Row, row, row your boat

March 15, 2005

Today I woke up at 6:20am because someone opened my door. I went back to sleep and one second — EXACTLY one second later — my alarm went off, telling me it was 6:30am. Apparently I had entered some sort of mysterious space-time warp. That is a bad way to start the day, as far as I’m concerned. I got up and put on my wifebeater & boxers and everything else and then drank the only heineken left in the fridge. To most people, I would imagine that drinking when you first wake up would be considered abnormal, but I am not most people and I have the following quote on my side:

“A glass of Champagne lifts the spirits, sharpens the wits, but a bottle produces the opposite effect.”

Churchill agrees with me and so I fear nothing.

Having ventured through a time warp of sorts and having had a decent beer, I headed off to work. I dealt with all of the usual horseshit and was then cut two and a half hours early because it was “slow.” Fuck you, Cracker Barrel.

I studied for my PAR II test (IF YOUR SAUSAGE IS PINK IT IS BECAUSE OF THE “SPECIAL INGREDIENT”) and walked to Hardee’s where I fucking destroyed a Frisco burger. I sat near a father and son in a booth. The dad had on work clothing, like he was a mechanic, and the kid had on a Marilyn Manson shirt that said “Got Violence?”

The father shouted what I think was “QUACK QUACK QUACK,” randomly, although I’m not sure if those were his exact words. Either he had Tourette’s syndrome or he thought he was very clever. It doesn’t matter. I also got to sit and think about the guy who took my order. A completely normal person except for the fact that he had some sort of disability (I can’t remember the name) which caused him to walk awkwardly. My memory sucks. Either way, most people would classify him as “retarded,” that is, until you look him in the eyes and talk to him. He’s completely normal. More normal than most people, I’m sure. Which made me feel bad and I don’t know why. I’m not that intelligent.

I’ve got my own handicaps, but his are very apparent, and yet he still manages just fine, probably better than myslef…doing a job I could do, but one that I avoid simply because I don’t want to deal with customers. I can’t handle it. In the end I think I acted more retarded than him, because I did my best to treat him like anyone else so as to make him feel comfortable, which was a horrible and idiotic idea and which ended with me repeating myself twice and looking stupid. Sorry, Hardee’s guy.

After that I decided it would be best to walk across the street to the gas station and get “the beers.” And so here I am. I have an excuse for my alcoholism today – it is in celebration of several things.

Most important of all that I’ve been lucky enough to hear Alkaline Trio’s new album “Crimson” and I found a “new” band called The Falcon, which is Alk3 & Lawrence Arms members. Goodness gracious. A friend of mine also just uploaded The Bravery to me, which is decent. Sort of makes me think of a mix between The Stills and Franz Fredinand, but with less “bassy dance shit” and more “electronic dance shit” (I know I am the next Hemingway, fuck you!). Maybe it’ll grow on me, we’ll see.

Crimson isn’t bad. At all. At first I wasn’t sure. It seemed poppier than usual, which seems to be a theme with new Alkaline Trio albums. It’s grown on me though, and with some beers to christen it, it’ll be good. I guess they’ve decided to put “Sadie” on this album too, cause it is on this release and they have apparently added keyboard & violin tunes to to it. It’s one of my favorite songs by Alkaline Trio, I’m just not sure if violins and Casio’s are a good addition. The rest of the stuff is great though… like “Mercy Me” and “Stained In Satin” both have lines sung by Andriano And Skiba, which is cool, cause most songs either just have one singing back up or the entire song is sung by one of them. Good stuff. “Deathbed” and “Prevent This Tragedy,” are also good songs. They’ve both got the good lyrics and harmonizing vocals that Alk3 is known for. Now for May to roll around so I can buy the thing.

Bob from New Orleans

March 13, 2005

I have come to terms with the fact that this webpage is nothing more than a public restroom wall for me to scribble graffiti on. From now on, I guess I’ll just write whatever comes to me or happens to me and that will be that.

My “goal” was to make a page that wasn’t like the millions of other blogs out there that nobody reads, but I guess I failed. There are so many damn people out there writing to themselves it make me want to puke. Let’s face it; not many lives are really that interesting. I mean who really cares about what Bob from New Orleans did Monday morning before heading to work? Bob, and that’s about it.

I just wanted to write a few, good articles and leave the whole blog thing alone, but I suppose to do that you have to be passionate about certain things, and I suppose I’m just not really passionate enough about anything to write a “good article.” I’d rather just scribble “Call 555-9109 for a hand job” and give up.

Today I woke up at 8 am with a hangover. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been because I vomited before passing out on my bed with Ben Hur still playing on the TV. The rest of the day was mostly normal.

I just finished watching Sideways, which was great (“Did you drink and dial?”). I have to say that I’m surprised it got so much praise, though, because it doesn’t seem like it would appeal to most people. It’s sort of slow going and it’s got a certain brand of humor. It was filmed in California, so I recognized a lot of places near Lompoc. I liked seeing the tunnel I used to pass through when traveling south to San Diego and I liked seeing Solvang, where I first gambled at an indian casino. I remember the european look of the buildings and even the street they drove in on in the movie. To be honest, it sort of made me want to be back there. That doesn’t mean I had a good time in California, because living in apartments and having no friends is pretty much just shit, but it was a fairly unique place. The beaches out at Vandenberg AFB are not like Florida beaches, which are bright and white and clear. The beaches there are foggy and craggy and they’re cold, and you go there to end the lives of many a starfish by pulling them away from the rocks and ocean. You don’t really go there for fun. It was still good, though. Better than here. Anyway, Sideways is a good movie. I wonder if I’ll end up being a bearded, overweight, disheveled man sucking on bottles of wine. At least if I knew about wine I’d have an excuse for drinking so much. My pallet isn’t quite so discerning, as it is mainly used as a resting place for the likes of Schlitz and Red Dog, which undoubtedly have slight traces of urine and rat feces…not strawberries and cloves. I cannot be saved.

