"That must be a good book"

That's what she said. Actually, "she" was the fourth person to say that. That day.

It got me to thinking. Is saying, "That must be a good book" (or its equivalent) tantamount to saying, "I'm functionally illiterate and will take any opportunity to avoid reading"?

In my experience, the title of this post is only invoked when I don't immediately put my book down and engage in whatever other activity the speaker thinks I should be attending to. Almost like I'm rubbing their nose in their inability to gain knowledge, or joy, if it's not coming from a TV. And they want me to stop. Like it's my fault they're not on board the reading rainbow.


I think I'll stop now, before I get all vitriolic and stuff.

d minus vente y ocho y contando

Should this be depressing me? Or liberating me? Today I realized that, when the countdown reaches its denouement, an important person in my personal history will simply cease to exist. Oh, there will be records of their existence, and memories. They will, however, no longer be. Well, not the same person anymore. Sure, that has happened in so many ways already, but it's not real. Yet.

Theoretically the deed has not been done. If you asked a lawyer, he would tell you that it's not too late. If you ask anyone who knows anything, they will tell you it's been too late for, oh, let's say...7 months and 8 days. Or so. And waaayyy to late for a couple of months. Maybe more, who can say, for certain. Some may say just a little over a month, but they are the uninformed. Include me as a onetime member of this group.

So, I look forward to the day. And I dread it. It represents, in typical Gemini fashion, one of the bravest things I've ever done, and perhaps my gravest failure in a lifetime of mistakes.

On the one hand I know that I've done the right thing. Although, from the empirical evidence, this is a very hard point to support. I suppose that's what faith is for, no? I have the faith of my convictions, which is enough for me. It's nice to be supported by loved ones, but if one truly believes one is on the right path, unnecessary. Their backing, even if it was a little late in coming (in some cases), does make the row somewhat easier to hoe. It is still up to each person to actually do the digging.

On the other hand was a golden band...as the song goes (kinda,. Shut up, I'll remember the lyrics however I please. If you don't like it, get your own blog and write whatever you want. Just don't forget to tell me where to find it in the comments, or I'll never know of your almighty superiority). When one says, "I do.", does anyone really mean anything but forever? That's silly, of course some people do. Not me. I waited until I had found the person who I could spend the rest of my life with.

Well, the female person, I passed up the male version due to a lack of differences in DNA makeup. Too much of the matching XY vs. XX just doesn't work for me. Too bad, though, because it would have saved me a hell of a lot of other kinds of pain.

Umm... that's not the point I was going for, was it? Where was I? Oh, right...

So here I was, optimistic that I had found that of which the poets sing. Love everlasting. To somehow mess that all up... It feels like failing in the worst possible way. So bad that I cannot even come up with a suitable analogy. If you know me personally, you know that this is a serious situation, next to hyperbole, analogies are the most important part of my inter-world relating.

Optimistic. That choice of word has put the lie to my whole string of BS. Hasn't it? Perhaps it would be more honest to say that I felt "cornered". You see, I did believe that I'd found exactly what I was looking for. But then I learned that there was only one way to hang on to it. (Yeah, it was not an assumption I made. It was laid out for me pretty clearly.) So I did what made me happy. And seemed to make everyone else happy. That alone should have made it the right thing. If everyone's happy, how can it not be the right thing?

Because only an idiot enters into a lifetime contract without reading the fine print. (Hint: it's a the bottom of the post, and it's so small that you probably won't be ale to read it.)

Well, like most of these seem to, this will dribble to and end. No clear cut conclusions for you. It's sort of like life, in that way. If it is like life...then I've imitated life in my writing. And some have said that art imitates life. Does that somehow make this art? If so, the I claim that I meant for that to be so. If not... well, who wants to be an artist, anyway.

d minus twenty-nine and counting

D-thirty

and counting...

Oh yeah, I can post here, too.

