I have a red book in my room. Small and nondescript, save for its redness. I bought the book five years ago, though the book itself was blank until some time after that. I honestly could not tell you with any degree of certainty, because I have not looked inside of it for years.
Time and I have a very curious relationship. As I sit and wade through all of my half-memories, struggling to sort them into something structured, time comes behind me and trips on its own line, knocking the past back into the past. Time whispers, "...As it should be."
My head is not a great place to store photographs.
I read the book of a Dead Woman five years ago, in a cold basement in Illinois. I read the last days of her life, beginning to know her in those pages. She wrote letters to her children, without the slightest hint of despair. There was love in her words.
And then her words stopped. Replaced by a final page of another person, who felt compelled to finish the story.
"The woman who kept this journal died in 1977. She is finally free."
The woman had died. She succumbed to a disease she had never mentioned, but from which she had been suffering since before I had begun reading. I knew that she had deliberately avoided the subject, because I knew that she did not want her children to remember her pain, because I knew her in those pages.
Wading. I am in a store. Borders? Barnes & Noble? A girl is with me, but I cannot decide who it was. I am looking for a red book and a red pen. I nearly give up, surprised that I cannot find the book for which I am looking. The girl directs my attention to a small display, holding random articles. The red book is there. I hold it, determining its sufficiency. It will do. I buy the book.
I am home. Kaufman? Kemp? Canton? The setting is gone, but the feeling remains. I stare at the book, a Now What feeling in my chest. The book lies dormant. There is nothing to write until Wednesday, January 2, 2008.
__________________________
Friday, January 4, 2008 - 5:37pm
"This book is safe. If you say something, it can be heard. No one reads this book, or sees me writing in it. My thoughts are safe."
__________________________
I was amazed that, although I had not written in the book in two years, two houses ago, I still knew exactly where to find it.
I've been looking at random dates and pages. So many gaps! I would write daily, then skip for months. I refer to things I have no memory of. The Heather Incident? Who was Heather? I wrote on the day I was supposed to die. My reaction? "Obviously, I didn't."
There was love in her words. There was hate in mine.
The REASON this book is on my mind is that I want to write it in again.
My life has become happy. A happiness that is orders of magnitudes greater than anything I can remember.
The REASON this book is on my mind is that I cannot remember my life.
My life was terribly depressing. I can feel the self-loathing dripping from my wry, sardonic words.
The REASON this book is on my mind is that I realize I have become just like the man who finished the Dead Woman's book.
I am another person, who feels compelled to finish the story.
I have so much for which to account. The responsibility of these memories belongs to me. They are, in a sense, my fault. I keep thinking that I want to tell... someone... what an adventure my life has become, but I can't see myself putting Now in the same volume as Then.
I have to account for my self-hate. I have to account for my misspent love. I have to read through this and remember who I was and what I did before I can continue. No one in the book has remained as they were when it was written. I certainly haven't. I'm very nearly ashamed of who I had been.
But... You know, the contrast is hopeful. I can very truthfully see myself as an entirely new and different person in opposition to that guy.
I feel happy. Something that guy never would have said. But he isn't here anymore. So I will start my newest entry:
Thursday, July 19, 2012
"The man who kept this journal died in 2010. He is finally free."
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Stupid Music Industry
MAN: Calm him down!!! What's his favorite song?
GUY: Jump - Van Halen.
MAN: Second fav?
GUY: Don't Fear The Reaper.
MAN: Third?
GUY: Dust In The Wind.
MAN: Fourth?
GUY: I Believe I Can Fly.
MAN: Fifth?
GUY: Doesn't matter. He just jumped.
MAN: Stupid music industry.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Greg The Plumber
Greg The Plumber had a client with a large balloon
Greg would fix the plumbing while his client sang a tune
"If my client doesn't quit his awful singing soon,
I will flood his building and escape in his balloon."
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Law of Society #153
If anyone should announce a thought or idea, then withhold that thought or idea from the public due to embarrassment or better judgment, that thought must be immediately expressed. Under pain of death.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Noogies for Liberals
Wikipedia. That font of knowledge.
Used for college theses, general info, and (likely) medical research, everyone has perused wikipedia.com at one point or another. "Wiki" is the hawaiian word for fast (according to wikipedia.com), and how fitting, because the speed with which misinformation can spread is astounding.
The most curious thing about Wikipedia is twofold: 1) Everyone uses it. 2) Everyone can edit it.
The hilarity ensues.
