My brother always carried a gun. He didn't always need it. He didn't really need it much at all. In truth, I can only remember a few stories he told me where he actually 'needed' it. He never shot anybody. But he would make it known he was carrying it when he was doing his job, when he went to tow some junk car out of a rough neighborhood, say, and somebody was sneaking up or lurking, watching him, waiting for him to let his guard down, maybe, that he could rob him. He had a few stories like that. Once he started carrying it all the time, he just got used to the feeling of having it on him. He got used to the feeling of security.

One night we were riding around for hours in my car, just driving...doing what we did on such drives... At one point my brother noticed that the vehicle behind us was very close. It was a big truck. The headlights were really high, and the beams were blazing on the backs of our heads. My brother got furious. We were on some desolate country road, in Suffolk, Virginia, I think. The longer the guy stayed on right our ass, the more furious my brother got. He had his gun on him, and he took it out. "Stop the fuckin car!"

I was extremely nervous.

"Stop the fuckin car, Bobby! Stop the car!" My brother was screaming at me as I drove.

I didn't want to stop the car. I was afraid of what might happen. I looked in the rear-view mirror at the blazing, big headlights getting closer and closer. I listened to my brother's escalating anger and screaming, right in my ear. I drove like that for a while...with the headlights...the screaming. I didn't stop at first.

I was afraid my brother would shoot at this guy. I was afraid of the guy in the truck behind us...or guys. I had no idea who it was behind us. It could have been six dudes with shotguns. It could have been one scrawny teenager. Finally I stopped the car.

"Okay. Now what," I said. The guy in the truck behind us also stopped. We are deep in the country, nobody around, no light, nothing. Just that guy's headlights illuminating us. I have imagined all kinds of alternate endings to that night. I imagined that I got out of the car and I sprinted back at the driver side of the truck, and I was greeted by a shotgun barrel. I imagined my brother getting out of the car and emptying a whole clip into the dude's windshield. I imagined myself...screaming back at my brother -- to get the fuck out of my car -- so he could walk his ass home three hours (the least likely of these scenarios).

So we sat there. The guy in the truck behind us just sat there too. My brother showed his gun to those big blazing headlights. My brother's raging body language, the gun shining in the headlights...maybe was enough of a demonstration for the guy behind us least one of the people in my car was willing, apparently willing, to 'take this to another level' ...and end up on a police report or something.

We continued to sit there. Gradually, my brother became more still and quiet. He muttered stuff, that's right, motherfucker, you better not get out... So we sat there and we sat there and we sat there. I didn't say a word. Finally, my brother said, "Alright. Let's get out of here."

I put it in drive and began to drive away. The truck stayed parked where it was.

Time for a list:

1) After one hundred years in that relationship with that one and only person, I forgot how to deal with other people.

2) Last night I felt as though the most crucial writing task of my life was upon me, but I went to bed.

3) I am currently waiting out a rain shower, sitting in my car, waiting to go into a store. The other people who are pulling into the parking lot are showing admirable hustle, getting out of their car and running through the rain.

4) I hope that this friend of mine forgives me.

5) My boss is making me watch videos all weekend for some new product.

6) People should slow down in parking lots. I have seen two near misses just sitting here.

7) I have talked to two editors, and they both say, at the end of the day, in their spare time, they'd rather just look at the pictures, and not dense text, least of all: run-on sentences.

8) I have to go to my new favorite place tonight. They are starting to recognize me there.


Today I saw a guy riding a bike carrying a rake, and because my brain is really racing lately, I flooded this sight of this guy on a bike with a rake...I flooded it with all of this mental activity. My first unfortunate reaction was to make fun of him... like he was a superhero..."Look! It's Rake Man! And he's going to save the day, raking leaves at the house of some unfortunate elderly woman. I think my brain just felt the need to analyze and emote... something... anything... intensely. Plus, when I first caught a glimpse of him, it looked like he was riding the rake... like he was a witch... man witches ride on rakes instead of brooms.

Then I felt guilty... for making fun of him.

Then I felt sorry for him. He's just trying to get somewhere to earn some cash. People don't ride bikes to work in Florida unless they do not have a car. Everything is too spread out.

The guy waved to another guy who is on a bike across the street. For some reason, my brain made an association, and I looked to see if that other guy was also carrying some kind of tool. Like maybe these two guys were going to go meet on a job. But the other guy wasn't carrying anything.

Today should be a productive day at work, if I can focus all of this mental activity on something productive that is.


Sometimes I wonder if you did indeed become a ghost. When I describe you to people, and I describe your transition out of my life, I describe you as a ghost. You came home at midnight, every night, in those last two weeks. I didn’t hear the door open, you came in through a wall. You didn’t say a word to me or even look at me when you came home. You walked past me, two feet away, as I laid on the cot I had set up in the living room. You grabbed an insipid, craftless meal from the kitchen. You walked back to the bedroom, and you closed the door. Sometimes, when you came in, I did what I did as a child when I thought there was a ghost around. I laid still and squeezed my eyelids together as tightly as I could.

I believe that once I walked right through a real ghost. I told you the story, several times probably. Have you met that ghost in your ghostly interactions? Do you remember thay story? My coworkers from the restaurant and I ran around that 230 year old house all night, and we were all drunk. We were exploring and laughing and popping out and scaring each other. Nobody reported any ghost encounters at first, and people got tired and began to go home. In the end it was just a waitress named April and me. We were in the attic, and she was watching me walk around. Suddenly I froze. I felt a sensation like none I had ever felt before. It was hot and cold at the same time. Goosebumps popped up all over my skin. There was a weird, foreign energy that passed through me. I don’t think I ever told you what April and I did after that.

It often feels like a ghost might be watching. It’s never at a time that I would expect. It’s never at a time when I would actually need a ghost. Ghosts aren’t supposed to be ‘reliable’ I guess. They just are. Or they aren’t.

I have many theories about ghosts. Ghosts watch you when you are with your lovers. Ghosts can travel back through time and watch you with your past lovers. Ghosts can even see themselves during the time that they were with you, when they were still in a physical body.

Everybody has a ghost story. You had your ghostly photo with that strange blur of light. The light blur had a human form. I can’t remember now whether that ghost was somebody you knew, or if it was just a random ghost stranger . . . just moving through . . . a clumsy tourist, accidentally caught in somebody else’s photo.

Ghost by Neutral Milk Hotel on Grooveshark


I was just watching an episode of the Louie show and I realized: EVERY situation has humor in it it because EVERY situation is absurd - if you examine it closely enough. Even every day, mundane things: they all contain humor if you peel back the layers and really examine them. All of our efforts are aimed at things which seem great, but which often are ridiculous . . . and our efforts are ridiculous. Sometimes it gets so ridiculous, that we go ahead and take it all the way to the extreme, extremely ridiculous. Because it's all ridiculous. Except being kind. That's the one non-ridiculous thing, being kind.


I really need a hobby. People ask me, "What do you do for fun?" I don't really know what to say. Sometimes I say, "Roam around."

That doesn't sound that fun.

Today, somebody asked me, and I finally said, "Not much. It's kind of sad."

I'm too old and beat up for my old hobbies: pick-up soccer, skateboards, blah blah.

What do I do with my free time? I watch a lot of videos on youtube. I do roam around. I read stuff. I head into bars and drink beer every now and then.

I have been blogging a lot recently. Blogging. That would be a weird answer to what do you do for fun...


Today was not an unusual day for me, a day of awkward and odd interactions and miscommunications and miscues and and apologies and tiny glimpses of sublime something or whatever...and extended thinking about my patterns and other standard stuff for half-crazy me.

I texted my neighbor a couple hours ago, "that was a shot right?"

Outside, I heard a firecracker or a shot, but I was thinking it was a shot.

"What?" he responded, an hour later.

"Earlier," I said.

"Nah," he said.

We do hear shots sometimes, we agree...some yahoo with a shotgun across the lake, the lake through the woods behind us. This is not a high crime area at all, and our complex management has even hired a security guard who I am afraid of who drives slowly in an SUV with more colored lights than Christmas. It made me think of other scary sounds from outside that I have heard while inside, lately, twice in the last couple of months, my coworkers and I have heard horrifying slams on breaks, screeches and subsequent crunches on the street outside. One time, it was a lady from another department of our company who pulled out of the parking lot in front of some BMW and got hit. She was okay. Everybody was okay.

Back to today and away from those extended thoughts and memories, today I was running around with a friend who I always get into weird goofy non-dangerous situations with. Today he wanted to take me to some place he thought was a park, but it was actually a reservation-required convention/retreat/compound sort of thing...but he was determined to enjoy this piece of America, so we got out of the car and started walking around.

"There is a sequestered retreat going on here today," said a lady with a tense face who hustled up to us as soon she spotted us. We said okay okay okay and started to leave...and I was getting bitten up by bugs anyway...but my friend had a business call he said he had to make right then and there and he didn't give a shit if they came and hassled us some more so I went and sat in the car. A mosquito got in the car when I got in, and I was trying to quick, open the door and shoo him out, and shut the door before allowing more mosquitoes in, but I was having no success, and the mosquito was the quickest one I've ever encountered, and I could neither swat him nor shoo him out, but I continued my efforts until my friend came and drove us out of there. The only way to get rid of mosquitoes in a situation like that is to start driving and put the windows down and let em get sucked out by the draft.

