Where I Reveal Myself To You In Terrible Ways

Most of these blog entries will be a record of self-loathing or depression.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

A Rough Start

Everyone believed his story. Everyone was eating up his sad tale of the widow. Everyone was eating up his story but me. I didn't know where she was, but I knew she wasn't in the ground.

That's different from the norm, right? Usually they say "I didn't buy his story; she didn't go to Arizona, she went to dead." But in this case it's not like that. In this case, she's just as devious as he is, only I'm the only one who knows it. So I know she's not dead, I just don't know where she is, and I've gotta get a lock on her or she's going to show up behind me and then I'm gonna be the one who's dead.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Just Back

Just back from my long weekend away and as usual, I don't want to go to bed. Don't want to give up my time to work time, even though work time is important and keeps me sane (and keeps me afloat financially). Also, I don't have much to show for personal achievement in the past year, but I might have done a few things at work. (Can't think of them now, but...)

Saw myself naked in a full-length mirror over the weekend. I look pregnant, quite frankly.

I'm usually not aware of my stomach condition except as it affects my clothing: pants too tight, shirts too tight and coming untucked easily; I tend not to think a out my appearance until I feel like it matters (i.e., when I'm out in public) and then it's too late to do anything.

I was at a major foot race this weekend, and while checking out women in the crowd afterwards, I thought about how poor my condition is. I did see a couple of overweight guys with women who had run the race, but not many. And there were many, many fit people of both sexes; if a woman wants to find a guy who takes care of himself, it's not too hard at these events.

Of course, the main issue is that phrase, "takes care of himself:" it doesn't just apply to working out, it also has to do with dress, attitude, career, happiness, goals and the future. Someone who "takes care of themselves" thinks about what makes them happy and then follows up on it. They make an effort to find work and relationships that are pleasing to them, and they work on making their home and work spaces areas in which they are happy and/or comfortable.

I fail all those tests. It's not just the physical health, it's the financial health, it's the emotional health, it's the keeping of dreams and belief and carving out pockets for joy. It's believing in yourself.

I don't do those things. Those things that involve believing in yourself are not activities I partake in. I hate the positive attitude and positive thinking shit because it feels inauthentic, but at the same time I know it works for people. I don't believe it will work for me, but I also know that is a belief. I just haven't ever felt I could get beyond that believe. And the way to get beyond that belief is to believe.
Fucking faith.

Having A Quick Imagination Is Not All It's Cracked Up To Be

I was in a hotel this weekend. It was pretty lame because my compatriots were in a room way down the hall and I had left all my stuff at my brother's house, meaning I had not clothes to change into, or bathing suit or computer or gifts for people. 

What I did have was the book I started reading on the way to meet with these people on Sunday morning, and it turned out to be a pretty kick-ass book. I enjoyed diving back into it each time I did; it was like my own personal movie and it was pretty great. I guessed a lot of the twists (missed on big one), but I still enjoyed it. 

In any case, I'm coming back from the other hotel room Sunday evening and there's a woman in front of me pushing a cart with luggage on it. I can't remember if I had seen her face or if I guessed her ethnicity from behind; it turned out she was Indian. And she was in the room diagonally across the hall. She was younger than me by maybe ten years and seemed reasonably attractive.

Here's where it breaks down. She asked me if she should return the cart to the front desk or if there was a place on the floor to return it. I said I didn't know but that my impulse would be to return it to the lobby. She thanked me and I went in my room.

