I'm kind of restless right now, which has little to do with the copious coffee drinking I've been doing today. I'm on a streak of making bad decisions-- today I bought a record and two nights ago I returned Lucy's phone call. These are two seemingly insignificant and not-necessarily-wrong things that are actually giant steps in the wrong direction (which, in this case, is backwards-- I should know better).
I still haven't told my dad about being vegan, which is another seemingly trivial detail. I know the reaction he'll have when I tell him and I'm not thrilled. He'll say something about the lifestyle being unhealthy, and maybe he'll feel the need to justify his dietary choices. I'll respond by telling him that there's plenty of protein and iron that doesn't come from meat, but he won't be convinced. So I'll ask him where he thinks animals get their vitamins and minerals and nutrients from, and he'll take this as an affront or a cheap shot and he'll sit there quietly, as if I've said something terribly offensive. And I could tell my brothers, but their retorts would be on par with racism-- irrational and invalid. John might understand, Hank probably wouldn't care but might make fun of me (which is to be expected), but Will would probably start some rant about PETA people being fucking nuts.
I'm pretty sick of dealing with people right now. It's not a good thing. Here's why:
when it becomes overbearing to explain my self to the people I like to hang out with, then I isolate myself. Aaron gave me a talking to about this because it's not fair to, y'know, casual friends. Well, not casual friends. Friends in general, I suppose. But is it my fault that I don't always want to go out drinking, and that my imagination is sorely deprived of input so I have no better ideas, so I assume that it's "go drinking with friends" versus "stay home and don't answer the phone"? So, when I perceive my only option to be "go to a bar," then I'm limited by two things: my desire to smoke, and the weight of my wallet. Currently, I have no desire to smoke (but that's a feeling I tend to ignore when I'm drinking, only to regret it for the following three days that it takes me to recover my head back onto my shoulders), and I don't exactly have money to burn on $5 beers.
So that's how it happens, and I stop responding to people instead of explaining them, because in my head I decide that they'll be irritated by my excuse instead of understanding and deciding that it'd be fun to do something else.
I suppose the answer is to stop making decisions for other people and let them decide for themselves whether or not they want to put up with me.
Here's a little to-do list before I move to Denver (more of a list of events): Murder By Death at Wicker Park Fest, William Elliott Whitmore at Lincoln Hall, Alkaline Trio at the Metro, Bouncing Souls/The Falcon at Reggie's, Against Me! at the Metro, Ted Leo at Millennium Park. Sounds like a good summer, huh? And a perfect send-off. Oh, not to mention Boston on August 6th, and maybe New York on July 4th.
Speaking of Denver, I have to tell Jimi and Liam. That'll be awkward. I mean, I really don't see this band going anywhere. Each practice has gotten progressively more boring and the quality of the music is... well, it's also boring. And I'm losing interest in punk rock because it's just entertainment. I still listen to the Cobra Skulls entire discography every single day as I bike around or while I'm on the train, and the Broadways are still fun-- these bands are cool because there's a message more than Less Than Jake's "I wanna sit back, just smoke cigarettes, be the one with the loudest mouth, and be the most close-minded," or Alkaline Trio's "you said tonight was a wonderful night to die." But listening to bands like the Cobra Skulls and the Broadways is even more disheartening. I mean, these bands have a real message, whether it's "faith is a cult" or "see this park? 3,000 years ago the entire world was like this and more," but these messages are in punk rock songs that won't get exposure outside of a very small group of kids that already believe these thoughts and won't be illuminated by a song by a band that's mercilessly beating the dead horse of "punk rock."
So here's how it is: "punk" isn't dead, and it never will be, because it serves the purpose of being a good starting point for teenagers to think they're on to something huge. And these kids will question society and maybe start calling people on their bullshit, all the while becoming more jaded to... life. And hopefully this will be a stepping stone and their minds will forever be open as they go off into the world to get "real" jobs, or maybe they'll bring their "punk" sentiments into the mainstream, like The Clash or, less notably but more recently, the Gaslight Anthem, or, as is usually the case, maybe they'll wear their old punk rock t-shirts when their socially acceptable clothes are in the washer or dryer, and "punk rock" will have been something they foolishly believed in during their high school days. And the latter group will have the feeling that they filled their quota for subversive thoughts back when they were young and, therefore, people who stuck with those mindsets are to be looked at with condescending eyes-- as inferiors who aren't as mature.
If it's still really hot overnight then I may go see the sunrise. I'll probably go home and eat some food, then read, then take a nap. It might be tough to wake up, though, so I might be better off staying awake until 6 or so. Oh, and my bike needs fixing. I think the brakes came undone, which was mildly terrifying. Good thing I wasn't on a major street.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
While You Wait For The Others
My mind was just about made up through the course of events two evenings ago. Here's how it unraveled:
Band practice was mediocre. It's always fun rocking out, I guess, but Jimi's reluctance to stray from the over-done guidelines of "punk rock" is restricting and kind of irritating. Driving is also irritating, which was a requirement to make sure Liam and Jimi could make it. They also necessitated rides home. Whatever, that's what I signed up for.
I wasn't able to accomplish one thing on my list that night, which was to get a slice or two of vegan pizza from Ian's. I decided it was more important to hurry home and eat my leftover pasta before Woj and Matsuo arrived. So that's what I did. And I couldn't decide whether or not I'd let myself smoke any cigarettes that night because sometimes my spine is weak.
The Kevins arrived, then Sam and Trevor came over, and we all drank and smoked cigarettes and we went to the Oasis for some reason. And the whole night had an undertone of being mediocre. And it also had an I've-done-this-before feel to it, which is okay when there's variation, but variation was another thing missing. I've read books before, but the one I finished last night was unlike most of the other books I've ever read and it was very entertaining.
Waking up with a padlock on my lungs is a bad way to re-enter waking life. So my mind was made: I'm running away. I'm running away to close the book on nights I've already lived and don't need re-examining. I'm running away from the pressure to smoke when all my friends are smoking that sometimes I can deal with but sometimes I can't.
More importantly is where I'm running to. I'm running to a place with a lower crime rate and more sunny days; a place where the only person I know is my sister, and she doesn't mind my back-and-forth mindsets. I'm looking forward to driving out of the city to sit on a mountain and hear nothing. I want to sit in Tattered Cover for hours on end and know that no one will recognize me. I want to write and listen to music and not feel that anybody's peaking over my shoulder. I want to allow my convictions to manifest themselves in my daily life instead of coming and going with the availabilities of my friends.
Maybe I'll go out there and nothing will change, except that I'll suddenly be very, very lonely.
I wonder who I'll miss. My family, probably, but I probably won't miss drinking or self-loathing. I won't miss bowling, but I'll miss bowling with John. I'll miss having the option to go out late with people I know, though I don't really take advantage of that now.
Huh. So something's that's come to light in the past few days is this: lots of things that I assumed should go without saying clearly do not.
Band practice was mediocre. It's always fun rocking out, I guess, but Jimi's reluctance to stray from the over-done guidelines of "punk rock" is restricting and kind of irritating. Driving is also irritating, which was a requirement to make sure Liam and Jimi could make it. They also necessitated rides home. Whatever, that's what I signed up for.
I wasn't able to accomplish one thing on my list that night, which was to get a slice or two of vegan pizza from Ian's. I decided it was more important to hurry home and eat my leftover pasta before Woj and Matsuo arrived. So that's what I did. And I couldn't decide whether or not I'd let myself smoke any cigarettes that night because sometimes my spine is weak.
The Kevins arrived, then Sam and Trevor came over, and we all drank and smoked cigarettes and we went to the Oasis for some reason. And the whole night had an undertone of being mediocre. And it also had an I've-done-this-before feel to it, which is okay when there's variation, but variation was another thing missing. I've read books before, but the one I finished last night was unlike most of the other books I've ever read and it was very entertaining.
Waking up with a padlock on my lungs is a bad way to re-enter waking life. So my mind was made: I'm running away. I'm running away to close the book on nights I've already lived and don't need re-examining. I'm running away from the pressure to smoke when all my friends are smoking that sometimes I can deal with but sometimes I can't.
More importantly is where I'm running to. I'm running to a place with a lower crime rate and more sunny days; a place where the only person I know is my sister, and she doesn't mind my back-and-forth mindsets. I'm looking forward to driving out of the city to sit on a mountain and hear nothing. I want to sit in Tattered Cover for hours on end and know that no one will recognize me. I want to write and listen to music and not feel that anybody's peaking over my shoulder. I want to allow my convictions to manifest themselves in my daily life instead of coming and going with the availabilities of my friends.
Maybe I'll go out there and nothing will change, except that I'll suddenly be very, very lonely.
I wonder who I'll miss. My family, probably, but I probably won't miss drinking or self-loathing. I won't miss bowling, but I'll miss bowling with John. I'll miss having the option to go out late with people I know, though I don't really take advantage of that now.
