October 31st, 2:08PM
Another Halloween, wasted
Every year, it's the same thing: I find myself lamenting the utter lack of activity I have displayed toward my favorite holiday, Halloween. Every year, something comes up, and I make no plans, take no action. No masks, no makeup, no makeshift haunted house, no more practice on the not-bad-for-a-first-timer stilts I made years ago.
How unfortunate. One more thing I always do: vow that next year, next year will be different.
Yeah, right.
Pool status
Dispensing with the details, let me say that our pool has water and is pumping and filtering, which is good. It lacks an auto-cover and diving board, and our front yard still has a gaping hole and a destroyed drain line, which is bad. This is not to mention the fiasco last Thursday when the plastering company drove over and over and over and over my septic tank with every vehicle they could muster, including their hulking behemoth of a plaster truck, grinding in their tires as if they were settling a vendetta by mercilessly mauling my shit processing system.
In summation, the pool is ready, just in time for November, and it's been a chilly few swims we've had, but swum we have. I was the first to go nude, much to my wife's amusement and my daughter's regret. Don't look, honey, or Daddy will will ruin you for other men.
This is all the pool update I have the strength for. More later, God willing.
October 25th, 7:02PM
Today was difficult to say the least
I have been losing sleep, due to my nocturnal responsibilities. I often try to catch a nap during the day, but it is only sparsely successful. They are doing the same thing to my attitude that they're doing to my car: taking a serviceable thing and wearing it down bit by bit, until it becomes unacceptably damaged. My temper becomes shorter and shorter; my son only wants what he's never had and cannot have, and Daddy is reacting less well to that circumstance as time goes by. I am even less appreciative of the good things I have, and take less and less satisfaction in the efforts I undertake throughout the day. Desperation creeps back into my daily emotional landscape.
So it may be for the best that I am dumping this sucker's bet in less than a month. The decision originally was made to accommodate an out-of-town Thanksgiving plan, but I am becoming increasingly grateful for the change. I have long since avoided running over wayward rabbits in the road, and have begun entertaining the idea of aiming for them, possibly tying fresh vegetables to the front bumper. That can't be a good sign.
Although I have advised the company I deliver for that I may be available in the future (I am still reluctant to give up even this quite imperfect supplemental income stream), I really really really would like it if some virtual tours would come through, and eliminate the need for this poor alternative, as well the foray into male prostitution that I have also been considering. Let us all hope it doesn't come to that.
October 23rd, 1:51PM
Bucking the stereotype
Brian May, Queen's lead guitarist, is smarter than your average bear. I have always liked that his intellect flies in the face of conventional wisdom that rock stars are empty-headed drug freaks that have never had a thought outside of booze, dope and broads. He's helped write a book on astronomy. Smart mother jumper.
Pool news
Things are starting to move along with the pool, so much so that I can delude myself into imagining getting wet by the end of the week. We shall see... There is still much left to be done, and Swan Pools' project management skills are not the best in the world. Customer service is a tricky skill, and not everyone can be excellent at it.
October 20th, 11:20AM
Tipping point
I am poised at that magical point in the day, where the coffee buzz isn't going to get any better, and it's time to really get going on the list of items that present themselves to my brain.
Oh no - all my clothes are starting to fit again!
I am still failing to watch what I eat, as well as failing to exercise much at all. All my pre-weight-loss clothes are beginning to fit nicely again, and I just can't have that. I want to hit 190, and soon. I must.
Hunger is love. Pain is joy. Deprivation is all.
Another day, another Dollar
The website (which I didn't build) of former web-client, Dollar Bill, has ceased to exist some months ago. I haven't heard from him in a while, and I fear that this means his dream of a rap career has died, or at least hibernated. Holla, Dolla.
October 17th, 1:57PM
So much to say
I am taking advantage of a few Brian-free minutes to do some stuff, including blog. The short list:
Sting
I finished Stings memoir, "Broken Music" (see earlier post), that I went out and bought another of his CD's. I already have "Dream of the Blue Turtles;" now I own "Fields of Gold, the Best of Sting." Lots of good stuff on it. It's different from the grinding, pounding rock I normally gravitate to. Makes me miss my still-boned car stereo even more.
Palm keyboard down hard
I took my beloved new Palm keyboard outside the other day to jot a few notes, and sip a beer. One of our Goddamned cats rubbed affectionately against my full beer glass and soaked the keyboard in Heineken. I'm still pissed about it. If I had caught him, he would never have been the same. LIttle bastard.
