I was going to disclose the full episode I experienced a couple of days ago with Foster Charmington throwing up on my foot, but I think I will save that one for another day when I can’t think of anything to write. What’s on my mind right now is STILL those pictures of the girl I had the major crush on back in high school.
I know, I know, let it go. I can’t. It’s not something in my genetic makeup. I can not really let it bother me, but I do have to think about it because that’s just the way I process things. I don’t think I really analyze things too much, but I do think about them until I run them into the ground and, hopefully, bury them. It may not be the best way to do things, but it definitely gets the job done.
I’m going to be in trouble if a flash flood ever comes and washes away all the dirt and grime in my mind that covers all of the stuff I have run into the ground.
So . . . the pictures. I don’t even want to say this girl’s name because that seems to give her some power over me that I haven’t had to deal with in close to 20 years. Let’s just call her Lady X. Lady X had a picture of her and her family sitting around the dinner table on Christmas or Thanksgiving or one of those other holidays where everyone sits around the dinner table and wears sweater vests and eats with like 6 different forks.
Everyone at the table is smiling with their veneered teeth and their fancy clothes and their tucked in shirts and, you guessed it, bright red matching sweater vests because red is the color of the holiday season. It’s all just so Norman Rockwell I want to check to make sure everyone isn’t a robot and this isn’t some kind of Stepford Wives type deal. Even the little kids were wearing sweater vests. It would have been disgusting if Lady X wasn’t still so smoking hot.
I’ve been having the most trouble with that one thing, so I’m going to tackle the sweater vests, because the only other thing I feel like taking on is the fact that Lady X’s kitchen looks like something you would find in a magazine or in some show on HGTV where the designer walks in and says, “You don’t need to change a thing in here, let’s go fix your neighbor’s house so your property value can rise even higher.”
Back to sweater vests, because seriously WTF? Those things might be the worst things ever to come out of men’s fashion since V-necks were invented.
As a sidebar here, if you wear a V-neck anything you are either a douchebag or gay. There is NO other explanation. And there is NOTHING wrong with being gay. Douchebag is a choice. Think about that the next time you are planning on donning one of those and hitting the clubs. It’s a perfectly okay wardrobe choice if you plan on taking one up the old highway later on that night, but if that’s not on your agenda you might want to re-think your choice. I’m only trying to help.
Dammit, I keep getting sidetracked by all of this other stuff. Suffice it to say that you will catch me in a V-neck before you ever catch me in a sweater vest. My torso NEVER gets colder than my arms. What a worthless piece of equipment. I understand the sleeveless T-shirt for those hot days when you really just want to make sure everyone can see your armpits, but why layer a long sleeve shirt with a sweater that only covers the part of you that doesn’t really get as cold as the rest of you? That’s fucking stupid.
You know when you’ll catch me wearing a sweater vest? In a time and place called Never. Even if I was sponsored by Polo and they wanted me to represent their sweater vest collection for the year I would only agree to do it if they made some alterations to the sweater vest, like adding sleeves and changing the material from sweater material to some kind of fabric like UnderArmor or Nike Sport Tech gear so I could go play sports in it.
Somebody go work that out for me. Fucking sweater vests . . .
B!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
500 Words A Day-Day 11
Yesteryear Revisited
Today I came home from work and put on my “Go To” music selection: Counting Crows album “August And Everything After.” This album was the soundtrack to the year I came alive and finally figured out what it meant to be alive. 1994.
I like to tell people that I learned more about myself during my first semester at U of A as a freshman than I did in the entire 18 years prior to that. That’s the truth. But I learned more about EVERYTHING ELSE in 1994. To this day it is the year I would most like to live over.
In 1994 I moved out of the dorms and got my first apartment (with roommates, of course). I bought my first car and got to live under the pressure of having a car payment and insurance premiums to pay. I got my first credit card. I got my first utility bill in my name and my name in the phone book for the first time. I always think of the movie “The Jerk” when I think about that.
1994 was the year I got my first glimpse of what having a job meant. Prior to that it was just something I did to keep some change in my pockets, but when I got that car and the car payment and the rent to pay I realized that working was something I needed to do to keep myself afloat and out of my parent’s house (which, for whatever reason, is ALL I ever wanted to do when I was growing up). I started my “career” with KB Toys in 1994. I also got my first serious girlfriend that I actually liked that year. I found out the importance of finding your alcohol on sale that year, too. At that point one of the most important things I ever found out in my life, to be honest. Even more important than having the girlfriend I liked, unfortunately.
