Getting Acquainted with the Neighbloggerhood(1)

Happy Friday folks,

First order of business: I realize about four people might have expected a post yesterday based on my announcement last Thursday(2) however after giving it some thought and a change in my work schedule, it seems like a Monday/Friday posting schedule would be more practical.  Now back to the regularly scheduled program.

I’ve been on here for a bit now, found some really cool blogs to add to my reader, and garnered a (very) small following and something I’ve considered is that I don’t really know much about my fellow floggers(3) and I’m really interested in making a personal connection for fun and profit(4).

What’s your favourite book?

House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski I’ll never forget the first time I met this book (yes you can meet books, books are people too #booklivesmatter).  It was the fall of my senior year (high school) and I was in the second most disappointing class of my scholastic career(5), advanced creative writing (it was disappointing because of the teacher I had was…not fit to be teaching sub 18yo individuals).  One of the projects we had was a book-report presentation on our favourite book and this girl I sorta had a thing for but was way too “alternatively cool”(6) for me man.  I was a freak too, still am #freakforlife, but way too fucking shy to be worth more than the last square on a roll of toilet paper.  Anyway she began presenting this book, House of Leaves (HoL) and she was having trouble describing the general story other than “This is a really freaky story, man. Like ‘I couldn’t read it before bed’ scary”.  After class I went to some book store and found the black beauty just sitting there. Last copy.  It took me 3 months to get through the first read. With all the annotations, the extremely dense prose, and the extremely experimental frame-story with in a frame-story with in a frame-story story telling style it was my first real hard read.  Also, looking back, my first post-modernist book.  MZD’s monolith-esque tome was the first book to show me “you can break the rules in writing, it’s a brave new world”.  That was about 10 years ago.  I’ve re-read the book more than 15 times since.

Honourable mentions:

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

All the Pretty Horses by Cormic McCarthy 

What’s your favourite body part?

I really like hands. Being a stick figure I’m envious of the banana looking appendages at the ends of human arms.  I don’t know why I like hands however I can remember precisely when I began noticing them.  I was seeing this girl, years ago, who had a knack for knitting and one time I was just watching her knit and I noticed there was something different about how she held her needles.  It’s really hard to explain but I think she was double jointed in every joint of her fingers because her fingers were bending in ways I’ve never seen before and I found that observation to be extremely profound and was deeply attracted to the length of her long artistic fingers and how they gracefully locked string into string onto needle.  Ever since I’ve found my self looking at hands and marveling at their complex beauty.  Nice hands are nice.

Honourable mentions:

Hair (on the head)

Back/torso (like the back of the torso, the front doesn’t do much for me unless you have like really nice obliques…then me might have to be friends)

Legs (specifically calves)

If you were reincarnated into an animal/drink/ice cream flavour, what would you be?*

  • I have to give credit for the ice cream flavour bit. Source

Animal: Dog.  I’ve never fathered a dog(7) but I’ve lived with several dogs and I love them all even the poopy little ones who peed everywhere all the time.  Also, as strange as this may sound, I always kind of identified as a dog but not in the furry way. When I was a kid and I got excited, I would wag my tail and as an adult I enjoy going for walks in the park and rides in the car(8).  I’m also colourblind, smell sensitive, and enjoy getting my head scratched

Which celebrity do you get mistaken for?

This has been like the running joke of my life.  It changes depending on my hair and I change my hair a lot. Also I’m pretty sure I have one of those “generically good looking” faces that is easily forgettable but also easy for people to see who/what they want However, they’ve always been obnoxiously flattering (and not even most of them have been come-ons either) so here’s a list:

Johnny Depp

Orlando Bloom (when LOTR came out and I had long blonde hair)

Matt Damon

Daniel Radcliffe

Jack Kerouac

And more but I really can’t remember.  It’s almost like every single time I meet a new person or group of people, someone says “Hey, did you know you kinda look like (insert celeb)?” or “Hey, come check out this kids face.  Doesn’t he look exactly like (insert friend I’ve never met)?”

At what age did you become an adult?

Never. Fifth grader for life.  Seriously though, I’ve struggled with the question “what does it mean to be an adult to me?” quite a bit in the last few years especially with 30 right around the corner.  I matured early, but entered some form of social arrested development when I started drinking and drugging and have decided in sobriety that it’s time to begin catching up on the parts of my life that I let fall by the wayside for the last 10 year because I was too fixated on being a work-holic/drink-aholic.  So I guess, I began the process of becoming something resembling an adult this year in the eve of my 27th year.

Where’s Waldo?

