Rakes & Leaves:

Since my last post, I've turned 22. I awoke way too early for it being my birthday. The day was a gorgeous one; breezy atop warm autumn temperatures. I felt productive somehow and went outside and raked leaves for about ninety minutes. It got me contemplating a metaphor I started contorting in my mind for a while. If one were to attribute raking leaves to one's life it could fall too such symbolism where the fact that you can't get every leaf could represent the fact that you can't win them all. Then I started branching off to different types of rakes with varied effectiveness for different people and their attitudes and accomplishments. This in turn depressed me a bit because I watch others bring in piles and mounds of positive happenings and outlooks (their 'rakes' are full and strong, barely sparing a leaf) while I've not much to show for 22 years (as if I were using the wrong end of the rake in my attempts to bring my life together). I'm not through with the thought. It's still brewing.

My mother has left town to visit my brothers in California, along with her went my one half brother, his wife, and their two daughters. I have had the house to myself all week. I haven't done much to utilize the privacy for Todd and I have been kickin it a lot, and I had Andrew and Kevin over the night before last. It's a little sucky that my mom left me alone here for my birthday and Thanksgiving but I'm not one for making a big deal out of my birthday so I'm not expecting anyone else to do so.

Shan and I were planning to have dinner to celebrate. I showed up and there were a few other people there, which was fine but I wasn't expecting it. She made these stuffed tomatoes filled with baby shrimp and a light sauce. I had three total and followed them with four or five vodka in pomegranate 7ups.

I'm one hell of a wing man. Kevin and I went out and kicked it with his ex-girlfriend and some of her friends who were obsessed with karaoke. We went to one bar we'd never been to, one member of this party sang to some song I've never heard. And on to another bar immediately after that for him to sing "Cry Me a River" by JT. Me and Kevin had some beers and called it a night.

The weekend isn't over, and my mom won't be home until Friday. Looking forward to some spectre of a close-future good time. Hopefully.

Friday night I was obliterated due to inconsideration of my alcohol intake. I drank at a bar then at a party. I did drink in moderation at the party, but that was after three drinks were already in me from the bar. I'm not used to the integration of the two.



Needless to say, I wasn't happy with myself nor my actions. I won't get into particulars, but me and Todd woke up in his car in a random driveway and all my knuckles were either bruised or, in one case, skinned down. My brother did show up to the party, I hadn't seen him in a while and it was pretty sweet.

I treated Shan's under aged ass to some beers at Kent's BW3's because I'm nice. We were meeting up with my brother to watch the Cleveland Browns game. We didn't see him much there though, and now he's back in California.

Today, however, was pretty damn sweet. Todd and I hit up this gorge in Akron, and the path along it. The wooded areas across the ravine were meshed with warm fall hues. The timbers clashed, but at the same time complimented, for not all the leaves were changed from green just yet. We made our way down slippery leaves and loose dirt to the water's edge to walk over jagged rock formations. The air was warm for November 14, it will probably be the last we will see of the sixty-degree range. I'm glad we spent it the way we did for sure. We skipped our work out but all the work from climbing up and down the steep dirt and root staircases was a bit of exercise.

Lately I've been trying to change something that's unconsciously been on my mind damn near forever. I'm trying to avert my thoughts of self-insufficiency in some situations; the thoughts that make me feel as though I solely have work to do to get something, or to keep something, intact. I'm hoping I can't force myself to charismatically demand collective effort from all parties in situations that make me feel as such.

Party on.

Two Real Feet Through a Real Doorway

The week has been dry when it comes to happenin's I guess. Work and working out. Todd and I hit up the Euro Gyro and had a few drinks on I forget what evening. That was pretty cool.

I was also thinking about my milk carton theory of personifying a missing thing and tossing my face on a milk carton (when you read that you might get 'tossing milk on my face'); being found is becoming more and more unappealing to me. I don't know what it is that's making it this way, but I'll report it when I figure the shit out.

I was thinking last night (after I shot ruby red grapefruit juice out of my esophagus and nose simultaneously) how no one really puts their minds and ability for commitment to anything anymore. I'm not sure why I would say, "anymore" as if I knew if anyone ever did. I won't list particulars on what sparked this, nor will I spell out why I set myself apart from these symptoms of half-assedliness.

People seem never seem to have two feet over a threshold of any kind of doorway or door frame at all to me. And if they do, it's either of the following: it's a petty reason inspiring the thought and effort; the 'doorway', so to speak, is in fact important, but the one foot they do have through inside is constantly switching from that one foot to no feet, to two feet, to no feet, et cetera; the commitment they're exercising is just metaphorically their shoe sitting inside the door while their lopsided ass is waddling, doing whatever else outside; or it's just a shoe print or a footprint from them once having that foot inside and they're still staking claim to it.

It befuddles me into obscure analogy-obsessed rants such as this, but I welcome the thoughts. I just know when I have my heart and all behind something. Even if I have to step out for a short while, I'm always back. Two real feet through, what is to me, a real doorway. The same goes for my friends. This all in a way leads me to the fact that I keep it real, and you will know who else does by who's nearby when I'm smiling. My friends all have a commitment they've made for themselves, and even if they stray they always know it. It never stays that way.

In a retrospectic-retroskeptic thought, I guess maybe those who don't keep it as real as we do have got it all figured out. Why concern yourself with anything one perceives meaningful when death is imminent and forever and life is just in no way worth it? Why try to provoke thought when it'd be much easier to loaf in ignorance and bask in euphoric apathy? This portion circles me back to enjoying the process and, usually, the result of hard work and pain. Feeling shitty is my calling card, and I willingly accept that.

Have you seen me?