We made jokes about how the place was most definitely a cult compound as we drove off premises past a sand volleyball court and tennis court. We made about six wrong turns or missed turns on the way to and from the place because I was the one navigating.

* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *

Today I texted a bit with a very stressed out person, an oncology nurse who I've been texting with lately. She was about to go into work another hellish night with people who are in the most terrifying part of their lives. She had only gotten four hours sleep between her last shift and this shift she was about to start.

* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *

Today I looked up at an airplane and mumbled to myself, "Look at that airplane celebrating the sky." While I was looking up, I saw the top of this tall pine tree, and the needles were really shining in the sun. I was smoking a cigarette, and I got light headed, so I went and sat down. There were filter tips on the ground from those little cigars they make blunts out of, and my friend said, Yeah, he sits out here and smokes blunts all the time, and various women come and go, visiting him.

Around that time I drove home because I was feeling sick. I started to feel better after a few sips of an energy drink so I stopped and got my head mildly buzzed at Hair Cuttery. I probably left too big of a tip because of the lady who cut my hair and so on, and I felt stupid.

I got home to a lonely cat and a busted dvd player --no TV-- a blackout which I have half-enjoyed for the last week or so. I have an unfinished letter to my sister I must finish and mail...or just mail...because the letters are never finished. I read the ten year old blog archives of a dude who is one of my great great heroes and friends online...from all the way back at the beginning of my blogging days to the present day.


Two Items

First: Today at work, during our Friday lunch party, somebody logged on netflix and started playing Cheers episodes on The Big Monitor. It was cool, except that it threw me. Cheers has been my salvation from this job. Ever since I first started this hard ass job, when things didn't look so good, I could always come home to Cheers. Or, I could wake up in the morning with Cheers. Cheers is one of the funniest shows ever made! I have recently completed my viewing of every single one of them on netflix. In a way, I don't like that they watched my favorite show - at work -- the show I watch to take my mind off of work. Another great show was Night Court, so I found a clip with that dude from that show.

Second: I got a wrong number text. It was a south New Jersey guy, trying to reach some girl. The following is the transcript, starting with his first message. I didn't know if I knew anybody in the 609 area code, like if maybe this was somebody I knew, but forgot I knew...but it turned out to be somebody I didn't know:

HIM: Morning Sexy!
ME: Good morning! Right number? Who you trying to reach? Thanks for calling me sexy though...
HIM: Lol. Its my pleasure.. Im Derek, is this Dana?
ME: Nah, ha, sorry
HIM: Oh my apologies.. My mistake! Whats ur name?

HIM AGAIN: Hey everything happens for a reason..Are u a female?
ME: I'm a dude, dude. So tell me about this Dana. Ha. Just kidding. I am a dude though.


An unfortunate misunderstanding during an already tense time, a misunderstanding that occurs right at the worst possible moment in tense times -- this kind of misunderstanding can...really suck. It seems like the resulting disaster is a direct result of that one dumb thing that happened. Somebody's gun accidentally goes off on one side of a border between two rival countries ...stuff like that. I just now googled: "most tragic misunderstandings in history" ...I didn't find shit exactly but I'm sure there are numerous examples of this ...that have occurred on a large scale. It happens all the time on interpersonal levels (duh, why am I writing this). We want to sort situations out, and we look for a single cause, but things were already tense.
Good morning. I woke up feeling like you can only believe about a quarter of what people say to you. Maybe an eighth. I saw a Ted Talk about how lying is so engrained in our communications, that it's not about determining whether someone is lying, it's how the lie fits into your strategy for deciphering information you receive. We learn to lie as infants, the Ted Talk said (I'll try to research and find the link). Obviously we lie. We lie in business and we lie in interpersonal business. Sometimes, though, the meanings that we invent, when we see the meaning bent or ignored, it 'seems' like a lie. It's not really a lie though. blah blah blah


This is what you see from my balcony. I checked before I shot this, because it would be creepy to look over and see me with my cam pointed at you...I feel a little weird posting this anyway ...even though I made sure nobody was there at first. This shoot had to be done in order to illustrate the points I intend to make in my blog post. I don't know what those points will be, but I'm overcome lately with the impulse to write blog post after blog post and show up on stranger's blogs and comment there too.

No, I think the point I started with was going to be something about my neighbors and my community. Looking at this video, I realize our balconies could remind a person of cell blocks in a if you'd ever been in prison - or seen one on TV (I fall into the latter category, I promise).

I heard the property manager showing the unit on the first floor to interested renters. This place has quite a turnover.

I've only made neighborly introductions via the the space between balconies on two occasions: One guy, George, was an EMT. He was a divorced dad who ended up renting here after the divorce went down. He apologized in advance for the noise his kids would be making on the balcony, when he had his custody on weekends. I assured him it would be fine, and I told him I was glad to meet him.

The other guy seemed a little weirded out by me saying hello to him from my balcony as he stood on his balcony. I was sitting on my balcony with my other neighbor. It was really late, and she was being goofy and loud. I'm sure the guy across could hear us and see us. She burst out laughing at some point, I don't remember why...So I said hi to the guy across the way...hoping that he wouldn't think we were over here laughing at him for some reason... I don't know why I cared or thought he would think this ...or why I thought my saying hi would alleviate the imagined situation. He just whatever.

Why am I writing all this? I don't know. But I do know that the current tenant of the third floor unit sends her dog out to the balcony to pee and sometimes poop! It is horrifying. The pee runs off the balcony and drops three floors and hits the ground there. Sometimes I hear it when it if I'm sitting inside with the door open...the sound of some kind of liquid running off and hitting the ground below... I try not to even look over there ever. Today, when I glanced over there, though, I noticed that her balcony was really clear of dog poop. It was nice. I wonder if she's moving or up the unit so she can get her deposit back. I'll conclude this blog post here. There is a lot more I could say though.
The biting worry over work is very palpable on this Saturday morning. I had planned to wake up and get my brains going and do lots of work. I might just worry about work instead. This will free up time over the weekend for blogging and roaming. There is not enough room in my schedule to worry about work AND make a plan for the weekend. So there will be just work worry and spontaneous actions, whatever those might be. I could drive up the street this afternoon and get a little loaded and blab at whoever. I'll text everyone I can think of and see if someone in town will join me...somewhere. As the weekend progresses, the worry over work will gradually subside...until about 4pm Sunday. Then it will begin to peak again. Monday morning I will stress hard. I really am not that much of a worker. I obsess about work a lot, but I don't do all that much work.


Today I would have had to say a sad goodbye (I swear: my life is not complete sadness lately, ha!) But yes, I would have had to say goodbye to someone I have mixed (and intense) feelings about. So what did I do? I avoided it. I went home sick. This person became an angry second mom to me, kind of. I learned soooo much from the person, more than I could ever describe. The learnin came with a price though...or maybe the price was actually a different type of learnin...toughness training. Tough love or something. Deep down, I'm sure the person thinks I'm an idiot...and the person is right. I think the person might think I'm improving though...I hope they think that. I didn't always understand the harsh. I guess it serves a purpose. To a point. I've gotten a lot tougher and a lot thicker skin dealing with this person, I think. I have learned more from this person than I ever would have in stupid college courses, that's for goddam sure. The person had many many moments where it seemed like they cared a great deal about my wellbeing. The person has a free attitude with know-how...not at all insecure about telling what they know, because what they know is constantly growing. It's not the body of knowledge you'd have to gain to keep toe to toe with this person, it is the pace of learning. Anyway, I left when the person wasn't I didn't say or do something embarrassing (except that I did, sort of, anyway, to other people, when announcing that I was leaving)...but/plus...I'm feeling a little 'sick' or something. Again, it's not all sadness with me lately, just little fires here and there in the big big field, smoldering stuff. There's a lot that's terrific too! Really, there is no limit to the possibilities. If I had to calculate the possibilities or say it was a roll of the dice, it would be a roll of this many dice:

I beeped at somebody just now at a stoplight. The light was green, and the person was just sitting there in front of me. "Get off the road, clown," I muttered. Then it occurred to me: This might be an actual clown. She just needed a few extra seconds to adjust her big red nose. And I'm back here beeping at her all harsh.


I did it again. I got too attached to somebody. I got attached, even though there were many warning signs. Among those warning signs were the person's own words of warning: literal and clear.

This is my pattern. I don't know if I want to break this pattern though. I mean: I should probably break the pattern. But, I don't want to be cynical. I mean: I love being cynical. But, I love my own brand of cynical.

I'm clunkin around between spiritual crap and pure heart (as stupid as that sounds and I don't care)...clunkin like a dryer full of auto parts. That sting is real. It's crazy and stupid and I wish I could include my usual thought component: I don't care. I have liquor. I have youtubes fulla videos about presence and awareness and all that shit. I have a tender loving cat. I have a phone full of confusing text messages from various. I got projects going into production and a big happy hour coming. I have nature trails and race tracks.
As a smartness test, I am keeping my mouse right next to the laptop on my desk. The mouse is not hooked to the laptop. I am going to see how many times I try to use the mouse, forgetting that it is not connected to the laptop.

