Ohio Won’t Remember Me

Well I’ll be damned. Ya’ll are some irascible mother fuckers. God damn I love you crazy bastards.

And I use irascible in the street sense of course. Which means cool as shit.

Well I had myself a time writing that essay, and a better time reading your comments.

And there is just so much shit that I want to say right now, and I won’t get any of it done I know. Because it’s about Midnight and Ohio won’t remember shit. AKA GF is almost ready for bed and I still haven’t showered.

I wanted to talk about what I just ate and how damned good it was. And the work day with coworker. The coworker from the other posts. Everything turned out hunkey dorey with that red faced dude. Man, I like him actually. And I wanted to talk about how I been looking at Seth Godin all wrong. I been straight up talking a lot about that dude, in fact he’s about to rival Chuck Klosterman for most talked about dude on Anyone’s Ghost. But all my memories of what Seth Godin is talking about are all skewed because I read them like three or more years ago and I’m a whole different dude these days. And I wanted to talk about…something else too what was it. Oh how I totally lied to my coworker and he loved me for it.

In a perfect world I’ll have some time to write tomorrow. But the world ain’t perfect so we’ll just have to see.

But ho damn I just ate the most luxurious shit. Just walked through the door and had some roast duck and some squash soup GF made in class. Then I had some banana bread GF made at home. And I drank some Harpoon Winter Warmer. I feel so warm on the inside.

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Happy Feet

Readability Index: Readable

Hot damn can’t hardly work around this bitch cuz I got my man’s house mix keyed up and this shit is hot! You ever get something from your friends like a story or a CD or something that they made and you think to yourself shit I hope this is good because I don’t want to have to pretend I liked it next time I see them? Well, thankfully my boy shut that shit down and came out with some infectious house masterpieces. I remember the last time a friend gave me a CD it was this dude made his own raps with some friends and it was just embarrassing.

Ho but yeah I wanted to be up early to get down on this new idea I had. But I couldn’t. I got home last night at 3 in the morning after working until 2:30. I remember thinking, it’s probably getting towards one o’clock as I was cleaning up and then looking at my phone it was almost two. Yeah but it was a great night. We were slammin the whole time but we held the line and in the end I made almost four hundred bucks. Bartending is the truth!

Yeah so I didn’t get up at 8:30 like I thought I would. And I got to pay the rent today. And somehow I had to figure out how to outsmart those American Express bastards. They’re not so bad, it’s the Wells Fargo dudes. Ah shit I guess I’m really to blame. Sounds like Margaritaville in here. But anyway I figured out how to shut that shit down and it only took about half an hour. Which is more than I wanted but less then it could have been. And there goes another hundred dollars spent and still haven’t replaced my shoes with holes in them. But fuck it. Least that’s nearly taken care of.

Ha and I did the dishes before I sat down to this bitch. And got dressed too. Man I ate some chicken that GF made for me the other night. Was banging like a storm door and I could really feel the love in every bite.

So I basically got about an hour before I got to exit the doors and find that crazy landlord of mine and get him paid up.

So my grand scheme. I was thinking of something the hilarious MrGhuxley wrote on his post about trousers or something: Newspapers are just comic books for people who take life too seriously. And I was thinking about the books I look at most: Joan Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto, Hunter S. Thompon’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and The Gonzo Papers, and Kurt Vonnegut’s Man Without a Country, and how they’re all at least sort of non-fiction, or kind of new journalism. And I thought about how I like to draw stupid little comics on napkins. And I thought I could make some kind of faux-journalistic blog about random bullshit with comics in it. Yeah that’s pretty much what I thought.

I thought I might use this blog as a place to write the rough drafts and think about what I’m going to write before selecting and winnowing out (winnow) what’s useful to the project at hand.

By the way, anyone reading this should totally go read Suffering With Meaning. It’s worth much more than the five minutes it will take to read it. And it says so succinctly what I’ve been trying to get at with a lot of the weird rambling posts on this blog.

I’ve got about twenty minutes before I have to leave so I’m going to try to think of what my first article/essay is going to be about.

What I’ve Learned So Far About Blogging and Life

Readability Index: Unreadable Due to Length

Alright what I’m going to try to do here is create a unique field theory…I mean a unified field theory of blogging by me. A unified field theory of my life and what blogging means to it. What has writing this blog done to me over the last week and how can I make it useful to my life. How can I enjoy it more fully. How can I do something…how can I feel good about it.