My costume was sweet for Kent's 'Hover in the Streets of Kent a couple days before Halloween' Halloween event. It's subtle in the way that there were only two parts to it: the mask I made from burlap and twine, and a few strands straw duct-taped just inside the cuffs of my long sleeves. I couldn't see very well through the limited eye holes, but I heard from Todd and Koobey that it freaked some bitches out. When I did see others' reactions I was pleased at the reflection of disturbance that briefly overtook their expressions. We ended up at a party on campus, a few friends of ours, and I was unmistakably the involuntary life of the party somehow. All I did was toss giving any sort of a fuck out the window and dance to some hip-hop. I was surrounded by my two favorite types of people: those whom I've met and that seem to enjoy my presence, and those whom I've not met and aren't talking shit for one reason or another. For the white boy that I am, I got a damn good amount of rhythm in me. I'm basing that judgement off the fact that a few fly honies were into cutting some rug with me. Ego boosts such as this are always welcome.

Sunday night this redneck dude was calling me and Todd fags because we were taking goofy camera phone pictures of each other in our haze of fatigue from the night before's Halloween happenings. It wasn't cool. Homosexuality doesn't offend me, but this bitch was obviously saying it with white supremacist condescension in his tone. Todd is now out for blood on people who fuck with any of us, I'm out for blood if anyone draws blood from any of us.

T. mo and myself have started a semi-regular exercise/workout session. It's not too intense but for me, being the complete opposite of athletic my entire life, just routine muscle toning is difficult enough at such an early stage combined with a late start. I'm pretty sure I'm a born late bloomer. It'd be embarrassing to go through all the things that I felt got around later than most of my peers in my early adolescence, but two I can think of off the top of my dome are the fact that I don't have a car, and this small fitness kick I'm on. Anyway, I'm not trying to beef out or buff up, or boff many roast beef curtains (wait, that's not true), I'm merely trying to sculpt something of a man's body out of my boyish, transparent physique. It's going well, though as little as you, as a reader, might care.

Friday marked Todd's 21st birthday. He wasn't too excited and we didn't get wild at some bars or anything. A collaboration of Todd, Koobey, Me, Jamie, and Kevin grabbed dinner at Luna's. Then to a couple bars just for the sake of it, I guess. It was my idea, I wanted a couple beers and some social setting. It didn't end up sucking at all, it was relatively entertaining in its mild-medium tumble of a night.

Have you ever been shut out from something you absolutely adored? Each time you thought about it made each day without it make it seem like its absence was actually moreso resembled its dead weight presence dragging behind each step of your stride? Can no one else understand or respect the fact you miss it so, along with all that it signifies and symbolizes?
It's a lame reference, but in the movie "The Last Kiss" starring Zach Braff (lameness reduced since he doesn't narrate anything with annoying little mindful thoughts his character almost sounds like he actually hadn't had scripted for him) there's a line of dialogue that I've adopted as my own personal motto almost: "You can't fail if you don't give up." I'm embracing that small proverb because it applies to almost all things. For now I'm personally applying it to my above alluded-to milk carton-type missing concern. It's almost as if my face is on the milk carton and what I'm actually missing is just pouring away without any concern for the most recent picture of me on the right side between the front's label and the back's nutrition facts. Last seen on: a cold day more than a year ago; Last seen with: his wit's end close by.

But I can't give up now if that's my new motto. That milk carton rant was just a short stream of conscience. Just riding something out until the point of death, that conviction appeals to me somehow. Death without achieving your goal isn't failure to me at all really. This wouldn't have to apply to everything, only the things you deem and perceive as important enough. It could only mean one thing or maybe ten things. What I'm getting at is:
Reverting back to the milk carton analogy, a piece of the clothing I was wearing the day I went missing was recently found not far from where I was that day. Investigators are gathering more and more clues from just this article of torn and worn attire that will hopefully bring me back home in one, breathing piece.

The day following my last post, Todd and I set out for Louisville, Kentucky. His dad lives in the area and needed Todd to set up a new computer for him. That task took only a short while, he also had to teach his dad's girlfriend how to use the computer or something. I don't know, I was watching Dr. Phil while he was showing her whatever he was showing her.



Okay, so Tuesday night around ten we arrived at Todd's dad's house. We settled in a little to where we were sleeping. Then we set out for the city of Louisville, a short distance across a bridge over the Ohio River, which is an amazing body of water. Nothing really came up that night except the fact that in Clarksville, Indiana (where the house we stayed at was) had a liquor store open until two in the morning. Indiana sells alcohol until three in the morning. I couldn't pass it up, I just went inside and grabbed a pint of Seagram's 7 and sipped on it a bit.



The drive up and arrival sparked our appetite so we went to Denny's. There, we put on our famous and deadly accurate southern accents to those with whom we came in contact, mostly our waitress. It was cracking us up. Throughout the 36 or so hour trip it became a theme; sarcasm+accent. It was deadly played out after not too long though. Anyway, at the end of our meal, when we were paying, I told the waitress, "That was a fine meal. My compliments to the chef." It was in my accent. It was ridiculous and funny as hell. We retired after that.



Morning came, I slept alright despite the unfamiliar environment. Todd and I cleaned out the gutters around the house for his dad. Todd actually did it, I took a shower. Then we did some push-ups to pump our chests and arms up for the day. It was cold and gloomy so we needed our jackets. We hit up a dam in the Ohio River which was very serene through the gloom of the day. We walked over moist sand, checking out all the exposed tree roots who had the soil around them eroded away from the flooding of the river. The shore also had some really pleasant and jagged rock formations.



We headed to Louisville and ate at a Chipotle-esque establishment. I don't remember the name. It wasn't that good really. After, we headed back. I drank a bit on my 7, Todd had wine. That is all.



