Shit...

So yeah. I've been neglecting this thing. My apologies.

First things first. The party? No Drama. Guy didn't show up. But my friend Steve did show up, back from Chicago to hang out for the first time in a couple of years.

Now there's something I've been doing for a bit over a year now. When I happen to have a guitar in my hands at a gathering, and there's a lull in conversation, I'll start to play a twelve bar blues in E, to see if anyone goes with it. Until that party, no one had. But Steve? didn't miss a beat. Even did a talking blues until the first turnaround, continuing to tell me about what he'd been telling me about previously. He managed to fit in "woke up this morning," and "going back to Chicago" without forcing it. No trains or the Devil, but for off the cuff, that gets high marks.

This is why I recommend hanging out with theater geeks who are also music geeks. They're awesome. This was my way of finding out who among my friends had it in them to kick it up a notch.

Cooper made note of Bush's comparison of Iraq and Vietnam. It dropped my jaw too. But I'm going to let you all in on a little fucking secret. Here it is.

HE FUCKING KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO GO ALL TO SHIT WHEN HE WENT IN

He had to. My proof?




It's not that he learned the wrong lesson from history. It's that he doesn't fucking care. This occupation is profitable for too many of his freinds. Remember it was Bush and Cheney who forced Powell out for his opposition to the war. It wasn't due to any lack of agreement as to what an invasion would bring about. The difference is, oh, I don't know... THE ONE OF THEM WHO HAD ACTUALLY SERVED IN THE MILITARY CARED ABOUT THE LIVES OF AMERICAN TROOPS.

There is no spin that can rose-tint this shit.

Anyone still wonder why Republicans don't like Youtube?

Drama, of varying scales

I have a sixth sense for drama. One would think that means I'm good at avoiding it.

Trouble is? I'm a fucking idiot.


I got an invite via Facebook to an end of summer party that one of my friends was throwing, and instantly had a bad feeling. As such, I didn't respond to it at first. Then I ran into him at the T station.

"Hey! Desmond!"

"Hey Chris.

"You coming to my party?"

"What's that... this weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Sure thing."

I got home, and logged into Facebook to signify that I was, in fact, attending--because obviously those undecided would make up their minds now-- And saw something rather troubling. I posted a while back about a girl who was dating someone in my social circle claiming to have cheated on him with me.

The guy in question? Listed as attending.

I'm fucking talented here. I manage to have high school drama revisit me three years out even though all the students at my school were dudes.

The party is tommorrow. Ok, technically today. So there will be a followup forthcoming. Potential for awkwardness is high. Of course, it could just blow over.

To be honest? Part of me wants something to come of it . I can sometimes be masochistic, but only if it's funny(see above statement about idiocy and where I stand in relation to it).

Anyone else troubled by this? I mean someone reading this in Russia might point out that we Americans live in a glass house when it comes to disturbing military adventurism, but I'm not throwing a stone so much as looking through my glass house into another one and saying "I can see you."

The stunt is, of course, meant to be troubling. As is this one. Inviting Iranian observers and denying Washington is a particular jab.

Bombers tracing NATO borders, troops amassing on Russian borders, and a body that's trying to pretend it's a new Warsaw Pact...

Weren't you all just saying that what we really needed, as the election draws closer, was an issue for militarists to harp on?

And it's no second Cold War just yet, but still...
Fuck.

Stuff

The other night my brother left the house, saying he was going for "a walk."

Five hours later, the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, it said Winchester Hospital, which is some seven miles from my house.

I snatched up the phone.

"Hey Pat... I'm lost."

"Are you ok?"

"huh?"

"Are you ok"

"Yeah, why?"

"You called from a fucking hospital"

"oh right. my bad. could you google for directions?"

I pride myself in being nuts, but sometimes given the company I keep it's hard for me to shine in that area.

As a follow-up to the previous tale, one of the ladies I was out with apologized for the evening. Not the one who had something to apologize for, mind.

At the suggestion of Miz B, who has posted three more youtube videos so WATCH, I've been watching Green Wing, and once again I'm impressed by a British sitcom.