Well, like the first time I started blogging on this mother fucker, I’ve got The National keyed up. Playing “Anyone’s Ghost” over and over again. Great song. I can lose myself in the rhythm of it.

Sometimes I feel like cursing and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel nice and sometimes I’m itchy. Someone just called me. I hate phones because they interrupt everything. People are mad at me all the time because I don’t pick up my phone. But I can’t plan for that shit. I don’t know how they made it back in the day with regular phones just ringing all the time and you couldn’t even see who was calling. Screening your calls meant listening to the answering machine.

But that’s all beside the point of course.

I washed the dishes and ate another muffin. I should eat again before I go to work. I was thinking I should enjoy work and stop dreading leaving the house, but that’s just part of me, dreading leaving the house, I can have as much fun as I want when I get out there but the next day I’ll be dreading it all over again. Much like taking a shower.

I still feel like this blog is a kind of fleeting addiction. I have them all the time. Sometimes I’m really into drawing, or basketball, or wine, or…well anything. The one activity I have done throughout my life is writing. So maybe that bodes well for the blog. Because this is a good kind of writing. A kind of writing that motivates me to keep writing. I really like just spitting out my thoughts. And the craziest thing about it is that people read it. It’s there for people to read, like a well dressed pamphlet fluttering down a busy street, but unlike the pamphlet that gets stomped on and waved away and stuck to car bumpers, this blog gets read by people from all over the world. They take time to read the words that came straight out of my head, without any revision or intense labor over them. It’s crazy to me that people like to read that much. Now I like to read that much, but I never thought that so many other people did. It’s the difference between knowing something and feeling it, is something I always say. I know that people are like me, but I don’t feel it.

But along with the addiction idea, is the feeling that perhaps this isn’t healthy. Perhaps I should be going outside and running around, or cleaning the house, or getting a part time job, or toiling away at writing a novel. This is just a part of how I feel about everything except actual paid by the hour work, the feeling that I should be doing something else, that I could be doing something more productive at that moment. The times I snap out of this feeling are usually when I consider that some people don’t have any time or any choice of what they do at any time of the day. A man with no lets can’t decide to cut his toenails, and a starving child can’t decide whether to eat coconut almond muffins or just skip lunch. So that usually gets me focused back on the crazy thing about my life which is that I have the world available to me, as unfair as that may be to other people.

And I use the word crazy too much. It’s kind of a catch all for things I don’t understand or can’t grasp, as well as something I aspire to, like ‘damn that dude is crazy!’

So I don’t want to feel like this is an addiction. Something I think about all the time, that I can’t wait to get back to, that I’m unhappy if I’m not doing it…unless I do want to feel like that. Isaac Asimov felt like that about writing fiction and I’ve always admired him. A lot of people say about writers: “If you can’t not write, then you’re a writer.” I’ve always replied, “well I guess I’m not a writer because I could sleep all day, wake up drink and watch Downton Abbey reruns and I won’t be worried about a damn bit of writing.” Writing is usually something I do because I’m good at it and I like it. Not because I need it. But maybe being addicted to this blog will be like needing to write, which would then put me in the company of great writers, which would then perhaps make me a great writer.

The most wonderful thing about this blog, and I mean wonderful in the truly literal sense as in it creates within my mind a great sense of…wonder…is that I have been able to in some way make at least one person’s life a little more interesting. It’s really weird, actually, to have the effect on someone through writing. I like to think that I make people’s lives better in general when I know them, because I’m hardworking and nice and charming; but it’s super weird to think that my writing has affected someone I don’t know outside of the written word relationship of blogging. Of course I’ve always known that that was what writing is all about, but I didn’t feel it. And when I say feel and know, of course they are happening in the same place, in the mind with the chemicals and neural pathways and all that, I’m really differentiating between theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge. In theory writing is communication with other minds…but I’ve never before felt the practical application of that knowledge. Just had to make a note for those Ayn Rand types who would laugh at my use of the word “feel.” Ah see, sometimes I worry about impressions for long periods of time without even realizing it. Then again, you can’t say you’re not thinking about the impression you’re making if you’re writing for people to look at it. You’re writing expressly to create an impression, whether in your own mind or someone else’s. What I don’t want to do at least on this blog is to worry that I’m making the wrong impression. Because as I’ve stated before I spend most of m life doing that.