Somewhere between 2 and 5 years ago, an acquaintance of mine took it upon himself to edit a page about the country artist Toby Keith, subtly inserting a title to a greatest hits album. At that time, anyone who researched Toby Keith would find that he released "a greatest hits album 'Noogies for Liberals!'..."
I remember hearing about this from the brother of the prankster at his birthday party a few years back. A combination of shock, disbelief, and comedy. We googled it, and sure enough, Noogies for Liberals, as plain as the nose on your face. The question was raised: "I wonder if anyone took that seriously?"
Another friend took out his phone and decided to put it to the test. He told us about ChaCha, an ad-supported, free site that allows anyone to text a question and have it answered in a texted reply.
He asked the question "What are all the albums of Toby Keith?"
Reply:
Toby Keith Covel (born July 8, 1961 in Clinton, Oklahoma) is an American country music singer-songwriter, record producer, and actor. Keith released his first four studio albums — 1993's Toby Keith, 1994's Boomtown, 1996's Blue Moon and 1997's Dream Walkin', plus a Greatest Hits package "Noogies for Liberals!" — for various divisions of Mercury Records before exiting in 1998.
We all saw it.
None of us believed it.
The next question was "Does ChaCha get all its information from Wikipedia?"
It took ChaCha a lot longer to answer that time.
Reply:
ChaCha gets its information from multiple sources.
Ambiguous enough.
The next time we googled "Noogies For Liberals," it was gone.
Years later, I've told this story three or four times, and curiosity got the better of me. I wondered just how widespread Noogies for Liberals had become. I googled it this morning.
Used for college theses, general info, and (likely) medical research, everyone has perused wikipedia.com at one point or another. "Wiki" is the hawaiian word for fast (according to wikipedia.com), and how fitting, because the speed with which misinformation can spread is astounding.
The most curious thing about Wikipedia is twofold: 1) Everyone uses it. 2) Everyone can edit it.
The hilarity ensues.
Somewhere between 2 and 5 years ago, an acquaintance of mine took it upon himself to edit a page about the country artist Toby Keith, subtly inserting a title to a greatest hits album. At that time, anyone who researched Toby Keith would find that he released "a greatest hits album 'Noogies for Liberals!'..."
I remember hearing about this from the brother of the prankster at his birthday party a few years back. A combination of shock, disbelief, and comedy. We googled it, and sure enough, Noogies for Liberals, as plain as the nose on your face. The question was raised: "I wonder if anyone took that seriously?"
Another friend took out his phone and decided to put it to the test. He told us about ChaCha, an ad-supported, free site that allows anyone to text a question and have it answered in a texted reply.
He asked the question "What are all the albums of Toby Keith?"
Reply:
Toby Keith Covel (born July 8, 1961 in Clinton, Oklahoma) is an American country music singer-songwriter, record producer, and actor. Keith released his first four studio albums — 1993's Toby Keith, 1994's Boomtown, 1996's Blue Moon and 1997's Dream Walkin', plus a Greatest Hits package "Noogies for Liberals!" — for various divisions of Mercury Records before exiting in 1998.
We all saw it.
None of us believed it.
The next question was "Does ChaCha get all its information from Wikipedia?"
It took ChaCha a lot longer to answer that time.
Reply:
ChaCha gets its information from multiple sources.
Ambiguous enough.
The next time we googled "Noogies For Liberals," it was gone.
Years later, I've told this story three or four times, and curiosity got the better of me. I wondered just how widespread Noogies for Liberals had become. I googled it this morning.
Try it.
Monday, February 21, 2011
How To Entertain Yourself While Your Girlfriend Shops For Clothes (An Informative Guide)
I have grown fond of my girlfriend, Michelle. She provides intellectual stimulus and comic relief, all in a shape which I find pleasing.
One thing I will never grow fond of, however, is the act of shopping. Growing up with a mother that could spend 5 hours in a grocery store having gone in with the intention of buying bread ("I'll only be a minute") has utterly negated that possibility. Shopping is hazardous to my mental faculties and must be avoided at all costs. It makes me want to sacrifice a virgin. If I think of something I need, I attempt to rationalize my way out of needing it, and if pressed, I will buy it on Amazon, immediately, using an app on my phone, such that only a few seconds of shopping takes place.
Suffice it to say, I don't like to shop.
There was a day, not very long ago, when Michelle and I were walking through an outdoor outlet mall in Terrell, Texas. It must be said that it is difficult to avoid shopping when one is in the middle of a place specifically designed to house goods for sale, but our choices that day were a) Go to the outlet mall, or b) Do nothing.