A really super smart guy I know took some time to talk with me. I usually feel intimidated when I talk to him...even though he is one of the nicest people I have ever met (niceness, another facet in this multifaceted dude...whenever he gets to talking about some experience of his, he seems more and more like ...damnnear perfect).

Anyway, we were talking, and I don't know how much dumber than him I am...or if I am that much dumber...or if I'm dumb, but improving or ....what...but it seemed like he had to struggle to respond to the things I was he had to bring himself down quite a few notches to be able to have talkies with me.

How many conversations are like that? I don't just mean ones where there are varying degrees of smarts. I mean conversations where the people are talking, each person is saying stuff, but where the speakers are saying really incompatible things, but they're just sharing a space of interaction because ...just because they want to. Why do they want to? What are their motives? Does it really matter that their conversation is not building neatly, empirically towards a greater subject? Or is the thing that matters this: that they want to want to talk to each other . . . What good will their conversation do anyway, will they solve some major problem? Or are they talking just to be talking, just to give time to each other. Even if you are not making the same points as the other or you're not making points toward the same premise or theory or hypothesis or whatever...even if the things you say don't exactly hit on the point that the other is making, they are hearing what you are saying, and taking it in, and you are hearing what they are saying and taking it out of respect or caring or because they feel for each other enough respect or something just to let em have their turn to talk so you can listen. Maybe if you're not speaking precisely to each other's points, but each speaker is going further out from the point the other is making - maybe you cover a broader area! Maybe the looser the talk, the more ground you cover, the longer strides you make.


Some representatives from management were out in the next room discussing college football, and their excitement steadily escalated. Soon they were talking, raving, about their kids... and then they spoke of their own experiences in sports. They were talking about big hits and speed and feats of crazy strength...and terrible injury and altercation. I never reached a level these guys did, but their talking got me got me thinking about intense moments from my ridiculous and punishing bush league/pickup whatever whatever sports games that I may or may not have already blogged about:

  • The time I smashed into a guy while playing rugby. I was sprinting straight at him, and we connected, and I heard a snap as my shoulder ploughed into his ribs. The first time I ever played rugby, like the first series of the first game, I got in a scrum or whatever and got churned up and spit to the ground on my face, and a guy stomped on my back with metal spikes as he ran away with the ball.

  • Playing pickup football on the quadrant, I came flying across this guy's path and lunged in for the tackle...he cut away at the very worst possible moment, trying to juke me, and I connected lower than intended, my shoulder impacted the side of his knee sending him into a somersault...and he hit the ground screaming.

  • This kid, Sean Garfield: he had the biggest head in all of highschool football. The coach had to specially order a helmet for him. He was Virginia benchpress state champion. Sean transferred to our highschool and went out for football after the season had already begun. The first day he came to practice, he hit me so hard, he lifted me off my feet, and I came down like a ballerina huffing ether, somehow still on my feet, but i was only on my feet long enough to take a few steps and fall down, and I sat up and saw birds chirping all around my field of vision just like a cartoon.

  • I got elbowed in the temple by a goalie while jumping for a ball in front of his goal. It was a concussion, and I was unconscious for thirty seconds. I woke up and started running back to where the flow of the game was, but I was offsides, and incurred a penalty.

  • A soccer game turned into a fight, but really it turned into a simple wrestling match, and I caught the guy in a front headlock, and let him wear himself out a few moments.

  • One time, after football practice, this kid grabbed me by the hair and kneed me in the face repeatedly. (We were fightin.)

  • I was playing rugby, and I had the ball, and I saw an inevitable terrible hit coming, from a guy nicknamed Iron Head. I was like, fuckit, this guy is going to dishrag me, so I just sprinted straight at him, out of curiousity. I aimed my shoulder right at the center of his gigantic body and picked up speed. People were yelling "Lunch him, Iron Head!" We collided hard. Neither of us fell. I kind of careened off of his chest and zoomed out of bounds slamming into the guys that were cheering for him.

  • One time our tight end was hauling ass, looking back for the quarterback to throw to him. There was a referee right in his path, and the ref was watching the quarterback too, I guess, or he couldn't get out of the way quick enough, and our tight end slammed right into him, in the center of his chest, and the ref had a heart attach right on the field.

  • Crazy ass shit. I'm glad that nowadays, the only real exercise I get, is going for walks.
  • Friday

  • I put off work items until the weekend thinking, Oh, I'll just do that over the weekend,thinking....I'll have more time because nobody will be calling and I can just go at my own pace....blah blah...but! But: You still get snagged on problems that can take a long time to figure still need breaks (more so, at home, where the distractions are infinte (and there's a pool!)), yeah: having two monitors makes seeing all I need to see much easier...I've gotten used to working and thinking in a certain way: with TWO GIGANTIC MONITORS BLOCKING OUT EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD - - SHOWING ONLY THOSE TABLES AND COLUMNS OF WONDERFUL DATA It's dorky, but this is a major shift in my way of seeing my world.

  • I had an Awkward Doctor Visit. I went in there with an assortment of concerns. And I spazzed out a little because I think one of my concerns is my stress level. Shit. I probably would have cried, if the nurse practitioner had not have ushered me out to the front desk for check out.

  • Some people have to ignore you as a part of their job. Well. That is not a part of their job, but it is essential to their job. It's essential to their timetable. A few examples of this are: 1)Wait Staff, 2)Doctor Office Receptions Staff, 3)Desktop Guys in your company....there are many examples. Maybe every job has this element.

  • I can't get cool. I have the air conditioning way down. I woke up from a nap a little while ago sweating like a pig and I underestimated the amount of lemonade I had, horribly. It is freezing inside the office, but when you step outside it is "96 degrees in the shade:

  • I have designated the following song as: "It's time to brush the cat song" ...and when this song comes on, the cat knows to come get brush, and she dances and meows with glee:

  • Change in Speak by De La Soul on Grooveshark
  • Making the most of it.
  • So much reading to do!
  • Sunday I might see live music outside...if there is not a terrifying lightning storm like the one today. I saw these amazing lightning strikes right out my window, and I was saying, "Woah!" before the thunder sound arrived at anybody's ears.
  • I have an ice pack on my eye, but I wish I had a full-body sized ice pack I could apply.
  • Tuesday

  • I can't think of anything bad, like truly bad, that anybody has ever done to me at the moment. Now that I've begun this statement, I am going to try to focus on the words appearing on the screen as I type them to see if I can complete this sentence without thinking of anything bad that anybody has done to me. Done, did it, success.

  • A cool cool longterm bloggin buddy from back when I blogged a lot more...and blogged a lot more crazy...popped up on twitter today and it was cool cool cool

  • Lack of sleep don't mean nothing.

  • Good moods get annoying after a while.

  • The cool weather is finally getting here, little by little, and I'll be able to emerge from the air conditioning for more than just to go back and forth to the air conditioning in my car.

  • I'll be coming out of a 'serious deadline' situation just in time for REALLY beautiful weather.

  • Shit, sorry, can't help this good mood, dammit.

  • Here's a negative thing I can mention to rescue this post from the feel good: I'm going to
    the DOCTOR Thursday. (routine stuff, though, really)

  • Here's a sad thing: People around me, who I have grown fond of: dropping out of my world.

  • "Why are you worried about being in a good mood," you may be wondering.

  • I don't know.

  • Friday

    A recent conversation reminded me of my mom and my mom's room. My mom had her own room, separate from my dad. My mom hoarded mail and magazines. There would be stacks of mail and magazines everywhere. Her bed would be covered with opened letters and letters she was in the process of writing. She loved to have candles burning too. It drove us crazy with worry, the fire risk.

    She was interested in so many issues, and she was always writing to congressmen and to organizations and to all kinds of advocates. She got herself on many mailing lists and newsletter subscriptions. My mom's internet was all paper. She never got on a computer, she distrusted them (she hated TV too).

    After I was old enough to drive, she would often send me out the door with hands full of responses she had written to all of these organizations and officials. Sometimes I would forget to mail them, or I would get lazy about it. Then, we would decide to go somewhere, to eat or something, and she the letters still in the car, and she ...would be a little disappointed. We would drive straight to a mailbox (this was back when it was actually easy to find a mailbox somewhere).

    My mom had beautiful handwriting. I love it when I find something she had written among the stuff from the old house. I actually have a bag full of correspondence that my mom and her sister were sending back and forth. I've never opened it though. My mom and her sister were in a major feud for years and years...too many years...and I'm not sure what is being written about in those letters.


    Crazy hours at work lately! But, I get my share of downtime. This is just one of those crunchtimes, you know. The brain plays tricks when it's exerted like this. Driving is weird. The letters and numbers are weird on the big monitors. The oddball desperation for 'some kind of a life' gets weird. My body feels fuzzy and weird. My consciousness feels fuzzy and weird. But I wake up with this crazy strength and positivity during these this morning. (Fuzzy strength? Fuzzy positivity?)

    It's an experience.

    Soon enough, I'lll get back to the self doubt times of slow times, and have room in my schedule for second guessing and dealing with the second guessing. Right now though, anxiety seems like a waste of time that I can actually opt out it is a setting, and I've unchecked it for now.