Early Thursday was ideal to head back we decided. Along the way home, outside of eating, we stopped at Big Bone Lick Park (yes) and did hella hiking. The park alluded to the observation of wild bison. Signs every hundred yards or so with the word 'bison' on them with an arrow. We came to a fenced pasture with pretty large mounds of what we assumed to be bison shit, but we saw no bison. But some trails branched off this main one, so we took an uphill one which lead to an elevated lake of decent size, Big Bone Lick Lake (yes). More trails followed, one upon which Todd could keep it in any longer and took a dump in the middle of a path, on a rock. It was the hardest I've laughed in a long motherfucking time. I didn't see much of the process but it was so damn funny.



Ohio sprung from the horizon as we were on the highway honking at those next to us, bothering them as they were just trying to get to their destination. It was a way to pass the time. We rolled through Columbus and did the same thing to pedestrians. It's fun to watch unfamiliar heads jolt and unsure hands gesture.

Next post on Halloween weekend and getting ridiculed at Luna's.

Debonair-crow

Nothing amazing went down at Andrew's party, but nothing really ever did, to some people's potential standards, but it was the reason I liked going over there and kicking it as often as I did. It shows me personally that all I need is some music, friends, and some drinks to have a killer time. A way to loosen up and cut loose the threads of the past weeks' nooses in a way. Big blowouts were never my thing really.

I worked all weekend which surprised me...WAIT, no it didn't. I had a little time to kick it with Todd at Luna's and chat it up about some stuff that escapes me now but we were there for a decent amount of time into Sunday morning hours. We ate there, and I was just putting back a hell of a lot of french fries. A pretty sick amount. It was hard to get to sleep when I got there, and after like 3 hours of sleep I had to get up and grab some store brand Pepto Bismol knock off tablets which are horrifying to the taste but I felt indigestion reaming my guts so Sunday I spent the day eating them like yummy yum candy. I also forgot to buy a money order to give to my probation officer Monday morning.

I left work early Sunday due to feeling shitty and the Indians game being on. Game seven. They lost. I'm pretty much over it now. I was pissed then, atop of feeling sickly, and went to sleep.

Monday morning I was up at 6am calling Todd about getting that money order and taking me up to my probation meeting at 9:30. He was already up taking Koobey to work since his car isn't working right or something. We kicked it and watched the movie "Falling Down" with Michael Douglas. I like it, but there is some real off-acting in it. Then I met my probation officer, which wasn't my probation officer. I've been reassigned to a different dude, which probably erases my hopes of getting off probation before January. So another $50 to him Monday, and for three more Mondays to come until January.

After I got out, I realized I'm not used to having the whole day in front of me. We went to a couple craft stores so I could get supplies for my Halloween mask. Some burlap and twine. I'm going to be a badass scarecrow; custom mask, stuntin' outfit, and a few sticks of hay. I'm pretty excited because I don't really make anything but music. Todd and I visited the Akron Music store and played some of their acoustic guitars. I was partial to this Dean while Todd played a sweet Martin. We rocked for a like fifteen minutes then cut for home.

" My desire has rid me of all skin and put me to bed with sheets of salt. "

L8rz.

Ego Boost

C.C. pitched last night. And he did alright, but we still lost. I forget how many runs he allowed, but it was a whole bullpen effort in my opinion. So we're heading back to Boston, and our series lead has diminished to 3 games over 2. I guess taking it all the way to game 7 will be sweet, but clinching it early at home would have made me a happy fan.

Outside of that, since Monday I haven't done much but work. I stay up pretty late after I get off work, so in turn I sleep real late into the day, usually around 2pm I'll wake up. That leaves me about three hours to chill out, eat, let that food settle, and take a shower before work at 6pm. That's about three days of my week. Weekends I usually sleep until an hour before work, usually 3 or 4pm, so I can shower. Sometimes I get a weekend day off and that's always sweet. Days off are sweet anytime of the week because I have no other obligations besides work, so my days off are really really off.

Wednesday night after I got out of work, Koobey and Todd came over and Koobz and I had some whiskey sours. They kind of sucked but we weren't using too ritzy a bourbon and I bought the cheapest sweet and sour mix possible so I'm sure those factors played in it's tartness. Plus Todd didn't buy the maraschino cherries. What a dick, right? Koobey got pretty drunk, but he was pretty buzzed when he came over in the first place. He ended up giving me a pretty good scratch/gash on my forehead, I don't want to give the details how because it's so gay, but he needs to cut his fingernails and clean under those bitches. Ughhkk.

Three young ladies hollered at me while I was at work tonight in a fifteen minute time period. Ego boost.

Since when was punishment necessary for expressing concern for the well-being of those about whom you care? Attitude and defensiveness, when all I'm doing is shedding a little light on what I think could be a bad idea. I don't do it in a nice way, I guess. I'll straight knock what I don't agree with actually, but how would I put it across nicely and have it take any kind of effect, or even for that person to think a second time about it? Women, right?

Tonight Andrew's tossing his last Infirmary house party wad all over anyone's face that shows up, all are invited. It's a healthy wad.....What? Hopefully after the end product of the party I'll actually have some sweet shit to toss in my weblandfill.

Skipped a week...

I just now realized how easy it is to not keep up with this thing. It's been a week since I last wrote in it and it doesn't feel like that.