Weevil decided to head out to Portland for the holiday weekend. No doubt he is using his considerable bartender connections to try and woo many unsuspecting Oregon women to the dark side. I've heard stories of this dark side. Apparently there's cake.

I won't hold a grudge that he's off in higher-end locales (yes, compared to Spokane, Portland is down-right ritzy). All I want to know is, am I getting a crappy T-shirt?

The pictures have all been washed in black

I met a black person for the first time when I was two years old. Scratch that. I saw a black person for the first time when I was two years old. No, I don't actually remember the incident, but I can tell it now from my mother's recollection. Sort of like an amateur historian.

So there we we. Getting a burger at the Steer Inn. Maybe two burgers. Probably some tots. A shake? Sure. Back in the day, it was cool to hang out in the parking lot while you ate (and after). Think "American Graffiti" NW style.

So here I stand in the passenger seat of a convertible Fiat. All 20 some inches of me. Looking out out the wonderfully strange place that is full of way more interesting sights and sounds than that cramped old womb. Get it? Cramped. Whatever. It's my post and I'll make whatever lame puns I want. I'll even claim those unintentional.

Standing there gawking. Now, there's a habit I should get over. Over saunters an unsuspecting gentleman who looks like nothing I've ever seen before. He's taller than anyone in my (limited) experience; bald (hey that's like me, huh?); and dark.

Up to the car he walks, leans over to get to my level, and says... Well we'll never know. I don't remember. Remember, I'm two, and I have very little faith in my ability to recall what I ate for yesterday's midday meal. Spicy venison chili? Shit on a shingle pasta? Maybe. And Mom was getting the food. Because we were at a restaurant. Try to keep up.

So he says the things people say to kids and I look at him soberly, reach out my tiny white hand and wipe my fingers across his forehead. Then I look at my fingers to see if I'd gotten some of the color to come off. My mother says she's never been so embarrassed. Of course, she says that about approximately 2/3 of the stories she tells about me.

The guy was cool, though. He laughed at the goofy little kid and made a joke. Thanks, dude. You may have been a brief encounter, but it probably shaped my view of other races more than any event in my life. Right up until basic training. But that, basic training, off subject. And, after reading my posts, I'm sure you know how taboo that is @ Brainweevil.

The last black person I met was not a dude. And I am now wayyyy to suave to try to uncolor someone. Yeah, so I made up another word. at least I know I'm doing it.

My first experience of her was text with no image. I thought her words beautiful. Of course, I met her on the `net, so coherency is enough to get her words several steps up the steps to glory. When I saw a picture, I was shocked. Girls that pretty don't speak in carefully considered sentences.

At least not those who are talking to me. Hey, don't get offended. Prove me wrong. Stop the misanthropy before it becomes misogyny.

Anyway, the more I learned the better she got. Every revelation was like turning the pages of the book of perfect traits. Each new thing I learned brought me closer to the edge of a place I have serious doubts about reaching in the near future. Smart, funny, literate, even tempered, hot, talking to me... Yeah, it's like a dream. Then the alarm went off.

She has a flaw. So does everyone else. So what? Right? Get over it. One flaw does not a dream destroy. Well, this one did. Yeah, I'll bet you guessed it. She's got a... habit. And addiction. There's no future for us. I guess we'll just have to be friends. I could use a few more of those. If her habit will allow it, that is.

I have my doubts about that, too. But I'll keep them to myself. I wouldn't want the optimistic vibe of Brainweevil to be shattered with doubts, now would I?

So now I'm off to Trick Shot's. Where I hear everyone is looking for a hook-up. Perhaps I'll see you there. I'll be the not neanderthal. Probably stick out like a sore thumb.