Rural Texas is not exactly an interesting place.Unless you're on a horse.
Our first order of business was to go to a popular clothing chain and find clothes suitable for pirates, because Michelle had been toying with the idea of working in a Renaissance Fair. This idea was fanciful enough that it made shopping fun, so we walked about in Women's Clothing (It's not the first time I've walked about in Women's Clothing.) hand in hand. After a time, we found an ensemble that we felt was piratical enough, but having spent some time thinking about it, Michelle was getting cold feet. She decided that she wasn't sure if she wanted to be a pirate (something we all must come to grips with at one point in our lives) and that she would hide the clothes in a corner and come back to get them later when she made a decision.
I was having fun in her company and enjoying the exercise. After all, the outlet mall isn't a small place, and I love to take walks.
Unbeknownst to me, there was a Very Small Accountant living in the back of my brain (next door to Chicken Express) who tallies and calculates how I spend my time. He made a mental note (living in my brain, what other kind of notes would he make?) about the time that was spent, and the lack of result since the clothes were not purchased, which qualified this shopping trip as a Waste Of Time. He then filed this note and took a stack of similar pages to his superiors.
Had I known what the accountant was writing, I would have summarily disagreed. But then, all this was unbeknownst to me. Not beknownst to me.
We left the clothing store and walked around in a few other stores before deciding that it was time to go to my apartment and watch movies. We walked the length of the outlet mall, back to where the car had been parked.
When we passed by the clothing store again, Michelle saw a passing whim and leapt upon it. "Let's go back in here. I'll only be a minute."
Having just got back from Chicken Express, the Very Small Accountant had started crunching the numbers. He noticed similarities between this unfolding event and previous ones. "Where did I put that file?" he asked. He ran back to his superiors and grabbed the note off a desk. "I might lose my job for this, but I have to see something... Yes. There it is. Based on this evidence, I would say that there is a 35% chance that this will be a Waste Of Time."
"Are you sure?" his superiors asked.
"I'd stake my job on it. 35% is enough of a risk that something must be done."
"Very well. I'll put a call through to Silliness up in Creativity. He'll take care of this."
I was walking with my hand on Michelle's shoulder, allowing her to lead me wherever she liked. Suddenly, I looked up and past the walls, slightly crossing my eyes and opening them wider.
"I'm blind," I smiled.
Michelle turned and looked at me quizzically.
"You are my seeing-eye girlfriend. I'm blind."
She disagreed with my appraisal of the situation, and began to walk away. I kept up the charade, holding on to her shoulder and lightly bumping into the racks of clothing, eyes vacant and unfocused.
"I don't like this game. Stop it," she said. "What do you think of this blouse?"
"Describe it to me."
"What?"
"I'm blind. Describe it to me."
"Just look at the blouse."
"What?" I asked, offended.
"Just look at the blouse."
"You don't know what it's like to live with a disability. This isn't something to joke about."
"I'm going to kill you so hard." she planned aloud.
"You would threaten someone in my condition?" I asked loudly.
Nervous glances from other customers. My peripheral vision was improving.
She smiled daggers at me.
We walked on. Past a little girl who looked up at my empty, light-blue eyes. She turned to ask her mother what the crazy man was doing. "Shhhh! He's blind, sweetie. That means he can't see. That girl is leading him around the store."
Michelle and I both knew that if we broke character now, we would be thrown out of the store.
We hid in a distant aisle and laughed wildly.
"Aren't you afraid you're going to run into someone you know?"
"I already did. But no one wants to look at me. It makes them uncomfortable"
People were going around the racks of clothes in inconvenient ways, just because they were afraid to ask if they could get by. The cashier avoided talking to me entirely, only recognizing Michelle.
In truth, I began to feel for people with disabilities.
Michelle asked me, "Are you going to quit this after we get out of here?"
"Yes," I replied, grinning.
"I hate you a little less."
We walked out to the parking lot, the end in sight (as it were).
"Oh my gosh.You know what would be the perfect end to this?" I realized aloud.
"What? Everyone is still watching!" she exclaimed.
"I know. I should totally get in the driver's seat and drive away."
One thing I will never grow fond of, however, is the act of shopping. Growing up with a mother that could spend 5 hours in a grocery store having gone in with the intention of buying bread ("I'll only be a minute") has utterly negated that possibility. Shopping is hazardous to my mental faculties and must be avoided at all costs. It makes me want to sacrifice a virgin. If I think of something I need, I attempt to rationalize my way out of needing it, and if pressed, I will buy it on Amazon, immediately, using an app on my phone, such that only a few seconds of shopping takes place.