I just worked last Tuesday, nothing else that I can recall. On Wednesday Todd and I went to watch Chris Conley and Dave Soloway of Saves the Day perform an acoustic set at the Grog Shop. If you're familiar with the band, then I need not say that it was a badass time. Usually I can pick out a negative thing or two about the shows I attend but I don't have one this time. Sometimes even when the band I go to see is playing, I'll just want to go home from standing in one spot all damn night. Nothing like that went down. Good songs, all good shit really. Oh. and me and Todd noticed that scene girls are getting fat. But at least as we were leaving I honked the horn at some random bitchez walking down the street and one of them mooned us and we got a good look at a fine rump.

Friday, the 12th, I got off work at 11pm. C.C. Sabathia blew the first ALCS game against the Red Sox. So me and Ted drank at Andrew's, Todd laid off the booze and just kicked it. Kevin was away at the 72-hour DUI school that I've actually attended before so we didn't see him. Ted had driven there that night, and surprise! surprise!, he past out beyond the ability for us to wake him back up. Todd and I ended up having to walk a mile or two back to his house since I had locked my keys in my house. I slept over there, woke up around 10am Saturday morning and walked home from his house. Party on.

Game one ended with a 10-3 Sox victory. It looked bad, but Fausto came right back and pitched relatively well on Saturday night. We were tied with the Sox at 6 from about the 8th inning, I want to say. The game reached extra innings, but we scored 7 more runs in the 11th at Fagway Park. What is with that tiny thing anyway? No wonder Manny and that DH hit some many damn home stand home runs.

Sunday I saw a bunch of alpacas, including a new born over at Shan's parent's small farm. One wanted to make out with me. At least it was a girl, so I ain't no fAgit.

Bounding over twenty-foot drops, and slippery moss-covered cliffs is how I spent my Sunday afternoon with Ted, Todd, and Koobz at Nelson Ledges. It's a park riddled with trails and tall rock formations with oddly enough soil to hold good sized trees. It was a fun hike, I hate heights and there were a few gaps I avoided due to lack of foot strong confidence but I was proud of what all I actually did leap over for the most part. I don't do too many nature-y things so it was pretty refreshing to get out and do it.

Is it possible to get the case of the Mondays like 20 minutes before it turns into Tuesday? Fuck yes. It happened like an hour ago to me at work. This lame bitch rolls up to my register at 11:42pm with two cart loads of groceries. Not really a big deal, I'm the fastest motherfucker behind a register, as lame as that is. I figure she'd be out of there in like five minutes, tops. I then find she has an envelope of coupons, still, that could only add another minute to the transaction at most. I ring her up, beeping every one of her 170-some odd items, 40some coupons (not including the 15 or so expired ass ones that I threw out), to bring her total to $386 and some change. The cash she has on her comes to $322: a $100 bill, five 20s, a $10 bill, eighteen 5s, eighteen 1s, and two-$2 bills(smArt). I'm like, 'great now I gotta void $65 worth of stuff off her order so she can get the fuck out of here'. I was wrong because she yet had $13 dollars in odd ass change (including Canadian coins, which I refused to take) to make her money $335. So I only had to void like fifty-some bucks worth of stuff for her. Grand. So by midnight on the dot Tuesday morning she finally retreated with having paid $334.46. I wish her a long life. Wait, no I don't. Sorry, I thought the term, "long life" meant "immediate death."

At least the Indians won again tonight, 4-2, giving them the lead in the Series.

Fuck the Yankees, Along with Car Salesmen

The Indians ballclub just busted a nut in the Yankees' faces, shit on Joe Torres' face, and wiped its ass with Yankees stadium Monday night. It wasn't a sweep, but it was close. Good shit. See you in your home stand, Red Sox. Good luck against C.C. and Carmona.

Sunday night Todd and I went on a pretty extensive walk for some fresh air, though the air was muggy and weighed heavily in our lungs. We had productive conversation like the phrase I stumbled upon and now hold the trademark for: "Hey bro, check out this boner I'm working with." You're supposed to say it when you happen to have a massive boner and want to show it to one of your guy friends... We're smArt, primarily I'm smArt.

Monday I wake to Mike Garro strolling into my house, then my bedroom while I'm still in bed, at 2pm. I hadn't seen him in a while. He's always getting high. Always. I noticed and asked him where his usual G'd out accent was, and he told me he wasn't listening to much rap anymore, therefore dissipating the lingo almost completely. It was a little refreshing. He then came to the reason he showed up. He was hired in at the superWal-Mart in Brimfield, pending a drug test which he was going to pass. He wanted my pristine piss. It took some thinking but I agreed. Since it wasn't for like a legal reason, I didn't think it'd be a big deal.

The clinic he was taking the urine test was in Akron. I didn't even have to go, so we stopped at a near-by gas station so I could grab a drink to hurry along the liquid digestion process. It was a BP where I bought an energy drink that tasted a lot like Redbull called Blue Streak. I also bought a couple cookies. Instead of having to go back into BP after I had to piss, we went across the intersection to Circle K. I felt one coming on, he handed me a snap-seal graduated cylinder of two ounces and I headed inside for the public restroom. I topped the thing off, and the rest went into the toilet. I didn't spill a drop, you'd think I had done this before but I haven't. I came outside, handed him the piss. He then went inside to the bathroom with a small roll of a half-inch masking take and tapped the cylinder between his legs. We ended up having to wait quite a long time in the clinic but I guess he passed and should start his job in a matter of days. I'm even best friends to people I see almost never.