The practical uses of this blog, and by that what I mean to say (or meantersay, as Joe Gargery would say) is the uses of the blog that I would be happy with even if no one ever saw it, are numerous. Being namely that words look pretty on this blog, my thoughts are organized with tags and categories, and even while I’m typing this information is being saved on the internet so that even if my computer should spontaneously combust, I would not lose any of this. So those are good things. Before I started blogging I would write this kind of random bullshit gibberish, but I would save it on a Word document. I would lose all those with my computer. Also with this infinite display of the articles in reverse chronological order, I can more easily reread these posts than I can read all those word documents that are separated and whatnot.

Hm yes but what is the overall idea. What is the purpose? Of course, we all know how I feel about the purpose of life. Since we’re doomed it really doesn’t matter what we do. Except that we can’t. But that’s a load of horseshit.

What then is the difference between bullshit and horseshit?

I do want to create something of value. And I do love writing in this extemporaneous style. Revisions have always been a bitch to me. I have always thought of art as revision, controlling the impression you’re making on people. And that’s well and good. You can’t have a wonderful novel like Freedom without revision. You can’t have an awesome movie like Spartacus without editing. Hm but maybe you can have an incredible novel like On the Road if you practice writing a lot a lot and fill your head jam packed with experiences and information and then sit down at your computer with a gallon of coffee and type for a week straight.

Maybe I will write something in the vein of On the Road, with a Hunter S Thompson slant, with a subject that is truth, that is not fictitious. I will be like Chuck Klosterman, perhaps. The more I blog the more I like that mother fucker and I never once really thought about it before, except right after I got done reading Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I’d pretty much forgotten about him until it came up while I was commenting on someone else’s blog and now I find myself quoting him a lot. And what he does is pretty cool. He talks about the world we live in in a funny way. And an insightful way. I bet I could do something like that at least 10 percent as good as him if I really worked at it.

I think my style of writing is pretty engaging. If I were to talk about something people cared about, I think at least some people would find that worthwhile. Hrmph well…shit

Klosterman on Cusack

Readability Index: Highly readable (thanks to most of it being written by someone else)

I don’t know how much is legal to quote from a book, so if I’m doing something illegal let me know. Shit I’m not making any money of this so…should be fine. As long as there’s no money involved people don’t usually care.

But I read a blog post about Soul Mates last night on The Sensitive Storm and it made me think of this essay from Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs.

Here is a key passage. It’s worth reading the whole book, for sure. I read the whole thing on a bus to NYC. I didn’t plan on it, but couldn’t stop myself.

“It appears that countless women born between the years of 1965 and 1978 are in love with John Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn’t the number-one box-office star in America, because every straight girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherfucker. For upwardly mobile women in their twenties and thirties, John Cusack is the neo-Elvis. But here’s what none of these upwardly mobile women seem to realize: They don’t love John Cusack. They love Lloyd Dobler. When they see Mr. Cusack, they are still seeing the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager he played in Say Anything, a movie that came out more than a decade ago.”

“And these upwardly mobile women are not alone. We all convince ourselves of things like this–not necessarily about Say Anything, but about any fictionalized portrayals of romance that happen to hit us in the right place, at the right time. This is why I will never be completely satisfied by a woman, and this is why the kind of woman I tend to find attractive will never be satisfied by me. We will both measure our relationship against the prospect of fake love.”

Yeah that’s some true shit. I had to restrain myself from quoting the whole essay as it’s pretty bad ass the whole way through.

Ah but I can’t leave this out. He starts talking about Coldplay and how they, like Cusack’s movies, promote ‘fake love’:

“What matters is that Coldplay manufactures fake love as frenetically as the Ford fucking Motor Company manufactures Mustangs, and that’s all this woman heard. “For you I bleed myself dry,” sang their blockhead vocalist, brilliantly informing us that the stars in the sky are, in fact, yellow. How am I going to compete with that shit?”

 

Bastards Downstairs

God damn I can’t tell if these mother fuckers downstairs are purposely trying to get me out of bed or what. They rolled in here at 8 AM. It’s funny too because he’s the landlord, and he kicked the last people out for being too loud, and I thought they were too loud, too, but when he’s down there he’s louder than all of them! Jesus God.

But I had some interesting things to say, I thought of them all last night in bed and now I can’t remember shit. I can’t remember anything.

It’s become weird, because some people actually read my blog yesterday and I never expected that to happen, and now I’m worried that if I publish some stupid shit about people downstairs it won’t be any good. The other stuff wasn’t very good either, shit, I just threw stuff out there, but now I’m feeling the pressure. Maybe it’s just the hangover.