That’s about it. I don’t work tomorrow, so I’ll probably stay up late tonight and continue to withdrawal from Lexapro and feel hung over. All I need now is the beard…


March 11, 2005

Thanks to my tax refund, I have just received the Philips DVP-642. Consequently, I want to fly to the Philips headquarters and impregnate all of their employees.

Nevermind that I should be saving my money for future excursions to foreign lands – not only does the DVD player look fucking cool, like it could turn on some sort of light speed hyper-engine and zoom around my house being all sleek and silvery, but it plays Divx and Xvid files. I shouldn’t even have to go into why playing those types of movies is completely and totally god damn awesome (Porn, The Tick, Porn…). Given, they’re not going to be great quality with 5.1 sound or anything, but you can put a movie on a CD-R and pop it into your player and watch it like it’s any other movie. The future is here, and it is beautiful.

Now to round up all of the other Tick and Dr. Katz episodes I can find and burn them. Curse you Comedy Central for abandoning me in my time of need, and you as well, Adult Swim. I’ll take matters into my own hands.

Relevant info for my DVP642 bruddahs:
Fixing garbled images: “The colors will be all messed up and the image is pixelated. I find that this can be easily fixed by pressing the System Menu button and select Exit Setup.” Works for me.
Firmware upgrade for 642/37: here

Today at work I was getting very, very angry — angrier than ever — with Philip, the stupid white boy who “raps” to himself and sort of stands around doing nearly nothing, but just enough to evade the watchful eye of the managers. Ok, so they aren’t very watchful. They come by every hour or two and say “Where is x?” and we all say “I don’t know,” and the manager goes back to whatever it was they were doing… probably counting money in the office. Nobody gets in trouble for not being there, nothing ever happens. So when I was working my ass off today as a dishwasher, or more accurately, the “laboring resident Cracker Barrel bitch,” Philip was in the bathroom jerking off and just basically being an awful jack ass. The boy is useless. I was about to confront him and yell profanities at him, and I’m sure something would have escalated from there (maybe he’d “Pop trunk” on me!), when I was asked rather randomly to help with a trash run with one of the shift leaders.

To get to the point, I’m the last one outside after all the trash is emptied and as I’m pulling a cart back in I see that there’s a piece of cardboard lying in the parking lot, the only piece of a box that happened to fall out onto the ground. It had the following printed on it in very large letters: “KEEP COOL.”

Punching Philip in the neck and maybe stomping on him and crushing his windpipe sounded like a good idea at the time, but it probably wasn’t, and I thank the God of Cardboard for steering me onto the right path. I can’t say I cooled down because I still hated his guts, but I did crack half of a smile before walking back into the restaurant, and I’m sure that was worth something.

Apparently I’m supposed to update my “blog” regularly. That’s what someone told me. Well then, here’s some personal fucking blogging. As if there isn’t enough personal fucking blogging going on all over the internet. Because everyone’s life is that interesting. We’ll all just keep telling ourselves that…

I’ve been lucky enough to get three days off on this week’s schedule and all three of those days I will try to keep myself from drinking because I told myself I’d stop for a few days. What’s that leave me to do? I’m trying to keep interested in things and that is hard, because lately nothing seems interesting at all. Video games can only be played so much… and books can only be read so long. Music’s a given, but some days it just fades into the background with everything else. Your mind, on the other hand, can keep going all day long, especially when it isn’t slathered with a healthy dose of alcohol. So I flip through channels and click endlessly through the news and hear about countries getting angry at other countries over absurd and meaningless things, stuff which will be inconsequential in another two hundred, three hundred, one thousand fucking years, and I read about people dying and a cat that rode 10 miles on top of its owner’s car and I read about how I am inferior to most other men simply because of the fact that my index finger is nearly the same length as my ring finger, something that will not matter one bit two hundred years from now either, when there’s nothing left of my middle or index fingers. And nothing means anything at all. Strange thing to feel like you are teetering between apathy and collapse, cause you’re not sure what is holding what up.

I’ve been washing dishes and bussing tables even though I am 21 god damn years old and I feel like a loser doing it and I’ve been trying to stop myself from shaking nervously in front of the hordes of people sitting and watching, but I just shake harder. I think maybe I just need that drink I’ve been avoiding.

I’ve been listening to Blind Willie McTell and thinking about how it must have been to be a blind, black kid from Georgia in the 1920’s. I can’t play a 6 string when I’m looking at it, but Blind Willie could play a mean 12 string guitar, that’s for sure. I guess someone like that would know a little something about pain. Like Bob Dylan himself said, “no one sings the blues like Blind Willie Mctell.”

“I got the blues so bad I can feel them in the dark…”

I’ve been thinking about the bright light at the end of the tunnel…a $500 plane ticket to London in May, where I will hopefully proceed to Ireland once again and hopefully drink way too much for my own good, with my friend Ted. I’ll probably live on beer and bread and peanut butter, but I’ll live. Maybe this time I won’t fall into a thorn bush on a dark, narrow road and shit myself. If I do, I’m bringing Ted down with me.