    I want to blog steadily this time... I forgot how good blogging feels, how good the interactions are on this medium, even if I only get a chance to interact with a few people. My blogging was pretty one-sided for the past two, three years. Just me...sayin stuff...not really responding to others. It sucks to be that way. It's partly due to time constraints, and partly because I'm stuck so far up my own head.

    I've gone on a major blog exploration lately, and I'm glad this medium is as vibrant as it was when I started out (2002). I used to be hardcore with blogging, I had a pretty brain-dead job, so I was able to post a lot. I was able to read...I don't know how many different blogs out there. Now I have a pretty tough job, and blogging is a great shift from work stuff. I'm lucky that a lot of the people who were blogging a lot back when I was kind of blogging a lot - - glad to see how active they (you) still are. ( know what me mean me hope)


    A food 'co-op' where I volunteered a few times just put out a desperate plea via email. Apparently they're twelve grand in the hole, a bad hole. They have suspended all volunteer activity, and they've been forced to close their doors a few days out of the week.

    I feel bad for them, but it made me think of the nature of the place.

    The food they sold was very expensive. It was great food, but, it was not a place where poor people would go to get hooked up. I worked with really nice people there, but I felt kind of old. It was mostly college age hippie girls, and there was one 'alpha hippie' college dude who ran the store up front. He kept making me me sweep and mop the floor of the store, even when it wasn't really dirty. I got paranoid, and I started to think he was trying to gently push me out by giving me the crappy assignments all the time. The place seemed to be more about style than heart. The customers were folks in BMWs and Mercedes SUVs and all.

    I don't know much about the farmers they got their food from. Maybe those guys and girls were seriously in a pinch and a hustle to get by and do something noble. 'Buy local' and 'farm local' and avoiding the 'thousand mile salad' are truly issues worth putting effort into, in my opinion. I didn't get the feeling that I was helping out anybody who really needed any help at this food co-op place...not like this other place where I volunteered one time, Second Harvest.

    There was big money involved in Second Harvest too, but they were the donors. The food ended up going to people who really really needed it. I want to go back there and volunteer some more when work calms down a little.
    *I usually don't write long blog posts! You don't have to read it all! Just scan through and pick an item and respond to it or don't. Or try back later for a shorter blog post. Or just say hi.

    On some days, an ordinary decision can seem SO important, today for example:

    Will i buy cigarettes this morning, (Sunday) or will i buy nicotine lozenges? Am I going to lick this smoking thing or what? I've made 'decisions' on this numerous times.

    Will I buy coffee or will I buy an energy drink? (Caffeine is required. I will never quit caffeine. Too hot for coffee lately.)

    Will I work all day or part of the day?

    The context of these decisions is different on weekends, for sure.

    I try to imagine the people who will be at the place I go, depending on which item I decide to buy. Starbucks for coffee? Racetrack for energy drink? I also need deodorant. I forgot it during yesterday's supply run. (I like forgetting stuff on supply gives me another chance to go out)

    I think of the cashiers I am likely to run into and the likely customer demographic.

    If I go get coffee, will I linger a while...and look at the paper...or sit outside at a table and smoke a cigarette (if I have cigarettes at that point).

    All these decisions will be my own, it's not like there is someone going with me and I have to agree on each stop with a boo first.

    This thing about having to work on a weekend: How hard will I work? Will I have Netflix on while I'm working? Will I just have music on? No music?

    Will I work all day or just a few hours?

    I act like I work so much, but I spend a lot of time just worrying about work and not working, or just kind of planning, I goof off a lot too - zero work getting done - committed to nonwork activities - OFTEN.

    I get my share of down time, of leaving right at 5 and coming home and boobing out.

    Right now is kind of a crunch time with work though.

    Last night, on an Excel spreadsheet, I created a plan of attack for work stuff - it is a really good plan, and I was really glad I did it...the work is mapped out clearly, I know exactly what I can do at this point, and what I cannot do - and what I have to request from teammates before I can proceed into certain areas.

    Right now, work stuff feels really good, and I'm pretty motivated.

    It feels like a time when I should be writing too though.

    Anyway, today's plan: Will I go for a walk with my neighbor (he's married, and suddenly very Catholic, not a good quote unquote wingman), going for walks with him and his dog has been my usual routine for a couple years now. Will I text him back and say nah man too busy..

    Will my friend who's an hour away call me? That dude really likes to talk. Will I answer?

    Maybe I'll work all day until late, and then go get a late night beer somewhere, wherever is open.

    Will I take a break and hit the pool? That will be a quick trip. Twenty minutes in the Florida sun is about all a person should do. It gets burny after that (unless you got a boo to apply sunblock on ya).

    And, yeah, what about this other thing that single guys are supposed to be worried about that is most prevalent on all their minds... how will I fit in some time/effort towards that...or not. The decision I make about where to get caffeine - that could play a major role in today's effort toward that (but probably not). I could continue to ignore that effort altogether. It is working out.

    Getting back to my morning run for caffeine, nicoteine, chance encounter, deodorant: THIS MIGHT BE MY ONLY HUMAN CONTACT ALL DAY...telling the cashier whether it's debit or credit...two or three words while holding the door or if somebody else holds the door for me...the rare, random, awkward comment to whoever...who is standing where ever...that is likely to be ignored....

    There are two bars right up the street, I always end up talking to somebody at one of those places (when I go...which is about once every two months)...if I drink enough...and stay long enough...and get a little drunk...I always end up talking to somebody...if they're drunk enough to talk back...

    If I go in this place often enough, people will start to recognize me. I probably would make friends there. But if I went in there that often, I would become an alcoholic.

    There was also the day planning decision about whether I would write a blog post or not: I guess that decision was made and fulfilled. I dictated all this into the android voice recognition thingy and came home and did some edits. The voice recognition thingy made a weird error. I don't know how it got this from what I was saying, but this is what it thought I said: "will have to write a blog post or will i not afraid of love" --I swear, it typed that. Weird. I should speak more clearly into voice recognition...and turn off the music while using it.

    Today might be pretty productive!


    Another List

  • I feel the need to post regularly even if I have nothing to say.

  • I feel the need to post a list.

  • I definitely feel the need to post something to push my last post further into the past and further from the top of the now. That was a doozie. Too many doozies lately.

  • Whenever I post a doozie on blogger or tweet a doozie, for some reason, I feel the need to go out and 'interact' with bloggers or twitter users who are new to me...this is dumb...I should do that when I post something...that is not like what a crazy person would say. It's a weird desperation, I guess.

  • It's not a desperate Friday night, but I did stay in... even though it feels like there's a lot of steam to blow off...

  • I can't keep it a secret from my blog nomore: More really great news on the work front. I kept the secret (sort of) for a little more than thirty-four hours.

  • Today I gave a friend a couple of longshot leads for this situation he needs to remedy. It would be awesome if one of them worked out.

  • Tonight I undertook six simultaneous text message conversations (various frequency of send/receive).

  • Right now I'm listening to a song, and it reminds me of another time I heard this song - and saw somebody do this dance, this swooping spinning dramatic dance. The apartment was a little cluttered, but it didn't matter to the dance.

  • Tonight I watched some dumb post apocalyptic show. I was pulled into it, of course, and I imagined what I would do in that situation...just like everybody does I guess: Store up lots of water, store up lots of nature bars, canned goods, flashlight, batteries, candles, tools, wire, tape, tarps, a nice big floppy hat, gun maybe, pencil paper (must record certain facts) cart, medicines, blah blah

  • I'm working on my posture lately, especially when I sit, stand, walk and lay. When upright, hold head up as though there's a hook in the top of your head towards the back that you're hanging from; allow the shoulders and arms to hang loosely down like a shirt on a hanger.

  • I realized that I have enough sharpies of enough different colors to keep one in the pocket of each shirt I they color (why was it so hard to word that).

  • One of the most hard ass people I have ever met: I'm getting along really good. No, two or three hard asses...

  • I'm having trouble wording things...this pisses off hard ass people.

  • It's been rainy lately, and again, it's great, because it's one of the only times it's appropriate to sprint through the parking lot. I jumped over a HUGE puddle, almost all the way over (splash)...I jumped high and far as shit (like the old days).

  • A person I was texting with said that they were working with drywall and plaster, and that the stuff was all over them. I imagined what it looked like.

  • I'm looking forward to tomorrow's energy drink. Too hot for coffee.

  • I'm looking forward to a long sleep.

  • Lists are the hottest new literary genre.

  • Rush back over to your blog and write a list.

  • good night

  • Thursday

    Two Things

    There is so much I'd like to say right now about two distinct topics. I couldn't possibly elaborate on either one, you never know who's reading. I could do what I often do and give a keyhole peek of a sliver of a shred...but I can't even comment on whether these things are totally earth shaking, or if they're just shaking my little chair. Either I'm still processing the importance, or I just don't want to comment. Obviously I prioritize these two items highly enough to (not) write about them (here). They may only 'seem' important because of strange packaging or strange delivery method. Or maybe packaging or delivery method are what is making them seem unimportant, and in fact, I'm missing the magnitude. As usual I add my usual thought component: who cares. Also, I'll make this a pretty long post, so that anyone reading it will give up before I have really revealed anything (skipping to the end won't help). I could reference the things that are burning on my mind in an indirect crackpot way like I often do. Or, I could take one of these topics that concerns me, and mention something else about it that is totally unrelated to the issue that has 'propelled' it. I could just make a list of random thoughts about various things:

    A guy I've known for two years: I recently realized that he's missing the tip of his pinky.