While we were waiting on Mike's name to be called at the clinic, I stepped outside to call Serpentini Chevrolet to make an appointment to go there and see what I could learn about buying a car. The journey proved fruitless, as Todd and I expected really. But I wanted the experience of being in the negotiating-type of setting. The boldness of some of these people; car salesmen and dealership owners. It's sad to see what human beings do for a penny. Our salesman showed me a Dodge Stratus. I test drove it and it wasn't bad, but beyond what Todd thinks I should pay, when I could get something just as decent at a smaller dealership; one with less of a commercial image. The salesman introduced us to this female financier who seemed, at first, as though she was trying to help. But at that point I just wanted to leave, because she was trying to say that the dealership wasn't just trying to get money out of me, but she was trying to help me build my credit (for future business for that dealership pretty much). She said, and I'm paraphrasing very little, "We're not selling you a car, we're selling you hope." It wasn't long after that that we were out. My colon only holds so much steam, and she broke the pressure valve with that one.

The rest of the day I've been in a depressed fog, I don't know when I'll be able to get a car. I got really tired and took a three hour nap, now I'm about to go for a walk.

I'm Going to Kill Kevin

Thursday night the Cleveland Inidans took the home stand and defeated the New York Yankees at a swooping-smashing 12-3. Kenny Lofton was player of the game. I missed the live broadcast, but Todd's mom DVRd it so we watched it when I got out of work.

That badass of a win there was no damn way I was about to miss game two at Jacob's Field so I called off work. I got a haircut at 2pm, afterward we were supposed to rehearse. At the Infirmary house Kevin was no where to be found. We tried his cell phone. Just voicemail. His work said he'd gone home after cutting his finger enough that he needed fourteen stitches. This is probably something that pissed me off more than anything has in a long time. So much so that I had to just walk out, get out of that house. I didn't say a word to him. Yeah, maybe it's not his fault, but maybe it is. The night prior he and Andrew went to some bars in Kent and got pretty wasted. Andrew was still feeling it when I showed up to rehearse at like 3:15pm. No one knew where Kevin slept. I still don't know, but he managed to go from where ever he slept to work on foot. Now, I say it is his fault he cut his left hand because he made the conscious decision to go into a work, around a bunch of machines that people lose there hand in, hung over as fuck--no doubt in my mind. That kind of disregard for himself is what pisses me off the most. Calling off isn't the end of the world, especially since he's worked there for two plus years.

So one can imagine my distress toward the situation, seeing as how I said, "The band is really all I've got going on right now" in just my last post. Did I jinx it? Fuck that, jinxes don't exist; only associations and correlations really. But yeah, the wound is pretty bad and I don't know how long it's going to take to heal. I don't know how long it's going to take to look him in the eye again without losing all respect for him that I had had prior to this. He ain't gettin' respect from me until he exercises some self-respect.

In other news, Friday night play-off game two started off rocky, and continually grew in that direction as the Indians' Lofton and Sizemore were rocking the bases while the other parts of the lineup couldn't get them in. It went all the way to the 11th inning at just 1-1, then at the bottom half Travis Hafner hit a single on bases loaded and we got to walk right off and celebrate. Go Tribe.

A reader who knows me well enough would probably wonder why I'm up at this hour recording a semi-extensive weblog. I had to take Todd to his remedial driver's course, just one of the few steps he's required to take in order to get his license back. I have to pick him up at 5:30, then hopefully we can find some cool shit to do. Saturday nights haven't been up to par when it comes to a Saturday night's potential lately.

Focusing on Good Shit, as Limited as it May be

It's a little depressing in its depression that words only flow when things aren't going relatively and comparatively well. Like I have to feel extraneously stressed in order to get a word in edgewise with myself. I'll try to flow a little bit on some good notes.

Todd plays drums in our band, Iwin's End, and he's done so for about twelve weeks, about eight of which he wasn't even in town actively playing. It was strange how he had just sat behind a drum kit that wasn't even his and emitted the energy I knew the band needed. We were getting into a pretty sweet groove before he went out of town on business, in just a few weeks of song-configuring he was doing better than anyone I had seen behind drums in a long time. It wasn't his skill but his passion to learn, but it's slowly transmogrifying into his skill which impresses me. The best part is he seems excited about it too.

I can't wait for everyone to hear the songs we're working on. I've never been prouder. There's one drag though: we don't currently have a bassist. We know a few people who can play for us, but not really with both feet in the door; when it comes to dedication and ability. We would also need someone we can just get along with in general. So if you know any bassists who keep it real, let me know.

The band is really all I've got going on right now, but it's enough. I also feel like I have some of the inner-white water a she-devil was causing behind me, and I'm looking forward to some calm, cool streams along which we can just float. And hopefully that stream gets HOT sometime too. I'm too much of a badass in that department for my skills to lay dormant for so damn long.

Todd Returns

Good shit. My dude is back in town. He's at thisistoddmoore.blogspot.com, holler at him. He was out of town on business. Now I don't have to sit at home every night, or rely on drinking to get a good time in. Since he's in town we got together when I got off work on Saturday, grabbed some Subway. It was sweet that we didn't have to feel awkward, and there was no "catching-up" feeling as if it were an obligation. We drove out to a huge Wal-mart superstore thing, which blew my mind how big it was (that's what she said). Then we got together with Koobz and went the the Gyro, I had a few beers while he and Todd played pool. We then retired.

Last night we partied, I again exercised good judgement on how much to drink. I scored a warm body to sleep next to. It's so fucking weird how just that can make a difference in how well one can sleep. Even on just a few hours of slumber I felt energized when I woke up. Like having a hand on her bare skin combined the hours I slept with the hours she slept, making it a full night's sleep, I think.

Gamblegamblegamblegamblediiiiiiie

That "Tonight's going to suck" didn't really go how I thought it was about to. I thought I was peacing someone out but hope had sprung once again. And it made me realize how much hoping is like playing the lottery. How minuscule things that point in positive directions combine to build this two-dimensional illusion of things looking up. All just to find out that you've lost out. You put in effort and you get jack shit out of it. It's not a very optimistic way to look at something but it's how I'm looking at it now.

