Tag: discussion

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personal

McGuffins, Caterpillars and Pepe le Pew

I’m a bit like Pepe le Pew

With nods to a friend.

According to Hitchcock, a guy on a train sees something above and asks another dude what it is.

Guy2: It’s a McGuffin. It’s used to catch lions in Scotland.

Guy1: There’re aren’t any lions in Scotland.

Guy2: Well then, a McGuffin’s nuthin at all.

Used in stories or film, a McGuffin’s just a device that the characters place meaning onto to move the story along, like in Ronin where they’re all chasing after some briefcase but we never find out why it’s important. It’s just important cause they made it important.

With the exception of health and family, I submit that a lot of what you put your heart and soul with, it’s nuthin at all. A lot of what I put my heart and soul into is nuthin at all.

At the end of the cartoon above, the characters are the same; the situation’s the same. The only thing that’s changed is each character’s perception of reality. But, man, that’s everything, that’s the whole nut, yeah?

Heard once that, On the day he thought he died, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly. It’s dorky, overly sentimental and hopeful. Like me.

Speaking of which, y’know, I pretty much am Pepe le Pew when I’m out and about. And ’bout as successful.

It’s ok, I have fun…Bonjour Week-end! Où sont les filles?

Location: home
Mood: beat tired
Music: tell your white knight that he’s handsome in hindsight

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personal

Creepy

You get points in life for being brave

Late Monday night, got the most creepy phone call ever from HeartGirl – or, rather, from her and her hella creepy friend. Wanted to take a shower afterwards.

Speaking of which, I met seven women this long weekend. I’ve been told that the reason I meet so many people is that I’ve got a really low “creepiness factor.” All men people have it; some more than others.

Consider this: HEI had some guy she vaguely knows recently wait on her doorstep unannounced with flowers and wine. He mighta been there for hours. In Hollywood, that’s romantic. In the real world, that’s creepy. Let’s review, shall we?

Standing outside your ex’s home holding a boombox belting out Peter Gabriel.

Hollywood: Romantic
Real life: Creepy (and stalkerish)

Meeting a girl for 10 minutes and telling her that you’re her soulmate.

Hollywood: Romantic
Real life: Creepy (and pathetic)

Telling someone that they “complete you.”This one I particularly loathe – cause who wants someone that isn’t whole on their own?

Hollywood: Romantic
Real life: Creepy (and lame)

Following a girlie around a bar all night because you spoke to her for five minutes.

Hollywood: Creepy – Look, even Hollywood thinks this is creepy. Don’t do it.
Real life: Creepy (and something I see every week)

 

Seriously, there is no line you can say to a girlie, no shirt you can wear, no drink you can buy that will change your ability to talk to a girl than lowering your creepy factor. How to do this is a whole ‘nother story.

BTW, HeartGirl called me twice to apologize for her friend; I called her back and we spoke.

I think I forgive her. Dunno yet. But I thought it was brave of her to call me back twice to say she was sorry. You get points for being brave in this life.

And because…I know what it’s like to wanna be forgiven for the stupid mistakes we make. For the awful, awful things we say and do to one another.

Man, I know that oh so well.

Location: my office
Mood: exhausted
Music: so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away

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personal

No troubles

Met a girlie last week.

Her: I think I have you beat.
Me: I doubt that.
Her: (deep breath) Well, when I was in high school, my prom date raped me, got me pregnant, and, causa my dad, I got married causa it. Then I had a miscarriage so I was a divorcee before I went to college. He divorced me – can you believe that? Moved here, became a model. Now I throw up at least once a day so I can pay my rent and I hate, hate, hate men of every type. Can you beat that?
Me: (shaking head, pause, lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek)
Her: Why did you do that?
Me: I dunno…thought you deserved it. (she laughed, then frowned and nodded)

Didn’t give her my number or ask for her’s, and paid for her drink, which I never do.

There’s this comedian that says that children are a man’s receipt; children are the canceled check that proves that we were here.

The stuff you hear about happening in China is horrifying, isn’t it? 22,000 to 50,000 dead with 169,000 injured. But it’s actually even worse than that. With the PRC’s One Child Policy, bloodlines and family lose everything. For those that lose their one child and they’re too old to have kids again, they’ve no safety net to take care of them in their old age. Their history ends with them; they’ve no connection to the future. They’ve no child to love. Can’t imagine how that must feel.

My father once said that he loved us all before we were born. That didn’t make sense back then.

I’m getting sued (again). I’m working 12 hour days for negative returns. There’s stuff I don’t tell you about. But really, I got no problems. I got my life, my family, my rum, and the occasional girlie for company.