Huh. So something's that's come to light in the past few days is this: lots of things that I assumed should go without saying clearly do not.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Said All These Chicks, They Smoke These Things
Everyone has an agenda, and that agenda is their own welfare and well-being. That's cool and understandable, but it should be known that there is never an exception-- not the guy that was trying to scam me into paying for White Sox tickets 20 minutes ago, not the crackhead who begs for change or robs some lonely pedestrian, and not the noble priest who always finds an angle to perceive the object of his attention by looking down his nose.
I don't have a steady stream of thought right now. I'm really just trying to process everything that I have ever learned or experienced. It's tough, huh, and I'm only 23 years in.
I'm currently reading a book and it's very enlightening. It stresses the importance of remembering that the human race didn't simply pop up 10,00 years ago and begin building cities and maintaining farms because that was the natural inclination of the species. Rather, the work of patient learning and adapting throughout the previous 2 or 3 million years culminated in a particular lifestyle. But "culminated" is the wrong word, entirely, as the agriculture that spread rampantly 10,000 years ago did so because it was aggressive, not because it was "destined" to be successful. Essentially, this... I don't remember the word that was used. Here's how it basically breaks down: 10,000 years ago there were tons of tribes all over the world, each with their own customs and rituals that had been tested and tweaked through time. Also unique to each tribe was their approach to eating. Often, groups hunted and foraged and maybe had a little garden for tomatoes and chives or something. If food was waning, the group moved on. That said, there were no famines because people didn't insist on staying in a particular place.
Then came along a great idea, coined "totalitarian agriculture," which spread in a kind of forceful way. Well, maybe not forceful. Tricky, though. See, some people would settle down and guard their little farms. This probably spread because it became a hassle to try to forage amongst dirty looks from some farmer dude. I don't know. But it spread relatively quickly (as far as the ol' "grand scheme of things" is concerned) and, as can be seen today, only isolated peoples tucked just past the reach of modern man have been allowed to continue living in accordance to the laws of nature. As I have implicitly stated, the current form of agriculture lives in opposition to the way nature functions and, thus, will be killed off by Darwinism, applied. For instance, people like robbing cows of their milk before they eat them. That's cool, so foxes and wolves also like eating cows. It isn't desirable for cows to be in such high demand outside of the human race, so the easiest solution is to kill off potential predators. This is, in essence, "playing god."
So that's what's on my mind. I think I'll read Into the Wild, but I already have a good idea of how it ends.
Oh, and I met Erik Larson the other night. It's funny meeting someone your mind idolizes (to an extent) only to be reassured that they're merely flesh and bones and blood and hair. He seemed genuine (which is irrelevant) and I'm excited to read his new book.
I don't have a steady stream of thought right now. I'm really just trying to process everything that I have ever learned or experienced. It's tough, huh, and I'm only 23 years in.
I'm currently reading a book and it's very enlightening. It stresses the importance of remembering that the human race didn't simply pop up 10,00 years ago and begin building cities and maintaining farms because that was the natural inclination of the species. Rather, the work of patient learning and adapting throughout the previous 2 or 3 million years culminated in a particular lifestyle. But "culminated" is the wrong word, entirely, as the agriculture that spread rampantly 10,000 years ago did so because it was aggressive, not because it was "destined" to be successful. Essentially, this... I don't remember the word that was used. Here's how it basically breaks down: 10,000 years ago there were tons of tribes all over the world, each with their own customs and rituals that had been tested and tweaked through time. Also unique to each tribe was their approach to eating. Often, groups hunted and foraged and maybe had a little garden for tomatoes and chives or something. If food was waning, the group moved on. That said, there were no famines because people didn't insist on staying in a particular place.
Then came along a great idea, coined "totalitarian agriculture," which spread in a kind of forceful way. Well, maybe not forceful. Tricky, though. See, some people would settle down and guard their little farms. This probably spread because it became a hassle to try to forage amongst dirty looks from some farmer dude. I don't know. But it spread relatively quickly (as far as the ol' "grand scheme of things" is concerned) and, as can be seen today, only isolated peoples tucked just past the reach of modern man have been allowed to continue living in accordance to the laws of nature. As I have implicitly stated, the current form of agriculture lives in opposition to the way nature functions and, thus, will be killed off by Darwinism, applied. For instance, people like robbing cows of their milk before they eat them. That's cool, so foxes and wolves also like eating cows. It isn't desirable for cows to be in such high demand outside of the human race, so the easiest solution is to kill off potential predators. This is, in essence, "playing god."
So that's what's on my mind. I think I'll read Into the Wild, but I already have a good idea of how it ends.
Oh, and I met Erik Larson the other night. It's funny meeting someone your mind idolizes (to an extent) only to be reassured that they're merely flesh and bones and blood and hair. He seemed genuine (which is irrelevant) and I'm excited to read his new book.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Big Three Killed My Baby
Oh, I forgot! The point of mentioning my previous encounter with Lucy was, well... ha! So, it's been said that one's sense of smell is one's strongest of their five. Lucy smelled like lots and lots of perfume. I recognized the smell, which was expensive and kind of nice, but it was almost overwhelming. I mean, personally, I like to keep things subtle. Lucy doesn't.
Anyways, this struck me as worth mentioning because it reminded me of when I was 16 or 17 and trying to impress this one girl-- the more Old Spice spray I used, the better off everything seemed. I was worried one day, though, because I had to wait for her 8th or 9th period class to finish. Basically, I had 50 minutes to myself. As had never been the case before or after this particular afternoon, I decided to play basketball with a few kids I vaguely knew. I held my own, I think, but I also had a good sweat going. It was embarrassing. So, like any normal teenager would do, I doubled the dose of Old Spice spray. It could've burned my eyes out, but she at least pretended to be impressed.
Huh.
Anyways, this struck me as worth mentioning because it reminded me of when I was 16 or 17 and trying to impress this one girl-- the more Old Spice spray I used, the better off everything seemed. I was worried one day, though, because I had to wait for her 8th or 9th period class to finish. Basically, I had 50 minutes to myself. As had never been the case before or after this particular afternoon, I decided to play basketball with a few kids I vaguely knew. I held my own, I think, but I also had a good sweat going. It was embarrassing. So, like any normal teenager would do, I doubled the dose of Old Spice spray. It could've burned my eyes out, but she at least pretended to be impressed.
Huh.
Those Who Stayed
This vegan thing is still going strong, and Thursday is Vegan Pizza Day at Ian's. Oh, and now Stella has a few vegan pastries, which is nice.
Yesterday, hm... there was a beautiful bike ride to Lincoln Park, during which I passed Wrigley Field and thought, "Huh, what a gorgeous day for a baseball game." When I got to Toby's house, Mrs. Lerone offered me a pair of tickets to that evening's game (versus the New York Metropolitans), so I took 'em. And it sucked. The wind wrapped around the bend of the stadium and was funneled directly into my mid-section. I was wet and cold and we left in the 5th inning when the wind was too much to bear.
After picking up my bag from my mom's apartment and my bike from under the train tracks, i headed for the platform. It felt like my bag had become snagged on something, but when I turned it was Lucy. We talked for a minute before she caught the brown line and I thought to myself, "How did I ever go back to a past girlfriend after the initial break-up?" I still don't quite get it. I mean, if something doesn't work, why try again? At such a young age, and with something like 7 billion people on this planet. And it's safe to assume that nearly half are female, though any percentage over 25 still allows pretty good odds. This is all beside the point, though, as the thought of a girlfriend is nearly nauseating at this point in my life. Here's why:
When I was with Lucy, I was the best boyfriend I could possibly be... to a point. See, I was nearly obsessive about being a good boyfriend: I took her out on dates, called her regularly to show that I cared, dropped what I was doing when she needed a ride home from babysitting... you know, the little things and the big things. One thing I couldn't do, though, was talk about her to other people. Well, except for the problems. But that's not my point. What I couldn't do was sit in a conversation and say something like, "Yeah, my girlfriend and I like to... (I don't know... uh, go shopping for records together?)" I just couldn't do it. And other people in seemingly healthy relationships do involve their significant other in conversation with ease. So that could mean various things. Maybe I didn't appreciate/respect Lucy, or maybe I took her presence as an affront to my own ego. I wasn't even comfortable telling people I had a girlfriend, though I had no intention of being unfaithful. My immediate conclusion was that I am a flawed human being in regard to intimate relationships, but I think it's safer to say that Lucy was not the right person for that part of my life. Whether or not there is one is a tough question, but no amount of conjecture will change the fact that only empirical evidence can supply a sufficient answer.
I tried to get coffee before the Cubs game last night but Lincoln Perk was closed. I was taken aback, as a side effect of being in a mild stupor, I kept trying to open the dead-bolted door. A lady who seemed to be hovering around the age of 50, with gray hair and a Trader Joe's bag, was nearly as surprised as I was. After a minute of answering the conundrum with a defeated, "Well, I guess it's closed," she asked me about the Chicago flag on my shirt. "Chicago Police?"
"Nah, just Chicago. It's a band... from Chicago."
"Japan?"
"No, no, a band..."