Last night I demonstrated self control like a badass. I was being kind of a drag about it, but still. I drank like half of what I usually have the capacity for. Maybe even less than half. You'll never believe it, but it went unappreciated. Baby steps, I guess. I better get used to acting like a person and not getting any incentive for it. It's weird because I feel like I'm doing everyone a favor but really I'm doing myself one and saving everyone else from some potential shit. I don't really understand how everyone else seems to be having a buzzin' good time when they barely drink anything. Maybe I keep it more real that I ever imagined. I think everyone exaggerates their buzzes exponentially to avoid real drinking. Which works I guess, but it's not keeping it very real if you ask me.

And when I say I was being a drag about controlling my drinking, I think I was really realizing how hard it is to even witness and endure what people are talking about and doing without without a steady buzz myself.

...I just ranted for a little bit but I deleted it. Maybe it's me.

Dr. Rain and his assistant Sierra Nevada

As I was having trouble sleeping in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I remember thinking about begging mother nature to send cool air for me to breath and pleading with father time to give me sleep and spew me into the next day already. Neither of them did, but I got to sleep eventually; uncomfortably. But last night everything was fine, it's been raining and still is. I woke up at nearly 3pm on the dot thinking I hadn't slept long enough. The rain and thunderstorms are somethings I always used to enjoy, and I still do. But it reminds me of things. Four years ago I put a bias as to what the actual sounds of a storm reminded me of. It's unmentionable, but now what the sounds bring me a nostalgic strain. It gives my gawd daym brain a charlie horse. I may go into more detail later if the rain persists.

I also slept easily because I had a six pack of Sierra Nevada. It's this badass pale ale which I favor over all beers, but it's expensive. I've proudly developed a stairwell of my favorite beers for different situations. Observe:

$ Not an object: Sierra Nevada
$ Is sort of tight: Rolling Rock
$ tight, practicality: Miller Lite
$ sucks and I'm trying to get wasted: Busch or Busch light

Pretty sweet stairwell I think. It's not too strict, however. Miller Lite could be switched with Bud light, and Busch could be switched with Keystone light, etc.

Tonight's going to suck.

The Nothing-to-Lose Mentality

I don't know what freaks me out more: Feeling like I've got nothing to lose, or knowing that it would only take the loss of solely one thing to put me in that mindset.

And can you imagine how divided a nothing-to-lose mentality could make your mind? That shit could inspire some really great things.

Hypothetical things come to mind like: Say some bitch is giving you the eye, you've got nothing-to-lose so you're about to holler. If she's not feeling it, who cares? You started off with nothing so it's not like you're going in debt with things to lose if she's not into you. You're still at zero and it could be a good thing. I'm not saying that that would ever happen to me. Bitches love me. I just rattled it off. That's not the only situation that comes to mind, but it's just like variables and constants in the equation. That feeling of nothing-to-lose could drive you into some real sweet shit.

But it could also put you in a position where the fact that you have nothing-to-lose can alter your thoughts, causing them to spring out to meaningless tangents in turn causing your actions in the same direction.

Hypothetically (and more likely): Your mind reverts time and time again back to what it was you lost, the one thing that brought you to have nothing-to-lose. It could become a mental version of a dungeon. You're now a prisoner of what it was you lost. All you want is an escape. It's possible you'll find that with each sip of alcohol is like a metal file that signifies one chip away around the base of the bars. You feel like you're getting closer, closer to freedom of the constant torture.

It's that type of outcome that freaks me out the most because the metal file is actually rubber, it's not chipping anything away. If anything, that situation just brings the whips to your back even more often. You'll wake up from a nasty slumber and all the progress you thought you made rebuilds itself and you're back where you started.

It's all in how we want to perceive it. Maybe we'll have some bad days in our cell, but maybe some sweet ones will come along that inspired to just say, "fuck it" and take some risks that would benefit us.

In lighter, less-existential news the Indians beat the Mariners last night in the twelfth inning, 4-3. Ted didn't end up showing up. He said he had school in the morning but I'm not really sure why he'd make the plans if he wasn't going to be able to stay up and drink a little bit.

Long walks

I thought they were supposed to clear your head. Fresh air and all that; bring you some kind of peace. Not what happened. I left alone at 12:26am to try to drop this feeling of reading the final line of the final chapter. The feeling makes me feel smaller, less prevalent in the world that surrounds me. I went straight to the train tracks that bridge over diamond, climbing up a slope of rocks to get there. On the bridge I imagined trains coming from both directions. Like I could take a plunge or take the risk of laying low enough between them to not get demolished by either. I continued down the tracks heading east for about ten minutes and came to another bridge. This one was significantly higher from the ground below than the last. It had a sign just before it that said, "Very Dangerous...NO TRESPASSING." I thought it was funny that the danger of it wasn't as bold or large as the risk of breaking the law. I turned back because I didn't actually want to be in the situation that I had imagined before. That didn't surprise me. I came down from the tracks and turned westward. In about twenty minutes I was weaving in and out of roads I hadn't even thought about in years. Higher-valued housing neighborhoods where I never knew anyone who lived there, therefore I had no business in the area. I didn't have any business this occasion but just walking. I then headed home. When I got there I didn't feel my head had cleared, if anything it may have gotten heavier. Judging by the way my neck feels it might weigh like 20lbs. Maybe it's potential clarity ready in a high-density state preparing to evolve. I have to work later, then me and Ted are watching the Indians. Scores and other game info in my next post. And hopefully something interesting.

Go Tribe!