It’s raining here, but in my head, there’re blue skies. Told you before, yeah? God gave me everything.

Hope you have an amazing weekend.

Location: in my office, looking at the rain and thinking
Mood: grateful
Music: Won’t you miss me?

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personal

E pur si muove

Location: getting up to go
Mood: honest
Music: io lo so che non sono solo anche quando sono solo

I suspect that this weekend will be quite different from last weekend.

The legend goes that Galileo Galilei was arrested in 1633 for going against church doctrine that the earth does not move and, instead, everything revolves around it. He recanted his beliefs rather than face the Inquisition but as he was being led out of the courtroom, he muttered, E pur si muove – and yet it moves.

What he was saying was that the truth is the truth regardless of what else one says. It’s action, the motion, that matters.

Could try’n explain why I do what I do but it’d just be hot breath and lies.

Ah, there it is: The lies we tell ourselves.

Tonight I was honest, I mean really honest, with the Hazel-Eyed Italian and where I was. And hate myself for it. And tonight I was also honest, really honest, with myself about SX. And hate myself more for it.

Well look at that, I’m completely single again. Isn’t that convenient?

As luck would have it, it’s the weekend. Even luckier, I clean up real nice, have far too little shame and far too much rum.

But one more bit of honesty between you and me, just because it’s late. And I’m tired and introspective.

I hide my ugly well.

So well, in fact, that when I smile, you only see the whiteness of my teeth and never the sharpness.

And yet it moves.

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personal

Uncool me

A few weeks back:

Her: Wait, you only have one bowl?
Me: (shrugging) I only have one me.

I don’t have an iPod – don’t have an “i” anything, in fact. Someday maybe, not now.

Almost all my music, DVDs, books, papers, works, I’ve digitized and put into a computer I built myself. I watch it all through either a TV I bought seven years ago or a projector I use for business.

Got a lotta Valentino shirts and about eight custom-made suits but I bought ’em all at least a decade ago when I was young and stupid. Tee-shirts and Levi jeans for me.

Drama notwithstanding, I spend coin on:

I’m lucky because I’ve never been cool and I’m WAY too old to start now. Plus, I have zero need to impress anyone.

Where do you think the happiest place on earth is? It’s here. Not what you expect, huh? Happiness comes from community and purpose. Stuff cannot make you happy. Don’t be fooled by ad execs (I was one) – there’s no pill, shirt, shoes, phone, that will make you happy.

Working jobs you hate, to buy crap you don’t need, to impress those you don’t know – that’s just !#@$ nuts.

Connecting, man, that’s where it’s at. Ah, but there’s the rub. Another person cannot make you happy. But losing them can make you all sortsa bent outta shape.

Connecting. It’s harder than one might imagine:

Her: Can you not call me?
Me: Tonight or ever?
Her: (pause) Ever. ()
Me: (pause) Well…that sounds about right. (sighing, putting down phone and turning to fish) Yes George, I know it’s nonea my business. But still…

Location: my blue couch
Mood: throughly confused
Music: I think she’s leaving Ooh man she’s leaving

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personal

Logan’s 35

The lies you tell yourself

I submit that your misery is the sum of the lies you tell yourself:

  • I’m not good at languages, that’s why I don’t learn Italian.
  • I need a drink to talk to her.
  • I’m too old to start something like that.

My favorite: I’m not that type of guy/gal.

That’s the stupidest one of all. Following that logic: I’m not the type of guy that drives because I’ve never driven before.

It’s all horse___, you know? The lies you tell yourself. It’s all horse____.

Put another way: you’re not the person you know you could be, causa the lies you tell yourself.

I’m pensive. Turning 35 today. Halfway to getting my ticket punched, and still waiting for my real life to begin. Been thinking, maybe it begins when you stop lying to yourself. When you take that nasty truth, bite into it and swallow. Then go in for seconds.

Wish I did it a lot earlier myself. Then again, wish I bought Google at 300 bucks, kissed Stella in 9th grade, and didn’t have my life’s savings stolen. But whaddya gonna do?

A pretty lady from a sun-kissed beach just dropped me a line and another pretty lady’s heading my way for a spell. Plus there’s the weekend. Hoping for some awesome to head my way.

Some awesome, and maybe another whole wheat donut, would be nice.

Now…wish me a happy birthday, all of you bastards that read me and never say anything.

Location: 13:00 yest, Harlem
Mood: excited
Music: Coming outta my cage and I’ve been doing just fine

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personal

It’s better my way

My fear is my only courage

In Marley’s “No Woman No Cry,” he’s got a line that goes:

My feet is my only carriage.

But if you listen to it, it sounds more like:

My fear is my only courage.

