November 29th, 3:13PM
Let the healing begin
Now that my paper route is over, and now that I am back from SoCal and our awesome family adventure (I'm still getting over it), I can focus on the most neglected member of my family: My Honda.
Roughly three months of horrid abuse have left my car dirty, squeaky, scratched, and just a shell of its former self. I am no motorhead, and I am not the self-absorbed dingleberry who loves his car above all others as a phallic substitute. I am simply a person who has never had a new car before, and who spent plenty of time and research effort finding the right fit, the right car, for his needs and lifestyle. It completes me. Okay, going a little far...
So, I've bought front brake pads, and started the long affair of cleaning out the cabin of my sub-luxury cruiser. I hope to do much more, and restore it to its previous luster.
Well-meaning bullshit
Notice that I didn't type the phrase: "I'm gonna..." I am learning that what you hope to do are great and all, but are on a whole different plane than what you've actually done. I especially have been guilty of good intentions and miserable outcomes. Part of addressing that is being realistic about what I express as an intention, and living outside my head.
If you want to impress someone, tell them what you've done, not what you're going to do in the future. Do the do. As my Dad derisively said dozens of time while I was growing up: "do something, even if it's wrong!"
November 27th, 5:08PM
I'm back, and still thankful
We just returned from a several-hundred mile trip to Southern California to see my in-laws, my wife's wonderful sister and her kinfolk. While there I had an inexplicably powerful experience, while watching your run-of-the-mill home movie, of all things.
We ran a VHS tape of my wife and most of her nuclear family, and I saw a side of my wife I've never seen before, around the age of 11. It struck me how happy and positive she was; impish, fun, happy, loved. It also struck me how she has changed to become the woman I know today. While not a brooding cynic like some (we know who we are), my wife has nonetheless evolved like we all do, and I see that she is not the same person she used to be.
The good news is, she still retains much of that spritely purity even now; the light is not extinguished. I still see it when she plays with Brian, when she interacts with my daughter, and even when she is with me. She still looks for reasons to laugh; she still plays. I also realize even more thoroughly now that my negativity swells and stains even those outside my little perimeter. I didn't get that so well before this week. No empathetic person could come to this realization and continue on the way I have for so long. I've been poisoning not only myself with my inward defeatism, I've been pissing in everyone else's well, too.
I was so enchanted with that young girl in the video, so different than the self I see in my own family artifacts. For the rest of the trip, every time I looked at my wife, I saw the delightful redheaded tween with the permanent smile, leaping and skipping, sticking out her tongue. I'm sure this epiphany rattled her, because it took me the following 36 hours to get over it, and during that interval I would stop, stare, and grin at her like a moron with a liberal Nyquil habit and a lazy eye.
I am grateful that I've seen another piece of the puzzle. It's a valuable thing to have begun internalizing these ideas. Like my good friend Paula Phipps says, it's about learning lessons. This is a good one, and feels like an important one, too.
November 21st, 8:24AM
Paper routes suck
This morning was the last day of throwing newspapers, and I'm glad to be rid of it. If you're ever considering it, think carefully. If I was single, with an otherwise flexible schedule in all other aspects, it may have worked out. But having children, pets, a job, or any other demand on your life makes this commitment a grinding one.
The newspapers never came at a reliable time, pushing back my completion time to unpredictable limits. When you've got to get home so as not to leave children unattended, it's an unwelcome variable. This morning was such a day, where I awoke at 2pm, and hung around staring at the wall at the pick-up spot until 3am, a total waste of valuable time.
On the other hand, the last night was not all terrible. The weather was clear, the rest of the morning was smooth and I practiced my usual disregard for traffic laws in the dark, lonely, vampiric hours without reprimand.
Keepin' it real
I write of these negatives not just to complain, but to remind myself how little fun this gig was. I have this nostalgic habit of forgetting how lousy some experiences were, once they fade into history.
November 21st, 8:24AM
Cut the Juice loose
News Corp. decided to hang OJ out to dry, dumping his abhorrent book and TV projects. There is hope for the human race, yet. Major kudos to the TV affiliates who kicked off this mini-revolution by refusing to air this fresh-brewed trash.