BNI BBQ
I went to a poorly-attended-but-fun-anyway BNI shindig out in the orchards of Walnut Grove. I turned my alcohol consumption dial to "Moderate," my attitude to "Playfully Obnoxious," and ripped the knobs off. I set about working to either entertain or make uncomfortable as many people as I could. I am secure in the knowledge that I was successful in this pursuit.
October 12th, 7:31PM
Today sucked, and fuck you anyway
My boy spent the day in everpresent misanthropic tantrums, fueling near-constant, roiling flurries of rage from me. I never hurt him, but there were tense moments.
Swan Pools is politely and pitilessly slow-walking our pool project to fucking DEATH. I don't know what leverage I have in the matter, but I'd like to find something with which to bludgeon someone into action over this whole thing. Dicks.
I am exhausted, and have resorted to binge eating for comfort, erasing the results of what I had thought was a disciplined day yesterday.
Oh yeah, and the senile old immigrant seamstress, to whom I'd entrusted the task of slicing and splicing two pairs of suitpants to fit my stumpy, troll-like frame over three weeks ago, finally returned my calls, only to cluck her confusion and amnesiac ignorance of ever having done business with me. We got things sorted out in a very minimal fashion, and I am supposed to collect my clothing tomorrow. As for the future, even if I have to run naked in the street, I'll never take so much as a frazzled button to her ever again.
I hate everyone on the planet, the hatred growing in direct proportion to my knowledge of their existence. Chances are good that if you're reading this, I wish you were dead of tragic and ghastly circumstances. It's best if you don't call me until tomorrow. I'll feel better tomorrow.
Also, I fixed my lamebrainedly busted MySpace link below. It should take you to my, uh, space now.
Eat shit world, you smug, heartless, dirty fucker. You'll get yours.
October 11th, 5:38PM
Otherblog
FYI, I have begun blogging about my progress and lack thereof at my MySpace site.
October 9th, 1:31PM
A taste of France
My wife and I dropped the kids off by the side of the road Sunday, and drove away cackling with maniacal glee, ending up at Domaine Becquet Winery, here in Valley Springs. I had the Three Cheese plate and Mountain Gate Red wine. Heavenly. My wife enjoyed her Caesar Chicken Salad thoroughly. Our meal and time together was more relaxing and enjoyable than anything I've done in months. Better than a spa.
October 8th, 5:31PM
Sting's life
I have been reading a second-hand copy (is there any other kind of book?) of "Broken Music," Sting's early autobiography. I am insanely jealous of his single-minded pursuit of music, as well as the cavalier escapades he seeks out in that pursuit.
What were we talking about?
I wish I had such focus. I have always, since I was little, had and recognized so diffused an attention span that I did and do despair of ever finding one true calling. It sucks, to put it succinctly.
I love many things, but nothing captivates me to the exclusion of all others. I still search for way to manage this particular confusion.
October 7th, 10:31AM
Miss me?
Life has been nuts, a common but verifiable excuse for my not blogging for over a week. I suck.
I'm a writer
Did I mention I'm a writer/journalist now? I have written an interview piece for money, making me a real ... eh, something. Content contributor? Writer and journalist are titles that are a bit inflated, but I'm closer to that arena than before.
This paper route is killing my car
Yet another Honda-busting episode last night. This time, I was rolling down yet another backroad on the desolate outskirts of my adopted homeland, looking for a new address at which to toss a newspaper. Despite my moderate speed, I was unable to prevent the road from yawning open in a cavernous pothole, and reaching out to punish the undercarriage of my poor, well-meaning Honda. Six miles from nowhere, I lay underneath my still-whimpering papermobile, trying to temporarily reaffix the plastic splashguard that had been mercilessly torn from the underside of my poor vehicle.
I got the guard rigged, and tried to soldier on ("screw it, I came this far," I figured), and only a few more feet, the potholes gaped even larger, and frighteningly deep ruts ran the breadth of the road from right to left, making passage impossible in my low-clearance car. I wish I had seen this inescapable fact before having done lamentable damage to my beloved ass-wagon.
O, the cursing was prolific, creative and heartfelt. I am really getting sick of beating to a shitty pulp my beloved Civic Hybrid in the name of a few measly bucks. I was a heartbeat away from calling the local papervisor, and telling him to stuff this country-road gig. Instead, I calmly called and explained that this new hick bastard who has ignorantly hidden his homestead away like an Idahoan extremist compound will never in their life have a paper from my hand to their doorstep. He took it in stride, but I really didn't care if he hooted like a Bonobo monkey and flinged poop at the phone. I'm still pissed about it.