Little did I know, this "miscommunication" was merely a segue for her to begin telling me about various Japanese techniques of meditation. I wasn't particularly annoyed, and I still needed to think of a non-Starbucks option for coffee, so I let her impart some of her knowledge to me. Throughout the conversation, she casually mentioned that my eyes made me look Italian, and that there's something "deep" about me-- neither of which I sincerely understood, especially coming from a first impression of mine (well, I guess a first impression is as strong as any for a physical feature).
Anyhow, work is nearly done and I have a full day ahead of me, including Toby, pizza, band practice, and possibly a few beers before I head home.
Yesterday, hm... there was a beautiful bike ride to Lincoln Park, during which I passed Wrigley Field and thought, "Huh, what a gorgeous day for a baseball game." When I got to Toby's house, Mrs. Lerone offered me a pair of tickets to that evening's game (versus the New York Metropolitans), so I took 'em. And it sucked. The wind wrapped around the bend of the stadium and was funneled directly into my mid-section. I was wet and cold and we left in the 5th inning when the wind was too much to bear.
After picking up my bag from my mom's apartment and my bike from under the train tracks, i headed for the platform. It felt like my bag had become snagged on something, but when I turned it was Lucy. We talked for a minute before she caught the brown line and I thought to myself, "How did I ever go back to a past girlfriend after the initial break-up?" I still don't quite get it. I mean, if something doesn't work, why try again? At such a young age, and with something like 7 billion people on this planet. And it's safe to assume that nearly half are female, though any percentage over 25 still allows pretty good odds. This is all beside the point, though, as the thought of a girlfriend is nearly nauseating at this point in my life. Here's why:
When I was with Lucy, I was the best boyfriend I could possibly be... to a point. See, I was nearly obsessive about being a good boyfriend: I took her out on dates, called her regularly to show that I cared, dropped what I was doing when she needed a ride home from babysitting... you know, the little things and the big things. One thing I couldn't do, though, was talk about her to other people. Well, except for the problems. But that's not my point. What I couldn't do was sit in a conversation and say something like, "Yeah, my girlfriend and I like to... (I don't know... uh, go shopping for records together?)" I just couldn't do it. And other people in seemingly healthy relationships do involve their significant other in conversation with ease. So that could mean various things. Maybe I didn't appreciate/respect Lucy, or maybe I took her presence as an affront to my own ego. I wasn't even comfortable telling people I had a girlfriend, though I had no intention of being unfaithful. My immediate conclusion was that I am a flawed human being in regard to intimate relationships, but I think it's safer to say that Lucy was not the right person for that part of my life. Whether or not there is one is a tough question, but no amount of conjecture will change the fact that only empirical evidence can supply a sufficient answer.
I tried to get coffee before the Cubs game last night but Lincoln Perk was closed. I was taken aback, as a side effect of being in a mild stupor, I kept trying to open the dead-bolted door. A lady who seemed to be hovering around the age of 50, with gray hair and a Trader Joe's bag, was nearly as surprised as I was. After a minute of answering the conundrum with a defeated, "Well, I guess it's closed," she asked me about the Chicago flag on my shirt. "Chicago Police?"
"Nah, just Chicago. It's a band... from Chicago."
"Japan?"
"No, no, a band..."
Little did I know, this "miscommunication" was merely a segue for her to begin telling me about various Japanese techniques of meditation. I wasn't particularly annoyed, and I still needed to think of a non-Starbucks option for coffee, so I let her impart some of her knowledge to me. Throughout the conversation, she casually mentioned that my eyes made me look Italian, and that there's something "deep" about me-- neither of which I sincerely understood, especially coming from a first impression of mine (well, I guess a first impression is as strong as any for a physical feature).
Anyhow, work is nearly done and I have a full day ahead of me, including Toby, pizza, band practice, and possibly a few beers before I head home.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Maybe While I'm Not Together I Can Feel Like I'm Not Alone
You learn something new every day, I've heard. True to that sentiment, today I learned that my friend AJ is really into the idea of Intelligent Design. I'm still speechless. My initial reaction was, "you, too!?" until I realized that he's the first living, breathing person I've ever met (over the age of 7) who seriously considers the possibility that humans and dinosaurs cohabited this planet. Wow. I mean, a conservative Republican judge, appointed by George W. Bush to occupy a seat on the bench of the Supreme Court, ruled that Intelligent Design is not science and, thus, not worthy or appropriate of being taught to grade school or high school students. I wish this was all fresh in my mind so I could make a coherent retort that would forever damn his stupid, half-thought-out version of creationism, but instead I just rambled off random lines about the iron catastrophe 5 billions years ago, and dinosaurs going extinct about 65 million years ago, and homo habilis or whomever making an appearance about 3 million years ago. This minor occurrence expanded my concept of the world immensely, just as it was expanded by experiencing the other side of the coin on the issue of eating animals.
Cheap segue, huh? So about this whole dietary change... some weird stuff's going on. Well, not really. Oh, I should mention that I kind of cheated last night, but it was out of courtesy. Aaron made a bunch of vegetarian/vegan food but he cooked one dish in milk. I ate and enjoyed it but told him it wouldn't happen again.
Anyhow, strange things that are actually quite normal. At work I was reading some guy's blog. The writer's a vegan and this particular entry was about why he made that decision and how he felt before, during and after. One thing he particularly mentioned was that he didn't experience any back pain. That's a strange thing to mention, first of all, and second of all, my back was pretty fucking sore the other night. Oddly sore, more so than I ever remember it being. I attributed the aching to having worn the bag throughout the entire RJD2 show, but that doesn't quite add up as the only heavy thing in there was my Nalgene bottle, which steadily got lighter as the night wore on. My back feels fine now but I'll have to look into that.
Secondly, the writer mentioned losing 7 pounds in the first 5 days. That's cool. I'm not looking to lose weight, but whatever. He went on to mention that his, uh, dump-cycle was irrationally out of proportion to his food intake. Me too! See, I've been eating a ton of carrots and berries, and throughout each day I'll have a banana and a bowl of cereal and a p,b, & j and a Clif bar, but nothing that necessitates three or four quality dumps in one day. Holy hell. Anyways, according to this dude, it's the accumulation of a lifetime of "dairy clog." Pretty nasty stuff, but it's nice to not be carrying that around anymore. I suppose that's why I feel more light and more nimble and generally healthier.
What else?
I'm forcing myself to care. Well, maybe not forcing. I've come, through a combination of intellect and emotion, come to decide that not caring is seriously detrimental to my health. Here's a few things that facilitate not caring:
-cigarettes
-alcohol
-weed
-conforming to the tastes of friends
-not voicing how I feel.
But all of these go back to something very liberating, which is why I started doing them in the first place: they all contribute a good, healthy dose of "fuck it" into my diet. I still need that, though, so I don't know how I'll find a balance if I haven't found one yet. That "fuck it" is a great safety net and a strange form of motivation. It's the reason I'm able to tolerate unclogging Stella's toilet, or dealing with people I don't care about. But too much of it leads me to a bar night after night, or out the door for a smoke every hour or so. I'll figure it out.
I'm in a good place right now. Almost everything I'm doing is an investment in myself. See, I've been reading a lot lately because I've found some good books on my shelf. And I'm not wrapped up in the idea of some girl being the answer to all my problems (like I was last week. My emotions overrule my mind, sometimes). And it's good to be conscious of what I'm putting into my body, and what I'm nodding and laughing with, and what I'm agreeing to, because everything I do is a vote and I don't want to scuff up my record with stupid, regrettable things. I don't want to look back and say, "I knew better. I knew I knew better. Was I really feeling to hopeless?" That's the worst kind of pathetic, I think.
Cheap segue, huh? So about this whole dietary change... some weird stuff's going on. Well, not really. Oh, I should mention that I kind of cheated last night, but it was out of courtesy. Aaron made a bunch of vegetarian/vegan food but he cooked one dish in milk. I ate and enjoyed it but told him it wouldn't happen again.
Anyhow, strange things that are actually quite normal. At work I was reading some guy's blog. The writer's a vegan and this particular entry was about why he made that decision and how he felt before, during and after. One thing he particularly mentioned was that he didn't experience any back pain. That's a strange thing to mention, first of all, and second of all, my back was pretty fucking sore the other night. Oddly sore, more so than I ever remember it being. I attributed the aching to having worn the bag throughout the entire RJD2 show, but that doesn't quite add up as the only heavy thing in there was my Nalgene bottle, which steadily got lighter as the night wore on. My back feels fine now but I'll have to look into that.
Secondly, the writer mentioned losing 7 pounds in the first 5 days. That's cool. I'm not looking to lose weight, but whatever. He went on to mention that his, uh, dump-cycle was irrationally out of proportion to his food intake. Me too! See, I've been eating a ton of carrots and berries, and throughout each day I'll have a banana and a bowl of cereal and a p,b, & j and a Clif bar, but nothing that necessitates three or four quality dumps in one day. Holy hell. Anyways, according to this dude, it's the accumulation of a lifetime of "dairy clog." Pretty nasty stuff, but it's nice to not be carrying that around anymore. I suppose that's why I feel more light and more nimble and generally healthier.