November 20th, 10:51AM
Only a little longer now
Only a few days left on the sometimes-Hellish assignment that is a daily paper route. I greedily anticipate and welcome eight contiguous hours of sleep for the first time in months.
Class clown
or
Dilbert is starving
I've noticed something for quite a while now, but it's taken me this long to belch up the notion and put it into words.
My blog continues to dwindle on life-support frequency, and posts are rarely as clever as they used to be. I have a strong element of the class clown in me, and without a 40-hour workplace to live in, I find myself without a formal structure against which I can happily rail. Without the friction generated by bullshit office politics, corporate doublespeak, overdoses of cheap coffee and the occasional, over-promoted, over-educated, under-intelligent middle management dork to generate amazement, I find the gears of my humor lobe spinning without resistance.
I realize that this tradeoff my have preserved my sanity, but certainly at the above-noted cost.
November 14th, 12:11PM
Even a genius can be wrong sometimes
Living legend and my hero, John Bizarre, has a recent post about myspace, and how being on it can be a pathetic attempt to recapture the coolness you missed out on in high school. There certainly is that aspect of it, and many people on myspace neatly fit that description, but I have a differing view.
I have it on firsthand authority that at least one of my close friends uses myspace primarily for its blog feature, I I couldn't be more thrilled about it. Many people don't have the technical skill or the interest therein to put together their own blog from scratch, and even some dedicated blogging websites are intimidating to implement. Myspace, which gave my grievous fits when I first tried to use it, gives people a chance to share their message with the world, and that is a very good thing. An approachable medium that allows for self-expression can't be all bad.
True, every yokel who uses their blog to Paste-gurgitate the latest spam/scam/"send this to 87 of your closest friends or your daughter will spawn an ethnic lovechild by tomorrow morning" detritus-mail would be better served to knock it off and just turn the TV back on. Set the machinery back to "receive," and save the world some trouble. But there are people out there who would otherwise not put pen to paper, electronic or otherwise, any other way, and that would be a shame.
I'm not saying John Bizarre's wrong, just that there are other points of view.
November 11th, 12:11PM
Out with the bad
I still eat like I want to, not like I ought to. Last night I gorged like an Ethiopian at a Chinese Deli. I feel bad about how little I feel bad about it.
What?
Nothing.
In with the good
I managed to get out for a jog today. While the weather sucked for many pursuits, it was perfect jogging weather: gray, cool, drizzly. I got out and shambled for two miles, round trip, and really enjoyed it. But I have to - doctor's orders.
Fetch me my brain medicine
I feel weird saying so here, but I went and got on some drugs Wednesday. I got me some Lexapro, and a fistful of advice from a very sedate, serious doctor. I am now medically required to get out of the house, find a way to get some exercise, and take my wife out to play once in a while, for the purpose of wrenching my head outta my butt.
Let me qualify the next paragraph: It has not yet been the full week that Dr. Somberpuss declared necessary for the full, running dose to accrue. I would think that any noted effects at this point are very likely to be more the result of a placebo condition than a chemical one. Maybe it's just the fact that there's still hope, something I haven't yet tried...
It's been a markedly improved couple of days. I feel cheerful, outgoing, just a little better than plain ol' positive, which seem like a minor miracle compared to the gloom I've been suffering.
I took my wife's advice, and slept as late as possible before getting up to spread The Record to half of Valley Springs. The extra two hours of uninterrupted sleep is like an opiate, and I feel pretty terrific. I can only do this on the weekends, since I have to return home on weekdays to be with the kids while wifey works, but I'll take it.
Another medical note
I got a tetanus shot Wednesday. I should be good 'til I'm 45.
November 8th, 8:37AM
So much done, so much more to do
Hoo, it's been a while...
I've been getting a lot done, but it's hard to tell when you look around. The place is a mess, and there's always more to do. It kinda screws with your sense of accomplishment.
I'm glad to see Proposition 86 suffering a defeat, but I am troubled that it's such a close call (No 53%, Yes 46% at my last check). Taxing a legal product to oblivion just seems unAmerican to me. They don't have the guts to render it illegal outright, so they try this backdoor, reach-around shit. Really bugs me.