Apparently a website called DeeperRight wants me to let them add my link. Not quite sure how they came by that desire, as I make frequent mention that the most vociferous among them are insufferable twats. Either they're mistaken or they want to send trolls my way. I did notice that one of their members was someone I'd gotten into arguments with before. Back when the Democrats were considering filibuster as a means of forestalling the appointment of a prospective Supreme Court Justice who had no fucking qualifications, he called them hypocrites because they opposed such use of filibuster by Republicans during the Clinton years. I confronted him with the fact that their current opposition to the use of filibuster makes the GOP just as hypocritical, and he accused me of turning a blind eye to hypocrisy

Because apparently it's some leap to say that it's damned near impossible to be successful in politics without being a fucking hypocrite.

Oh right. I've been tagged by Cooper for that "blogging advice" meme. Seeing as her blogging advice was to ignore blogging advice, I have to suspect her motives in tagging me and only me of course.

as far as style goes, it's all I can say that I just don't fucking get some of the newer templates. I would shy away from the ones that organize information as if one were putting it in a closet. Double sidebars on one side, bottom bars containing that which would fill two whole sidebars... unholy combinations of the two... It's all shit. Oddly enough the bottom bars are used by the people who shout "content is king," even though it restricts the amount of content one can put on the front page. Baffling. Apart from that, they're ugly as hell. The only aesthetically competent use of them belongs to achewood, the site design of which invites me to ignore them entirely rather than cringe in pain at them.

This is the bit that Cooper would say to ignore =P

Though anyone who styles themselves as an expert in blogging is suspect if not easily dismissable.

As for content, all I have to say is that the best way to keep your blog interesting is to go out and have weird things happen to you. I believe the blogodrome's resident Zenformation Professional will agree to this. Also observe weird things, or go and do weird things and observe people's reactions. Talk to the people you meet on the subway who seem to be rambing at an invisible person slightly to your left. Debate the streetcorner preachers and the lobotomized cultists trying to raise support for Lyndon fucking Larouche. Shout at the Scientologists. Do all of this, and document your results. (was it awesome? y/n) Failing all of that, find things on the Internet that you disagree vehemently or extraordinarily with (there is in fact a distinction).

My actual writing methods are the product of a severely strange mind and therefore cannot be recommended to anyone. They are fueled by insomnia and caffeine, and any number of other variables that I'll not discuss in writing.

Though I will say that it's always fun to use crass language alongside intellectual language, as it will confound the weak-minded of all stripes. I reject entirely that use of profanity be viewed as a failure of vocabulary. Given, there are those who use it excessively in place of vocabulary, but it's easy to separate the loudmouth teenagers from the Penn Jilettes. That's right, just about every English teacher I've had. Fuck you. You're WRONG.

Why does Penn Jilette immediately come to mind? I've been watching a lot of Penn and Teller on Youtube; both their magic act and Bullshit. Those guys are fucking brilliant, and if they were running for President and VP I'd vote their way in a second. And not because of their act. But could you imagine the inaugural address?

Maybe this one isn't as universally consumable as I thought

We left Fanueil Hall for the dim flicker of State Street, at the urging of one female. There's something about that area of Boston that makes the streets seem like alleyways. Not in the filthy, sketchy sense, where one expects muggers, drug dealers, and real estate agents. But something about the light and the way the wind moves through them belies the truth that they are, in fact, thoroughfare, lined with pubs and restaurants, and even, yes, the occasional agency. A round of Cuervo having been consumed, we were in search of comestibles. Our timing was suspect. We left during the time during which bar kitchens begin to close.

I was with the same group I'd met the previous Thursday for Shakespeare in the Park, with the exception of one of the girls with whom I'd gotten along well and the addition of one of my friend's oldest mates.

It was a different sort of night this time.

The suggestion had been made to seek out an all night diner about two miles away, but a complaint was made as to the distance and we found ourselves walking in to just about every pub along the way to ask if the kitchen was still open and to find out that it wasn't.

The complainer also took issue with the fact that the tequila at one such pub wasn't Jose Cuervo.

Good fucking god. I've been known to enjoy the stuff but I recognize it for what it is and its certainly nothing to be a label snob about. Name recognition is the main reason it's not on the rail. Of all the things to bitch at a bartender for...

I drowned the acrid drama with a tequila chaser, eschewing the proffered salt and lime. The burn distracted me from the bitch.

There were a lot of "why don't we stop in heres" as we passed the yuppie dens with lonely middle aged men drinking overpriced booze whose ears pricked up at the prospect of females entering the bar. My wallet screamed in agony at the suggestion.