What else?
I'm forcing myself to care. Well, maybe not forcing. I've come, through a combination of intellect and emotion, come to decide that not caring is seriously detrimental to my health. Here's a few things that facilitate not caring:
-cigarettes
-alcohol
-weed
-conforming to the tastes of friends
-not voicing how I feel.
But all of these go back to something very liberating, which is why I started doing them in the first place: they all contribute a good, healthy dose of "fuck it" into my diet. I still need that, though, so I don't know how I'll find a balance if I haven't found one yet. That "fuck it" is a great safety net and a strange form of motivation. It's the reason I'm able to tolerate unclogging Stella's toilet, or dealing with people I don't care about. But too much of it leads me to a bar night after night, or out the door for a smoke every hour or so. I'll figure it out.
I'm in a good place right now. Almost everything I'm doing is an investment in myself. See, I've been reading a lot lately because I've found some good books on my shelf. And I'm not wrapped up in the idea of some girl being the answer to all my problems (like I was last week. My emotions overrule my mind, sometimes). And it's good to be conscious of what I'm putting into my body, and what I'm nodding and laughing with, and what I'm agreeing to, because everything I do is a vote and I don't want to scuff up my record with stupid, regrettable things. I don't want to look back and say, "I knew better. I knew I knew better. Was I really feeling to hopeless?" That's the worst kind of pathetic, I think.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Faith is a Cobra
Jesus is supposed to arrive today, I heard. Or maybe it's the rapture. I'm not sure. Both? More than anything, people speaking of the end of the world are amusing.
This world is ridiculous, to say the least. With convenience comes laziness, which is followed closely by boredom and apathy. People take the easy way out, every time. This is a fairly new thing, I think, as both my parents and my grandparents are familiar with the concept of reward after hard work. Or hard work with no obvious reward. So this society has spoiled its inhabitants, it seems, and the only cure is for each individual to take the initiative and start making some mental connections that force themselves to care.
Or maybe it's just as well that some kind of armageddon is headed our way. Sure, it could be of biblical proportions, "Fire and brimstone coming down from the sky! Rivers and seas boiling! Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes... The dead rising from the grave! Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!" but it's not like the human race isn't stubbornly daring the Earth to end. And because this planet is about as conscious as gravity, it's just going to react without regard for fate or fairness, and without sympathy or restraint.
I really don't care. I mean, I do. I care a lot. The first sentence in this paragraph is a complete lie. What I meant is this: I care tremendously. I try to do as much good as possible, even in hopeless situations. I don't believe morals should be compromised because of circumstance, though occasionally I'm guilty, too. I smoke cigarettes and drive my car. But (and this is a big butt)! I also believe in justice and, y'know, reaping what one sows. We sowed ourselves a pretty ugly outfit out of the only known habitable planet in the entire universe. Sucks, doughnut? So, as happens to every body that's endured terrible conditions, parts will begin to fail. The ozone will go, and the ice caps will melt prematurely (would they ever have, otherwise?), and a pandemic will find its way into the human body. And these are all pretty much guaranteed by every credible expert. There's a museum in Kentucky that may disagree, and some politicians, too, and their followers may adopt their stance, but those people are probably very wrong (unless I'm the one who's been misled).
This whole thing is hilarious and ridiculous but it's also a big downer. Those people holding those signs are looked at in the same light as people with signs proclaiming truths. Anyone who strays from the norm is systematically mocked and degraded, which may be a useful tactic to weed out the weak activists, but is it necessary? I mean, I don't think it's a tactic in the sense that it's being deployed consciously by society as a collective, but more of a tactic in hindsight.
Whatever the point that I'm trying to make, everything I've ever thought boils down to hypocrisy. Once again, I'm guilty as well. And it's sickening. The one that gets me every time is the virtues held but not practiced by people of various faiths. People are all a bunch of lazy assholes who abandon morality when there's too much or too little to do.
This world is ridiculous, to say the least. With convenience comes laziness, which is followed closely by boredom and apathy. People take the easy way out, every time. This is a fairly new thing, I think, as both my parents and my grandparents are familiar with the concept of reward after hard work. Or hard work with no obvious reward. So this society has spoiled its inhabitants, it seems, and the only cure is for each individual to take the initiative and start making some mental connections that force themselves to care.
Or maybe it's just as well that some kind of armageddon is headed our way. Sure, it could be of biblical proportions, "Fire and brimstone coming down from the sky! Rivers and seas boiling! Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes... The dead rising from the grave! Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!" but it's not like the human race isn't stubbornly daring the Earth to end. And because this planet is about as conscious as gravity, it's just going to react without regard for fate or fairness, and without sympathy or restraint.
I really don't care. I mean, I do. I care a lot. The first sentence in this paragraph is a complete lie. What I meant is this: I care tremendously. I try to do as much good as possible, even in hopeless situations. I don't believe morals should be compromised because of circumstance, though occasionally I'm guilty, too. I smoke cigarettes and drive my car. But (and this is a big butt)! I also believe in justice and, y'know, reaping what one sows. We sowed ourselves a pretty ugly outfit out of the only known habitable planet in the entire universe. Sucks, doughnut? So, as happens to every body that's endured terrible conditions, parts will begin to fail. The ozone will go, and the ice caps will melt prematurely (would they ever have, otherwise?), and a pandemic will find its way into the human body. And these are all pretty much guaranteed by every credible expert. There's a museum in Kentucky that may disagree, and some politicians, too, and their followers may adopt their stance, but those people are probably very wrong (unless I'm the one who's been misled).
This whole thing is hilarious and ridiculous but it's also a big downer. Those people holding those signs are looked at in the same light as people with signs proclaiming truths. Anyone who strays from the norm is systematically mocked and degraded, which may be a useful tactic to weed out the weak activists, but is it necessary? I mean, I don't think it's a tactic in the sense that it's being deployed consciously by society as a collective, but more of a tactic in hindsight.
Whatever the point that I'm trying to make, everything I've ever thought boils down to hypocrisy. Once again, I'm guilty as well. And it's sickening. The one that gets me every time is the virtues held but not practiced by people of various faiths. People are all a bunch of lazy assholes who abandon morality when there's too much or too little to do.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Your Blood Destroyer
"Goddamnit!" was the first real word/feeling that I said/experienced as I randomly shot out of bed at 8:20 this morning, already over an hour late for work. I hustled and made it out my door and in Stella's door about 20 minutes into my day (though I didn't pause to check the time, which would have been counter-productive). Oh, but a nice little touch from God or the Universe or some dead hippy was when I opened my computer. See, my phone was kind of not working properly last night. When I got home, it was completely off and wouldn't turn back on for a while. Maybe this is because I keep it filled to the very brim with music. Anyhow, I needed to see something that would tell me that I just barely overslept, and my alarm clock was 10 feet farther from me, so I checked the clock on my computer. My heart did a kind of leap when the clock read 7:29, but cravity quickly reminded my little heart that the leap it took was off a cliff, so it then dove straight into the ground.
I really don't get it. I mean, I wasn't particularly drunk or tired when I went to bed. Sure, I wasn't sober, and sure, it took me just under three songs to fall asleep (the last three off From Here To Infirmary, so maybe that means I was tired).
Oh, so about Denver:
Actually, first, about the band:
The other night I learned how to play "Where Did Our Love Go" by The Supremes. It's a great song and it's really easy and I thought it'd be cool to do as a punk band. So far so good. So I bring the idea to practice. Well, it was a kind of pre-practice thing we did before picking up our drummer and going to the practice space. There we are, sitting in Jimi's living room holding guitars, and I pitch the idea. Here are two reactions, of which I expected one of:
1) "No, that song sucks, and I am ethically opposed to covering someone else's music."
2) "Yes, that's a great idea. It'd be a lot of fun to play a song that won't be expected from us."
Instead, I got a weird kind of variation of the two, sort of. The response I get is, essentially, a list of punk bands who have covered songs outside of their genre. Because a human being with even the slightest interest in music is aware that nearly every band, ever, has covered a song that didn't correspond to said band's exact sound, the only reason I can fathom that would elicit such a response is as justification. If this is the case, then I am at a complete loss for how this band is going to carry on. I mean, I understand... huh. I walked away from the computer for a second after writing "I understand," and I have no idea what I possibly could have understood.
In my understanding, the idea of "punk rock" is partially the sound and partially the attitude (and partially the attitude reflecting itself in the sound). That said, should my new band be thrown in the punk rock sub-genre of "subservient punk"? Maybe it's just conjecture and I'm actually completely wrong and my logic is twisted, but I don't think Joe Strummer consulted his list of punk rock forefathers in search of a green light to permit him to cover "I Fought the Law." I also don't think the Rolling Stones or the White Stripes thought twice before covering "Stop Breaking Down," and I don't think that justification was needed for Alkaline Trio to cover "Bye Bye Love."