Situational ethics

We've all heard a person say something is, "Wrong. Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. I'd never do that. That's the sort of thing that only a bad person would do." Hell, most of us have said something like that. Sometimes you'll even hear them say something like, "That ought to be a crime." Then they find that, for some reason, they are engaging in the tabooed activity. Oops. Now what? Some who find themselves in this situation also find that they've learned something about themselves. It takes a bit of introspection. Sometimes, with some brutal honesty with oneself, lessons can be learned; personal growth achieved. Others seem to just redefine the sin, "I'm not doing that. I'm doing this other thing that, while it appears to be the same thing to you, is completely different in my made up reality." "It's ok, because of [insert here some extenuating circumstance that is only related by... well, sometimes they don't need to relate at all, do they?]" Still others just ignore the change altogether. We've all had to change our beliefs at one point or another. Maybe not wholesale changes, but change is a part of life, so some will be unavoidable. The key is to learn from the mistakes we make. Wait, that's a different rant, sorry. They key, here, is to understand that they shift. To delve into the cause and decide if we really believe in our new course, or if we've just fallen off the path we know to be right. If we believe, we need to own up to the fact that things have changed; take ownership of the new, improved (please, please, let it be an improvement, if you're going to stick with it. Fight Entropy!) person we've become. If we've slipped, it's time to end the hypocrisy. Face your mistakes; do the hard thing (almost guaranteed to be the right thing); get back on the correct path. It may seem harsh, but in the long run, it is what's best for you. Doing the right thing (especially when it's the hard thing) builds character. The beauty of this is that Character makes doing the right (hard) things more natural; not easier, but natural. The bad part is that, until you've built the necessary character, doing right may seem to be more than hard, it may seem impossible. It's not, and next time it will be a little better. Failing to do the right thing destroys character and makes the new path you've chosen more palatable. The next wrong decision will seem more acceptable. Unchecked, this leads to being a bad person. Trust me. I've been there. The trip back from hell is much more arduous than staying out of hell to start with.

Welcome to the new Trevor order.

A week ago today, I had never sent a text message. It had been ten years since I sent my last instant message. I communicated with 1-2 people a day on average, outside of work.

Since then, in the last 160 hours or so, I've sent and received around 200 texts. Interacted via instant messenger for hours. and sent / received 42 e-mails. Oh, and posted on a couple of blogs and don't get me started talking about the networking sites.

Crazy how things can change in an instant, no?

I really need to slow down, my reading time is being seriously cut into here.

In other news...

I figured out my alibi. The vacuum tight alibi I've been working on for decades. Finally. Of course, I can't tell you what it is. Then it would be more of an airtight alibi. You might tell someone else about it. Then it would degrade all the way to watertight. So, I'll keep it to myself. Get your own perfect alibi.






Although, I might trade you my alibi for your designer's guide to utopia...

Death & Duty

Lead me not into temptation - for I shall eat that apple - seeds, stem, worm, and all. Once all of the apples are devoured I will cut down that tree for heat and begins the search for the next fruit. So begins an era of debauchery that my college years will be put to shame.

I am thoroughly fed up with doing the right thing. Those who know me know that I will do the right thing, my duty, to the best of my ability without regard for the damage done. Or who is damaged.

Of course, this brings up the question, "Where does one draw the line?" The problem is: I don't know. I know I live my life trying to avoid hurting others whenever possible. I know this seems out of line with the last paragraph, but note that I did qualify the last sentence with a mention of possibility.

I get around the contradiction, for the most part, by surrounding myself with people who are unlikely to cross the bounds of what I feel is right. I've been wrong about people before, but they've all been excised from my life. Again, where possible. Sometimes we are not as in charge of our lives as we'd like to think we are.

If you disagree, pray that you never learn the reality. Not pretty. Now, I know there are folks railing. Some are saying, "Aren't you the one who's always talking about taking responsibility for your actions?". Well, yeah. I do believe that we are all responsible for our action. Regardless of the amount, or number, of inhibition lowering drugs in your system. I didn't say anything contradictory to this philosophy. We are absolutely responsible for all that we do and say, we just aren't in control of the results or the outside forces.

Duty hurts. Death would be better. It's not dying time, yet. There are things that need doing. Breathing, for instance. Taking over the world, maybe. Stuff to be done.