I also found heartbreak that year. I found what it was like to be truly alone in the world. I found out what it is like to REALLY want to be a part of a group and not be able to be a part of it. I found a well of creativity that year that didn’t exist before that. I wrote, and wrote and wrote that year. Good things, bad things. Heartache. Loneliness. Everything had a way of making it onto paper. So many pages of writings in my backlog come from that year.
And this CD playing right now (well, not actually a CD, it’s on my iTunes) embodies nearly everything that was important to me that year. As soon as I put it in I am right back to where I was the first time I heard it. I’m sitting in my room on a mattress on the floor on the second story of University West Apartments in Flagstaff, looking out the window on a June afternoon, soaking it all in.
“And every time she sneezes I believe it’s love and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing. She’s talking in her sleep, it’s keeping me awake and Anna begins to toss and turn. And every word is nonsense but I understand and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”—Anna Begins
Turns out I really wasn’t ready for any of that sort of thing. But damn if it wasn’t a good time. I’d go back in a second. In a SECOND!
I really wish I could feel like that about my life now.
B!
Today I came home from work and put on my “Go To” music selection: Counting Crows album “August And Everything After.” This album was the soundtrack to the year I came alive and finally figured out what it meant to be alive. 1994.
I like to tell people that I learned more about myself during my first semester at U of A as a freshman than I did in the entire 18 years prior to that. That’s the truth. But I learned more about EVERYTHING ELSE in 1994. To this day it is the year I would most like to live over.
In 1994 I moved out of the dorms and got my first apartment (with roommates, of course). I bought my first car and got to live under the pressure of having a car payment and insurance premiums to pay. I got my first credit card. I got my first utility bill in my name and my name in the phone book for the first time. I always think of the movie “The Jerk” when I think about that.
1994 was the year I got my first glimpse of what having a job meant. Prior to that it was just something I did to keep some change in my pockets, but when I got that car and the car payment and the rent to pay I realized that working was something I needed to do to keep myself afloat and out of my parent’s house (which, for whatever reason, is ALL I ever wanted to do when I was growing up). I started my “career” with KB Toys in 1994. I also got my first serious girlfriend that I actually liked that year. I found out the importance of finding your alcohol on sale that year, too. At that point one of the most important things I ever found out in my life, to be honest. Even more important than having the girlfriend I liked, unfortunately.
I also found heartbreak that year. I found what it was like to be truly alone in the world. I found out what it is like to REALLY want to be a part of a group and not be able to be a part of it. I found a well of creativity that year that didn’t exist before that. I wrote, and wrote and wrote that year. Good things, bad things. Heartache. Loneliness. Everything had a way of making it onto paper. So many pages of writings in my backlog come from that year.
And this CD playing right now (well, not actually a CD, it’s on my iTunes) embodies nearly everything that was important to me that year. As soon as I put it in I am right back to where I was the first time I heard it. I’m sitting in my room on a mattress on the floor on the second story of University West Apartments in Flagstaff, looking out the window on a June afternoon, soaking it all in.
“And every time she sneezes I believe it’s love and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing. She’s talking in her sleep, it’s keeping me awake and Anna begins to toss and turn. And every word is nonsense but I understand and oh Lord I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”—Anna Begins
Turns out I really wasn’t ready for any of that sort of thing. But damn if it wasn’t a good time. I’d go back in a second. In a SECOND!
I really wish I could feel like that about my life now.
B!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
500 Words A Day--Day 10
How Facebook F’d Me Up
Yesterday I ended up having a bit of a walk down memory lane that got into my head so much I spent most of my day today just thinking about it. And I have Facebook to blame for it.
It started out innocently enough: one of my “friends” had some pictures posted from one of his vacations with him and his fraternity brothers. I have the word friends in quotes because this is a guy I went to high school with who I literally haven’t talked to since probably 1995. He was dating one of my girlfriend’s sorority sisters back then so we kind of went in the same circles but we always seemed to be at different events and whatnot. He was always super cool to me in high school (he definitely ran with the more popular crowd) so I never thought twice about adding him as a friend when he requested it.