    I am more disconnected from people than I should be.

    My cat, when she eats, she sticks one paw in the bowl and pulls out a piece of food and eats it off the floor, she looks away like she's bored or the food is boring.

    Things wouldn't be so jarring so often if I used my brains a little better.

    I max out my brains daily. DAILY.

    Wild, imagined scenarios: Only the wild imaginer can be blamed.

    There is so much work to do in all areas, and I should probably stop fuckin around.

    Selective honesty can go suck a crate of curled monkey dicks.

    I have zero leverage, but I don't like the idea of leverage.

    The important thing continues to be the learning.

    Say three words, "Everything is okay."

    I'll take what I can get! If it's not much, that's okay! If it's nothing, that's okay too! If you'd rather take than give, that's okay too!

    One thing I'll brag about is that I'm a good case study.

    I complained and rejoiced about a particular behavior I witnessed...and I even did the thing too: and felt guilty and felt good too.

    When they seem to disagree for the sake of disagreeing, even when there might be a few specks of validity to what you're saying (or more), it's like they're disagreeing with how you are as a person, making it easier to distance themselves by invalidating you fully.

    I touch my phone too much lately. When I touch it too much, this stuff comes out of it.

    No good can come from the following but still I do them: smokin, listening to The Smiths, lookin at ladies, avoidin lookin at ladies, binging on spiritual videos, getting frustrated, many other activities...

    I'm going to give everybody a break.

    I worry that a friend is going down a dumb path I went down. Saying so could get sketchy.

    Another friend is on a path that I have never been down, but which seems dumb. Saying so could get sketchy.

    I sweated up my work clothes by kicking my soccer ball into the air over and over in front of me. It was as though I could have kept it from hitting the surface all night long.

    I wish I could find my old bloggin buddy who turned me on to writing lists.

    The humans continue to confuse me.

    I almost made a friend spit his drink out with a crazy story I was telling.

    I love a good crazy, personal, dramatic story; and I've heard a few lately that have made my top ten.

    I tried to take the tension out of a tense situation with an odd ball, nonspecific apology for a situation where nobody was to blame maybe.

    I was going to do a magic trick and wow somebody. I set up everything, but then I worried that the person might get mad, so I undid the stuff: Take five scraps of paper. Write the following on each: "I knew you'd guess number 1." "I knew you'd guess number 2." "I knew you'd guess number 3." ...and so on. Put each scrap of paper under a different item on a table. Remember which number is under which item. When the person walks in, tell them to say any number from one to five. When they say the number, tell them to pick up the item that has that number under it. Then they be like, dam...magic. I saw that trick on an old Colombo episode.

    More attention than usual has been paid to me lately.

    My situation declined.

    My situation improved.


    Once again I sat and said nothing as the conversation whirled around me. Once again I skipped the 'after party.'It's a cult, a freakin cult. Cult members got friends though. The usual failure feelings fizzed out when I froze in my underwear in the air conditioning and the drone-based ambient music. I smoked a couple cigarettes because that's the important thing. I'm the type of person who would not have died at Jonestown...but only because I failed socially, and was unable to gel with the group. So when I fled the comraderie of the leper colony, diving into the channel and swimming to the other side, a version of myself greeted me when I crawled out of the water onto land. I ignored him and walked into the jungle. There is so much complaining to do, and it's hot, it's like toil.


    Troubling news from home. Various family members in various states of trouble. Last time a big thing came up, I learned about it at 1:30 am, and I got in the car and drove 13 hours, straight to the hospital. Things turned out okay...well...the worst outcome did not come about. There was a point when we were waiting for a critical piece of information, and we were made to wait. My brother-in-law, who I had never seen cry - he cried - and it was hard to see that. I sat next to him and put my arm around him and told him everything was alright and he was doing all he could as a father and a husband, and I told him that he was a good man, and I reminded him that he was my brother, my true brother. He just let it all out.

    I feel guilty for not making it back up north (norther) to see sisters and niece and nephews and great niece and great nephews. How the hell did I end up in stupid, plastic Florida. Following some lady, that's how.

    I talked to a new guy at work, and he ended up following a lady too, so we kind of laughed and 'bonded' I guess on that. Another guy I work with, well used to, but still do - like remotely, or through skype or whatever - he followed his lady out of town to her new gig across the country.

    We end up where we end up...away from 'home' - - we make new homes...where ever. We follow ladies or men and we end up away from our people. We (I) got really isolated in my relationship with 'her'... So I'm down here in paradise Florida...sprouting some roots, I guess, but thinking of uprooting, now and then, the thought comes to just pick up and move again. For whatever reason. For no good reason. Just to go. Just to not be bound to a place or a job.

    I will conclude with my usual question or summation: Who cares. No. Who the HELL cares. I don't mean 'who cares' in a disrespectful way...I mean it in more of a 'why care' or 'who cares in the big scheme of things' or 'I care and lie and say I don't care' kind of way or 'this isn't the right thing to care about so why care about it' way or 'I care more about other stuff' ...but lately it seems important that I adjust what it is I care about...and it seems like caring about others is paramount, particularly family and friends and people I spend time with and work my own little troubles, who cares.


    Feeling gross with all the nicotine and caffeine and jangley nerves and bad food. I'm pushing myself so hard for work (hard for me anyway), that everything else is slacking.

    I go in spurts with everything: smoking, bad eating, sleep deprivation... But I also get on good health kicks. All of this leads to one big question: Who cares?

    I care when I care...when there's time. I'm just on a work kick lately because it feels like work is going pretty well. My life balance is a teeter totter, but I never fall off. some day I'll drop dead off of the teeter totter I guess. Most everybody does that.

    I found a nice shady spot during lunch to type this post and look around at the trees and the people and stuff. Pretty soon the shade will shift because the Sun will move and this shady spot won't be shady anymore. Again, so what.


    A cop pulls into the parking lot while I'm outside smoking a cigarette. He's just looking for a place to chill. He takes a shady spot way in the back, and he sits there idling.

    Everyone from the company is at a function offsite. I skip these functions a lot.

    It's so hot. It's a little hard to breathe. There's a bird in a bush rasping in a way I'm not sure I've ever heard before. The lot is mostly empty.

    There's so much work to do. With many of the folks at the function - I owe them some data. But. Who cares.

    It's one o'clock. A couple other people skipped the party too. They're doing whatever at their desks. My neighbor is actually working.

    It might have been a good opportunity to see some coworkers get drunk. Maybe I'll get a text message or two, "Hey! We're all at blah blah pub drinking blah blah shooters. Get here quick!" The 'after party.' There is too much nonthinking to do to have time for that. There are more interesting things online anyway.


    Sometimes when I hear the way some people talk to their people on the phone, I think: no way you'd talk to me like that. It'd be out of there.

    That's some people's normal though.

    Being this picky about how I let people treat me has not done wonders for my social circles.

    I know there must be a balance. I haven't found it yet, and it's probably too late.

    I'm all out of whack. I will overcompensate and let people pull all kinds of crazy shit on me. Or I will flee like a frightened deer at the first sign of animosity or strain.

    I haven't found that middle path yet.

    Or I haven't found the right people yet.

    I'm like a raw nerve walking around out there.


    Still Smokin

    It was about a year ago that I bragged on Twitter about how I had quit smoking again. Cessation lasted three months. I'm smokin, as of right now, following this lapse...after this cessation...after the lapse before that - after the cessation before that.

    This last time, nine months ago, the problem was that I smelled a clove cigarette being smoked out back on somebody's patio. I had to have one. I drove to the store that minute, the minute of that craving, and I bought a pack of Djarums. I opened the pack outside the store and lit one up. It was heavenly. I walked across the parking lot to my car dizzy as a mu..fu..

    I told myself I would only do this one little tobacco thing, and only occasionally. Then I had a special friend, who also is weak in regards to tobacco. She wanted one of these cloves. And then she wanted another and another and so on. She was sucking them down like they were regular cigarettes, so I said what are you crazy, that's fifty times stronger than a cigarette, and you're smoking it down like it's a regular old cigarette. She wanted tobacco bad. One drunk night (she was ten times drunker than I was), she demanded cigarettes. I said no no no. She said if I didn't go get us some dam cigarettes, she'd drive her drunk ass up there herself and get em. So I went. I got regular old Marlboro Lights. I came home and we smoked and smoked and smoked.

    I know it's killing me, and I've been worried about my health generally lately. I went to a doctor office this week, and they took my blood pressure, which is high, high-ish, 138 over 79. The nurse practitioner asked me how long I have smoked. It was hard for her to grasp the timeline. "Twelve and a half years ago I quit after having smoked for ten years and two and a half years ago I started back up again but quit quit again for three months and then started back up again and have now smoked this time for nine months."

    I've joked around about how: I'm from Virginia, the 'Tobacco Colony,' I'm supposed to smoke. It's the whole basis of Virginia history, of America's history. Tobacco put us on the world map, on the trade route. But that's only a little bit funny.

