#5 If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with

Hello loyal readers! You four may be small in number but you are mighty in spirit!

The pro-American comments a few posts back inspired me to a) scour the internet for my favorite Ginsberg poem and b) figure out how to actually make it show up on this site. Neither was a small feat, let me assure you.

America



I've actually been a bit conflicted about the ol' U S of A lately. On one hand, I'm a good card-carrying liberal. I think our country (and economy)'s being run by a bunch of assholes, I hate that we think we think more stuff = more happiness, I protested against the war (and wonder where all these latecomers were 4 years ago when it might have mattered) and to be perfectly honest, I don't even really support our troops, I just feel bad for them. So, go fuck yourself with your atom bomb, America, right?

On the other hand, it's Wednesday and I'm wearing a shirt that my friend silk-screened on Monday 1200 miles away so I'm pretty psyched about the U S Postal Service right now. As a bonus, I've never been gang-raped for dishonoring my family or forced to walk more than, say, 15 feet to find potable water, let alone 15 miles.

I know we've got big problems (or I wouldn't be doing the work I do) and more importantly, we've -caused- big problems. But at the end of the day, after I'm done being pissed off at the people in charge, and after I've exhausted myself trying to right just a fraction of the wrongs that mostly go unchecked, after all that I allow myself to tap into my tiny reserve of gratitude. And it's kind of nice.

#4 Dear Volvo Driver

Hi friends. Wow what a shit storm of emotions these past four days have been. I feel four years older, not four days. Mostly in the wiser/more mature/at peace with myself way than the faster aging brought on by stress way. Mostly.

The plan was to post a Drew inspired blog tonight (can't let guest blogger outshine me) but a) I'm exhausted and b) I still haven't bothered to learn the instructions for how to post wav. files.

I will do this tomorrow.

In the meantime, my sincere thanks to those of you who were around to lend a hand or ear, rescue my cat, or push my car out of the street this weekend.

Relatedly, and just for fun, here's a note I found on my car window yesterday afternoon:

"Dear Volvo Driver,
You car (parked in neutral) rolled out of its parking space and into the street. I pushed it back. Caution, there is now a large object blocking the back passenger wheel. Sincerely, Joe"

#3 you told yourself something funny the other day

I'm on vacation. Hope you all enjoy this mystery celebrity guest blog:


Profound. On some level, shouldn't that mean you're good at finding things? You're a fucking pro, and you're found. Maybe you're just good at being discovered.

I can't write poems, no matter how hard I try, songs neither. I can't help rhyming 'block' with 'cock', or 'fleece us' with 'penis' and making a joke of the whole damn thing.

I'm resisting the word 'I' tonight, even though really I'm not.

I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I.

There? Is it our of my system? I don't think so - not sure though, we'll see. 'We' is so much better than 'me', but again, I'm unsure.

Just don't fleece us.......

Did you see the joke coming there? I did. Shit. I. Sorry.

The thing about drinking is this, you feel free. In everyday life, you have these thoughts, and ideas, and feelings that frankly, you don't think are good enough, on some level, for modern society. Or ancient society. Or medieval society. See? Can't resist it.

When I worked in Boston. Ok, sorry, 'I' again. Start over.

When you worked in Boston. When we worked in Boston, there was a janitor in our building. Kilo. Or Kee-lo, we were never sure. You/we helped Kilo figure out the LoJack on his new minivan, and when it was stolen two weeks later, we felt good for a month.

When we'd sneak outside for a smoke, Kilo would always catch us, and shout, 'SMOKE, SMOKE, SMOKE!' in a humorously accusatory way.

Kilo worked with his wife and kids and probably cousins and brothers and nieces at the Chinese eatery. His family made the worst food (we found a cockroach once) but we bought it every time out of loyalty to his commitment to our lungs, or mask from humanity.

Two years later, when Kilo was (falsely, we still believe) accused of stealing the vaccuum from the office, we didn't stand up for him, having learned to pick our battles. And that mistake haunts us to this day, and every time we light the smoke, we hear Kilo, yelling in the background. Still.

#2 What Can I Say, I'm Wired This Way, You're Wired to Me

"'Because it really happened' is the worst reason to write anything, leading directly to ramshackle prose and the painful American custom of oversharing." -- Barbara Kingsolver (found this on a friend of a friend's literary blog)

I don't know how I feel about that, Ms. Kingsolver. Some of my favorite people overshare like it's their job. Perhaps it how we Americans get over that whole Bowling Alone thing.

Regardless, you did write a book about Arizona, so I'll at least consider your advice.

In other news, the counter that I put on my blog yesterday is up to..1! Which, I have a hunch, is actually just me checking my own blog. Yes! I am on my way.

In other other news, it only took me 10 minutes to figure out how to make my first hyperlink open in a different window.

#1 So when were you going to tell me livejournal wasn't cool anymore?

I'm trying once again with this whole blog idea because a) I'm relatively hopeful I'll have exciting things to write about soon b) I have zilcho to do at the moment and c) everyone else is doing it, and I mean EVERYONE. My blog can't possibly be the worst one on the internet anymore, so here goes.

Tomorrow I'm driving the Volvo to Arizona to visit the dadster and Johnny B, who I haven't laid eyes on in over 4 years (Johnny, not dad). The other night as I was digging through some old photos I came across a letter that he had written to me from Mississippi over winter break one year. It was a nice letter, and quite long. Full of interesting philosophical ideas and accompanying diagrams. He closes by saying "The apartment will be such a mess to come home to. Did you do the dishes? I guess I'll see when I get back. Don't even think about cleaning anything else, okay you can, as long as you didn't get the idea from me. I think it's okay that you don't miss me very much. See you in two weeks. Love, John"

I don't know what's funnier, the fact that he wanted me to clean his apartment (we weren't living together by any means, though I did have a key) or that I apparently told him I didn't miss him much.

Anyway, will be great to see him again. And thanks Wes for telling me I was lame for deleting this the first time.