So when I saw he had pictures of his trip up, I went ahead and checked them out. Kind of a way to peek into someone else’s life for a second or two. As I was checking his photos out, a picture popped up from the profile of the girl I had a major crush on in high school. Not just a major crush, but a MAJOR CRUSH. Like I wrote songs for and about this girl, I wrote poetry about her, I even wrote a movie loosely based on my experiences with (or, more accurately, without) her, etc. This was the girl that defined what my high school experience was.
So I see these pictures of her and her family (she is married with four kids now) and it is a full-blown mind fuck for me. I can’t even convey exactly how important this girl was in my development as a human person type being, and this is literally a girl I NEVER talked to in four years of school. Actually I take that back, I never talked to her in more than five years of school. She was literally the first girl I ever saw in Flagstaff as she was there at Flagstaff Junior High the day I signed up for school in 8th grade.
She was a cheerleader, a track star, the school photographer, daughter of a famous surgeon, in AP everything, etc. She had the best set of legs I have EVER seen on a woman, hands down. And she never said a fucking word to me in school and I never said a word to her. Yet somehow I have found a way to base my entire high school experience on the fact that just seeing her in the halls would absolutely make my day in a way that I don’t think I have ever experienced since then even with girls I have been in actual love with.
It’s borderline pathetic, to be honest. It may be across the border, actually.
Anyway, as I’m looking through the pictures of this woman’s life I slowly come to the realization that I have NOTHING that would even come close to satisfying her on any level except a physical one. As much “pain” as I was in with the unrequited love in high school it took this long to dawn on me that I had absolutely nothing of interest to her. That probably explains why we never said a word to each other. Girls don’t want poets, they want guys who can provide for them, ESPECIALLY girls who have doctors for fathers (I learned this one the hard way by dating a girl with a dentist for a father for close to three years—once again, when it came down to it, I had NOTHING to give her but myself and that wasn’t enough. I did, however, write some of my best stuff ever after we broke up, so I guess I can thank her for that).
What she did for me was define which girls I would find attractive for the rest of my life, though. I know part of this is just a manifestation of an Oedipus complex, but I know that the women who I have been REALLY attracted to have all been smart, driven, athletic, successful and they all have a really good set of wheels connecting their hips to their shoes.
I remember the first time my mom saw her. We were at a video store (remember those?) and my crush walked in. I just about lost my mind. I pointed her out to my mom and she just said, “That’s the girl you like? She doesn’t look very special to me.” Of course my response was, “Mom, you don’t UNDERSTAND!”
Truth is, though, she was right. That girl is just like every other girl who doesn’t talk to me now . . . only she still has a killer set of wheels. I wish her the best from afar, which is exactly how I wished her anything when we were in high school together. And both of our worlds will keep spinning just fine, just like they always have.
B!
Yesterday I ended up having a bit of a walk down memory lane that got into my head so much I spent most of my day today just thinking about it. And I have Facebook to blame for it.
It started out innocently enough: one of my “friends” had some pictures posted from one of his vacations with him and his fraternity brothers. I have the word friends in quotes because this is a guy I went to high school with who I literally haven’t talked to since probably 1995. He was dating one of my girlfriend’s sorority sisters back then so we kind of went in the same circles but we always seemed to be at different events and whatnot. He was always super cool to me in high school (he definitely ran with the more popular crowd) so I never thought twice about adding him as a friend when he requested it.
So when I saw he had pictures of his trip up, I went ahead and checked them out. Kind of a way to peek into someone else’s life for a second or two. As I was checking his photos out, a picture popped up from the profile of the girl I had a major crush on in high school. Not just a major crush, but a MAJOR CRUSH. Like I wrote songs for and about this girl, I wrote poetry about her, I even wrote a movie loosely based on my experiences with (or, more accurately, without) her, etc. This was the girl that defined what my high school experience was.
So I see these pictures of her and her family (she is married with four kids now) and it is a full-blown mind fuck for me. I can’t even convey exactly how important this girl was in my development as a human person type being, and this is literally a girl I NEVER talked to in four years of school. Actually I take that back, I never talked to her in more than five years of school. She was literally the first girl I ever saw in Flagstaff as she was there at Flagstaff Junior High the day I signed up for school in 8th grade.