Last night I went out for a beer with my boss after work. That beer was banging! Bangin like a storm door. Drop dead awesome as shit. Hell yeah. This morning I ate some Puffins. This is the first time I consciously put the “get the blood flowing” theory to work on the old hangover. Usually I would try to sleep it off but I never got that that didn’t even work at all. WordPress wants me to use the tag “storm door” on this post. Fuck it, I might as well. Maybe I’ll get some salesmen.

Met this wine salesman the other day and shit went all awry. I couldn’t keep up with the bastard. I had no idea what was going on, I think he stole some money with the old Kansas City Shuffle. That right there is a hot mess. Kansas City Shuffle. I mean that’s from Lucky Number Slevin and reminds me about what djmatticus was writing about, movie quotes that you can apply to real life. I looked up movie quotes yesterday and saw something I figured was profound before I saw it there but as soon as I saw it there I completely discredited it. Oh shit this Zenmata thing is crazy. I don’t even know what it is. But it’s telling me that there really is a Kansas City Shuffle.

Fuck it might as well throw it on there.

I was thinking I would save this as a draft and then figure out how to separate it into a few more meaningful posts and maybe one rambling bullshit one, but fuck it. I think one thing I’m trying to get from this blog thing is my thought process on paper with dates and shit like that, so I’m just going to publish everything and edit after that.

Some posts I’d like to write before work today:

Rules of the blog, of which I have thought of one

Shout out post, to the cool people I connected with yesterday. Fucking awesome that people can just all the sudden have read what you’re writing and respond to it. I never knew it was possible. I’m straight out of the stone age with this shit.

Something about religious debate, I had a thought yesterday

Some Chuck Klosterman type shit about soul mates

Some Blues People type shit

Some shit about how it’s freezing up in this bitch! Better stand up and walk around.

On using a timer

On bartending

On drinking redeyes

Hoo shit I can’t be posting all that! I’d better just make it one post so I don’t blow away my new followers with all kinds of shit inundating the mailbox. I just wanted to use the word inundating there I kind of jammed it in. Dang Chuck Klosterman’s got this shit on lockdown. He has like a thousand essays just chilling on his website.

Ah fuck it. I’m not Chuck Klosterman that’s for damn sure. I got to do me! And me is posting a bunch of fucking posts all over the damn place like a crazy person and not worrying about the consequences. Fuck the consequences. Came in here with nothing I’ll leave with nothing. Try to act like this shit is going viral out this motherfucker. What is happening.

One thing I don’t like is that this time is in like California time or some shit. Need some EST around here.

Well, fuck it, I’ve done 728 words now. Looking at the word count means it’s time to stop writing, means your brains warmed up.

Message for myself and anyone who read this far – I promise to label all the posts that are worth reading. That’s kind of a rule right there.

But fuck it, I might as well get these fingers started, get them in motion, get the mother fucking timer started. Figure some shit out. Ten minutes to ten out here on the East coast.

Oh and I wanted to write about the god damn super bowl. Never saw that shit coming I’ll tell you what.

But yeah got to roll to work around two so that gives me about four hours of bullshitting. No actually it doesn’t because I got to do some cleaning.

My girlfriend and I are hosting our first AirBnB guest on Saturday night so got to get the room cleaned and all that.

Ah shit I got my paycheck last night and didn’t even look at it yet. Yet I had time to fuck around and comment on some posts and eat Broccoli Soup that my girl made but I thought it was cucumber so I ate it cold. I knew some shit was wrong. I just couldn’t place it.

Oh shit I got paid big time! Not that I can keep any of it of course, got to pay the mother fucking piper and his seventeen brothers that’s for sure. But good to see that anyway. Means I’ll be out of the whole in six years or so. Ah but what was I going to say…I don’t even know. Shit seems to be going alright.

Man, I started looking at these links to see what’s up…they’re pretty damn useful. I just learned about Bennie Moten and the real Kansas City Shuffle. I just used that shit from Lucky Number Slevin never once knowing what the hell it was. Turns out that shit is mad interesting. And it’s funny too because I’m reading this book, Blues People, by LeRoi Jones and he talks about Bennie Moten, who apparently wrote the song “Kansas City Shuffle.” Man shit just gets connected everywhere you go.

Ha, these links want me to link the phrase “fuck it” to Amazon where you can buy Eamon’s single of the same name.