So here I am, grown up at twenty-three.  Will someone tell me what it takes to be happy?

11-JAN-2007 01:24
 
I took her out; it was a Friday night
I wore cologne to get the feeling right
We started making out, and she took off my pants
But then I turned on the TV

And that's about the time she walked away from me
Nobody likes you when you're twenty-three
And are still more amused by TV shows
What the hell is ADD?
My friends say I should act my age
What's my age again?
What's my age again?

Then later on, on the drive home
I called her mom from a pay phone
I said I was the cops, and your husband's in jail
This state looks down on sodomy

And that's about the time that bitch hung up on me
Nobody likes you when you're twenty-three
And are still more amused by prank phone calls
What the hell is caller ID?
My friends say I should act my age
What's my age again?
What's my age again?

And that's about the time she walked away from me
Nobody likes you when you're twenty-three
And you still act like you're in freshman year
What the hell is wrong with me?
My friends say I should act my age
What's my age again?
What's my age again?

That's about the time she broke up with me
No one should take themselves so seriously
With many years ahead to fall in line
Why would you wish that on me?
I never want to act my age
What's my age again?
What's my age again?
« Blink 182, "What's My Age Again?" »

The walls are closing in; it's closing time again.

22-MAR-2007 01:37
 
I broke my favorite rocks glass tonight.  Dropped a ceramic bowl on it.

I found that cup five years ago, when I was living in that shitty apartment on Goulding Street.  It was in the cupboard; no idea who owned it, 'cause no one wanted it when we moved out.  Tinted blue, octagonal.  I liked its heft and its imperfections: this chip on the rim, and the fact that the inside floor of the glass wasn't even; it sloped down to one side.

Holding it made me feel like a true king of sad.  Give me a cigarette.

Of course, I am sitting here mourning a cup.  Even in death, it helps my reign.
 

I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand.

02-MAY-2007 00:29
 
I just found the frame
Where I took your picture away
In my wallet
Like a saint from some other place

That picture repays
My eyes as they glaze
A thousand lashes
From a love long gone away
« Jets to Brazil, "Empty Picture Frame" »

So... yeah.  To summarize brutally... I've not been up to much.  I barely leave the house even, these days.  Most Tuesdays I head to the bar for trivia night, and some Fridays I go out and play poker.  Other than that, almost total hermitage.

Um...  Something amusing [at least, to me] happened a while back...  I was lying in bed reading Alfred Bester's "5,271,009" when Guster's "One Man Wrecking Machine" came on.

I went on my first real business trip a few weeks ago.  Vail, Colorado.  The Vail Film FestivalMetaFoundry did the site and print work for it, so... free trip to Vail, woo.  I didn't do much during the festival itself — hell, I didn't even take in a single movie — just snowboarded and drank.  I'm no expert on snow condition, but it was damned nice.  Met a girl, same old story.  I'm guessing I don't even need to elaborate on that one.

'Bout a month before that, I went to San Francisco for Argfest-O-Con [the yearly Unfiction meetup].  Met some real smart folk.  Got shitty-ass hammered.  Fun times.

I came home from trivia just now.  Hung out at the bar with Mark a while afterwards.  Came home to a message that... made me smile.

Hm.  I should post a picture of myself, caption it "the dangers of telecommuting".

I've been taking Benadryl to cope with spring.  It's kicking in.
 

He's so damn big; he even ate a pig.

03-MAY-2007 21:23
 
Earlier, my mother was preparing steak for dinner and told me to go pick a wine from the basement.  We only had white, so I brought up a chardonnay and said I'd go hit the store.  Got two random cabernet sauvignons [cabernets sauvignon?].  Serenity Vineyards Central Coast [I've been watching a lot of Firefly lately] and HRM Rex Goliath Giant 47-Pound Rooster [it said it won two medals].

So I pour the wine, and we eat.  My father asks what we're drinking.  I answer, "Uh... Giant rooster something something."

My mother: "Yeah, Ems loves the cock."

Thanks, mom.

There's a little girl I know.  You might know her, too.

03-JUN-2007 05:06
 
It's a point I really should have learned a long, long time ago, but...

Never.  Be.  The.  Other.  Guy.

You simply cannot win.

A warm night on the right coast of southeastern America.

18-JUN-2007 22:27
 
So I'm, like, an uncle and shit.


Birth by C-section seemed to go off without a hitch.  Sister was satisfied with the one-hour procedure versus the prospect of long manual labor.

When I left the hospital [five hours post-nativity], her parents still hadn't decided on a name.  It amuses me a bit, that she has the same birthday as Lindsay.

Hustlers, grab your guns.

09-JUL-2007 03:41
 
It's hard.  After "On the Road Again", "Six Days on the Road", and "Hit the Road, Jack", and "Road Runner", "Born to Run", and "Running on Empty", and "Life in the Fastlane", and "Lost Highway", and "Highway 1 Revisited".  After "Let's Get Away From It All".  After Easy Rider, and Thelma and Louise, and Lost in America, and too many road movies to name or even remember.  After Jack Kerouac and Route 66.  As long as we're at this, after Huck Finn and the journals of Lewis and Clark.  After all that, it is hard for an America to just hit the road without some expectations.
« Ira Glass, This American Life »

Spent my days with a woman unkind
Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine
Made up my mind to make a new start
I'm going to California with an aching in my heart
Someone told me there's a girl out there
With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair
« Led Zeppelin, "Going to California" »

Any road trip is going to feel longer than you think it will.  And you'll be tired, and you won't get a meal exactly when you're hungry.  You never find a bed exactly when you want to go to sleep.  And you're probably not going to find out what it is that you got on the road to find out in the first place.  And you know all that, you know all that going into it.  And you still, we all still, buy into the cliché about road trips.  That what a road trip stands for is hope.  Hope.  That somewhere, anywhere, is better than here.  That somewhere, on the road, I will turn into the person that I want to be.  I'll turn into the person that I believe I could be, that I am.
« Ira Glass, This American Life »

Sick of malls and alcohol, just passed the next state line.

11-JUL-2007 02:05
 

















Here's the bright end of nowhere.  Here's the results of all our days.

23-OCT-2007 03:29
 
Why don't I write?  Because I feel I have nothing interesting to say.  I think I'm essentially still the same person I was when I wrote a lot of this site.  I could write the same post pining about some girl, or despairing at being alone forever, or drinking myself stupid.  But who wants to read that again?  I don't suppose anyone expects this to be some ongoing saga of my growth as a person... but I don't have any particular interest in repeating myself.

Here.  Status.  Still living at home.  No girl, no surprise.  Job?  I don't even know myself.

So.  This is me.  My life is... boring.  I want it to change.  I just don't know in what way.  Or how to do it.