She was a cheerleader, a track star, the school photographer, daughter of a famous surgeon, in AP everything, etc. She had the best set of legs I have EVER seen on a woman, hands down. And she never said a fucking word to me in school and I never said a word to her. Yet somehow I have found a way to base my entire high school experience on the fact that just seeing her in the halls would absolutely make my day in a way that I don’t think I have ever experienced since then even with girls I have been in actual love with.
It’s borderline pathetic, to be honest. It may be across the border, actually.
Anyway, as I’m looking through the pictures of this woman’s life I slowly come to the realization that I have NOTHING that would even come close to satisfying her on any level except a physical one. As much “pain” as I was in with the unrequited love in high school it took this long to dawn on me that I had absolutely nothing of interest to her. That probably explains why we never said a word to each other. Girls don’t want poets, they want guys who can provide for them, ESPECIALLY girls who have doctors for fathers (I learned this one the hard way by dating a girl with a dentist for a father for close to three years—once again, when it came down to it, I had NOTHING to give her but myself and that wasn’t enough. I did, however, write some of my best stuff ever after we broke up, so I guess I can thank her for that).
What she did for me was define which girls I would find attractive for the rest of my life, though. I know part of this is just a manifestation of an Oedipus complex, but I know that the women who I have been REALLY attracted to have all been smart, driven, athletic, successful and they all have a really good set of wheels connecting their hips to their shoes.
I remember the first time my mom saw her. We were at a video store (remember those?) and my crush walked in. I just about lost my mind. I pointed her out to my mom and she just said, “That’s the girl you like? She doesn’t look very special to me.” Of course my response was, “Mom, you don’t UNDERSTAND!”
Truth is, though, she was right. That girl is just like every other girl who doesn’t talk to me now . . . only she still has a killer set of wheels. I wish her the best from afar, which is exactly how I wished her anything when we were in high school together. And both of our worlds will keep spinning just fine, just like they always have.
B!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
500 Words A Day--Day 9
Looking At The Front Door
A long time ago there was a song by a group called Main Source called “Looking At The Front Door.” It’s a rap song about a guy who keeps fighting with his girlfriend and he keeps looking out the front door and wondering if he had the guts “to evacuate” would things be any better for him.
That song came out probably when I was a senior in high school, so around 1991. I always thought it was a pretty decent song, nothing great, just a good beat and whatever it was that got me amped on hip-hop at that time. Now it means something completely different to me. I like how that happens. How a song that I literally haven’t thought of in AT LEAST 8 years suddenly pops into my head and has an immediate meaning to me in my life even though it never meant anything to me back when it was released.
I love music for just that reason.
I just looked up the lyrics and they are not really that brilliant and really they don’t have that much to do with my current situation. They are passable, but nothing earth shattering except for the imagery of the guy looking at the front door and figuratively wondering what is on the other side of it. I do that all the time. I have said many times before that my absolute FAVORITE thing in the world to do is leave. I love leaving. I usually don’t even care where I’m going as long as I get to leave.
Walking out the front door is the beginning of something. Anything. But it is the beginning. Every time you open the front door you have January 1st and the opportunity to start over. You never know what is on the other side of that door. Usually it is work and normal, everyday bullshit and stuff that you can’t really change, but some days you actually get something new and unusual and something worth the effort of turning that door handle.
I often wonder what it would be like to have every day be something different and new. Maybe that would take away the allure of getting to leave only on special occasions. But that mixture of excitement and the unknown really has an effect on me right down to my soul. I sometimes think I should have become a truck driver so I could constantly be leaving somewhere, but I haven’t come into contact with too many truck drivers that I would want to hang out with so that always kept me from pursuing that line of work. But if I could find a job where all I got to do was walk out the front door I would be the happiest little camper in the world.
Anybody ever heard of a job like that? Because it seems as though all I do anymore is look at the front door and wonder what kind of things I could accomplish on the other side instead of actually walking out that front door and doing something with myself. Maybe those guys will come up with a sequel that tells what they found on the other side of that door so I can put my mind at ease.
Or maybe I can just walk out that front door and find out for myself.
