First from Maui

I’m finally in Maui. Hopefully I’ll be more faithful because I’ve got more time than I want. Here’s a little.

I was out on the porch (Lanai) tonight, smoking a cigarette, drinking a beer, reading the new William Gibson novel. Spook City. I looked up from the unreal world of cyber-art and paranoid grid dodging, and there, just as there often is, was one of my “little buddies.” The geckos who have adapted to condo life, slowly changing their pigmentation to match the dull eggshell of the walls, much as I feel I am doing. He was just above the porch light, head down, tail extended in relaxed tension behind him, up the wall. Just a little below him and to his right, my left, was a moth, twice the side of his head. He moved one foreleg, with infinite slowness, and set it down scant millimeters from where it was before. Closer to the moth. My little buddy was creeping up on his heart’s desire. Patient beyond my ability to contemplate, he made a single motion, then relaxed again. I watched him for another couple minutes; he could have been sculpture. I looked away for a moment. When I glanced back, he was closer to the moth, maybe. I couldn’t be sure and neither apparently, could the moth. It hadn’t moved. My little buddy might not get the feast, but he understands how to try in a way I wish I could. My beer was empty, so I came inside fore another.

Gold-Titanium Alloy Stiffie

Yes, that’s right. I saw Iron Man on opening night. Yes, Paltrow was cute and sexy at the same time. Downey was the perfect choice for Tony Stark, billionaire playboy industrialist. Bridges actually made Stane a believable character (something he rarely was in the comics). Industrial Light & Magic dazzled the screen, again. But what truly impressed me was how tight the whole thing was. It was not “another comic book film.” That was Ghost Rider. And Ghost Rider was trash. I used to collect both Ghost Rider and Iron Man; they were well written stories with good character. Even as a fan of Nicky Cage (guilty pleasure), GR was steaming shit. Iron Man was a great film. Reviewer Roger Moore nailed it. Just because there was sci-fi, fantastic hero-fights doesn’t mean the film couldn’t say something worthwhile about the current state of foreign and internal affairs. Without even mentioning Eisenhower’s warning or getting whiny and didactic, Iron Man points a very big finger (probably not the index finger) at the very real world where profits are made at the expense of lives, American or otherwise.

This film is something everyone should see. Skip watching the next round of “Election Bowl” and do so.

Back from the Dead

That’s right, I am.  I haven’t been on here in months because I’ve been both enjoying my life and under the gun at school and work. But the neighbors forgot to encrypt their wireless, so I can grab a little bandwidth while I play glorified cashier.  I just thought I’d share the odd things that’s going on just outside my booth.

There’s a big white van with blackout windows. There’s two big dudes with tattoos, silver stars, pistols and purple shirts that say “US PRISONERS TRANSPORT.” And there’s a leg iron wearing parade of seven unhappy folks going into the restroom, one at a time, under close supervision by the aforementioned dudes. And I caught a glimpse inside that van; it was little steel cubicles with big nasty locks. I asked the one big dude how far they had to drive. “Back to Florida.”

Just made me pause and appreciate the control I do have over my own self.

Liquid Courage

Preface: whiny, confessional blogs irritate me. If you don’t have a friend to listen to your self-pity, don’t assume I want to read about it. That said, I think everyone’s allowed a freebie or three, as long as they don’t make a habit of it.

I got a little inebriated last night. When we switched from Lion’s Head to Old Rasputin, that unkillable sorcerer got into my blood and what was going to be the usual drunken text ludicrousness became a wee bit more. In one of those random toggles that the choosing capacity does, I sent it to her instead of them, and it became something of a conversation. Considering that the most direct communication we’ve had for about 3 months is venomous glares across public spaces, this was kind of momentous.

the question is, of course, whether this was a good or bad sort of momentous. I never explained myself, and she never asked, last time.  Any friend of mine you asked would say (and rightly so) that my mental health would be better served if I had just decided to turn my phone off and remain out of that contact loop. But like a kid with one unburnt hand or a street racer with two points left to go on his license I just can’t seem to trust logic when it gets into competition with how I might or mightn’t feel.

There that wasn’t so bad, was it?

Rice Krispies

That’s my body. I’m only 33, yet I keep on snap, crackle, popping. Just yesterday afternoon, my right knee KaPowed loud enough as I stood up from the toilet that my roomate heard it. He was in the next room, we’re not that close. My wrists hurt when I sneeze, and I can crack my upmost 9 vertebrae at least once per day. Funny thing is, I don’t feel old, just worn out. I thank high school sports for some of it, but I believe the fact that my job has me stand on tile for around 7 hours every day is more to blame. Used to be, I had the option of a backrub every now and again to help that out, but not now. To quote my ex-wife — “They should sell Vicodin in vending machines.”

Joe’s Eulogy

My dad’s dog died three days ago. 350 miles away, and I cried for my dad when I got the email. Every time I went home, it was the Dad & Joe Show. They went everywhere together. Dad even built a padded, customized shelf in the king cab of his truck so Joe had his own seat, human passenger or not. I remember so many awesome things with Joe.

 

I remember trying to describe him to people who hadn’t met him. “Like Falcor, from Neverending Story.”

I remember the funny trail he’d leave in snow that was any deeper than 4 inches, like a long fat line with little dots running along the sides.

I remember that the only thing an intruder would have to fear from Joe was tripping over him.

I remember how he’d squeeze up against anybody who’d lie down on the floor next to him.

