Wednesday, March 31, 2010

The Fucking Bike Club - or - Look At My Butt

Making new friends is easy when you got no pants on.
The Fucking Bike Club

As Close As I'm Gonna Get To Saying Goodbye

A body washed up on the shores of Michigan recently. It was the body of someone I know. He was a musician. An engineer. A drinking buddy. A friend. No matter how dark things got with him, no matter how much I despise how it ended, I will always remember him in a good light.

Cheers, Dave.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Wristcutters: A Love Story – or – Cuddle Up And Crack Open A Vein.

This movie was given to me to watch. I didn't pick it out. There is no heart wrenching back story to why I would pick a movie with this title. I didn't know it existed before it was given to me, along with a whole bunch of other more-sweetly-titled movies, to watch on an airplane. I didn't watch it on an airplane. I took my sweet time getting around to it, but last night, after tossing around in my bed for a few hours, I gave up on trying to get any sleep and popped this movie in.



I'm not going to sit here and say shit like, "I not only loved the subtle nuances within the cinematography, scenery, and plot mechanics, but was pleasantly surprised by the subtle facial expressions utilized by the actors to express their character's emotional depth while never breaking out of the their constraining body casts dictated by the situations in which they find themselves."

Rather than say that and sound like a jerk, I'll just say that I really dig this movie. Even with it's seemingly pointless tangents and it's outright dark sense of humor, I found myself laughing, thinking, comparing similarities, pining for the days of a poolside walrus, and shortly there after, happily falling asleep.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

I don’t care what time it is.

My bed is littered with instruments.

I can’t sleep there.

And everywhere else I look is already full of instruments that have no other place to go.

I have restrung them, retuned them, refurbished them, reintroduced them into the repertoire, refashioned my fingers around them, reacquainted myself with their tone, their strings, my calluses need time to readjust to their attack decay and release.

Attack. Decay. Release.

Is this really what happens to me after a dram of Irish Whiskey and a new Vampire Weekend album?

An Overheard Conversation - or - I Don't Think That They Offer A Masters In Understanding The Opposite Sex

I was drinking with some friends at the same table as these women. I know them, they know me, we were at the same table. This was a conversation between two ladies that didn’t know I was listening.

“If he is the kind of guy that you really like, that you know you want, then you know that you will jump at the opportunity. You will lie to him and tell him that you were wide awake and will meet him at that bar in a matter of minutes, even though you are in your pajamas and snuggled down in your bed. That’s what I mean. That’s jumping at opportunity.”

I left shortly after this conversation happened, knowing fully well that I’ve never been that guy for any woman I’ve ever met.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Seriously? - or - Fucking Seriously?!?

Bullshit bullshit bullshit.

I got a flat tire tonight, after having all my money stolen, my raise refused, my interest rates increased, and my health care canceled.

I’m waiting for something to go drastically right, because I’m getting a lot of the other direction from the swing of this pendulum.

The timing really sucks. The week is supposed to be great for me.

Monday, March 15, 2010

I Got Robbed Without Being There - or - Gimme My Money Back

$500 is all the money that I keep accessible to myself these days. Check that, KEPT. Someone stole it from an ATM at 4500 W North Ave block yesterday while I was at work.

WHILE I WAS FUCKING WORKING MY ASS OFF TO SCRAPE TOGETHER A LITTLE BIT OF MONEY SO THAT I CAN HAVE JUST A LITTLE BIT OF FUN IN MY REGULARLY VANISHING FREE TIME, SOME LOW LIFE ASSHOLE TOOK WHAT LITTLE MONEY I HAD. SOME SCUM SUCKING FUCK THAT ISN'T WORTH THE FUCKING CARBON HE OR SHE IS MADE OUT OF HACKED MY FUCKING BANK ACCOUNT AND WALKED AWAY WITH $500 OF MY HARD EARNED CASH!!

I'm pissed. I want my money back. I didn't even get to waste it on something stupid. The bank says that I will probably get the money re-credited to my account in a couple days, but until then it looks like I'll be buying dinner with laundry quarters. Will someone take me out on a date? Wine and dine me? I'll compliment your outfit and serenade you with Irish drinking songs. And that's what dating is really all about, right?

Friday, March 12, 2010

Chicago Is For Lovers! Or Drunks! - or - Preparation G

I hate being left alone to my own vices. Vices always seem to win. I need some serious distractions. Maybe I'll try learning figuring out the rubix cube, that should keep me out of harms way until the weekend.

Maybe I'll just buy a bunch of different coloured stickers and put them on every cube I see and just fool myself into feeling like a rubix cube master instead of actually being one.

Maybe I'll just rent 2012 and fall asleep to the apocalypse. Easy way out works for me. End of the world staring John Cusack, here I come. Do you have any idea what the street value of this mountain is?



post script - no, the title of this post doesn't make any sense to me either, but that's because my vices got to me before I knew I had set them loose. Damn vices, always a step ahead.

Thursday, March 04, 2010

6:37am 3/5/2010 - or - Here's What's Happening So Far Today

It’s 6:08 am. Overcast and cool, probably 70˚ F. No air conditioning last night, didn’t need it. I slept with a sheet over me and the balcony door wide open. I have some ant bites on my ankles, which is a wonderful replacement for the frost bite that would have been Chicago’s alternative. Breakfast is a whole orange, peeled and sliced horizontally, a whole red apple – cored and sliced, a whole mango – sliced the way I’m learning is the only way to slice a mango, a whole banana – sliced into larger than bit sized sections, and half a pineapple – cut in a way that makes it look like a holiday decoration you’d hang from your porch rather than something you’d eat. All of this cost 120 pecos, just over a dollar. This is the second time I’ve gotten this fruit plate and I can’t finish it this time either. I’ll give some away to the kids that beg me for money. They seem to always go for the mango first. I don’t blame them, the mangos taste like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. They are soft and sweet and juicy and bright orange and inviting. I’m going to walk to the Ritzl gardens, maybe half a mile north of my surprisingly beautiful hotel (nestled in one of the many slums of Manila). I’ve got four hours until I have any real plans. The lack of sunshine today might be a bummer for me, but this whole place could use some rain. I’ve heard that there are massive droughts going on, and frankly, the place kinda needs a shower.

My first day I made the mistake of drinking the tap water. Stupid stupid stupid. I’m fine now. I’ve resolidified. Bottled water only, and no ice.

I’ve been waking up unbelievably early every morning, like a 12 year old at Christmas. Without hesitate, I walk around my new neighborhood, a stark contrast to northern Chicago. There is massive poverty, everywhere, but it is not morbid or depressing. I am greeted with wide-eyes stares that are quickly followed by toothy (and toothless) smiles as I wave and smile to strangers. “Good morning, sir!” the people say to me. “Good morning, Sir! Good morning, Miss!” I reply. Even the people sleeping on the street are happy and bubbly, either that or they are pretending to be happy. I’m not sure which, but they are damn good actors if it is the later. I give out fruit to the shirtless boys and girls who ask for money, tips to the street venders who sell me whatever food they think I want, high fives to the floods of laughing school children who fill the streets at 3pm, and handshakes to men and women on the street. There are security officers everywhere, so there is a sense of security, but honestly, they are just as happy to see me and shake hands as the school children, sometimes even more so.

I am only here for a week, but every second opens my eyes and makes me smile. And no matter what it smells like, or how uneven the roads are, or how absolutely crazy the traffic is, I’m loving every second of it. Every damn second.

The sun is breaking through the clouds just now. Gotta go be alive.