After that brief connection, I wanted more, but my leering, sexual self also started to talk on a parallel soundtrack. Normal me wanted to offer her the chance to talk, to suggest we could talk. Leering, sexual me said it suggestively and imagine how it was going to turn into fucking. My imagination said: no sane woman would go into a strange man's hotel room, or invite him into hers. Okay, normal me said, how do I find a way around this? 
We can talk in the lobby! Suggest that we could go down to the lobby, a neutral space, and talk there. Okay, that's good, but what about after? What's to say you won't follow her upstairs and push your way into her room or pull her into yours? How is she supposed to know you're not a rapist? Because you're fat?
I tried to think around that one, and was still doing it on the ride home today (because I stopped thinking about it at all at the hotel; I couldn't tell which one of my motives (sexual or connection) was the main reason behind trying to talk to her, and so I just shut the whole thing down) and my thought was: okay, one of you goes up first, and the other follows after ten minutes. 
Well, no, that doesn't work, because who says you'll wait the ten minutes and won't follow her immediately and jump her in the hall, and if you go first, what's to say you won't just hide behind your door and rush her when she goes to open her own?
You see how it is in my mind? There's no way to be a Nice Guy (which I've learned is a delusion on my art anyway) or normal, so I just forget it, and go back to being alone. I can't blame her for making these  calculations; I just did.

(As I was writing this just now, I came up with one last scenario, which was to send me out for a walk around the hotel, and not go to the elevators until I was around the first corner of the building.)(It seems absurd, but I'm absurd.)

Saturday, October 10, 2015

The Damage I Do

Remember how I said I harshed on my friend's son? His mother (gently) chided me for it the next day, making me see that he is not like me and takes my "funny" critiques of his article to heart. The writing was bad, but my style of critique was wicked and cruel. He took the post down and although I wrote to apologize, I've heard nothing.

My Suspicions
I got this text from NF when we were going to a comedy show on the night a hurricane was supposed to be near our area:
"Hey weird question - it will be a late night tonight after the show. How do you feel about staying the night at the house?"
Now, for whatever reason, she feels like it's semi-offensive to ask if I mind staying over since we're getting out of a show at midnight. I've stayed at her house before. It supposed to be raining like hell and it's going to be after midnight - that's not a weird question, it's a totally logical one. 

Maybe she was thinking about another time we texted when I called off meeting because I wanted to control my own schedule for a while. This case didn't necessarily fit because she was driving me to and from the venue, whereas in that case she was planning to meet me at the train after I had travelled most of the way. I called that off because I was sick of dealing with other people's plans for that weekend.

It was what happened the next day on this most recent weekend that was the problem: she had said she was going to a thrift store to get some clothes for a parent and asked if I wanted to go. I didn't really want to, but didn't know how to say no. So I went and something about the way she assumed the day would go annoyed me. Maybe it's self-centered thinking she wants to spend lots of time with me; it may just be that I give her relief from her aging and mentally-afflicted older relative; most of the time she's alone with him and receives mostly negative feedback; having me there changes the dynamic.

Whatever it is, it makes me want to leave sooner. The more need you have for me, personally, in a specific way, the more I want to get out.

In Unrelated News
There is a swollen spot on the crown of my head. I want to try to pop it, but I don't even know if it's a zit. It does feel slightly sore, though. It's like those zits are are too big and bland and have no definition; you want to pop them but they have no head. Quite frankly I'd like to take a scalpel and cut it open and try to vacuum out the contents. But that would probably be bad.

Like to Write

I'd like to write more, but I'm actually really tired and have a great case of here sleepies (probably because I stayed until after 12:30 both of the past two nights). When I came home today, I changed and was laying on the bottom of my bed, surfing Facebook and I thought: "I could just go to sleep." I felt a relaxed acceptance of sleep around me, but I felt like I should stay up. Right now I'm tearing at the edges of my sleepiness by trying to stay awake to write this, and it's calling up anxious energy and making me crazy. So I need to let it go and let myself sleep. I'll write tomorrow. 
Gotta remember chores.

BW Special

Just watched Brooks Wheelan's Comedy Central special and it was not what I was expecting.

It was great, I just didn't know he had this manic energy exploding all over the place. My only experience of him had been his news pieces on SNL - which I liked - where he was very straight man and low key. Here he came out yelling from almost the beginning.

And I don't think it's his fault, but I kept comparing him to other people when he would do his voices. Or I would hear them rather than him

Once pitch he has is a nasally whine that made me think of Pete Holmes’ story of seeing a guy and his son. He must have said something with a masculine "A" in it, that sounded like "Dad," because that's the word Pete Holmes repeats over and over in that joke.