    I have to have a sense of humor about it because it is a deadly addiction that is slowly killing me, and I am willingly taking part in. My neighbor said it's slow suicide. He was/is/was a heavy heavy smoker. He got into 'vaping' ...and he's like a broken record with that shit now, "We gotta get you into vapin, man." He takes his dog on walks, or he hangs with me on the stairs, and he's always with the 'vaping device' around his neck, clear tube with lights on it and a button and intricate tiny components inside, strapped around his neck with lanyard; and he's steadily inhaling through it and puffing plumes of the latest vaping flavor vapors into the air, various scents: pumpkin cinnamon, perhaps, or mocha frappuccino or black licorice. He even mixes his own blends, and he wants to become an internet billionaire selling them. He told me some of the chemicals he had to purchase in order to get started, and I'm sure his name is now on an FBI list.

    I know it's killing me. I have a weird attitude towards death ever since I became a brainwashed spiritual seeker. But the truth is we're all going to die. We don't know when. What are we going to do about it...etc etc.

    When I first started back up smoking at my current workplace, it was embarrassing. The designated smoker spot is right near where everybody comes up out of the parking lot at the beginning of the day or lunchtime. Some people break my balls. Others pretend they don't notice. They'd never seen me smoke before. They must be thinking: "What in the world? He started smoking at age...whatever his age is (it's hard for people to tell my age)..." Answer: no, I have a history with it. So does America!


    When I'm querying data sets, and I'm trying to get a better understanding of a population, I'll often filter my results down to one individual as a starting point. Select all records in multiple joined tables where id number equals 'blahblah...this person's id number'

    I come to know so much about this one individual. I can then make some pretty good guesses, some pretty good assumptions about what the other members of the population might be like. It's a good test for when you're trying to pull a list of individuals who fit some set of criteria. I get these sets of criteria from some manager or director or 'analyst' who thinks it is important. Maybe it is or maybe it isn't. These sets of criteria are often vague, not very well uninformed. I don't fault the requestor for that, though. They are neck deep in their business, just like I am single-nostril deep in mine. They don't have time to know what I know, just like I don't have time to know what they know.

    Anyway, when I think I've got enough tables joined together to tell some 'story' to some analyst -- what events these subjects have been to, what kinds of memberships they have, how much they paid on their last invoice, what they subscribe to...blah blah, I'll take the filtering off of that one individual and pull in all the individuals who fit into this criteria and see what I get. I see commonalities. I see how all their data is joined.

    An important thing that happens at this point is: I start to see individuals who definitely do not fit the criteria. I find ways to filter them out. You have to have a record in this one last table, or you don't make it into the set.

    I don't really care at all about the one person I started with. I'm just trying to gain a bigger understanding of everybody's records in that whole population. Once I've pulled the full list of desired individuals, I don't even remember what that first person was all about. As a matter of fact, after reflection during the process, that first individual might not even make it into the final set! I might find one little detail about them that...causes them to exclusion.

    All of this doesn't have anything to do with anything -for me- except pulling data from relational databases at work. It doesn't seem like a good way to be -in real life- going around 'fact gathering' on people and eliminating them based on one or two data fields.


    The Crotch in the Window

    I was recently given a second monitor at work. I now have two huge monitors on my desk. This greatly alters my perspective of the world outside my window. Before, I could see some activity down in the parking lot below. Now, I can only see the top edges of the buildings, the tops of the trees, and the clouds in the sky.

    The people below, out in the parking lot, who are walking up to the building; when they look up at my window, all they see is my crotch - and the backs of two big monitors.


    I got grouchy today. These women opened their car doors, clunk, into my car... so I was looking at them ...and then I worried that they thought i was looking at them in some sort of  winky kissy way. No! I have a nonflirting policy, currently, and it's important that they know this. I am preserving the order in my little awareness. I am worried about dents and scratches. I am speaking for the guy who usually keeps quiet. I'm trying to get out there in style. I am attuned to the slightest. I feel vibrations in the air with my special hairs. I might break out my skateboard and do things that way. I have been asked whether I have traveled lately and had to say no. I looked at some lady's butt. I moved data. I have weird pinching sensation under my skin. I listened to all the explanations. I had a period of supreme patience. I squirmed in my seat. I texted back and forth with my sister and made her worry. I realized that today was a bird theme.


    Dating sites won't work for me. I just don't look good on paper. They gotta experience the attitude.

    "I'm Bobby, and I'm indifferent."

    "See how I grab my grocery items without looking up, with great concentration on pricing and quantity."

    "See how I order my drinks and do a spin move without breaking my rhythm."

    "See how I read the crap that I gotta read at the bookstore."

    The eyes don't stray because there's too much work today.

    "You're safe from all flirting, my female friends!"


  • It is so humid out, it's crazy.

  • Good sounding news on the work front.

  • More and more work on the work front.

  • Good sounding news on the work front.

  • I don't exercise much, but every little bit yields immediate energy increases, it seems like.

  • Still smokin, but it's taken a lot of weight off of me. If I can just make that leap from smoker to nonsmoking, excising fiend, I'll be doing something. But, who cares.

  • I was going to a UU church, but I slacked on that. By slacked, I mean, picked at work stuff a lot on Sundays lately. But, those UU folks are the nicest group of people I've ever been around. There aren't many people my age there, which shouldn't matter. I need to start going again. I always feel great for the whole week when I come out of there. Who cares if there's nobody my age.
  • Monday

    Random Thoughts List

  • Anxiety can shut down your ability to explore for a solution. Your brain locks up and feels forced to act or give up, "Oh my god, I have no idea how to do this, I'm just going to throw what I know at it and hope that it works."...instead of staying loose and letting your brains be limber and nimble...

  • Sometimes it is an attitude, instead of some amount of know-how, that can get you through a problem-solving situation. I don't mean a punk rock attitude where everybody can go blank blank. I mean an attitude like: I am going to keep exploring this thing, keep my mind moving from possibility to possibility, steadily gathering information - fitting pieces together - until...maybe there's not even an until

  • #######################################

  • How is that I have I never gotten into Yelp? It seems great. Maybe the spell will where off, but it seems like a super duper cool app. I have seen some good good entries on there. All kinds of writers are out there - roaming around, writing stuff about the places they've been to. They hit on each other too.

  • I know that foursquare is cool too, and I have an account, but I haven't gotten into it.

  • Twitter and blogger are still my favorites. They have been for a while. I can see staying on them for a long time. And youtube too.

  • I'm working kind of a lot and it is making me kind of boring...but not that hard and not that boring.

  • The funnest thing I did lately was kick a soccer ball with somebody in a parking lot of a dive bar after drinking beers and Jager Bombs...haven't drank like that in a long time.
  • Thursday


  • Two people's decisions to evolve...while the decisions of the two people might be simultaneous, the decisions might take the two people in very different directions.

  • I'd unfollow myself and start over if it were possible. It sort of is. Sometimes you make abrupt turns, sometimes it's gradual.

  • I'm going with what I got here, but the limits are seeing more and more like illusions.

  • It's a mad hustle, it seems like everybody would agree with that.

  • Sometimes I'll make decisions - and even if I remember carefully deliberating - it seems like it was all just thinkin - and the decision seems to have come from elsewhere

  • I need to get back up north more...norther, anyway...I haven't really been that far north

  • My Florida consists of inside this apartment, and inside that workplace. I was going to a UU Church for a while, but... A lady at the church is a reporter, and she was covering the Zimmerman trial. I saw her on TV.

  • The trial was much talked about at work and always on the TV in the breakroom. I never had all the facts, but early on I formed a basic understanding: Wannabe tough guy shoots kid.Early on, I made a prediction: The Florida system would botch it.
  • Wednesday

    I've been thinking about this song a lot lately and playing it at work. I got the album when it first came out and listened to it on a big trip.

    Then She Did... by Jane's Addiction on Grooveshark


    Yesterday's Indicators...or...Synchs?

    Blasts at Buddhist Sites in East India Injure 2 - ABC News

    I was running around yesterday, running errands, and it seemed like I was seeing example after example of crude, hostile behavior. More than the usual. And I hate to complain...or...I like to say that I hate to complain, but I do complain, but I am truly trying not to complain so much anymore...but anyway, the examples of crudeness and hostility I saw aren't really worth mentioning, but the repeated witnessing of them yesterday was really making me feel crummy about my neighborhood and my world. I was in a kind of guarded, crummy mood before it was all over with yesterday. I tried to engage the thoughts that arose only as much as I had to in order to be able to let go of them: the judgements - the thinking that cropped up in my head after seeing these people act this way...some dude mad-dogging me hard at the barber shop...some dude throws his snot rag in my shopping cart...drunk lady screaming fuck fuck and motherfuck at the pool with little kids running around...guy driving his car through the parking lot at sixty or seventy miles-per-hour, slamming on brakes, pounding on somebody's door to the point where I thought he'd just forgo the knocking and kick the door in and kill everybody inside with his bare hands...I'm being dramatic, but it seemed like these displays were just one right after another. More than the usual. They had a cumulative affect on my brains. Yesterday the train wrecked in Montreal. Yesterday the plane crash landed in San Francisco. There weren't a lot of casualties yesterday, no more than a usual day of bombings and clashes at protests (with gang rapes at those protests), but there was enough crap going on that I even tweeted a couple of times for everybody to slooooow dowwn.