Duty crushes. Death would be easier. It's not my time, yet. Duty won't allow it.

So, as expected, I'll continue to do my duty. I'll just have some more depravity mixed in to make it more fun.

Me? I think it's you, Zombie man.

I got my first spammer today: the day after I started being associated with your blog. My mom always did say hanging out with tall, dark men would lead me to ruin. I was so excited, I though someone I wasn't related to had read my blog of their own free will (rather than because they felt obligated).

Yummy down on this...

I made pasta and cheese sauce with cumin and fresh cracked pepper and you're bitching because I didn't make nachos? What, the pasta wasn't crunchy enough for you? Next time I won't cook it.

Seriously, though, what's for dinner, Zombie man?

We both know what I want to have for dinner, and it's exactly the inverse of "What's good for that.

Ha! That's funny. Think about the inverse of "that".

You Know What's Good for That?

Nachos. No, really, I'm still waiting for those damned nachos. And waiting this long, they'd better be the best damn nachos on the planet.

Food? Overrated

I have not eaten. Well, that's not true. I've had 2 properly portioned bowls of cereal and a Ho-Ho. Since 10/19 at around 1600 hours. This is probably not healthy. In fact, it is almost certainly not, but I just cannot seem to find an appetite. Perhaps I have a tapeworm. No, that works the opposite way, so it's can't be a tapeworm. Perhaps I have a cheating spouse. That's like a reverse tapeworm. Isn't it? So here I'll liken it to a bad bowel obstruction. You know, the kind that makes your balls ache like they got kicked yesterday. mmm mmm good.
My friend from zombieboomstick insists that I need to eat something. Soon. I think he's just hungry and wants me to feed him some nachos. Well, maybe I'll have some, too.

Will Smith doesn't have to cuss to sell records. Well, I do. So fuck him and fuck you, too.

Oh, not you. and not you. Yeah, YOU!

Dense? Naive?

Am I just terribly dense? Or am I unbelievable naive? What is wrong with me that I cannot grasp simple relationship concepts? Why do women date? Why would she date someone who couldn't fulfill her dreams? If a particular thing makes a woman so angry, at a level so basic she cannot even tell that she is monumentally angry, does it make sense to anyone else that she would seek out that same thing in her next relationship? Seriously, what am I missing? What piece of elemental female psychology do I not get? Do you know guys who do the same thing?
I'm honestly flabbergasted (although I do love that word). It's free to post comments, you don't need an account. I'd really appreciate anyone's input.

Damn that Bojangles

He made me cry. It's not his fault, I suppose. I mean, when "Mr. Bojangles" makes me cry, I'm pretty far the other side of OK.

I wish people would quit saying to me, "It's too bad you guys couldn't work things out" Like that hasn't occurred to me before:

"Gee, the woman who made me believe in forever love is out of my life. Hey, Mr. Stranger, could you make a suggestion to stop my heart from breaking? Oh, "work it out"? Yeah, maybe that's what I should have done. That's a stroke of blinding genius! Why, oh why, didn't I think of that."

With ideas that good, I'm surprised these people aren't curing cancer:

"Why don't we just tell peeple not to get the cancer? Then we won't have any. Let's go have a drink to celebrate our thinkfulness. Then we can think up some more gooder ideals."

Thanks, dumb people.

Urban Legend Reference Pages

I just noticed that my post titles had been getting shorter and shorter, so I though I'd call this one, "Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town". But then I realized that was just the Pearl Jam playing on my iPod, so I decided to make it about one of my favorite websites. Don't tell my mom about this site; she'll realize I'm not really smart about popular culture, I just know where to look.
Every time I get one of those stupid (or sentimental, or ludicrous) e-mails, I think to myself,"Now did Jay Leno really say that?" or "I've heard all of George Carlin's stuff, and that is definitely not in character for him to say.". So I just mosey on over to www.snopes.com, type in some keywords, and BOOM! the tight end gets blown up by the safety. When you get tackled like that, you really know that you got tackled. Sorry, too much Madden this week, what I mean is: Bam, there's the real story behind the crap 349 people just e-mailed me.