Suffice it to say, I don't like to shop.
There was a day, not very long ago, when Michelle and I were walking through an outdoor outlet mall in Terrell, Texas. It must be said that it is difficult to avoid shopping when one is in the middle of a place specifically designed to house goods for sale, but our choices that day were a) Go to the outlet mall, or b) Do nothing.
Rural Texas is not exactly an interesting place.Unless you're on a horse.
Our first order of business was to go to a popular clothing chain and find clothes suitable for pirates, because Michelle had been toying with the idea of working in a Renaissance Fair. This idea was fanciful enough that it made shopping fun, so we walked about in Women's Clothing (It's not the first time I've walked about in Women's Clothing.) hand in hand. After a time, we found an ensemble that we felt was piratical enough, but having spent some time thinking about it, Michelle was getting cold feet. She decided that she wasn't sure if she wanted to be a pirate (something we all must come to grips with at one point in our lives) and that she would hide the clothes in a corner and come back to get them later when she made a decision.
I was having fun in her company and enjoying the exercise. After all, the outlet mall isn't a small place, and I love to take walks.
Unbeknownst to me, there was a Very Small Accountant living in the back of my brain (next door to Chicken Express) who tallies and calculates how I spend my time. He made a mental note (living in my brain, what other kind of notes would he make?) about the time that was spent, and the lack of result since the clothes were not purchased, which qualified this shopping trip as a Waste Of Time. He then filed this note and took a stack of similar pages to his superiors.
Had I known what the accountant was writing, I would have summarily disagreed. But then, all this was unbeknownst to me. Not beknownst to me.
We left the clothing store and walked around in a few other stores before deciding that it was time to go to my apartment and watch movies. We walked the length of the outlet mall, back to where the car had been parked.
When we passed by the clothing store again, Michelle saw a passing whim and leapt upon it. "Let's go back in here. I'll only be a minute."
Having just got back from Chicken Express, the Very Small Accountant had started crunching the numbers. He noticed similarities between this unfolding event and previous ones. "Where did I put that file?" he asked. He ran back to his superiors and grabbed the note off a desk. "I might lose my job for this, but I have to see something... Yes. There it is. Based on this evidence, I would say that there is a 35% chance that this will be a Waste Of Time."
"Are you sure?" his superiors asked.
"I'd stake my job on it. 35% is enough of a risk that something must be done."
"Very well. I'll put a call through to Silliness up in Creativity. He'll take care of this."
I was walking with my hand on Michelle's shoulder, allowing her to lead me wherever she liked. Suddenly, I looked up and past the walls, slightly crossing my eyes and opening them wider.
"I'm blind," I smiled.
Michelle turned and looked at me quizzically.
"You are my seeing-eye girlfriend. I'm blind."
She disagreed with my appraisal of the situation, and began to walk away. I kept up the charade, holding on to her shoulder and lightly bumping into the racks of clothing, eyes vacant and unfocused.
"I don't like this game. Stop it," she said. "What do you think of this blouse?"
"Describe it to me."
"What?"
"I'm blind. Describe it to me."
"Just look at the blouse."
"What?" I asked, offended.
"Just look at the blouse."
"You don't know what it's like to live with a disability. This isn't something to joke about."
"I'm going to kill you so hard." she planned aloud.
"You would threaten someone in my condition?" I asked loudly.
Nervous glances from other customers. My peripheral vision was improving.
She smiled daggers at me.
We walked on. Past a little girl who looked up at my empty, light-blue eyes. She turned to ask her mother what the crazy man was doing. "Shhhh! He's blind, sweetie. That means he can't see. That girl is leading him around the store."
Michelle and I both knew that if we broke character now, we would be thrown out of the store.
We hid in a distant aisle and laughed wildly.
"Aren't you afraid you're going to run into someone you know?"
"I already did. But no one wants to look at me. It makes them uncomfortable"
People were going around the racks of clothes in inconvenient ways, just because they were afraid to ask if they could get by. The cashier avoided talking to me entirely, only recognizing Michelle.
In truth, I began to feel for people with disabilities.
Michelle asked me, "Are you going to quit this after we get out of here?"
"Yes," I replied, grinning.
"I hate you a little less."
We walked out to the parking lot, the end in sight (as it were).
"Oh my gosh.You know what would be the perfect end to this?" I realized aloud.
"What? Everyone is still watching!" she exclaimed.
"I know. I should totally get in the driver's seat and drive away."
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