    And then I woke up and one of the first tweets I saw was about somebody setting off bombs at Buddhist sites. (Oh, and this Dharma center I go to sometimes put out a request for help to paint their building...which I ignored...opting instead to run my personal errands and catch up on work stuff...)

    After a preliminary attempt at processing it all (which is what human brains try to do) I gave up and chalked it up to: The world has gone mad. But I only stayed with that for a couple of minutes. I gave it one more quick shake and thought: The world hasn't gone mad, it's starting to lose it's madness, but there will still be instances and episodes of madness now and then as we come out of the total madness. These instances and episodes of madness will seem more shocking in relation to the peace we are we are entering. Yeah, that's it. And then I stopped all the thinkin. Except that I gave it a very last mental twitch and wondered if yesterday's events - my witnessing of them, were these some of those synchs that all the cool kids are talking about nowadays? I don't really care, and I hate to equate my petty grievances in my small life with explosions at religious sites, but I have to view the world from out my own window. I keep the world inside my window real chill, I mean, incense, ambient music, no harsh light, the world's most loving and tender cat, satsangs on the youtube, tree of life wall hanging - the works. It's sooo peaceful in my little apartment. When I step outside and get into that rush of drivers, shoppers and workers and players, it really rattles me, the contrast...the reflection of the bigger world reflected in small ways for my little peepers to see in my little world.


    I made it I guess.

    ...all those times when I wished I could just get through ______ blah blah...(whatever it was). I remember having that thought so often, "If I can just get through this next...few days...few weeks...months. Whatever the particular stressful time span or stressful thing was: the obstacle, the trouble, the deadline, the upcoming scary event, the whatever.

    I guess I got through. I'm sitting here typing about it. I'm not dead or dying. I'm not jobless or homeless. I guess I'm okay.

    I don't even remember very well what any of those things were that I hoped I would get through. They are sooooo past.

    Maybe I didn't get through. Maybe the damage was done. Maybe if I had gotten through whatever it was with a little more success, I'd have a 'better existence' right now. Who knows?


    More on Thoughts (ahem hah)

    How many of these thoughts can I trust?

    Drink water or you'll die of thirst.

    Get out the way! A truck is coming.

    Yes and yes.

    A lot of the other thoughts: no.

    What thoughts do you trust?


    By now you've realized that I have been brainwashed by lots of spiritual books and videos, and I am no longer the same person. I have been convinced that thinking is bad, and therefore I have decided to avoid it. I mean, I have a certain level of comfort and luxury that I desire: four walls, a roof, air conditioning, electricity, data, beer, order to maintain these comforts, I have to play at this 'Bobby thing' somewhat - and do enough thinking to maintain this threshold. But other than that, thinkin is bad.


    I don't know.

    I used to have a lot of 'fun' thinking. I would chase a thought all the way to whatever hole it took me down...and that chase was so amusing.

    The writer pipe dream is all about thinking. It's all about fantasy and ego - the fantasy of one day becoming a writer - putting aside any prospect of success in anything else to the pipe dream...making errors at work and fighting the flow of life so that I could be far away in my head.

    Maybe there's a level or realm of thought that is actually worth it though. This is the existence question and this is the writer's question: What is worth thinking about? I used to obsess or ruminate or whatever about some pretty trivial troubles. Troubles that everybody has, so what's the point of my hashing and rehashing it. Maybe there was some value there, maybe I brought a smidgen of originality to these same same tired troubles - and maybe it got some laughs.

    But, again, maybe there's there's a level or realm of thought that is actually worth it.

    These spiritual teachers and writers: They assure me that at all the creativity in the world is within my reach if I can just unfuck my head and stop all the thinkin and be open and aware and receptive and empty so that everything in the world will be in me and I'll be in everything. We'll see or we won't and we'll care or we won't and/but . . .the writer urge continues.


    I tweeted about this melody a while ago, and I'm listening to it again right now. What hits me is the spaces between the notes. And it's almost as though I can sense the hundreds and thousands of years of time between each note...all of the events and the emotions of everybody who ever existed and the commotions and the calms during that whole period of time between then and now, between the time this song was first played and now.

    Sorry, got tripped out there for a minute.



    Trying to use the mind to understand the mind is dumber than the prospect of the defendant who considers representing himself in court.

    Letting go of thoughts with ease could backfire and make room for even more thoughts. Or the released thoughts will come back, even. Gotta fill those gaps with some good strong nothing. Stop and do nothing, i guess, in other words. In no words.


    Second Harvest

    I did some volunteer work today at Second Harvest in Orlando. It's this huge distribution warehouse that receives donated food from Walmart or Winn Dixie or other big stores. They take that food and build orders and truck those to homeless shelters and pantries and churches and so on.

    It was great! The guy working there said they moved a million pounds of food last year. I believe it, the place is HUGE. I didn't get a very good video of it, but you can get a sense of the place. And that's only one area of it. They had gigantic walk-in refrigerated areas and another huge room where the orders get built. I'd love to go back there and do it again.


    What I don't understand is: how can you have THAT KIND OF CONNECTION with a person, and then suddenly switch it off. I guess that's my big question. Maybe it meant more to me than it did to you. I guess that's it. It seemed to mean SO much though. To me.

    This goes out to more than one person, by the way. And maybe that's part of the problem.

    But: Any one of those people, though, could have been THE CONNECTION. The one. But. Each connection failed. One right after another. I'm just observing. I don't really give that much of a fuck. I do and I don't. (I do.) I don't know. It seemed to mean a lot to me. At the time. Even now. it means a lot. I don't know why.

    I guess the main factor at this time, the time of this posting I mean, is this: I'm a little drunk. A lot drunk maybe.

    Anyway. These thoughts get shaken loose from time to time. But yeah: How do you just switch that shit off? I think there's some kind of deep problem, yo.


    Now and then, I think this: Man, my thoughts are stupid. And, maybe this realization is leading to a better 'quality' of thinking. But it's all just thinking. I am trusting my mind less and less (again) so that I can trust my mind more.

    When I sit and consider what I'm thinking, when I first focus my attention on the thoughts I'm thinking, right away, a space opens up with nothing in it. It's empty. So then I rewind, I think back to what I was thinking before the space. Then I realize: This is too much thinking.

    Thoughts come, and I don't shoo them away right away. I let em come. But if enough stupid thoughts come, I go, damn, these thoughts are stupid.

    I don't know what to think. So I should probably do less thinking.

    I wake up early, and I usually lay there for a while, trying for more sleep. I don't really have my good thinking cap on yet - my 'thought detector.' So the thoughts that come during that time are stupid and negative and ancient (ancient to this moment).

    If the thoughts really keep the hooks in me - they won't let go - I won't let go - I think about my feet or something. The air on my skin.

    It's fun, though, sometimes, to make fun of my thoughts. I realize where my mind goes during certain situations, and it's a goddam trip. It's enough to fill ten seasons of comedy sitcoms.

    Proof that I'm Not Crazy (almost)

    I used to hear bagpipe music at lunch time somewhere in the neighborhood around work. This is the kind of thing that could make somebody wonder whether they're going crazy. I don't really care whether I'm crazy or not. But, when I finally actually saw this person playing bagpipes, it kind of solidified my sense of reality. And it's pretty cool other than that too. Too bad I didn't get a closer shot. She really is there, playing the bagpipe, I swear!


    Come Back to this Root Question ~ Mooji

    I felt compelled to write a blog post about Led Zepplin, not sure why. I guess I’m on a kick with them. I’ve always liked them, you know, but they were so…everywhere. Lately, though, I really love em. I love Led Zepplin, but I don’t like AC DC or Aerosmith. Know what I mean? I actually dislike those guys. Anway.

    It’s always a great occasion when I catch Led Zepplin on the radio when I‘m driving. That black magic feel. Weird smokey mysticism. The essence of rock n roll but much much more. Hard love and a whole lot of it. Their songs, of course, used to be on the radio a lot more back in the 70s. Their music got planted into my awareness deeply deeply at a very young age. Houses of the Holy came out in 1973, and that seems to be the one I am most drawn to. 1973 is when attendance at one of their concerts (in Tampa) broke the Beatles attendance record for their showing at Shea Stadium. At that time, if I wasn’t hearing Led Zepplin blaring from my brother’s room, I was hearing it blaring out of my sister’s room. Or out of a car going by outside. It was everywhere. I was two years old when Houses of the Holy came out. That‘s the album I‘m most drawn to, as I say, I guess. The Song Remains the Same (there ain‘t nothing like it. It races. It‘s perfect. Perfect grace and pace). Over the Hills and Far Away (sweetness that hardens and gives hard love and takes you everywhere and leaves you exhausted and satisfied). That funky song on there, The Crunge. Led Zepplin music got into me early, and it never went away. It’s deep deep inside me.