I guess the first thing I noticed in the manic persona was the raggedness of the voice; that's what made me think of Adam Sandler. He has a kind of scratch when he goes into his voices and it's similar to the scratch in Sandler's voice. I can't tell you what it is, just that's it's kind of gruff somehow.

Other times (or other words) he sounded like the character "Cartman" from South Park. It as funny, but part of me is hearing that voice and thinking "Does he know he sounds like that? Is he trying to sound like that? It took me out of the joke because I'm thinking about the quality of is voice and the accent and intonation instead of focusing on his performance.

Of course, I'm weird like that.

His material was great, and the stories were very funny. In some ways the voices took away from that; the material was song without that level of explosive presence. I think he could have done it quieter (at least in some parts) and got just as good a reaction.

But then, what do I know? I'm just a couch potato who's watching.

Friday, October 09, 2015

I Don't Always Try to Be Mean

For some reason, trashing my friend's son's theatre review has me fired up. I think because it's an argument and I like arguments (and also I think I won handily). In the process, I may have made some smart remarks at his expense. They were good jokes, I just don't know if they were necessary. Among friends, teasing is acceptable. I hope I don't fracture the boy.

Thursday, October 08, 2015

Death in Oklahoma

Rachel Maddow was talking about Oklahoma's death penalty process and that apparently the drugs used weren't the drugs on the labels (I don't know the full story; I came in late) and I thought to myself: they should just give a prisoner something to knock them out, hang them upside down and slit their throat. Not for the bloodthirsty, but to horrify the majority and expose the bloodthirsty. 

The problem is it would be unusual (if not cruel; depends on your definition of the word) and so unconstitutional. (My other practical, less spectacular idea - which might also fall under "unusual" - was to sedate the prisoner and then put large gauge IVs in their arteries and drain their blood.)

Now I don't know if the self-preservation instinct would make you wake up from any sedatives if you felt your blood draining away or that you were hung upside down; these are just fanciful ideas. 

Kyle Mooney Is My Man

I don't know if he wrote it, but Kyle Mooney does some great, totally bizarre sketches on SNL and the recent one with Miley Cyrus is no exception. It's like the wonderful lunacy of "Laser Cats," only with a different spin. It's the "stupid meets bizarre" aspect of it that tickles me so much. 

The other thing that I should mention here is that Miley's "up for anything" attitude contributes well to this sort of sketch. In fact, wouldn't it be a delightful thing if they continued to write pieces like this all through the season and she appeared in every one of them? How fun would that be. Okay, I don't know what happened but I'm talking like a grandmother.

Speaking of Miley, was there a point to her crying during the solo song? Was it deliberate? At first I was confused and wondered what was going on, but as the seconds passed I felt more and more confident it was a deliberate move, showcasing her acting skills. Which again made me think about how disconcerting it must be to date or love an actor and know they are capable of mimicking emotions with incredible skill. I once said to someone how great an actress Jennifer Love Hewitt was for being able to cry on every single episode of "Ghost Whisperer" (and make me cry, too) and they answered "What if she's really just good at crying on cue?" which changed my reaction to it 360 degrees. She went from being someone who drowned herself in the sea of character to being a psycho who doesn't feel anything but can fake emotion on cue.

Not that this is who she is or that I wasn't right in my original assessment of her, but it changes the perception of the mechanics completely. 

So I wondered that about Miley.

Reason to Be in the House

CSPAN is showing the reaction to Kevin McCarthy dropping out of the Speaker's race and, in the crush of reporters around Representative Daniel Webster are two beautiful young women, one a lovely blonde woman with dark eyes and lovely skin and another a smaller, possibly Asian woman with a short haircut and a pretty face.

Reaction one: how is it this model girl is reporting in the house and who is she?
Reaction two: God, I am shallow.