And all throughout my friend was engaged in some sort of preternatural Taming of the Shrew-meets-Booty Call courtship with said girl. Dane Cook, whose addition of the ring finger to everyone's favorite obscene gesture is no doubt the crowning achievement in modern comedy, might have called it a courtshit.

It was painful to watch. Oddly, enough, it reminded me of a story.

It was June 2005, in fact, it took place within this story.

I was exiting the Starbucks at O Hare airport in Chicago. The last time I'd gone there the latte I ordered was more or less steamed milk that invited one to imagine the presence of espresso, despite the fact that I ordered the highest caffeine concentration that they would serve. This time I went for some cold red tea that was equally undrinkable. I haven't been in a Starbucks since.

"Nice coat"

I turned to see a woman clad in a nearly identical black trench coat, which in the summer heat one may question, but it was the only damned way of getting it on the plane as my baggage was overstuffed. She seemed to be a fringe goth, a pentacle hung round her neck but otherwise understated. Strikingly beautiful.

"Nice hat," I replied

a black something that was almost a fedora but not quite. Identical to the one atop my head.

We laughed.

"Anyways, I figured I just had to come and say hi. I've got to get to my plane."

I did too, in fact. And as it happened, when I found my seat, she was settling in to the one next to it.

We were engrossed in conversation the entire flight. She was twenty-five, from Salem. Former Wiccan, former Buddhist. Retained some philosophy from both, but rejected much of the doctrine. Once engaged to a man now dead. Apparently accomplished in the arts. I don't remember much more of the conversation because I was exhausted and also it was over two years ago, but at some point she uttered the phrase, "you must be taken," which I think is the first time I'd ever heard it directed at me. I replied, perhaps hastily, that I wasn't. When we landed in Boston we exchanged numbers and resolved to hang out some time.

When I did get home I was busied with preparing the downstairs apartment for rental, so my contact with her was over the phone. There were some good conversations, but it started to get weird. Songs and poetry in my voicemail. Comparisons between me and her dead fiancee. Her asking if I wanted to hang out in a graveyard some time.

Listening to these voicemails, and the air of desperation behind them, a vivid scene unfolded itself in my head. Her on top of me, swaying in a hypnotizing rhythm, her eyes fixed upon something behind me and she begins to chant in glossolalia. I look back to see the headstone of her lost lover, and back to her. She reaches into the pocket of her trench coat, the only thing covering either of us, and pulls out a strangely crafted knife...

That particular scenario was unlikely, sure. But I was fairly convinced that this all was a Bad Idea. I didn't return her calls, and she stopped calling. I did feel sort of guilty about it but saw no other way.

As I thought of this, we were seated (finally) at the diner we'd set out to find. It had been a long way due to everyone we asked giving us wrong directions. She was complaining the whole time, insisting that violence was due towards the males of the group (why we were singled out I'm not sure). Also insisting that she be carried, and then refusing when such help was offered in an attempt to get her to shut up. The painful-to-witness flirtation persisted throughout the night. As I emerged from my thoughts it was reaching a fever pitch.

"You wouldn't last two minutes in my bed"

"What makes you think you can get this?"

I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

I try to give normal explanations as little as possible in these situations

"Ok. Imagine that you're walking down the side of the road, and there's a bus driving passed you. The bus is filled with almost sickeningly cute children. Also kittens and puppies and rabbits."

"...ok?"

"Now imagine that it's on fire, and driving full tilt off the edge of a cliff"

"umm...and?"

"Well, why aren't you laughing?"

My friend burst out in laughter, almost falling off of his chair. His friend cracked a devilish grin. The girls were confused.

"I'll tell you when you're older," he said.

It's so great when people get you.

It should be made clear

That recent events in my hometown have not escaped my notice. Kevin Garnett is in Boston now. The one big man that the winningest player in the history of pro ball, Bill Russell, said would be a challenge to defend against. The arguments have already started as to whether or not Pierce-Garnett-Allen are the best trio in the NBA.

And then the best bullpen in the MLB decides to go and trade for a dude who once saved 84 games in a row.

Preseason prognosticators (try saying that while drunk) are already giving the Patriots the best odds on the Super Bowl

Fuck Yes.

And Coop, I really doubt you find this more interesting than the reasons people have sex. =P

A post better fit for general consumption will be forthcoming.