Sunday

. . . a crop duster, but with spray paint . . .

. . . talkin on a cel phone while he's playin pick-up soccer . . .

Saturday

When you are alone in a bar, you are scum whose only human contact is with the staff. They become so superior.

Am I really the guy who never acknowledges folks I see from my high school? So long ago? Hundred years yesterday.

Alone in these scarey times (because being alone is scary) I wonder: Am I in control? Where’s the old Bobby? What would the old Bobby Do? What is my pattern? What strategy for dealing with situations like this? There is not really a situation, I’m just alone and scared. So what would stable old reliable Bobby do? Bobby – who has gotten me to this point – what would he do? What should I do? Don’t know. There never has been a stable Bobby. Bobby has always balanced on the edge.

- - Scarey drunken post by Bobby

Monday

My internet connection and computer at home are fried, and I’ve been trying to keep up with blogging at work, but they keep making me do work at work. So until I get a new computer and connection at home, I’m going to be kind of a quiet little ghost. Any suggestions what kind of computer I should get? I want a laptop.

Sunday

Filmed before a live studio audience.

Thursday

I’ve got so much to say, I’m just gonna say it, and I am going to pattern this group of items in the form of a list – in honor of the greatest list compiler I have ever witnessed on the internet. It’s just of list of things - you know - I’m thinking:

1. I roam all over Washington, DC and super glue plastic toy soldiers to every surface I can.

2. There’s an exhaust vent or heating vent thing in a flowerbed outside this Art Museum/Art School here in Washington, DC. Homeless guys usually sleep there because it’s warm by that vent. Well, this performance artist has set up her exhibit right in their spot! She built a wooden platform there and sits on it wordlessly scowling out towards the White House all day and all night ignoring every word said to her (except to smile at it [a smile of hate {or mock hate?}]). Behind her are bottles of water for drinkin. In front of her are bottles for peein – seriously – I mean - some yellowish liquid which I am going to have to go ahead and guess are her urine. She just sits there wrapped in blankets. There’s a binder on a podium in front of her with her bio and her statement of purpose or whatever. Don’t get me wrong: I love performance art. Don’t get me wrong: I love the homeless.

3. When the tornado devastated the mental hospital, the patients were surprisingly calm.

4. Sitting in my apartment imitating every noise I hear in the hallway.

5. . . . just like those people who stop taking the medicine because one day they feel better . . .

6. Sometimes you see these bits of fuzz floating in the air and you wonder: Is that some weird insect? Is that part of a plant? Is that the filling from somebody’s jacket?

7. The story of an art museum security guard who allows the janitor to sleep in the museum at night because he’s been evicted. Sometimes the poor guy oversleeps, and he has to remain perfectly still because the museum has opened, and the patrons think he is an exhibit.
this is an audio post - click to play

Wednesday

At closing time, no matter where I am, I start looking around for hiding places. Where could I hang until all the workers have left? Between racks? Under a table? Above the ceiling tiles? Once they leave, I'll be able to run around this place like a crazy person (as long as there is no motion sensor). I could let the rent go on my apartment and just come here every night. Yep.

Monday

. . . like Pacman right after he's eaten the BIG cookie . . .

Saturday

untitled

. . . waiting in the car in the cemetery parking lot during the ceremony

Wednesday

I should blog more positively.

Thursday

Here's a Shitty Memory

A guy who beat me up in high school after football practice went on to become a cop after graduation. After graduation, I went to a local college. I worked at a local restaurant. It was a damn cool restaurant, actually. It attracted all specimens of society in Portsmouth, Virginia. Including fuckin cops. Yep. I had to wait on this guy numerous times. He would actually request me when he came in. The kid who, in high school football practice, kept cutting in line and shoving me during drills, between plays, calling me a bitch, the kid who grabbed me by my face mask and twisted my neck all around and followed me after practice and told me to meet him behind Ames department store. So I did. The first thing he did was grab me by my hair and pull my face into his knee. He pounded me pretty good for a while. I mounted a minor comeback toward the end - pinned him against this hand rail and elbowed him in the face and pounded him in the guts. But everyone who witnessed it said, yep, I got my ass whipped, even my friends. Shit. The fight lasted a good ten, fifteen minutes. It seemed like forever. In the end, we were both just exhausted, and staggering around. Two football practices – one in the morning and one in the afternoon - and then a good, long brawl like that will take a lot out of you. The cops arrived. They put us in the squad car and took us to our football coach. That was great! (Coach was my Biology teacher too.) Yeah. Extra laps before and after practice for the rest of that miserable fuckin season and all kinds of other special treatment. Clean the chalk board, clean up the class room after frog dissection day or whatever the fuck. Finally I quit. Football I mean, not Biology. Fuck football. We lost every fuckin game anyway. Wrestling season was coming up, though I sucked at that sport too. Soccer was really my sport anyway, goddammit.

So yeah - he beat me up and became a cop after high school. It seems like bullies make such great cops. And I had to serve him his miserable fuckin fried catfish or whatever. Refill his tea. I never spit in his food once. I don’t know. He tipped alright. He didn’t really fuck with me like I thought he would - you know - not outright. He was friendly, and he didn’t talk my head off or run me back and forth for one ice cube at a time. We actually kind of joked around at times and shit. So I guess it was alright.