It's weird to see Congressional members who look younger than me. It makes me understand older people who talk about the idiots in Congress; it's much easier to see them as incompetent when they also look like eight graders.

Could Have Gone to Sleep

Could have gone to sleep at ten or ten-thirty, but nooooo, I had to stay up and listen to my podcasts. What the fuck for?? So I could feel terribly sleepy this morning? So I could get up late and decide to take the late bus, which has got me grinding my teeth to the song in my head? (Which, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm going to go post to Facebook.)(For years, I never understood the "Upping Street" joke.)

Wednesday, October 07, 2015


I'm annoyed because recently I bought some cards for friends - specifically for two birthdays - and now I can't find them and I don't know what I did with them.

[Wait. Cancel the pity party. I remember sending one of them from work (or rather, a third one, not for the birthday people). So hopefully they're all there at work, I just need to figure out where there at work.]

Because I Think Horrible Thoughts


I hope the mother doesn't miscarry.

Monday, October 05, 2015

Here's A Thought

Leave me a sentence in the comments and I'll write a scene or part of a story around it.

I thought of this because as I was walking out of my room in Saturday or Sunday, I looked at something and said a sentence in my head. It was just an observation of something in my room, like: "The scissors were on top of the bookcase;" but the instant I said it in my head, I heard it in my "writer" voice and suddenly it was pregnant with a story. There were sentences behind it, and they could run any which way. That's what any observation is, a kind of "choose your own adventure: from there the story goes anywhere."

Now, know this: I may not take the story the same way you thought it would go. In fact, if I write something and you read it and think "That's not write," maybe you should then take up the story and write a little bit of what you were thinking. Then, if you want, you can give me your sentences and I'll try to run with that. That's the crazy thing; everything has potential and a sentence can lead anywhere.

I've been thinking about fan fiction recently. I look down on fan fiction, I suppose because I've been conditioned to by the media industry ("if they're so great, how come they're nobodies writing on the web for no money?"). I imagine it all as humongous nerd fans who hyperventilate over Buffy and Twilight.

But I've imagined fan fiction myself - or at least great story possibilities based on popular culture. The only thing is, my stories wouldn't involve the main characters but rather the fringe people in the story.

One example I think I've mentioned before is Law & Order: SVU. The way they bulldoze people's lives in that show is just insane, and tons of episodes just ignore those people once they're no longer useful or don't have any kind of follow up once the case is over.

The one that always struck me - and where the story did focus on such a character - was an episode where a private school teacher was accused of molesting a girl that was a friend of his daughter's. They ripped apart his life, convinced it was him, and as part of their investigation they find that he lied about his previous job to get his current one.

In the end, he's not the perpetrator, but he's been fired from his current job for lying on his application, and now there's a stink on him for having been arrested for child molestation and he's tainted for teaching. I always thought there was a great story in following him out the door of the station and seeing what became of his life.

The only fan fiction I might be interested that would involve a main character would be something from Law & Order: Criminal Intent (and now I wonder if people wrote their own episodes, and whether they'd be any good to read. I'll have to look that up). The reason I'd be interested is because they introduced a character in one of the seasons who was a young man in his 20s who had a bad father figure and the character of Detective Goren took an interest in him and tried to help him a little bit. Although they brought that character back in a later episode (with a totally different actor, which made it kind of weird), it wasn't the same (the character of the show really changed in the 7th or 8th season; they started using a lot of music and weird stylistic effects that took away from straight storytelling).

What I would have liked was some kind of follow-up on their relationship, some kind of "between case" arc where we saw Goren nurture and mentor this kid and give him some real life skills.

(Now, does this have anything to do with my own father issues? I can't honestly say no.)

In any case, the fan fiction I was thinking of this weekend was of a totally different kind. 

This weekend there were multi-million dollar action films playing on TV, "Pacific Rim" and "Battleship." I found both movies to be extremely casual about catastrophic death tolls, especially the former. 