I'm not sure how good of a thing it is that I do have an abundance of time to type things up on here, but I'm enjoying the typing/writing/thinking that it's inspiring. That one post with all the questions-- the one where I slashed the name of this and halved it up into "weBlandfill"-- is fucking sweet. I was hungover and not in a very conscious air, which makes me feel in a way that I have two(+?) people posting on this blog because I would have never written that or even thought of half of it in a sober state or wide awake.

Well it wasn't a "lame" Saturday night, but I was tired from all that unmentionable bologna on Friday night to get much fun done. On Sunday though, things were looking up a bit as the CLEVELAND INDIANS CLINCHED THE DIVISION against the Oakland gAys. Jake Westbrook with like nine strikeouts I think, then Raphael Perez for a couple batters, then Raphael Bentancourt to close those bitches down. Final score was 6-2 with rallied runs, not just off the wall one or two run home runs. Pretty bitchen. To celebrate, Ted (whom I hadn't seen for weeks prior because he disappears for weeks on end seeing no one but his girlfriend, she then gets pissed enough at him for some dumb shit so he gets a few days of her cooling off when he can actually kick it with his friends) and I met up with Kevin, Andrew, big Paul, and Chetti at Buffalo Wild Wings in Streetsboro. They were watching the Cleveland Browns, but me and Ted aren't really into football. It pretty much revolves around the undying hunger for money, whether it be the players or the gamblers in the stands and sports bars. The two of us had a beer, went to Subway, met back up with Kev and Andy back at their place on Infirmary to drink and watch the Browns. I drank some, watched the Browns lose--close game surprisingly, the coach of the raiders called a pussy's timeout while the Browns were kicking a field goal that would have won them the game--watched the dudes blow some smoke then came back here to my home where me and Teddyballgame passed out at like midnight.

I could sleep well from 4:30am on. Oh wait, that's not right! I was awake, flopping around from then until 8:30! I had to get up then because I had a meeting with my probation officer. "What's that?" you ask? Well, it's this guy I've had to give $50 a month to say, "Hello" to just because I got an underage drinking charge in October, 2005 and a conviction in January, 2007. Pretty sweet right? There aren't better things on which I could use that money. Actually, there are better things! He's been teasing me with being able to let me off this shit earlier than the original court-appointed year, but today I learned that even if he did do that for me, the earliest would be ten months in. That means either I'm going to have to pay one more time, or two more times because he mentioned November. It's all bullshit really. He knows it too, but he's just doing his job. It's judge Plough who's the bitch. Next time he's on the ballot, choose anyone but him. And if you or someone you know vote for that prick I hope you stand before him in court and are sentenced for doing something that actually mattered.

I proceeded to watch TV with Ted for a while, have a tea (which I'm glad the weather is cooling off enough for), and went back to sleep around 1pm, arose and blogged.

So here I am with nothing to do really. I guess I'll shower and holler at this Badassness later if something actually happens.

Koobey puked.

Well that last post was interesting to say the very least. I was pretty wasted even for it having been hours since my last drink...
Koobey (Korey) and I had gone to Shan and Ashley's to put back a few. Surprisingly, it turned out to be quite a bit more than a few. I got way too drunk and it's not the first time and probably will not be the final time. Avoiding details that are none of potential readers' business, I got pissed off, grabbed Korey from his outdoor, hunched over his own vomit position and told him we were leaving. I nearly drove home in this state of intoxication. I may have if my friend wasn't with me which would have been dumb as fuck, but that's nothing new for me really. We slept in the car for around an hour, I was trying to sleep some sobriety into myself. It kinda worked, or maybe just the break of day lead me to believe I was fit to drive back. I really shouldn't have, but in retrospect I shouldn't have went over there, shouldn't have drank that much, shouldn't have gotten so pissed...the list could go on.

After that prior post, I went to work which was pretty awful. It was only awful because I felt awful, but bad nonetheless. After I got home and got some food in me, Korey and I went to the Zephyr pub in Kent. I saw Kevin Williams, the lead vocalist of my old band, The Bonnie Situation. It was good seeing him, it had been a while. After Korey and I had a beer, a whisky sour, and a Jagerbomb on me, we left for home. I'm pretty tired. I don't know how to remedy my overreactions last night.

weBLANDFILL

...is what I'm considering changing the name of this weblog to. Maybe I will put a slash in it, such as, 'BADASSNESS/weBLANDFILL' or something.

Have you ever watched years of work fizzle? A fifth of your life turn to dust-covered memories? Do you think the fire in your closet will stay contained to that area or will it take the rest of the house with it? Will these memories stay where they belong or will they haunt your waking and dreaming life? Imagine something that you thought was the most important thing not return the same sentiment. Visualize self-sacrifice in the most rawest of forms. If you're at a loss for words besides the ones you're reading, I understand completely. I can't identify, but I can understand that no one else can understand. Have you ever built a religion based on sheer and unaltered Love and played it by ear? Just think, what if four accumulative years of your trash sat on the side of the street in front of your house and the dump truck was just now coming by to pick it all up. One man's trash is another man's treasure but the trash man wouldn't dare go through so much. He wouldn't know where to begin. Some of it is treasure to him, as it was to me; and some of it is trash to him as it is to me. Maybe I should befriend him, teach him of my Love. That's how religions start right? A man with an idea so bold, yet faulted, shared with another and built from there? I see these faults. I don't care. As of 5:16am EST in Kent, Ohio it is now A.D. This is the real after death. I say time can start now. The difference between Love and Jesus Christ: Love will keep it real and stay dead. 5:16am, September 22nd, 2007 is the new 12am, January 1st, 0000.

Have you ever watched the teeth of a saw eat the floor around your feet? Have you ever witnessed someone witnessing that saw and not tell you you're about to go straight through the floor?