Some say he’s still out there somewhere…

So here’s the rules of the game:

  1. I’m tagging all 4 of my wordpress followers (you are my favourite people on wordpress).
  2. Answer the questions, post on your blog.
  3. Tag some friends(9)

Brittany and Arpil @herestwenty

Don Maciver @donmacieverpoetry

The folks at Royal James Publishing @royaljamespublishing

annette @outsideofacat

Footnotes:

  1. Surprisingly, this word actually works with the prefix “neigh-” meaning “near” and the suffix “-hood” meaning “state or condition being” ergo the new word could be defined as “nearby bloggers” aka “the regulars I see and follow and want to know more about”.  Though the word doesn’t have quite the mouth feel of a viral-prone word like “meh”.
  2. SQUEE! My first self-referential citation!
  3. I tried to combine “blogger” and “follower” into a new word however I think I missed the mark.
  4. Still working on the “profit” part.
  5. The first being Anthropology of Native American Spirituality.  Subject matter and reading material: spot on; the teacher: not so spot on.
  6. She was a hardcore punk with a devil may care attitude and on the verge of burn out because she wasn’t being challenged enough.  She was also really hot.
  7. I’m really against the slavery language we use towards our furry children/friends.  I believe animals are much more intelligent than we give them credit for. Example: Prairie Dogs have such a complex language, they can communicate to their fellow dogs what sort of animal is passing by and if it’s a human whether it’s a human they know or a different human based on the colour of their clothing.  I talk to animals, plants, insects, anything living as if it were an adult human being worthy of my respect.  The only people I talk to like a child are adult humans who demonstrate a necessity for simplistic language.  Show respect to your fellow non-human companions, and see what happens. You’ll be surprised.
  8. Also, like a dog, I don’t drive. So rides in the car are like something I really enjoy, even if it’s just accompanying a friend on an errands run.
  9. Not sure if I’m doing these tags right.

Lean into the Pain

george-michael-bluth-sadwalk

Source: Arrested Development S02E04 “Good Grief!”

I’m depressed today. Lean into the pain they tell me.

I remember I didn’t celebrate the 4th that year, 2014.  She said she needed space the weekend before and went to stay with her cousin. All week I was alone with her things in our apartment. July 4th was a Friday. She met me at home after school. I wanted to propose.  It was the day before our three year anniversary.  We talked for so long.  Neither one of us could remember what we had fought or said about seven days prior that made her pack up. We sat and talked for so long.  Then we cried together. Holding each other, getting the other slimy with our snot.

We moved from the couch to the kitchen table. I think she had some food she needed to take home with her. The apartment was no longer our home. It became her temporary storage unit; it became my open cell.

I walked her out to her car.  We hugged.  She slipped, from habit, and said “I love you”.

“I know.” my inner Han Solo replied for me.

I went out, after she drove away in her red convertible, and bought a 1.75L bottle of Bacardi white rum & juice (grapefruit iirc).  Two liters of juice. I drank all the rum, one liter of grapefruit juice, and woke up on my kitchen floor the next mourning.

I kept drinking like that for the next six months until December 5th, her birthday.  I didn’t celebrate my birthday(1) that year. My George Clooney with lots of tattoos looking boss made me work, and bitter about his own life, while guilt tripping me about how he couldn’t remember the last birthday he had and how his wife left him and generally showing me how much bigger his saddness boner was.  Everyone forgot my birthday that year except for me.  I was trying to forget by the end though.

By December: I had lost my job, I dropped(2) out of school, and I had accumulated $5.000 in credit card debt.  On the fifth, a grey and wet mourning, I walked 1.8 miles or 2.897km to the nearest Schnucks off Grand and Gravois. On the way, I passed a forgotten a 2 foot or 60.96cm sub sandwich that was still in its package and untouched off Grand.  At the store I bought two 1.75L bottles of cheap clear booze and 2 gallons or 7.571L of cheap orange juice(3).  I checked out precisely at 7am(4) and the cashier lady gave me a look.  I couldn’t tell if it was envy or pity.  I wasn’t looking too closely.  It was a Friday.

On the way home, I took the sub with me.  I drank and slept and ate and drank and slept until late in the evening when, apparently, I called a couple friends of mine, as in a couple whom I was friends with, and they took me to get some tacos.  I was violently shaky.  Couldn’t eat.  Mentioned wanting some bam bams.  Got pulled aside and threatened with violence. They left me at my place.  Told them I was going to drink and pill myself.  They yelled at me, from the safety of their vehicle, “Get back in the fucking car.”

So cold and shaky.  I couldn’t hold a drink.  I vomit on my laptop.  I ran a bath to warm my self up.  I fell asleep in the tub naked and alone.

Two year later and I’ve sobered up but the pain pulses weakly still.

 

Footnotes:

  1. 23, September 1988
  2. Technically, I graduated early but I was one absent day from being kicked out.  Also my grades were piss.  However it was a technical school so I guess technicalities count.
  3. I’m not even sure if the stuff is real orange juice or if it is its like that stuff from the cardboard tube that you add water to that tastes like orange water.
  4. The earliest legal time one can purchase alcohol in St Louis, or earliest that I was aware of at the time.  It might have been moved back to 6.30am.