become whatever it is that people become when the move to places like Oklahoma. It's sad that we only get together for stuff like that mostly anymore. To say goodbye to someone we care about, or say hello to someone we used to. I've seen Gonzo three times in the last seven days. It's been a really long time since that last happened. That's sad too, considering I used to see him every day. It was damn near 3 A.M. by the time I got home Thursday night, glad to have seen everyone, but heavy with the knowledge that a good friend was about to go away. 7 A.M. all hell broke loose. Things didn't quiet down for the next 14 hours. A little over an hour after I got out of work Vilaboy, Jere, House and I were heading down to New Brunswick to see Gonzo's band play. You see when it comes to support and attention from his friends Gonzo is sort of a needy bitch. And we all love him for it. But it makes him the only one of us that is like that. My friends? We don't discuss our feelings. We don't go to each other's shit. We don't give a fuck about what the others do for a living, or how they spend their free time, or what they want to do with their lives. We care about each other...and have for a very long time now. And as gay as that sounds, it's nice. With the exception of one or two people who have drifted off, I hang out with the exact same ten or so guys that I hung out with over ten years ago. We don't see each other as much, we don't get everyone together as often, but that bond is still there...how many people can say that?

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same...

Something is stirring inside of me...it makes me feel vulnerable and scared. It's not new, it's just more persistent. Standing in a hot crowded bar in New Brunswick I was happy, but I could feel them coming. When The Darkness hit me I knew there was nothing I could do for the moment. Just grit my teeth and ride it out. The Fix came next, just drilling into my skull over and over again. By the time The One I Would Call Vertigo, But I Don't began I was already over. And then I found something. Like so many times before a beautiful face out of the crowd saved me. I don't know who she was, probably never will. Don't really care to. But for a second it was something to focus on, something to beat back The Afflictions. It didn't work for long, but if kept me afloat just long enough to survive. Which in the end is what it's really all about. So I suppose I owe yet another thank you to yet another stranger. I don't even mind so much this time.

Sleep on, sleep on, some fairy dream Perchance is woven in thy sleep — But, O, thy spirit, calm, serene, Must wake to weep...

This week was the drop off. We'd been doing so well with the Antioch group, but this week I just felt it all tip over the cliff. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it's not over. But through no fault of anyone I fear it is. I wish I could say I did all I could, but we would both know that was a lie. Just because it's over, doesn't mean it's finished. Doesn't change the way I feel about any of it.

You shall be taken sweetly again and soothed with slow tears, you shall be loved enough...

My heart hurts. But not in a sad way. Just in a way that lets me know it's all almost over now. That everything is about to change. Part Six is almost over. Part Seven is ready to begin. The beginning of the end is beginning...here we go again.

In the beginning there were saints and there were sinners, there was good and there was evil, there was right and there was wrong. And then, with time, those lines which had divided blurred and the certainty which had defined the world was no longer.

The Big BooM

Oh God it hurts.

Don't ask me to explain it, don't ask me to make sense of it.

God knows I can't. Better...I know I can't.

It shouldn't have happened like this because it shouldn't have happened in the first place.

It's not just that it wasn't meant to be...but that the simple notion that it ever could be is enough to ruin everything.

Little kids dream of saving the world.

Nobody dreams of ending it.

Such is life.

A + B = ?

A- I had an awkward little feeling just a little while ago. It left me somewhat sad. Somewhat lonely. Like I was missing someone...

B-I was reading through my oldest blog posts and found a link to the WRSU webpage, I clicked on it. It was the first time in a long time I visited the page. I was greeted by the sound of an old friends voice. Much like I lost touch with most of the people from WRSU I haven't seen or heard from Julie since graduation. And it came as a bit of a shock to be hearing a voice I heard so many times live in the studio projecting through my computers speakers right here in my office. I chuckled a little and wondered what she's been up to these past three years. But I wasn't ready for what came next. As soon as her voice stopped a voice far more familiar started...my own. And god damn if it wasn't strange to be hearing my own voice coming through those speakers, or me thinking about the day so many years ago where we'd recorded the sounders. I don't miss all that, but I still sort of miss the people. Shit I'm getting old.

C- Yesterday was an expensive day. $20 for a haircut @ Diamond Bridge Barbershop. $250 for three t-shirts, three pairs of jeans, three pairs of underwear and three pairs of socks @ The Big and Tall Store. $35 for two books @ Barnes and Noble. $550 for a Nintendo Wii, an extra controller, WarioWarez, Legend of Zelda, SpiderMan 3 and Guitar Hero II for 360 @ GameStop. $75 for gas @ Hess. $99 for tickets to SpiderMan 3 @ Route 4 Tenplex (although to be fair the tickets are for today...) $60 for the Delahoya v. Mayweather fight. That's over a grand easy for no apparent reason.

D- Why the fuck am I lettering each idea?

E- I had my head shaved again yesterday, the barber slipped a little and now I have a nice bald spot on the back of my head. The DeLahoya v. Mayweather fight was ok, but nothing spectacular. I started to play Guitar Hero II before realizing that even when it's a video game that requires no musical talent...I still have no rhythm.

And the reason I've been typing this whole time just went away...so I'm out.

A Beginning?