B!
A long time ago there was a song by a group called Main Source called “Looking At The Front Door.” It’s a rap song about a guy who keeps fighting with his girlfriend and he keeps looking out the front door and wondering if he had the guts “to evacuate” would things be any better for him.
That song came out probably when I was a senior in high school, so around 1991. I always thought it was a pretty decent song, nothing great, just a good beat and whatever it was that got me amped on hip-hop at that time. Now it means something completely different to me. I like how that happens. How a song that I literally haven’t thought of in AT LEAST 8 years suddenly pops into my head and has an immediate meaning to me in my life even though it never meant anything to me back when it was released.
I love music for just that reason.
I just looked up the lyrics and they are not really that brilliant and really they don’t have that much to do with my current situation. They are passable, but nothing earth shattering except for the imagery of the guy looking at the front door and figuratively wondering what is on the other side of it. I do that all the time. I have said many times before that my absolute FAVORITE thing in the world to do is leave. I love leaving. I usually don’t even care where I’m going as long as I get to leave.
Walking out the front door is the beginning of something. Anything. But it is the beginning. Every time you open the front door you have January 1st and the opportunity to start over. You never know what is on the other side of that door. Usually it is work and normal, everyday bullshit and stuff that you can’t really change, but some days you actually get something new and unusual and something worth the effort of turning that door handle.
I often wonder what it would be like to have every day be something different and new. Maybe that would take away the allure of getting to leave only on special occasions. But that mixture of excitement and the unknown really has an effect on me right down to my soul. I sometimes think I should have become a truck driver so I could constantly be leaving somewhere, but I haven’t come into contact with too many truck drivers that I would want to hang out with so that always kept me from pursuing that line of work. But if I could find a job where all I got to do was walk out the front door I would be the happiest little camper in the world.
Anybody ever heard of a job like that? Because it seems as though all I do anymore is look at the front door and wonder what kind of things I could accomplish on the other side instead of actually walking out that front door and doing something with myself. Maybe those guys will come up with a sequel that tells what they found on the other side of that door so I can put my mind at ease.
Or maybe I can just walk out that front door and find out for myself.
B!
Monday, August 30, 2010
500 Words A Day-Day 8 "The Me-First Generation"
It’s funny how stuff works out. I wonder sometimes if everything we do is some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy or if fate just happens to jump up right at the exact moment we were wondering if there was such a thing.
Today I was contemplating what my topic was going to be for this essay since it seems that all I do is complain about how I am not where I want to be in pretty much any facet of my life. Then on my drive home I came across so many assholes on the road that I started to think about how it seems like everyone has a “me first” mentality these days. I know that I shouldn’t base my assumptions on the entire human race on the people I come across on my daily commute, but those are the people I have to deal with the most so I feel like they constitute EVERYONE even though, deep down, I know they don’t.
What I consistently notice is that the drivers in this area don’t give a shit about anyone else they come into contact with. All they do is try to get to their destination as fast as possible even if it means breaking laws and breaking common rules of decency. I will admit that I try to be as low-key as possible behind the wheel. If you haven’t acted like a dick I will let you into my lane as long as you signal. I will wave you through if we are waiting somewhere and you need to get in, etc.
But then I come across these fucking douchebags who change lanes in school zones, speed through the school zones, pass buses, change lanes without signaling, don’t come to complete stops at lights or stop signs, etc. Fuck them. They are EVERYWHERE and I’m tired of it. The lights are on a timer people. If you do the correct speed they will always be green for you and you won’t have to slam on the gas to get up to 60 MPH in a 45 zone and then slam on your brakes because the light changed color. Guess what dickhead, I was doing 42 the whole time and if it wasn’t for you and your lane changing, brake slamming assface I wouldn’t have to touch my brakes at all during my 12 mile commute. But I always end up hitting my brakes because these people have to cut me off to get one car length ahead of me.
I have grown to accept that I will face this EVERY time I leave my house, but today on my way home from the gym I came across a guy who very nearly made me lose my laid back façade and go fucking APE SHIT on him. I pulled up to the gate in my complex (I live in a gated community right smack dab in the shittiest part of Mesa) and entered my code. A guy pulled in behind me and as I was entering my code he pulled up next to me so when the gate opened he got in the gate first, causing me to hit my brakes to let him in.