Dreaming

I woke up at like ten o'clock in the morning. I don't know why. My futon was in its upright, couch-like position, that's how I slept in it. It's like a different sleeping experience. I was in and out of this dream. I can't remember the entire premise, but there were acupuncture needles going in peoples' faces, and people asking other people to try to say familiar names while doing flips underwater in a swimming pool. There was sex too, but it wasn't me having it. Which surprised me. Anyway, the acupuncture needle part was pretty devoid of any meaning, but the underwater name-dropping seemed weird because anyone who's been underwater knows you can't speak very well, especially while moving from right side up to upside down and back upright. Your lungs would intake water undoubtedly.

Sleep came in small increments as I was using my phone a little bit. It wasn't until four this afternoon that I actually got up. I ate and showered. I have to be at work at six and I get off at midnight.

Tonight's Mat Dove's 22nd birthday party. Kevin and Andrew are hosting it. I think I'm going with Korey after I get off work. Who knows what will go down. Only the next post will tell...

First Foot Through the Door

I don't really know how or what to log here on the internet. I figured I'd give it a go though, ya know? I never had the discipline of an everyday journal, and sometimes I wish I had. Especially logging the last few years of my life. Before adolescence, I don't really see a diary being a necessity. You're little and doing dumb-dumb things. If I need to reference to that dumb-dumb stuff I will I guess.

I'll start with today's happenings. I woke up unsteadily for I put back six Miller Lite tall boys last night. Made my weary way through the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of water; water is my hangover savior. It's the rawest form of remedy to cure what you're going through, which I read somewhere that the hangover feeling itself is similar to dying of thirst. It's not an enjoyable feeling, but, I mean, a buzz is a buzz. That reminds me of this retarded kid in from my high school who had a Jose Cuervo (I think) t-shirt that said, "A day without a buzz is a day that never was." What a retard. And why did he get away with wearing a shirt that pertained to alcohol? If you can't punish him, punish his birth-defect-prone mother for probably dressing him in the shirt she wore to happy hour the night prior. Ya feel me?

After snoozing for a while, and waking up to more water, I mowed the lawn. My motivation to mow the lawn is so non-existent that it's negatively existent. I try to think up excuses in my mind that really don't reflect any actual opinion that I support, like, 'grass is on the earth to grow, not to get cut down' or 'every time I mow the lawn I'm ruining tiny little creatures' habitats.' Ridiculous, hippy-esque, excuses I should probably keep to myself, but I keep it real so I'll share it via webLog. Mowing ain't easy when the grass is taller than the mower itself. It had been maybe August 14th that it had last been mowed, and even then I payed my friend Korey ten dollars to do it for me, and on that occasion it hadn't been cut for long enough a time that he had a hard time with pushing over such tall blades. Today, though, it took maybe two hours to complete. Mind you, I took a few water breaks and need to fill up the gas and fiddle with my iPod nano, which Apple has reissued a newer version of, which in turn means mine will probably lose its life soon. Bastards.

I then showered, used a brand new loofah. This one ended up being smaller than my the one I had before (that's what she said), so I was befuddled and stumped on how much body wash to squeeze onto it. I think it will work out well once I get used to its smaller size (that's what she said).

Andrew and I were supposed to work on some music and vocal harmonies today but instead he took a run when I was trying to get ahold of him. I called Kevin about getting some food since it had been roughly twenty-eight hours since I had last had a meal. We met up at Dos Coronas, good shit. I recommend the Pollo con crema. Kevin recommends the taco salad with beef I guess.

I made plans earlier in the week to get some info at my bank about pre-qualification for automobile financing because I need a car desperately. Good news came of it, but it opened up a Pandora's box of questions as well. I found that my credit score (in the hot words of the bank teller) was indeed an 'outstanding' 683. Would you expect any less than outstanding? It's me we're talking about here. But now my excitement is weighed down by wondering what my price range is, which I'm supposed to find out tomorrow. And I don't know if I'm still going to have to put a down payment on this unnamed car, or does the bank's loan handle it? I mean, if they approve of my credit score it seems like they should just buy the car I choose within my price range, and I'll toss the monthly payments at them. Maybe they'll just help make up for what I can't afford on the down payment, 'match' me, if you will. It's in haunting my thoughts incessantly.

Leaving the bank, at the time, in good spirits I called Todd and told him the good news. He sounded relatively indifferent to the situation. Maybe he was tired or some shit. So I went to Kevin and Andrew's to play some music with Kevin. We're working on a song I wrote a pretty long time ago. It's turning out to be, probably, the heaviest song I've ever written. But it's cool because it's got like a pop-rockish chorus progression that strikes through the heavy dissonance of the rest of it.

I needed new panties. I called up Korey, he and I went to Balls-Mart so I could pick up some boxer briefs. Those shits aren't cheap. I ended up getting a new toothbrush and new floss heads for this flossing thing that I have. It's this toothbrush-styled device to which you can click disposable 1 1/4" pieces of plastic with floss tightly strung across it to. So instead of holding two ends of a string, it's held tightly for you and all you have to do is get it between your pearly whites or pissy yellows in my case. My teeth are okay-colored. Not bright white, but not 'I drink coffee regularly' stained.

Family Video in Kent was our next stop. After perusing the new releases and coming up with nothing, Korey grabbed "Deathwish" starring Charles Bronson, and featuring Jeff Goldblum in one of his first roles. It was alright, commentating with Korey on anything like a movie or just the passing world is always pretty sweet. Hilarious.

This is where I retired for the evening. I ate a hoagie and called it night, got online and began this blog. Let's see how well I can keep up with this.