I remember how he’d simply fall over on his back if you petted him, effectively yelling “BELLYTIME!”

I remember how he never lost that puppy joy of chasing squirrels, even though he was full grown when he joined the family.

I remember how humongous his head was for such a short legged dog.

I remember how he’d get underfoot as bad as a cat, especially in the kitchen. Because that’s where the people were and even though he was a dog, he was people.

I remember how he’d stare down the rottweiler next door, even though he had to stare up to do it.

I remember how, when you looked into his eyes, you’d swear he knew how you felt.

Most of all, I remember how good a friend he was to my Dad.

 

I miss you too, Joe-boy.

I’d rather be bored

OK, look. I don’t have any illusion that my normal day interests you. 90% of the time it bores the shit out of me, with little bits of frustration thrown in to break up the monotony. I used to be able to piggyback some neighbor’s network while I worked, but they cottoned on to that and encrypted. So now I bring the notebook to work and try really hard not to watch movies my whole shift. Used to be, back when I was just a second shift pump monkey, that I could read in the long gaps between customers. But now I wake up earlier than anyone but crazies and old men, and they all want to talk. Just give me your money, take your cigarettes and horribly overpriced gas, and move along. Nothing to see here. And really, don’t bother to give me “something to read and consider.” I do enough reading and considering as it stands. You ever read Russell, Campbell, Michel Onfray, or David Hume? Come back when you have. Those little religious tracts go from your hands to mine to the trash as soon as you turn your back. To paraphrase Doug Stanhope – You can feel sorry for me that I don’t have gOD in my life as long as I can feel sorry for you since your over the age of consent and still think there’s a boogeyman hiding just out of sight.

I might be bored, but I’d rather be paralyzed by ennui than slow enough to find your crap interesting.

Stand Up Guy

Apparently that’s what I am. And as is so often the case with well-used expressions, it’s the ironic meaning that I’m using. I’m so much the stand up guy that I’ve been stood up by two women a total of four times in one six day period. Since I fiddle with small numbers all day I reflexively divided that one out. Every one and a half days, a woman cancels or postpones plans we made. Perhaps I do have the word “RUG” written on my forehead in a manner visible only to the fairer (hmph!) sex. Perhaps worst of all, I actually do believe all the given cancellation explanations to be valid. Of course, I do keep making said plans, so who’s really to blame here?

It’d probably be easier if I could stop wanting these plans to pan out, but it’s really the nature of that particularly sveldt and shining beast, isn’t it? I’ve been overloaded with expressions like “You won’t find it if you’re looking” or “They only run if you chase them.” These irritatingly simplistic binaries might make for commercially viable radio songs, but please, each one has its own opposite just waiting – “You can’t win if you don’t play” or “Better to have been crushed to death in a freak elevator catastrophe than to always use the stairs.” OK, maybe the second one’s not spot on.

I think I’ll start using aphorisms of a far more incomplete or enigmatic nature, beginning today with this one: “At least I’m not a pangolin with fleas.”

Relapses can be a good thing

For instance, I thought then when I gave up trading card games around a decade ago I’d never touch them again. I gave away all my Magic and Jyhad cards. I didn’t go into that section of the hobby shop. I tried to leave the all night diner before the card-playing crackheads would show up. And I stayed clean for 10+ years. No Blood Dolls, +1/+1 counters, not a single point of green mana entered my life. It wasn’t easy at first, but eventually I got used to finding replacements for the endless hours of “bleeding my prey” and “tapping my Icy Manipulator.” (Leave it alone, perverts.)

Then a few months back a friend of mine finished up the property side of a pretty ugly divorce. She invited me to pick through the stuff that neither she nor her husband wanted at the house. I ended up with a bike I never rode, 3 or 4 books I never read and two cardboard boxes filled with Magic Cards. I left them sitting in a bag in my kitchen until last week.

Look, it’s not like I’m into OxyContin here. I’m not out there stealing and fencing people’s HDTV’s to support my Magic habit. Hell, I haven’t even bought any more cards. Maybe I stayed up a little to late last night, but I needed to teach my new roommate how to play the game. I couldn’t just end a game in the middle for something as trivial as sleep. Maybe I was a few minutes late to work because of it, but what sane person is up and running to the gas station at 6:10 a.m. anyway? It’s fun, and I can stop anytime I want.

Now if I can just get through this Comp Theory class, I can go home and build a blue deck.

Local News and One Perturbed Atheist

6:00 a.m. I turn on the lights at my job (a gas station) and get the computer woken up, which is better than I can say for myself at 6. The night guy left a newspaper out, so start leafing blearily through it, since I won’t see a customer for at least an hour. The usual crap: Clinton this, Juno that, blah blah. Then in the middle of the “LIFE” section, I wake right up. There’s a 6 page section called “FAITH.” In the News. Fut the Wuck? How the hell is a profile of a local church or advice about how to brainwash your children before they have critical thought capacity news?

Billy Graham, charlatan, got nearly two pages. Read your Bible every day, call on God to help you love people you hate, don’t get divorced and above all DON’T YOU DARE think for yourself! By an odd bit of coincidence, I had a Bible with me. I’m sure Mr Graham would say this was divine providence, but i’m pretty sure I stole this Bible from a friend. So I read a few of my favorite passages, like Joshua chapter 12, where the Israelites “killed them all and completely destroyed their towns” because God had “hardened their hearts and caused them to fight the Israelites instead of asking for peace.” (NLV 262)

Love thy neighbor eh?