Seriously?! Now, my first instinct was to ram his car. I came about a foot from doing that. Remember, I am on my way home from the gym so I am already a little jacked up on testosterone so I am closer than I normally would be to losing it already. Normally I turn left when I go into the complex but this fucker turned right so I followed him. He knew I was following him so he sped up and flew around the corner. I came around the corner too and he parked, jumped out of his car and started running into his house. I slammed my car into park in the middle of the road and jumped out, screaming, “What the fuck is your problem dude?!” He just kept running to his house. I screamed, “I fucking DARE you to try that shit again with me man! I will FUCK YOU UP!”
It literally took EVERY bit of self control I had not go chase him down to his house and leave him lying in a pool of his own blood and piss. Man, I’m too old for shit like that to have that much of an impact on me. If I was a “me first” kind of person he would be severely injured and I would probably be in jail right now.
I guess it’s a good thing I still have some self-control. But if that fucker ever does that again . . .
B!
Today I was contemplating what my topic was going to be for this essay since it seems that all I do is complain about how I am not where I want to be in pretty much any facet of my life. Then on my drive home I came across so many assholes on the road that I started to think about how it seems like everyone has a “me first” mentality these days. I know that I shouldn’t base my assumptions on the entire human race on the people I come across on my daily commute, but those are the people I have to deal with the most so I feel like they constitute EVERYONE even though, deep down, I know they don’t.
What I consistently notice is that the drivers in this area don’t give a shit about anyone else they come into contact with. All they do is try to get to their destination as fast as possible even if it means breaking laws and breaking common rules of decency. I will admit that I try to be as low-key as possible behind the wheel. If you haven’t acted like a dick I will let you into my lane as long as you signal. I will wave you through if we are waiting somewhere and you need to get in, etc.
But then I come across these fucking douchebags who change lanes in school zones, speed through the school zones, pass buses, change lanes without signaling, don’t come to complete stops at lights or stop signs, etc. Fuck them. They are EVERYWHERE and I’m tired of it. The lights are on a timer people. If you do the correct speed they will always be green for you and you won’t have to slam on the gas to get up to 60 MPH in a 45 zone and then slam on your brakes because the light changed color. Guess what dickhead, I was doing 42 the whole time and if it wasn’t for you and your lane changing, brake slamming assface I wouldn’t have to touch my brakes at all during my 12 mile commute. But I always end up hitting my brakes because these people have to cut me off to get one car length ahead of me.
I have grown to accept that I will face this EVERY time I leave my house, but today on my way home from the gym I came across a guy who very nearly made me lose my laid back façade and go fucking APE SHIT on him. I pulled up to the gate in my complex (I live in a gated community right smack dab in the shittiest part of Mesa) and entered my code. A guy pulled in behind me and as I was entering my code he pulled up next to me so when the gate opened he got in the gate first, causing me to hit my brakes to let him in.
Seriously?! Now, my first instinct was to ram his car. I came about a foot from doing that. Remember, I am on my way home from the gym so I am already a little jacked up on testosterone so I am closer than I normally would be to losing it already. Normally I turn left when I go into the complex but this fucker turned right so I followed him. He knew I was following him so he sped up and flew around the corner. I came around the corner too and he parked, jumped out of his car and started running into his house. I slammed my car into park in the middle of the road and jumped out, screaming, “What the fuck is your problem dude?!” He just kept running to his house. I screamed, “I fucking DARE you to try that shit again with me man! I will FUCK YOU UP!”
It literally took EVERY bit of self control I had not go chase him down to his house and leave him lying in a pool of his own blood and piss. Man, I’m too old for shit like that to have that much of an impact on me. If I was a “me first” kind of person he would be severely injured and I would probably be in jail right now.
I guess it’s a good thing I still have some self-control. But if that fucker ever does that again . . .
B!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
500 Words A Day-Day 7
Ugh, I just feel “off” today. Not necessarily sick or anything, just not quite at full strength. I’ve had a bit of a chest cold going on I think. It took me a few days to realize that I was having trouble breathing and that it really doesn’t feel like asthma. I keep waking up with spilkus in my ganecktagazoink and I find that I can’t really take a deep breath unless I really concentrate on it. I even skipped the gym today so I could come home and take a nap.