    The music is so familiar, but I really couldn’t go down the list and name every song on every album. I have known people who could, but for some reason, unfortunately, in my opinion, those people have mostly been douche bags. But that’s just my unfortunate experience with people. I’m not saying anything about you if you know their whole repertoire. But I think the reason is: Yes. Led Zepplin is awesome. The best rock band ever probably. No shit. I don’t need somebody telling me album, song, verse, lyric. It’s like dumping too much of a particular spice on a life blend, you know? I don’t know. I mean: I like Led Zepplin and about fifty million other bands too, old and new. I think what I don’t like, as far as people and people’s music tastes go: I don’t like people who only like Led Zepplin - and hate everything else. Or something like that.

    As I’ve said in my corny way, Led Zepplin is part of my soul. But you know what? This part of my soul almost got stolen from me. There was a guy. The guy could probably play a bunch of their songs on his guitar, and I would have heard him do it if I ever cared to spend any amount of time around the guy. Anyway, Led Zepplin was his favorite I guess. He had a funny thing he’d say about listening to Led Zepplin: Gettin the Led out eh? Anyway, I’m pretty sure the guy was fuckin my wife (now exwife), so anything having anything to do with that dude made me want to fight and puke at the same time...I’d be a fightin, pukin mess, kicking, swinging, grappling, flailing; and then wallowing, you know, a real mess…if I thought about that guy too much or actually ever saw him again. That guy and people like him would try to somehow steal Led Zepplin from people like me, it seems. I mean: I don’t own a single Led Zepplin album, but I don’t need to. I will love them all my life, and they will continue. They will be on the radio. And I can stream them online anytime ever. I will be 80 years old (I hope) driving an old ass car to wherever and Led Zepplin songs will come on the radio regularly. I’m sure of it. And I’m sure I’ll nod my bald old head to it.

    There is another guy. The guy has been called ‘creepy’ by somebody I know, and I didn’t disagree. He lives round here. I was taking my garbage out, and this guy was sitting in his car absolutely blaring a Led Zepplin song. I can’t remember which one. I was too busy taking the long way around. I thought a little better of the guy for that.. I thought a little better of him, but then again, I thought a little worse of people who REALLY REALLY LOVE Led Zepplin. I thought better of him because he was lost in a rock’n roll moment, hangin in the parking lot blaring Led Zepplin just because it was Led Zepplin. But, people think the guy’s a creep I guess. He does speed walk laps around the complex with no shirt on and no underwears under his little shorts and all that…and he tries to punk people with his glares, he did me like that, but I clowned him with a goofball counter glare and he broke it off. And…he also took the lady I mentioned (who I came to 'know') and her son into his car and eighty miles per hour in a forty-five zone, admitting later that he was blitzed on pain killers. He had invited her and her son to pizza. She wanted nothing to do with him after that, she says. But. He tells people he was a cop long ago (which I believe)…and now he’s a dispatcher I guess…and he tells people a story of how somebody broke into his apartment and stole all his guns (which is good I guess but who cares- times ten trillion). He was crushing, stalking, banging on the door of the lady I mentioned above and all that, and she bad mouthed him very often.

    Is this what Led Zeppelinness is all about? I mean, is it about: Who ends up getting the girl... Is that what it's about? I saw an interview with Stephen Tyler on a VH1 show where they were naming the 100 best hard rock bands. (Led Zepplin was number one, to VH1.) Stephen Tyler said that he was watching Led Zeppelin with his girlfriend. By the end of the night, the girl had left Stephen Tyler and gone with Robert Plant (if I'm remembering the story correctly).

    In closing, I should not associate Led Zepplin with undesirable characters. I shouldn’t characterize people as undesirable either, I guess. I’ve been that asshole. Blaring Led Zepplin while idling at America’s stoplights and in Her parking lots. Some people don’t like Led Zepplin, and I forced them to hear it just because I do like them. I should associate Led Zepplin with noble characters like my brother, though I’m not sure if they were his favorite. He liked about twenty million bands. He was fifteen when I was two when Houses of the Holy came out. He had to have liked them. But probably, it’s like it is now or any time when a band is so tremendous and people are crazy in love with them. You get fed up and you don’t want to like what everybody else likes and it takes a while for you to start to re-like them and come to love them - they have to last long enough for those stages to execute. My brother had plenty of time for that, plenty of drive time, getting the Led out.


    Part of me wishes I had more bloggin buddies, like before.

    part of me is glad I got no bloggin buddies, becaues I just want to say what I want to say - I don't want to interact in here.

    I'm way more interactive on twitter. On twitter, about half the time, I am responding to something I've seen.

    On blogger, lately, anymore...ever since I opened this blog back up and started writing reams, I haven't really read other people's blogs much. Is it because I'm stuck too far up my own head? Or am I still in the process of self exploration, self discovery (nearly barfing at use of these phrases)....

    Have I scared everybody off because of the crazy sickening pathetic 'woe is me' shit I was posting before I locked the blog down?

    Have people lost interest in me and should I care?

    I was tempted to go back and tag every recent post with tags that I think would get more 'readers' to my 'site.'

    Bloggin has changed though - in relation to other social media - bloggin is awash in a flood of other types of social media.

    Do people still comment on each other's blogs? ...and when they receive a comment, they go back to that commentor's blog and read and comment there? Famous famous blogs get comments, yeah, but us little league bloggers - do we care about each other anymore?

    Blogger has created several different ways to 'follow' somebody. You can just go to a blog read a few words - or don't even read a few words - just hit 'follow' or 'join'

    Writing about spiritual all this stuff feels wishy washy sometimes. Most of the time.

    Writing about spiritual stuff is addictive.

    Is spirituality for people who are too lazy to study philosophy?

    Is philosophy for people who overthink everything and are afraid of their feelings?

    Spirituality is a subject where it is possible to seek too much knowledge - various people in it even say so.
    Apparently, all I can think to blog about anymore is spiritual stuff. I know it seems really wishy-washy. I hope to weed out a lot of spiritual bullshit though (my own, I mean, hopefully) - or at least weed out stuff that won't work for me - - and give reasons why. And I'm going to mention stuff that DOES work for me.

    Two items:

    First: I was with people who were describing their most joyous recent moments, occasions, incidents or events - times when they had experienced their greatest joy recently. When it felt like my turn to speak, I told them that I had recently reached a point where it felt like I had disappeared. I tried to describe it, but the words just weren't working. I remember it pretty clearly though, and I'll try to describe it: I was outside of work smoking a cigarette, just standing there. I decided to take an auditory inventory, like I do sometimes to get calm. I tried to count or inventory every single sound I heard: every bird, every vehicle, every little breeze - everything. And for a moment or two, it felt like I was no longer there. My awareness of myself - the awareness of myself that I am familiar with - that self no longer seemed to be there. I felt empty (good empty...great empty...the best empty). I could feel myself going in and out of it - like I was coming in and out of a sleep. I was intake only. All my shit: my thoughts, my feelings, my judgments, my memories -- all of it - all the stuff that I ordinarily recognize as me seemed to be gone - and in its place? It seemed like I was just a part of the surroundings. I've zoned out before, a zillion times, been a wallflower...but this was very very different. This had a crazy joy to it. "I really can't describe it to you," I told those people, "because I wasn't there to experience it." (I kind of stole that joke, adapted it anyway).

    The second thing:

    This same group of people were discussing or debating how to respond to threat: Should you get really still and calm inside so that you can make a sound judgement, or, fuck that shit: you should respond instantly on instinct, survival instinct, forget that wishy-washy stuff, you have to act. You can't be pussy-footing around like some pansy. But: I favored the first option, I just couldn't think of a good way to argue for that at the time. Well, I was thinking about it more afterwards, and I thought of this: An old boss of mine from DC works as a volunteer EMT in her off hours. She runs ambulance calls on the weekend and on some week nights. I compared her attitude at work with the way she described her ambulance calls. At work, she would get stressed and pissed and flustered, no more than the average person, I guess, but still - she would frazzled at work. She was not a model of calm stillness at work. But: Then she would describe some of the calls she would go on in the ambulance: she would describe a situation like this: She came to a scene where a teenager had just wrecked. He was bleeding everywhere and it looked like he was about to die. She could smell the liquor all in the car. The car was completely thrashed, just a twisted mass of metal that didn't even look like a car anymore. The guy's stereo was still blaring when she ran up to the wreck... she would describe the situation in amazing detail... Upon hearing a story like this, I would ask: "What did you do? What do you do in a situation like that? Did you freak out? How do you do it? How do you not freak out? I would have freaked out!" She said no, she did not freak out. She said she was completely calm. There was a heightened state of awareness that came over her. She knew exactly what to do. She followed her training precisely. She felt like she was right in her element. She felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be, and she was supremely confident that she would do exactly what needed to be done. So in answer to the above question: when faced with disaster, should we: immediately act on instinct through the force of our fear, or should we act from a state of mind that is completely clear and aware: This, to me, is proof that one should act from a state of mind that is completely clear and aware. If you can. There are those that say the following, and it's true: You never know how you'll react to adversity until the moment of truth. Mike Tyson had a great great quote: "Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face."

    But this guy, Bentinho Massaro, has some great words related to this too, about the mind and calm versus chaos: "...awareness is constantly here. It's seeing the silence, equally, as it is seeing the disturbance. There is no difference to awareness."