I guess it all starts with me acknowledging that the whole world doesn't revolve around me.

Not that I ever thought it did mind you.

Just that...well I guess it had always been a possibility.

See very little of what I do directly affects other people, it's not that it can't, it's just that it doesn't. By design usually. By default occasionally.

I try to be a low impact kind of guy. I don't want to leave my mark anywhere, this isn't three years ago. I just want to survive. Part of that is not messing with other people's lives.

You want to be a crackhead? Ok.

You want to be a bum without a job living at home with your parents when you're thirty? Go Ahead.

You want to go around screwing everything that walks while crying about how messed up your life is? Fine by me.

It's not that it's ok, and it's certainly not that I don't care, it's just that...

I can't save the world.

No matter how much I want to.

People get hurt. People hurt themselves. Bad shit happens.

Get it?

Doesn't matter who you are, or what you do...bad shit happens.

Cynical? Maybe. True? Definitely.

And it's not because the world is this horrible place, it's not through any real fault of our own, it just is.

I was almost childlike for a long time. When someone close to me was sad I wondered what I did to upset them. When they were happy I wondered if I had done something well. When they were angry I wondered what I had done wrong. And when they were disinterested I wondered why I wasn't good enough for them.

I made the horrible mistake of assuming that I, in some way, mattered.

And then the pendulum swings. They're sad, I did nothing to upset them. They're happy, I did nothing right. They're angry, I did nothing wrong.

I had removed myself from every aspect of the scenario, I had ensured that I would never matter.

And so it went.

Now it all left a rather sick feeling in my stomach, like drinking cough medicine while still having yogurt in your mouth or more appropriately watching a truly horrible man doing rather normal nice things.

Saddam Hussein playing with small children. Pol Pot writing Christmas Cards. Hitler eating an ice cream cone.

Awful.

Yet there I stood. Exactly where, at some point, I had decided to be.

I was cold. I had cared about nothing for so long. Didn't even really care about myself.

What next?

I never meant to hurt anyone. Never meant to save myself at the expense of harming someone else. It just went that way though.

God damn.

This isn't three years ago...I know I can't save the world anymore.

That doesn't mean I don't still want to.

So I guess it all starts with me acknowledging that the whole world doesn't revolve around me.

Not that I ever thought it did mind you.

But there was...a beginning...where I stood screaming up at the new night sky on a cool spring day challenging God to let it all make sense, "I get it. It's not me, it was never me, it will never be me. But who gives a shit? I don't care. I don't. I know it can never be me, but that doesn't mean I can't help them. Don't you get it? All I want to do is help them. I don't care if it's not me. I get it! Really I do. I swear. I'll let it go, I won't talk about it anymore, I won't think about it anymore. I won't try anymore. Just...just let me help them. Just...help me help them. I promise...that'll be it. That will be the end."

I forget this is my world sometimes. Forget that it's my show.

I forget that the whole world doesn't revolve around me.

The whole world doesn't revolve around me.

Right?

You Can't Win Sometimes...

*Zoinks*

The above Scooby-Doo reference was all I had typed early Thursday afternoon when all hell broke loose.

It had been a long week already. We were short handed, people were getting bitchy, Paterson was still recovering from the floods.

A pipe sprung a leak in my ceiling on Tuesday. Two days and six hundred dollars later there was still a noticeable leak with no noticeable source and now there was a nice hole in my ceiling to match.

We were behind in just about every way possible, I had loaned out so much money I was nearly broke, my car was acting up, some clown on one of my busses broke a windshield on a car by throwing a glass bottle (allegedly I suppose). I was exhausted.

The vehicle insurance having just been conquered I was moving onto the health insurance and it wasn't going very well. I was recovering at the end of an unpleasant meeting on a rather warm afternoon when my brother and I heard a crash from outside our office. We rushed to the window just quick enough to watch as the tension and ground wires on the telephone poles snapped and the phone line themselves broke apart and crashed to the ground. Needless to say my internet connection and the barely born post crashed with it. We spend the next four days without phones and little to no sign of help from the phone company.

With 5 business lines forwarded to my cell phone the damn thing didn't stop ringing all weekend. I was tired and fed up and it showed in my responses to callers at odd hours.:

To the guy who refused to give me any information about himself or the job he was calling in reference to when he asked what my name was, "I'm Fu." "What?" "Fu" "I don't understand. How do you spell that?" "F-U buddy." (He called back today...ha.)

To the girl who called looking for her golf cleats, "Hey you sound kind of cute. How old are you?" (She didn't call back today...double ha.)

To the genius who called three times asking if we could bus his group to Atlantic City after I had already told him no twice ,"Yeah sure we could do that. Do I need your information? Nope. Just have your group standing outside waiting for me." (If he ever calls back...)

But the week wasn't all bad. Wednesday night I stopped by the Youth Ministry meeting and ended up grabbing a bite to eat with some of my favorite people. Friday could have been great but only two people showed up for the movie screening in the church basement so it was merely fun. Saturday I grabbed lunch with Nick and Forti and went for Tuxes for the first wedding. More on that later... Saturday night I grabbed a drink with Michelle and was very glad that I did.

This is how the original entry would have started, "You can't win sometimes..."

And this is how this one ends,"...but sometimes you can."