And that's where the story is. In "Pacific Rim," giant monsters and robots stride through cities, smashing buildings in half and ripping them down. In a couple of breathtaking shots, the director shows the path of destruction from the point of view of the office space, the giant hands or arms crashing through the windows and tearing the offices to pieces.

While in this moment it suddenly occurs to me that it was ridiculous that they built and rebuilt giant glass skyscrapers when they knew monsters regularly came into the cities and destroyed them (although maybe the movie explained that, that humans had become accomplished at fending off the attacks), my original thought was: what would it be like if you were in the office that day when a giant fist crashed through the side of the building and took out half your staff? (Then I think of the other type of satire, which would be writing about the forms and government panels that would be set up to deal with compensation for losses from something like this.)

It strikes me now that it's slightly akin to 9/11, except that those office workers didn't know what was happening, some of them even as they were leaping to their deaths. Some of the people crushed as the building fell down on them might still have been thinking they were fleeing one of the worst air disasters in the history of the U.S.

But this is a great starting point for drama: this catastrophic event happens to you and then you have to move on; what do you do? How do you continue? How do you process it? What is your life like going forward?

Also akin to 9/11, there are levels of exposure. On the one hand, you share the experience with your city, with your nation. On the other hand, only some people were in the building. On some people saw half their co-workers wiped out in an instant. Not everyone experienced it the same. 

"Battleship" was similar but not as much. There is a giant piece of space metal that crashes into Hong Kong (landing, conveniently, in the harbor), but then it gets ignored and the story goes back to the main characters. As I watched the scene of the detritus landing in the harbor, I watched the realistic CGI pieces that flew off at the end and thought- there's a whole story right there: even one small piece of that larger hunk would be the size of a car or larger and could fly through the air and take out multiple people. 

So my story would be about a dock worker who sees this incredible disaster and watches giant hunks of flaming metal come crashing down on people to the left and right of him and then has to go home and live the rest of his life. How does that affect him? How does he think about the world from then on? Do his fears change? One story could be about a character like that who descends into paranoia and conspiracy theories; that's how he processes and deals with the trauma. The ground is rich with possibility (blood is an excellent fertilizer). 

I don't have the energy to write such stories; it's hard for me to stay interested in something after a day or two. But the potential is there. It's everywhere.

Of Queen Ants

The other day while waiting for the bus, there was a frenzy of activity in the mulch behind me. 

There appeared to be two anthills - or rather, ant holes (which I assumed were part of the same hive) - with tons of ants crawling all around them. Only mixed in with what I thought of as the "regular" ants were a bunch of larger insects (or ants) with wings.

I texted my brother because he watches lots of nature documentaries and I thought he might have an idea about what was going on.

He wrote back that it might be queen ants or it might be termites. Looking up queen ants just now, it seems they might have been queen ants. I guess I had never thought about where queens came from, only that there was only one queen per colony. 

When he mentioned they might be queens, he said it might be that they hatch and then fight to figure out which becomes the queen. But they didn't seem to be fighting, that I could tell; they were just all crawling around which, when you don't know the circumstances, looks like some kind of frenzy. (I was thinking I need to look it up on YouTube and see what videos there are.) 

We didn't go for a walk tonight. My hips kind of hurt. I need to stretch my hip flexor on a more regular basis. I need to exercise more, whether I leave the house or not.

I didn't request my money today, and I didn't call the dentist. While I may not always do work at work, I also don't seem to ever get my personal business done either, damnit. (Probably because it's good for me. If it wasn't, I'd probably do it in a heartbeat.

I watched the cold open of SNL on Sunday afternoon. It was only available in SD, so I didn't watch the whole thing, but the open was excellent. 

On Time and Feeling Good

I got up on time today and boy what a difference it makes. It's only 7 o'clock and I'm already out of the shower and half-dressed. This is how it's supposed to go every day. If only I could hang on to that emotional memory when the alarm rings in the morning.

I don't know what I have to stay up for, though. As the darkness comes on, there doesn't seem to be any point to staying up these days. Maybe I'll start getting to bed at 10pm or before in the future. That would probably help.