It was a good nap though, let me tell you.
So I am still working on finding a way to actually have a point to all of this writing. I did put some words down on my screenplay yesterday (about a page worth) so I think I might slowly be moving out of my block. I just feel like something major is missing right now. I feel like I need to be on a road trip or something. I have the next three days off and it is severely depressing that I don’t have something major planned for those days. There was a time in my life when I would ALREADY be sitting at Loser’s Lounge with my 4th beer of the night in hand already. Now I’m just glad for a nap and some pretty good preseason football (the Packers are playing the Colts and the Packers look pretty F’ing good). Maybe I will take the dogs for a walk tomorrow or something.
I was thinking today about how I have flashes of brilliance as far as comedy writing goes but then I go through really long stretches where I have absolutely nothing. I wonder how guys who do that stuff for a living get around those blocks. I was also thinking about how I have literally NEVER put all of myself into anything in my life. I have always done things halfway. I talked to a guy about it when I was busy failing my chemistry class in high school (both of us were “smart” kids who were getting our asses kicked by that class so we both kind of just shut down) and he said that we were both afraid of failure so it is much easier to not try than it is to put forth effort and fail.
Truer words have never been spoken.
So what would happen if I ever put everything I had into a goal? Would I surprise myself or would I revert back to my old standby of not trying at all so when the inevitable failure occurred I could always say, “Well, I didn’t REALLY try that hard now, did I?”
I am getting to the part of life where I am too old to do some things and too young to think that way. Does that make sense? I see people who get paid to write for comedy shows and they just seem to have the best work I could possibly think of. Does that mean that comedy writers have my dream job? I can’t think of a better job than being able to write for a comedy show like “The Office” or “Parks and Recreation” or some of the other NBC comedy shows. Of course, I have only written 4 pages of a cold open for an episode of “The Office” and, true to form, I never finished it because I was worried it would suck and no one would ever read it anyway. I really wish I had the balls to put all of myself into something, just once, to see what kind of damage I could do.
B!
It was a good nap though, let me tell you.
So I am still working on finding a way to actually have a point to all of this writing. I did put some words down on my screenplay yesterday (about a page worth) so I think I might slowly be moving out of my block. I just feel like something major is missing right now. I feel like I need to be on a road trip or something. I have the next three days off and it is severely depressing that I don’t have something major planned for those days. There was a time in my life when I would ALREADY be sitting at Loser’s Lounge with my 4th beer of the night in hand already. Now I’m just glad for a nap and some pretty good preseason football (the Packers are playing the Colts and the Packers look pretty F’ing good). Maybe I will take the dogs for a walk tomorrow or something.
I was thinking today about how I have flashes of brilliance as far as comedy writing goes but then I go through really long stretches where I have absolutely nothing. I wonder how guys who do that stuff for a living get around those blocks. I was also thinking about how I have literally NEVER put all of myself into anything in my life. I have always done things halfway. I talked to a guy about it when I was busy failing my chemistry class in high school (both of us were “smart” kids who were getting our asses kicked by that class so we both kind of just shut down) and he said that we were both afraid of failure so it is much easier to not try than it is to put forth effort and fail.
Truer words have never been spoken.
So what would happen if I ever put everything I had into a goal? Would I surprise myself or would I revert back to my old standby of not trying at all so when the inevitable failure occurred I could always say, “Well, I didn’t REALLY try that hard now, did I?”
I am getting to the part of life where I am too old to do some things and too young to think that way. Does that make sense? I see people who get paid to write for comedy shows and they just seem to have the best work I could possibly think of. Does that mean that comedy writers have my dream job? I can’t think of a better job than being able to write for a comedy show like “The Office” or “Parks and Recreation” or some of the other NBC comedy shows. Of course, I have only written 4 pages of a cold open for an episode of “The Office” and, true to form, I never finished it because I was worried it would suck and no one would ever read it anyway. I really wish I had the balls to put all of myself into something, just once, to see what kind of damage I could do.