This whole thing is kind of sickening. I mean, the impression I'm getting is that I'm starting a band that should not stray from NOFX's formula... but I'm not in NOFX. How does that make sense? It'd be like Stella forcing me to follow Starbucks policies.
I'm thinking I should draft a sort of business model detailing what I want out of my band.
Huh. Something about that line, "I want out of my band" makes sense. I don't, though. I'll use the band as a structure to keep myself making music, to get the ball rolling, so I don't get lazy. I need to get these six songs out of my head and onto a four-track before I lose the will to write anything after.
Anyhow, about Denver: I know I've been so back and forth lately. The band was promising and then reality settled in and it lost the brief hopefulness of really being on to something. And now I'm seeing how hard it is to change under the confines of past hobbies and preconceptions others have of me. And maybe that's cowardly or pathetic, but you I dare you to try and tell Sam that you will, under no circumstance, eat the steak tacos he insists on buying and that, if he knows what's good for him, he better buy me a vegetarian taco. Oh, and if you explain this to Sam, he has to be blind drunk. Yeah, give it a try. I still don't know how it clicked in his head and he didn't order me steak.
I know I'm getting terribly off track, but I smoked some cigarettes the past two nights. I still feel like hell because my lungs just aren't quite right these past two weeks, so that's good.
I really don't get it. I mean, I wasn't particularly drunk or tired when I went to bed. Sure, I wasn't sober, and sure, it took me just under three songs to fall asleep (the last three off From Here To Infirmary, so maybe that means I was tired).
Oh, so about Denver:
Actually, first, about the band:
The other night I learned how to play "Where Did Our Love Go" by The Supremes. It's a great song and it's really easy and I thought it'd be cool to do as a punk band. So far so good. So I bring the idea to practice. Well, it was a kind of pre-practice thing we did before picking up our drummer and going to the practice space. There we are, sitting in Jimi's living room holding guitars, and I pitch the idea. Here are two reactions, of which I expected one of:
1) "No, that song sucks, and I am ethically opposed to covering someone else's music."
2) "Yes, that's a great idea. It'd be a lot of fun to play a song that won't be expected from us."
Instead, I got a weird kind of variation of the two, sort of. The response I get is, essentially, a list of punk bands who have covered songs outside of their genre. Because a human being with even the slightest interest in music is aware that nearly every band, ever, has covered a song that didn't correspond to said band's exact sound, the only reason I can fathom that would elicit such a response is as justification. If this is the case, then I am at a complete loss for how this band is going to carry on. I mean, I understand... huh. I walked away from the computer for a second after writing "I understand," and I have no idea what I possibly could have understood.
In my understanding, the idea of "punk rock" is partially the sound and partially the attitude (and partially the attitude reflecting itself in the sound). That said, should my new band be thrown in the punk rock sub-genre of "subservient punk"? Maybe it's just conjecture and I'm actually completely wrong and my logic is twisted, but I don't think Joe Strummer consulted his list of punk rock forefathers in search of a green light to permit him to cover "I Fought the Law." I also don't think the Rolling Stones or the White Stripes thought twice before covering "Stop Breaking Down," and I don't think that justification was needed for Alkaline Trio to cover "Bye Bye Love."
This whole thing is kind of sickening. I mean, the impression I'm getting is that I'm starting a band that should not stray from NOFX's formula... but I'm not in NOFX. How does that make sense? It'd be like Stella forcing me to follow Starbucks policies.
I'm thinking I should draft a sort of business model detailing what I want out of my band.
Huh. Something about that line, "I want out of my band" makes sense. I don't, though. I'll use the band as a structure to keep myself making music, to get the ball rolling, so I don't get lazy. I need to get these six songs out of my head and onto a four-track before I lose the will to write anything after.
Anyhow, about Denver: I know I've been so back and forth lately. The band was promising and then reality settled in and it lost the brief hopefulness of really being on to something. And now I'm seeing how hard it is to change under the confines of past hobbies and preconceptions others have of me. And maybe that's cowardly or pathetic, but you I dare you to try and tell Sam that you will, under no circumstance, eat the steak tacos he insists on buying and that, if he knows what's good for him, he better buy me a vegetarian taco. Oh, and if you explain this to Sam, he has to be blind drunk. Yeah, give it a try. I still don't know how it clicked in his head and he didn't order me steak.
I know I'm getting terribly off track, but I smoked some cigarettes the past two nights. I still feel like hell because my lungs just aren't quite right these past two weeks, so that's good.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Romeo Had Juliette
I'm going to officially record this, Monday, May 16th, as day two of vegetarian/smoke-free Scott. I've got a good feeling about this one.
First of all, I did what I could to making cigarette-smoking a part of my daily lifestyle... but to no avail. I tried to smoke whenever I wanted to in order to not smoke when I didn't particularly want to. I bought two cartons of cheap, delicious Lucky Strikes to ease the financial burden. But no, there's no winning with this. My lungs are rejecting the extra layers of tar and grime and my intellect is doing the same.
On to my diet... it's hard to fathom eating any animal by-product after reading what I've read. I mean, I can't un-know something. Once the knowledge is in, I have to deal with it. If I turn away, then I'm a spineless chump. And, as was pointed out, it's really, really easy to be a vegetarian nowadays. Even places like McDonald's and Chipotle have an option. And, in Chicago, there's Whole Foods and Trader Joe's and the Pick Me Up Cafe and the Chicago Diner and Karyn's. I'd be dumb not to cater to my own intellect.
Oh, and that brings up another point: I kind of need to do things the hard way to keep me interested in life. Shaving with a knife, having a selective diet, rolling cigarettes, listening to records, writing letters on a typewriter. It's fun but it all involves a certain degree of skill, which means I constantly have something to strive for, even if I'm not particularly interested in being the greatest cigarette roller in the world. I suppose I could start keeping score when I go to baseball games... Nah. Baseball games are mentally taxing enough. Well, not really. I don't know, I'll consider that next time I go to a game... which won't be for a while. A long, long while (ideally).
So yeah, that train of thought has past the point of visibility, some four miles down the track.
Let's see... well, my lungs feel a little better in this day 2 of inclining health. The sun is out. That's cool. I'm reading again (if 60 pages of one book counts as "reading again"). I really want to ride my bike but I won't be able to until Wednesday (weather permitting). Tomorrow is band practice and maybe a show at the Fireside, which will be my first in about 8 years... wow.
Uh, what else. That girl skipped town. Time to do something with my life. Oh, and my car still doesn't get along with the rain. Too bad. I'm also about to learn how well it runs without gas. Speaking of gas, it's really disheartening to see the dollars add up in my tip jar and know that each and every one will be handed over to the sarcastic guy at the gas station.
Ideally, I'd like to stop driving altogether. I have a plan to sell my motorcycle, but I think it will have to be for a loss because I don't have the motivation of capability to fix it up first. What else? I need to sell a lot of my records so I can have a clear path into my room again.
Uh... huh. Jonathan Safran Foer is a pretty good writer, by the way-- regardless of how bad the motion picture adaptation of Everything is Illuminated was.
So this coffee shop is kind of slow again. I have a feeling that the entire summer will be like this... I better find some better way to occupy my time.
First of all, I did what I could to making cigarette-smoking a part of my daily lifestyle... but to no avail. I tried to smoke whenever I wanted to in order to not smoke when I didn't particularly want to. I bought two cartons of cheap, delicious Lucky Strikes to ease the financial burden. But no, there's no winning with this. My lungs are rejecting the extra layers of tar and grime and my intellect is doing the same.
On to my diet... it's hard to fathom eating any animal by-product after reading what I've read. I mean, I can't un-know something. Once the knowledge is in, I have to deal with it. If I turn away, then I'm a spineless chump. And, as was pointed out, it's really, really easy to be a vegetarian nowadays. Even places like McDonald's and Chipotle have an option. And, in Chicago, there's Whole Foods and Trader Joe's and the Pick Me Up Cafe and the Chicago Diner and Karyn's. I'd be dumb not to cater to my own intellect.
Oh, and that brings up another point: I kind of need to do things the hard way to keep me interested in life. Shaving with a knife, having a selective diet, rolling cigarettes, listening to records, writing letters on a typewriter. It's fun but it all involves a certain degree of skill, which means I constantly have something to strive for, even if I'm not particularly interested in being the greatest cigarette roller in the world. I suppose I could start keeping score when I go to baseball games... Nah. Baseball games are mentally taxing enough. Well, not really. I don't know, I'll consider that next time I go to a game... which won't be for a while. A long, long while (ideally).
So yeah, that train of thought has past the point of visibility, some four miles down the track.
Let's see... well, my lungs feel a little better in this day 2 of inclining health. The sun is out. That's cool. I'm reading again (if 60 pages of one book counts as "reading again"). I really want to ride my bike but I won't be able to until Wednesday (weather permitting). Tomorrow is band practice and maybe a show at the Fireside, which will be my first in about 8 years... wow.