"Gooble gabble bibble, 'aca milk"
My son's baby talk is waning and morphing into intelligible speech. It's good to know what he is saying, especially when his frustration and being misunderstood flares. But, it's a sad milestone that won't be back, barring any future head trauma.
One thing he is adept at, is asking for chocolate milk, pronounced: "'aca milk." My wife introduced him to this toddler delicacy, and he is now hooked. He's got it bad.
Back on the air
I got my replacement phone, thank goodness, and now begin the arduous task of repopulating my caller list. I am told I can take my old SIM card to a Nextel store and get things moved over, but it's a long way from here, and more trouble than it's worth.
November 2nd, 10:53AM
It's a pisser
Some guy got shot in Stockton after sneaking into somebody's yard to urinate in it. I'm not saying he deserved it, but come on, dude...
November 2nd, 10:33AM
Idle time
I currently sit in the Stockton Ford Service Lounge, suckling contentedly at the teat of their Internet connection, and thinking big and little thoughts.
Phone blown
Note to all: my cell phone (and possibly my voicemail service) is down, and down hard, due to overexposure to the chemical hydrogen hydroxide.
I dropped it in the damned pool. Actually, I didn't drop it - its clip holder leapt off my belt line, and it jackknifed into the pool. It flirted with normal operation for a few minutes, but now while it powers on, it does little else. I suspect the SIM card is toasted, but what do I know?
I know that getting a replacement isn't as easy as I thought. Nextel Customer Care told me to take it to a dealer. I took it to a dealer within a day or two, and found that he can't do jack shit for me. He did let me use his crapper and then use his phone to dial the number to get a replacement phone, but that's about it.
I hope to be connected with a new phone within a few days. Whatta pain.
Hard feelings
I suspect that I have some sort of clinical depression. I can experience joy, but not very Goddamned often, and not as a rule. No matter how many blessings surround me, I find myself incapable of internalizing almost any positive thoughts at all. It's been like this for, what, years now? Several months, certainly. This can't be right. Life should not be this way.
I have briefly consulted with a spiritual guide-type person. I must not have done it right, because I'm still broken. Then again, one visit does not a turnaround make.
I've never been open to taking medication if I could avoid it (which is weird, because I've never met a drink I didn't like, and I used to smoke pot like a reggae musician on vacation), but I am feeling more open to checking out some anti-depressants. Daddy needs to get his head outta his ass, and I think I've exhausted my Do-It-Yourself options.
I wasn't always like this. I used to be fun to be around, funny, hopeful. What the fuck? I can go on like this, but not forever. This has got to change.
November 1st, 9:50PM
I bet Jesus would Trick or Treat with me
I've seen fliers around my little town promoting "Harvest Carnivals" and detract from the pagan holiday of Halloween. My wife saw one on the way out last night, and suggested we might visit there. I bitterly rejected that innocent idea.
Now, provide an alternative if you must, but don't bash Halloween as some sort of evil practice. Anyone who can't telling the difference between kids dressing up to collect candy and worshipping Satan is a willfully ignorant asshole.
This is the kind of autocratic, mind-control horseshit that keeps my from going to any church. This, and creepy, allegedly pious old men who "dispense lecherous hugs in the name of fellowship." Do you know one of these vampires? I bet you do.
November 1st, 9:08AM
Okay, Halloween wasn't entirely wasted
We took the kids Trick or Treating last night (technically, my daughter was just along for the ride). It's not an easy proposition here in beautiful BFE, with all the homes a quarter-mile apart or more. Luckily, one perk of having a newspaper route is knowing the key code to the nearby, swanky gated community, where the houses are ritzy and close together!
We crashed the joint around 6:45 and gathered treats for almost an hour. It was Brian's first rodeo, and he followed us nervously to the first door in his skunk outfit, the headpiece of which was laughably undersized for my son's gi-normous skull. We left the skunkhead flapping on his back like the victim of an incomplete beheading. Hey, it was Halloween...
My son eagerly said "Treat!" but only when no one else was around. He did yelp out some cheery "Hello's" and "Bye's!" in appreciation, but for the most part was quietly intimidated by the spooky lighting and oddly dressed strangers. Between houses, he trotted with joy on this bizarre but exciting errand.
It was a parental high to watch him enjoy himself so thoroughly. We should do this every week.