So the real reason that I haven't been blogging...I'm angry. Really angry. Goddamn punch some douchetube in the face angry. Seriously.
I guess the reasons that I'm angry are sort of besides the point. I mean, I hate my job and all the bullshit that goes with it - the ridiculous phoniness and fake cheerfulness that I'm expected to show every day all the while being expected to separate as much money from people as possible. I also hate the winter since it depresses the hell out of me. Hell, I really hate having no network of friends here and having to worry about every bill I pay since I'm so broke.
But it doesn't matter why I'm so angry. I'm just pissed and it sucks. I wake up on the edge of fury and it seems like any little thing will push me right over that edge.
I guess I'm not really going anywhere with this, just an explanation. My goal is to start writing regularly again in order to purge some anger here in a humorous way with stories about some of the fartknockers I deal with every day.
Ok, so I've been called out...I'm a horrible blogger these days. However, there are reasons.
Last Thursday I picked up a migrant Canadian farmer who was hitchhiking by the side of rt. 390. We got to talking and when my defenses were down he stabbed me in the armpit with a crescent roll and took my best guitar. By the time I tracked him down, murdered him and buried him in a secret location I was tired and in no mood to keep up with my writing.
-I never eulogized perhaps my favorite singer/songwriter of all time, Mr. Chris Whitley, who died two weeks ago at the age of 45. 45 is really young....unless you're Chris Whitley. The last few times I saw him he looked really bad and could barely play. He appeared pretty strung out and I was frankly embarrassed to have brought people to see him. It was undignified the way he declined, but that doesn't take away from his unbelievable talent. I've never listened to music so full of sex, drugs, loneliness, inventiveness, depression and honesty. As a musician he never stood still, he never stopped exploring. Of course, his chameleonic style meant that when he died he had me and two other guys as true fans, but regardless, his musical journey is a testament to always moving forward and pushing the envelope. He will be missed.
-Today also marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of John Lennon being assassinated. Of course, I never knew the man, but like millions of other people around the world I feel like the Beatles and I are friends. Using their experience as an allegory to life I feel like I've learned a tremendous amount from John and the boys and his death still deeply saddens me.
I think it also has to do with the fact that he seemed to be one world class asshole, but knew that he was an asshole and tried hard to change. To me, in my life, that's the closest I can get to living spiritually - being aware of my faults but really honestly trying to be a better person.
I'm sitting here writing this after just having returned from Florida. Oh sweet Florida, if you weren't full of bitchy rich old people I would gladly live within your sweet smelling borders.
Anyway, Florida is nice...weather wise. Sunday I ate my breakfast outside and then swam in the ocean. The water was warm and crystal clear. The sand on the beach was powdery and soothing on my poor northern feet. The women were scantily clad and buxom. It was A-OK. So A-OK that it makes you wonder about the settling of America. I understand that the Pilgrims got blown off course and ended up in New England, but once others found the southern part of the country why didn't everyone just go there?
Floridian: Hey guys, you know.... it's really warm down here and there's lots of fruit and fish and it pretty much rules.
Pilgrim: No thanks:
P: Here we have bitterly cold winters, Indian attacks and disease. Our crops rarely produce enough food to keep our infants alive and many of us have lost limbs to frostbite. Plus, we think sex is wrong.
F: I never mentioned sex.
P: Just letting you know.
F. Fair enough. Have it your way. I'm going to go do a couple lines of blow and judge a wet t-shirt contest.
I always thought that if I turned thirty and was still fat and unsuccessful that it would be traumatic. Truth is, I've been fat and unsuccessful for so long now that this birthday hardly even registered. I kid. Maybe.
Honestly, being thirty is the same as being 29, which was the same as being 28, which was the same as being 27. All the important things happening in sports and popular culture are being done by people a lot younger than I am, while all the important things in government and the professional world are being done by people who are older. That leaves me the enviable niche of ruling the age bracket of barely earning a living and being pushed around by bitchy customers. Woo. Hoo.