Uh, what else. That girl skipped town. Time to do something with my life. Oh, and my car still doesn't get along with the rain. Too bad. I'm also about to learn how well it runs without gas. Speaking of gas, it's really disheartening to see the dollars add up in my tip jar and know that each and every one will be handed over to the sarcastic guy at the gas station.
Ideally, I'd like to stop driving altogether. I have a plan to sell my motorcycle, but I think it will have to be for a loss because I don't have the motivation of capability to fix it up first. What else? I need to sell a lot of my records so I can have a clear path into my room again.
Uh... huh. Jonathan Safran Foer is a pretty good writer, by the way-- regardless of how bad the motion picture adaptation of Everything is Illuminated was.
So this coffee shop is kind of slow again. I have a feeling that the entire summer will be like this... I better find some better way to occupy my time.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Pay it Back, Pay it Forward.
Not only am I still hurting, but now I feel like a broken record. As cliche as that is, I don't currently possess the mental capacity to piece together a fresh metaphor.
Last night was Zombie Prom. Some of the costumes were really cool and I felt some semblance of belonging (always a good feeling). Most of the night, though, I had this feeling that I really wanted to be somewhere else. I'm not quite sure why, but I have three guesses:
-I kind of miss seeing that one girl, and when I fall it's hard to get my mind into the particular moment I'm standing in. Lame, huh.
-My ego has developed in a strange kind of way where, as I get older, I find a particular comfort being in my usual skin. This is good in the sense that my perceived identity crisis that's been going on my entire life is, well, merely perceived. This is bad because it doesn't easily lend my personality to change.
-Maybe I'm just not comfortable with fake blood leaking into my mouth.
Oh, and this isn't really on topic, but that's okay because I don't think I'm on one certain topic, anyways: I had a realization the other day. Maybe it was this morning, actually. I don't quite remember. But here goes:
No matter what I do, it's kind of going to suck. Ha! That sounds terrible. It's true, though. If I'm in a really successful band or I write a book that sells tremendously well, or if I lose my job and start working at Dunkin' Donuts again, it'll all be the same. Essentially, there'll be good days and there'll be bad days. Sometimes my mood will randomly swing into the gutter, and sometimes it might make a tremendous upswing for no apparent reason. So, that being a known, I might as well trudge through the bad days and keep doing what I know I'll want to be doing on the good days. Life is really short, but it's also really fucking long.
So, epiphanies aside, I think it's about time to take another vacation from cigarettes. Oh, and I'm casually becoming a vegetarian, I think. These two things just make sense, kind of. Well, maybe not the vegetarian one, but let's see:
-Smoking is an obvious one. I always start smoking because it makes me feel free. It reinforces the mindset that I can do whatever I want and fuck overly judgmental people who offer me slogans and give me dirty looks. On the downside, my lungs feel like they're half the size as they were a few weeks ago.
-Concerning food, I read an article called Consider the Lobster. It was about the popular lobster fest in Maine, and delved into whether or not it's ethical to boil a living creature. Obviously, that got me thinking. Since then, the closest I've come to blatantly eating an animal has been a few eggs (which I had bought prior to the article). I don't think I have it in me to go vegan, but when I was a vegetarian for six months a few years ago, I felt great. I never felt bloated and my organs felt like they were functioning properly. It's also fun to have limited options to eat... the whole "paradox of choice" thing, I guess.
Cobra Skulls are on my mind. There's probably a gourd-sized ball of phlegm in my chest.
Wow. This guy who always passes through and orders a medium latte with three or four shots just tipped me $15. Time to pay it forward.
Last night was Zombie Prom. Some of the costumes were really cool and I felt some semblance of belonging (always a good feeling). Most of the night, though, I had this feeling that I really wanted to be somewhere else. I'm not quite sure why, but I have three guesses:
-I kind of miss seeing that one girl, and when I fall it's hard to get my mind into the particular moment I'm standing in. Lame, huh.
-My ego has developed in a strange kind of way where, as I get older, I find a particular comfort being in my usual skin. This is good in the sense that my perceived identity crisis that's been going on my entire life is, well, merely perceived. This is bad because it doesn't easily lend my personality to change.
-Maybe I'm just not comfortable with fake blood leaking into my mouth.
Oh, and this isn't really on topic, but that's okay because I don't think I'm on one certain topic, anyways: I had a realization the other day. Maybe it was this morning, actually. I don't quite remember. But here goes:
No matter what I do, it's kind of going to suck. Ha! That sounds terrible. It's true, though. If I'm in a really successful band or I write a book that sells tremendously well, or if I lose my job and start working at Dunkin' Donuts again, it'll all be the same. Essentially, there'll be good days and there'll be bad days. Sometimes my mood will randomly swing into the gutter, and sometimes it might make a tremendous upswing for no apparent reason. So, that being a known, I might as well trudge through the bad days and keep doing what I know I'll want to be doing on the good days. Life is really short, but it's also really fucking long.
So, epiphanies aside, I think it's about time to take another vacation from cigarettes. Oh, and I'm casually becoming a vegetarian, I think. These two things just make sense, kind of. Well, maybe not the vegetarian one, but let's see:
-Smoking is an obvious one. I always start smoking because it makes me feel free. It reinforces the mindset that I can do whatever I want and fuck overly judgmental people who offer me slogans and give me dirty looks. On the downside, my lungs feel like they're half the size as they were a few weeks ago.
-Concerning food, I read an article called Consider the Lobster. It was about the popular lobster fest in Maine, and delved into whether or not it's ethical to boil a living creature. Obviously, that got me thinking. Since then, the closest I've come to blatantly eating an animal has been a few eggs (which I had bought prior to the article). I don't think I have it in me to go vegan, but when I was a vegetarian for six months a few years ago, I felt great. I never felt bloated and my organs felt like they were functioning properly. It's also fun to have limited options to eat... the whole "paradox of choice" thing, I guess.
Cobra Skulls are on my mind. There's probably a gourd-sized ball of phlegm in my chest.
Wow. This guy who always passes through and orders a medium latte with three or four shots just tipped me $15. Time to pay it forward.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Doin' Time
I think my computer is slowly dying. The blogs I read are all a day or two behind and I'm pretty sure I wrote something for this site the other day that isn't here. I don't know. Maybe it's in my head. I feel like a zombie, still, which is appropriate considering I'm begrudgingly going to zombie prom tonight. Well, begrudgingly in a passive aggressive way. Which is to say, only me and a select few know it's begrudgingly.
So that girl is more or less off my mind, which is good. I guess that's what it feels like to be led on. Huh. It's strange, though. I mean, I haven't seen her in nearly a week, and she still occupies a good portion of the thinking I do, but the issue just seems less pressing as my chances sink farther and farther down into the, uh, abyss. Or something. I'd still drop whatever I'm doing to go pick her up if she needed me to, or I'd ditch my present company to meet her for a beer, or I'd pretend I'm not sleeping if she wants to come over at 4 in the morning to pass out but needs me to pick her up from the train station. That's fucked, isn't it? I mean, I'm 99% certain she would do none of that for me. Hell, allowing me to pick her up at 2 in the morning from home last Friday night seemed overly generous of her.
I guess it's like that guy in San Francisco said, that after a few bad relationships you start to crave someone who puts you through hell. It's an addictive tension, I guess, and it's no more pleasant than fiending for cocaine, probably, and the payoff is definitely up to speed, for sure.
Well, sometimes.
I keep getting these little highs where everything's all right. They don't last long, so maybe what I'm really experiencing are the vast lows where everything is depressing and it doesn't matter where anything goes because every end is irrelevant and the only memory that matters is your own because nobody else can be expected to care (rightfully so) and the best you can do is hope to die alone or around people who don't irritate you too much.
I'm a lot weaker than I used to think of myself as being. Actually, I partially take that back. A lot of my perceived strengths and weaknesses are merely proclivities of which value judgments should not be placed upon. I'm not sure that makes sense on here like it does in my head. For instance, I was talking to Danny last night about various topics. Of particular importance to this paragraph, I mentioned that I couldn't have sex with someone I don't care about. I have-- and it wasn't particularly entertaining or awful-- but now I feel incapable. To some, this would be considered a strength because it's slightly more honorable to fornicate in the presence of strong emotions (this is a generalization of no particular set of moral guidelines. Whatever), and to others this would be a weakness in the same way that being biologically intolerant of gluten would suck because it would severely limit one's beer choices and, thus, make it a pain in the ass to go out and get loaded on a whim. But I don't know. I mean, to me (and, remember, this top of random banging is just an example) this whole thing is about as irrelevant as having a tree in my backyard. I mean, it's a tree, man. It's just there. It rarely serves me a particular purpose yet eradicating it from the premises would be unnecessary because it's not really in the way of anything. It's just there.
So yeah, that's that. All these things I have are just qualities and their utility or appropriateness is relative to whomever decides to judge me. So who cares? The person judging will probably stop caring almost immediately upon making the judgment. And I don't really care.
But should I care? Maybe that's my problem. It all goes back to this quote that's always been stuck in my head: "pride is nothing to be proud of." I hate it so much but I can't help but agree.