Check your facts, so you don't send crap.

Bitch

That was what he said. Bitch. It was like it was the first time I'd ever heard the word, as the nuances opened up before me. It's weird how connotation works. When a person calls a guy a "bitch" he's verbally emasculating him. A petty guy, crying about his troubles gets, "Don't be such a bitch." This statement is almost the connotative diametric opposite of telling a girl, "Don't be such a bitch." Directed at a woman, it's almost an empowering statement. A woman called a bitch is being put into a dominant role. Traditionally, though not exclusively, this is a masculine point of view, but one almost never means it that way when directing it at a man. When describing a man this way, we are putting him in a submissive role: "That's my bitch, he does all of my grunt work." Again, traditionally a feminine role.

So, the next time a guy calls you a bitch, ladies, maybe on a subconscious level he feels like he's identifying with you. On the other hand, you may just be being a bitch.

Lyrics

As I play with my new toy (the blog), my iPod is playing songs. Really it's more like shoving the songs into my ears. Ramming the songs down my aural gullet like I'm going to be some sort of musical foie gras. And, as these sound waves enter my brain, they drag emotions across my raw nerves. For me, the pain the music evokes is like Fight Club is for the narrator from whose psyche Tyler Durden springs.

What brings this up is the lyrics that just forced their way into my cranium, scraping my raw nerves on the way by. It's not like I'm actually listening to the songs, they're just background noise until one of them hits me. The lines that just hit me are:
If you can't save yourself
you save somebody else
maybe that's how you survive
this, I know as soon as I hear it, will soon be followed by:
I ain't no hero, but the truth is I know
it's the bravest thing I've ever done
and I identify, I know what this guy is talking about, I've been there. And I did it to myself.

America, Fuck Yeah!

Apparently there are 9 guns in America for every 10 citizens.
What I find funny about this is their admission that all of the "facts" are really just estimates. Estimates for which they don't even tell us where they get the basis. Not that I'm saying they're way off, hell I'd say that the number is low just based on the people I know personally.
The encouraging part is that the number of privately owned firearms outnumbers those owned by governments by nearly 3:1 which is as it should be.

America, Fuck Yeah!

Happy birthday, Pedro

Happy birthday, brother. I hope your reading went well. I particularly hope the line "You will be fucked like a $2 Hong Kong whore" showed up somewhere in it. Please thank your 52 roommates for putting up with me. A special thanks to your wife for allowing me to impinge on her limited time with you for an entire month. It was most excellent getting to know her better, even if it was a little weird to take her home from the bar more often than you did.

What I learned in a Portland bar

So, Portland was fun. I spent more time hanging out in bars this October than I had accumulated in the past 30 years.
Now, I've shared my ignorance, so if you're a barfly and already knew all of these things you may not be surprised by my findings. I certainly was; I had no idea how much I was missing out on.
The first thing I learned was that it really helps to know your bartender. If you know your bartender, and aren't drooling all over them, you will immediately seem cooler to everyone in the bar than you really are. It's your job to not blow your cover, the bartender can't cover up all of your moles. That's what the alcohol is for, but you have to wait for it to kick in before you revert to your dorky self.
The second thing I learned it that when the bartender loves you and purports you to be one bad ass individual, this will put you several levels above the coolness that just knowing them confers upon you. Thanks, Pedro.
The next thing I learned, which after ruminating on #'s 1 & 2 above should be obvious, is that when a bartender steps behind the bar they gain the same superpowers as a rock star who has just jumped on stage. Now Pedro and M. are very cool people (attractive, too, according to the reports) but when they step behind the bar and throw that white towel over their shoulders they turn into Greek gods of booze. People will do anything to get their attention.