B!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
500 Words A Day-Day 6
I’ve been working on a screenplay for about 5 or 6 months now about an alcoholic who gets diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, his brother dies and he sells his business all in a span of about a week. As a result of all of that turmoil he decides to go to Arizona and see the Grand Canyon with his brother’s ashes in tow because he’s “never seen anything worth forgetting.” On his way to the Grand Canyon, through a strange twist of fate, he ends up stranded in Flagstaff with no car and he decides to walk to the Grand Canyon to complete the journey with his brother’s ashes.
I am stuck, writer’s block style, in writing this screenplay as my protagonist is currently about 15 miles north of Flagstaff on highway 180. I have a love interest for the guy who has come up with a pretty cool way to keep the spark ignited (at least I think so, and I should since I wrote it): every day she puts her bike in the car, drives a few miles past him on 180 as he walks to the Canyon and she rides her bike back to where he is and she walks with him, pushing her bike, until she gets back to her car. Then she goes home and he walks. And he walks some more to the canyon, camping at night along the way.
So this bit of writer’s block has got me thinking that the only way to get through it is to actually attempt the walk that my protagonist is undertaking. I would consider myself a “method writer” in that I have to be in the mood of the person talking in order for it to come out right. I’m sure I make some CRAZY faces while I’m writing because I basically act everything out in my head as I write it. I have trouble writing about things I don’t really know about, though I am pretty decent at doing research for characters I have no way of using my prior experiences to write (for example, the other script I am writing is about a bunch of Navy SEALs who form a barbershop quartet and I have never done either of those things).
I tried out being an alcoholic once when I was about 24 years old (I forced myself to drink until I was drunk for 31 days in a row just to see what it felt like) and I think that has helped me get into the mind of the alcoholic. Believe me, being an alcoholic is a lot less fun than I thought it would be. The good news about that whole experiment is that I now know I DON’T want to be an alcoholic so I have not become one. Hey, sometimes you have to try stuff out just to find out what you don’t want to do, right?
Anyway, the whole point of this is that sometime either in the next 4 weeks or next May I am going to make the walk from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, just to see what it feels like. It’s a little less than 76 miles and I am confident I can do that in 4 days barring any injuries or accidents. The smart move will be to do some training and do this walk next May, though that kind of defeats the purpose of the walk, which is to see what it is like to do it on the spur of the moment. Still, I will most likely do the walk next May when the temps aren’t too hot during the day or too cold at night.
Anybody feel like taking a stroll with me?
I am stuck, writer’s block style, in writing this screenplay as my protagonist is currently about 15 miles north of Flagstaff on highway 180. I have a love interest for the guy who has come up with a pretty cool way to keep the spark ignited (at least I think so, and I should since I wrote it): every day she puts her bike in the car, drives a few miles past him on 180 as he walks to the Canyon and she rides her bike back to where he is and she walks with him, pushing her bike, until she gets back to her car. Then she goes home and he walks. And he walks some more to the canyon, camping at night along the way.
So this bit of writer’s block has got me thinking that the only way to get through it is to actually attempt the walk that my protagonist is undertaking. I would consider myself a “method writer” in that I have to be in the mood of the person talking in order for it to come out right. I’m sure I make some CRAZY faces while I’m writing because I basically act everything out in my head as I write it. I have trouble writing about things I don’t really know about, though I am pretty decent at doing research for characters I have no way of using my prior experiences to write (for example, the other script I am writing is about a bunch of Navy SEALs who form a barbershop quartet and I have never done either of those things).
I tried out being an alcoholic once when I was about 24 years old (I forced myself to drink until I was drunk for 31 days in a row just to see what it felt like) and I think that has helped me get into the mind of the alcoholic. Believe me, being an alcoholic is a lot less fun than I thought it would be. The good news about that whole experiment is that I now know I DON’T want to be an alcoholic so I have not become one. Hey, sometimes you have to try stuff out just to find out what you don’t want to do, right?
Anyway, the whole point of this is that sometime either in the next 4 weeks or next May I am going to make the walk from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, just to see what it feels like. It’s a little less than 76 miles and I am confident I can do that in 4 days barring any injuries or accidents. The smart move will be to do some training and do this walk next May, though that kind of defeats the purpose of the walk, which is to see what it is like to do it on the spur of the moment. Still, I will most likely do the walk next May when the temps aren’t too hot during the day or too cold at night.
Anybody feel like taking a stroll with me?
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