So that girl is more or less off my mind, which is good. I guess that's what it feels like to be led on. Huh. It's strange, though. I mean, I haven't seen her in nearly a week, and she still occupies a good portion of the thinking I do, but the issue just seems less pressing as my chances sink farther and farther down into the, uh, abyss. Or something. I'd still drop whatever I'm doing to go pick her up if she needed me to, or I'd ditch my present company to meet her for a beer, or I'd pretend I'm not sleeping if she wants to come over at 4 in the morning to pass out but needs me to pick her up from the train station. That's fucked, isn't it? I mean, I'm 99% certain she would do none of that for me. Hell, allowing me to pick her up at 2 in the morning from home last Friday night seemed overly generous of her.
I guess it's like that guy in San Francisco said, that after a few bad relationships you start to crave someone who puts you through hell. It's an addictive tension, I guess, and it's no more pleasant than fiending for cocaine, probably, and the payoff is definitely up to speed, for sure.
Well, sometimes.
I keep getting these little highs where everything's all right. They don't last long, so maybe what I'm really experiencing are the vast lows where everything is depressing and it doesn't matter where anything goes because every end is irrelevant and the only memory that matters is your own because nobody else can be expected to care (rightfully so) and the best you can do is hope to die alone or around people who don't irritate you too much.
I'm a lot weaker than I used to think of myself as being. Actually, I partially take that back. A lot of my perceived strengths and weaknesses are merely proclivities of which value judgments should not be placed upon. I'm not sure that makes sense on here like it does in my head. For instance, I was talking to Danny last night about various topics. Of particular importance to this paragraph, I mentioned that I couldn't have sex with someone I don't care about. I have-- and it wasn't particularly entertaining or awful-- but now I feel incapable. To some, this would be considered a strength because it's slightly more honorable to fornicate in the presence of strong emotions (this is a generalization of no particular set of moral guidelines. Whatever), and to others this would be a weakness in the same way that being biologically intolerant of gluten would suck because it would severely limit one's beer choices and, thus, make it a pain in the ass to go out and get loaded on a whim. But I don't know. I mean, to me (and, remember, this top of random banging is just an example) this whole thing is about as irrelevant as having a tree in my backyard. I mean, it's a tree, man. It's just there. It rarely serves me a particular purpose yet eradicating it from the premises would be unnecessary because it's not really in the way of anything. It's just there.
So yeah, that's that. All these things I have are just qualities and their utility or appropriateness is relative to whomever decides to judge me. So who cares? The person judging will probably stop caring almost immediately upon making the judgment. And I don't really care.
But should I care? Maybe that's my problem. It all goes back to this quote that's always been stuck in my head: "pride is nothing to be proud of." I hate it so much but I can't help but agree.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
I Will Atone
Life is fucking hard, man. Well, no, I take that back. Not entirely, though. Life can be hard, but mine isn't particularly. "Life is tricky," is what I meant. Sometimes you have to try your hardest, and other times you have to exude some kind of I-Don't-Give-a-Damn aura-- and all for the same ends! It's hard to care when I'm in the haze of a second-wind exhaustion, yet it's hard not to care when I'm bright-eyed and bushy tailed and my endorphins are in fifth gear.
It's easy to throw in the towel when you genuinely don't care or are through with whatever it is that you were using a towel for, but it's considerably harder to pretend that giving up is by choice and not by default or defeat.
Anyways, I'm on the verge of doing something very, very drastic: staying put. Ha! Well, what Whitney posted on my wall kind of makes me feel like a deadbeat, but that's what I am, right? Here's the option I'm considering-- but wait! First, some back-story kind of details that may or may not be necessary:
-I love music. Ever since John gave me Less Than Jake's Hello Rockview when I was in 3rd grade, I was hooked. Granted, all the songs were about drinking, and I was under the impression that getting drunk was a side effect that rarely affected people, and most of the songs I was listening to were about drinking, but... meh. The point is, there was Less Than Jake and Blink 182 and all the punk/ska compilations I could get my hands on at Tower Records on Clark Street. And then there was the Lawrence Arms at the Fireside in 8th grade, and people mistaking my reaction to a severe lack of oxygen as being the effects of too much alcohol. I had a blast. Until then, I kind of assumed that people made bands, the bands either made it or didn't, and the ones that made it played giant venues and the musicians who didn't make it became teachers or deadbeats or something. The Lawrence Arms showed me that I can do it, too.
-I hate school. Don't get me wrong-- I love learning. I couldn't begin to count the amount of books I've read, or the conversations I've had with people where I've come away with good knowledge. But, for the same reason that I don't enjoy or appreciate lectures, I can't stand sitting idly by while someone tells me stuff. I need engagement, like a good conversation. Healthy discourse, y'know? I need to be able to constantly ask questions, which I don't feel comfortable doing in a classroom.
-I like to be in control. Now, I don't consider myself a "control freak," by any means. But, if something is going to be produced with my name on it, I need to be the final arbiter over what works and what doesn't. I don't think I could ever write a book or a song with anybody because that's not how I work.
-I love to write. See what I'm doing right now? I need this. Well, that's not true. I can live without writing, but it would be very dull. I can't properly express myself with a paint brush or a hammer or a camera, so I use words.
-My attention span is on the shorter side, relatively speaking. At this point in my life, I don't have it in me to write a book or a short story because I'd have a radical change of mind half way through and decide that I have a better idea that can't be incorporated into what I already have written.
So here's the decision (which isn't yet final, but it's getting there): I'm going to put my entire mind into this band. If it doesn't work out then at least I'll be that much closer with my next band. And, if it doesn't work out, then I can always move to Denver. I'm in no hurry to move, but man! am I in a hurry to leave. With a band, I can tour (ideally) without entirely picking up sticks.
Next is the decision of whether or not to go to school. If I don't go to school, I need a second job. Paying rent and eating is great, but I need to save some money for potential adventures.
Works almost over.
It's easy to throw in the towel when you genuinely don't care or are through with whatever it is that you were using a towel for, but it's considerably harder to pretend that giving up is by choice and not by default or defeat.
Anyways, I'm on the verge of doing something very, very drastic: staying put. Ha! Well, what Whitney posted on my wall kind of makes me feel like a deadbeat, but that's what I am, right? Here's the option I'm considering-- but wait! First, some back-story kind of details that may or may not be necessary:
-I love music. Ever since John gave me Less Than Jake's Hello Rockview when I was in 3rd grade, I was hooked. Granted, all the songs were about drinking, and I was under the impression that getting drunk was a side effect that rarely affected people, and most of the songs I was listening to were about drinking, but... meh. The point is, there was Less Than Jake and Blink 182 and all the punk/ska compilations I could get my hands on at Tower Records on Clark Street. And then there was the Lawrence Arms at the Fireside in 8th grade, and people mistaking my reaction to a severe lack of oxygen as being the effects of too much alcohol. I had a blast. Until then, I kind of assumed that people made bands, the bands either made it or didn't, and the ones that made it played giant venues and the musicians who didn't make it became teachers or deadbeats or something. The Lawrence Arms showed me that I can do it, too.
-I hate school. Don't get me wrong-- I love learning. I couldn't begin to count the amount of books I've read, or the conversations I've had with people where I've come away with good knowledge. But, for the same reason that I don't enjoy or appreciate lectures, I can't stand sitting idly by while someone tells me stuff. I need engagement, like a good conversation. Healthy discourse, y'know? I need to be able to constantly ask questions, which I don't feel comfortable doing in a classroom.
-I like to be in control. Now, I don't consider myself a "control freak," by any means. But, if something is going to be produced with my name on it, I need to be the final arbiter over what works and what doesn't. I don't think I could ever write a book or a song with anybody because that's not how I work.
-I love to write. See what I'm doing right now? I need this. Well, that's not true. I can live without writing, but it would be very dull. I can't properly express myself with a paint brush or a hammer or a camera, so I use words.
-My attention span is on the shorter side, relatively speaking. At this point in my life, I don't have it in me to write a book or a short story because I'd have a radical change of mind half way through and decide that I have a better idea that can't be incorporated into what I already have written.
So here's the decision (which isn't yet final, but it's getting there): I'm going to put my entire mind into this band. If it doesn't work out then at least I'll be that much closer with my next band. And, if it doesn't work out, then I can always move to Denver. I'm in no hurry to move, but man! am I in a hurry to leave. With a band, I can tour (ideally) without entirely picking up sticks.
Next is the decision of whether or not to go to school. If I don't go to school, I need a second job. Paying rent and eating is great, but I need to save some money for potential adventures.