Since I was a kid, I misheard it. Figures. My life as a kid was all wrong.

You know, back then, I was so poor and so fat, only really had four shirts. It’s all we could afford. All my fat ass could fit. Red. Yellow. Brown-striped. And this god-awful sky blue velvet one.

Hey – betcha I got more clothes than you.

I got more clothes than anyone I’ve ever met. Anyone. And I meet a lotta folk. Statement of fact, that’s all.

Cause when I made some scratch, I bought clothes. Like 200+ ties. Not cheap ties, the good stuff. Man, I don’t even wear ties. All I do is wear jeans and tee-shirts, now. Finally grew outta it, I guess.

But you never grow outta that deep fear, do you? That deep fear that makes no @#$ sense. The fear that I’ll wake up and be this fat, poor, lonely dork in sixth grade again.

You know, my classmates threw rocks at me? Seriously, rocks.

No lie, this latest drama’s no fun. But when you’re in sixth grade and your classmates think stoning you’s high sport, well, that preps you for pretty much anything.

Don’t want pity. Don’t want charity. I just want a sec. Just gimme a sec – catch my breath, get on my feet. If you wanna do something for me, buy me some rum when you see me. Otherwise,

I’ll share with you – you see, my fear yeah? Is my only courage.
Well, yes, I’ve got to push on through.
But while I’m gone, everything’s gonna be all right.

 

Location: my apartment, all day
Mood: hopeful
Music: don’t shed no tears

Categories
personal

Just OK

Location: 22:08 yest, running home in the rain
Mood: wet
Music: Oh, how I try to be just okay. Yeah

Gshok sent me the above for absolutely no reason. Those are the best kind of gifts.

It’s nice to open the mailbox and get something that’s not a bill or junk. Or a letter from the IRS.

———-

Seemoore thinks I’m older and more somber in this blog, yet more friendly and effusive in person.

I often wonder how I come across. I don’t mean to be somber, I assure you.

Life has been somber lately, though.

Although punctuated with the occasional chance meeting and whatnot.

Man, I live for the occasional chance meeting and whatnot.

Categories
personal

The Prodigal

Location: my own apartment for a change
Mood: anxious
Music: You’re like a favorite song to That melody, that melody I love

Was out this weekend with Paul. He got a killer Hong Kong gig lined up so if any of you are from there, drop me a line? He’s the guy I go out with the most so if you do end up showing him around, he’ll fill you in on about 40% of what I leave out in this blog.

Consider it a bargain. Plus he’s the gold-standard of wingmen.

Speaking of being out, a girlie and I got into a theological discussion at a bar recently about the parable of The Lost Son/The Prodigal Son. Yes, I like to interrupt my drinking with religious discussions. Of course, she’s a bisexual pescatarian – although not from NJ.

I always felt that the older brother got screwed. Here, the younger son blows all his coin, lives it up and comes back broke, only to be welcomed by his father. The older brother’s pissed.

He was loyal. He took care of his scratch, his family and here’s this messed up brother who gets welcomed back with open arms. A party no less. How’s that fair? Now I see it like this; the father loved all kids and so:

  • the older son will be rewarded for what’s he’s done;
  • the younger son is forgiven for what he is.

That’s what fathers do. Even when the kid a royal screwup, a father pulls for him anyway.

I think hope that’s what it says. Because I’m the family screwup; the cautionary tale for my extended family. But they’re all too polite to say it to me.

So I sigh, put on my brown shoes, my happy face and wait for the 1 train to roll in. And I hold my breath for the weekend to come again.

Hello, Monday. What do you have for me this week?

Categories
personal

Being a brick wall

It’s hard keeping it together when it comes down on you

Me: You can do this. You’ve done it before, you survived. You can do it again. You just gotta be a brick wall.
Her: What does that mean?
Me: Two things. First, a brick wall doesn’t cry, it doesn’t beg, it doesn’t plead, it doesn’t do anything. It just is. A brick wall does what it’s supposed to do – without compunction, without complaint, without contempt. A brick wall’s built for pressure; you’re built for pressure.
Her: And second?
Me: Second is it doesn’t give anything away – you can read a face, you can’t read a brick wall. Keep it together. People’re relying on you. You’re relying on you. Don’t ever let him break you down. A brick wall doesn’t break; everything else breaks against it.
Her: (quizzically) I’ma brick wall?
Me: Yeah, you’re a goddamned brick wall.
Her: (deep breath) I’m a brick wall.
Me: You’re stone.

Location: 18:30 yest, hopping onto the seven train
Mood: beat tired
Music: the only one here now is me; I’m fighting things I cannot see