Works almost over.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Waking Life
I think it's more being hooked on taking a break every few hours, stepping outside, sitting in my head and wandering about. I know it's a bad habit but it's made me a few friends and it's kept me up past my bedtime more than once. The end could come, as it has before, but my bed always gets tired of me, and I'd rather live out my dreams and take part instead of watching the wires sparking in my head. 'Cause when I wake up in the morning and I feel like hell, I know a second wind will come rushing in, so I might as well. Yeah, I might as well wake up and wait for that cold breeze to blow in and freeze over hell.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Banana Bread-Pastrami-Cottage Cheese Sandwich.
the key to my door
won't turn anymore
but i'm not trying to get out
'cause i can't bring myself to care
anymore.
won't turn anymore
but i'm not trying to get out
'cause i can't bring myself to care
anymore.
Maybe Every Day is Saturday Morning
What contrast, huh? I lied my way out of one bad situation only to have a hopeful circumstance go sour. Who spends the night chasing wild geese? Me, apparently, while she dreamt next to me after insisting on staying above the covers. So I wrapped the blanket around her like a taco so she wouldn't go cold, but it didn't quite reach over my second shoulder. I was shivering and trying
to seek refuge in the thought that I was sleeping next to the one person I wanted to, but when I kissed her she wasn't having it.
She's not stupid. She's like me and she knows what she's doing.
But why do I care? And why does that hurt my chances? I mean, I know why it does: I'm afraid to hurt my chances by saying something stupid, yet my careful calculations come out cold and rash and unsteady. If I could manage to act natural, maybe I'd be fine.
I'm trying out for some band tomorrow, which I will use as the crux for my decision of whether or not to stay in Chicago.
to seek refuge in the thought that I was sleeping next to the one person I wanted to, but when I kissed her she wasn't having it.
She's not stupid. She's like me and she knows what she's doing.
But why do I care? And why does that hurt my chances? I mean, I know why it does: I'm afraid to hurt my chances by saying something stupid, yet my careful calculations come out cold and rash and unsteady. If I could manage to act natural, maybe I'd be fine.
I'm trying out for some band tomorrow, which I will use as the crux for my decision of whether or not to stay in Chicago.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Work is kind of boring. Last night I got 400 cigarettes. The Cobra Skulls are great. I have a bad case of tunnelvision. It's been going on for a few weeks.
So this girl I'm into, she slept over last night. It was... well, really nice. No, no. I mean, it was really nice, but that doesn't quite cut it. "Beautiful" kind of belabors the point. I don't know. But I don't see her often, so the thought occurred to me: "I have four hours to genuinely express how I feel as she (probably begrudgingly) tries to say awake." So, I did what any awkward dude would do: I kept my mouth shut. Well, I let out a few I'm-really-glad-you-came-outs and I-think-you're-really-cutes, but tried to limit those as not to, y'know, belabor the point.
It was funny: last time she slept over she complimented me on not snoring. But! I caught her snoring this morning. Thing is-- and I suppose this is a common feature amongst cute people that are being observed by people who have a crush on them-- it was the cutest snore I've ever heard. It was so slight, almost dainty (if that word can be used to describe snoring).
I've probably discussed this here before, but my whole "game" is offset by this persistent girl who's into me. As Bella said, I should just man up and tell her I'm not interested. But it's tough, right? I mean, for me it's tough. I don't like letting people down, though I guess it'd be much more of a let-down to carry on as if we're on the same page. But there's something about having a few beers that makes me really hesitant to discuss important matters.
This whole Girl A and Girl B thing is very disenchanting. Well, no, not disenchanting. Ego shattering? That's more like it. Yeah. Ego shattering. I mean, I'd like to be more forward and properly court this girl to the extent that she's willing to take it, but I don't want to put her in the uncomfortable position that I'm in.
It's not too bad, right? I mean, I've never kissed this girl who's into me, and the girl who's into me doesn't seem to mind kissing me. That's comforting. But the words "fuck having a boyfriend" have come out of both of their mouths on numerous occasions, which brings me to my next point: on paper, these girls are very similar. They both smoke cigarettes and stay up late drinking and listening to music with me. Is one's desperation versus the other's cool confidence the only distinguishing feature? Well, maybe "desperation" isn't a fair word. "Persistence" works, though. Well, and one's noticeably cuter than the other.
I'm just perplexed at how my inability to tell this girl that I'm not interested is directly effecting my judgment and self-awareness. I really don't want to be that guy.
Here's a to-do list for tonight. Hopefully it will be carried out, but that's all on me. Duh.
-set things straight with Em and stop vilifying her.
-limit myself to two beers with Em.
-walk Em home and leave under the pretense that I'm heading to my mom's house to eat left-overs and sleep there in order to be on time for brunch in the morning (this one is completely fabricated, aside from the bold part).
-meet up with Bella -or- go home and practice guitar (I'm auditioning for a shitty punk band on Tuesday. Hopefully I'm good enough with power chords and bad lyrics).
-eat something. This one should go without saying, but coffee and cigarettes bestow on me the need to coordinate things to eat so as to avoid withering away.
I feel like hell. Work is boring because the stream of customers is weak. That's so say, every 20 minutes or so, someone will come in and buy a cup of coffee. This requires no skill and inspires no motivation to get stuff done.
Life is so boring
when you feel really smart
like the learning is over
'cause you mastered all the arts
but you make me feel stupid
so beautifully useless
like life is so full
of possible choices
So this girl I'm into, she slept over last night. It was... well, really nice. No, no. I mean, it was really nice, but that doesn't quite cut it. "Beautiful" kind of belabors the point. I don't know. But I don't see her often, so the thought occurred to me: "I have four hours to genuinely express how I feel as she (probably begrudgingly) tries to say awake." So, I did what any awkward dude would do: I kept my mouth shut. Well, I let out a few I'm-really-glad-you-came-outs and I-think-you're-really-cutes, but tried to limit those as not to, y'know, belabor the point.
It was funny: last time she slept over she complimented me on not snoring. But! I caught her snoring this morning. Thing is-- and I suppose this is a common feature amongst cute people that are being observed by people who have a crush on them-- it was the cutest snore I've ever heard. It was so slight, almost dainty (if that word can be used to describe snoring).
I've probably discussed this here before, but my whole "game" is offset by this persistent girl who's into me. As Bella said, I should just man up and tell her I'm not interested. But it's tough, right? I mean, for me it's tough. I don't like letting people down, though I guess it'd be much more of a let-down to carry on as if we're on the same page. But there's something about having a few beers that makes me really hesitant to discuss important matters.
This whole Girl A and Girl B thing is very disenchanting. Well, no, not disenchanting. Ego shattering? That's more like it. Yeah. Ego shattering. I mean, I'd like to be more forward and properly court this girl to the extent that she's willing to take it, but I don't want to put her in the uncomfortable position that I'm in.
It's not too bad, right? I mean, I've never kissed this girl who's into me, and the girl who's into me doesn't seem to mind kissing me. That's comforting. But the words "fuck having a boyfriend" have come out of both of their mouths on numerous occasions, which brings me to my next point: on paper, these girls are very similar. They both smoke cigarettes and stay up late drinking and listening to music with me. Is one's desperation versus the other's cool confidence the only distinguishing feature? Well, maybe "desperation" isn't a fair word. "Persistence" works, though. Well, and one's noticeably cuter than the other.
I'm just perplexed at how my inability to tell this girl that I'm not interested is directly effecting my judgment and self-awareness. I really don't want to be that guy.
Here's a to-do list for tonight. Hopefully it will be carried out, but that's all on me. Duh.
-set things straight with Em and stop vilifying her.
-limit myself to two beers with Em.
-walk Em home and leave under the pretense that I'm heading to my mom's house to eat left-overs and sleep there in order to be on time for brunch in the morning (this one is completely fabricated, aside from the bold part).
-meet up with Bella -or- go home and practice guitar (I'm auditioning for a shitty punk band on Tuesday. Hopefully I'm good enough with power chords and bad lyrics).
-eat something. This one should go without saying, but coffee and cigarettes bestow on me the need to coordinate things to eat so as to avoid withering away.
I feel like hell. Work is boring because the stream of customers is weak. That's so say, every 20 minutes or so, someone will come in and buy a cup of coffee. This requires no skill and inspires no motivation to get stuff done.
Life is so boring
when you feel really smart
like the learning is over
'cause you mastered all the arts
but you make me feel stupid
so beautifully useless
like life is so full
of possible choices
Friday, May 6, 2011
No, They Don't Mean a Thing.
what once was a prize
on your lone city street
decayed
and just wanted to die,
yeah, decayed
and just waited to die.
But it burned down
from the roof to the ground
and there's grass in the attic
and it's spreading to town
and the cans in the basement?
they're still underground
your prized coin collection:
stolen before it was found
the duct tape on the couches
shriveled up in the flames
yeah, all those lazy quick-fixes
now they don't mean a thing.
No, they don't mean a thing.
on your lone city street
decayed
and just wanted to die,
yeah, decayed
and just waited to die.
But it burned down
from the roof to the ground
and there's grass in the attic
and it's spreading to town
and the cans in the basement?
they're still underground
your prized coin collection:
stolen before it was found
the duct tape on the couches
shriveled up in the flames
yeah, all those lazy quick-fixes
now they don't mean a thing.
No, they don't mean a thing.
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