Sunday, June 27, 2010


I guess there's no excuse. Not really.

But there is a reason. Those are easy to come up with, to explain, relate, and rationalize before the inevitable debate of whether I really needed to go so long without blogging. Well, truth is, I didn't need to. I just kind of did.

Why? Because Life. Or should I say, because of Life, because of my life. It gets haphazard. It gets hectic. It gets distorted and disoriented. It gets all manners of random and crazy, so much so that I can't help but slip into the whirlpool like the White Rabbit slips into Wonderland and Alice slips naturally too.

Would you care for a blow-by-blow bulleted list?

New job) slanging overpriced & low-quality souvenirs to the tourists at Fisherman's Wharf. My days (and many nights) consist of freezing half to death while making serious $$$ via commissions on my persuasive ability to part cold hard cash from initially unwilling wallets. Some shifts I feel like a rapist for capitalism, a wet-dream for every white-collar manager -- the guy who will take the hard-sell and make the customer want what they never wanted. Or maybe I'm just taking this summer-job too dramatically, perhaps? After all, tourists are bastards sometimes. Exploitative. Makes me feel better about the whole shebang, actually.

[Author's Note: should any coworkers or managers read this, please excuse me, because I'm just keeping this to myself. Nobody who buys us reads this.]

Running an open-mic) at the Cafe International on Haight & Fillmore every Friday night from 7:30 to 11:00-ish o'clock. Every week with a different feature, and a different cast of characters to the nigh Shakespearean-in-magnitude drama of myriad artists bunched close together and asked to perform for one another, as well as random audience members. It only makes sense in theory, because in practice the event comes off so madly wonderful you shouldn't think too hard about it -- the effects could cause a brain hemorrhage. But I love it. Every Friday inspires me, and every musician/poet/comedian/artist makes the whole week worth the wait to get another dose, to take another hit off the crack-pipe that is this open-mic.

Playing as a one-man band) for a comedy-show at Amnesia in The Mission every final Thursday of the month. I make jokes more humorous than the comedians themselves often enough, and people constantly tell me how much they enjoy the musical element to keep the energy up. Even better, I get free beer, a place on-stage to sit, and just sit back and listen to hilarity while interjecting my own interpretations via well-placed saxophone goose-tones or cajon drum-rattles. Plus I get paid.

Selling off random assets) like a going-out-of-business sale. I've been relocating my excess to better places, while taking the cash for the transaction and putting it towards making it through the summer. I'm not poor, but I'm not rich enough to rest on any imaginary laurels either. I've gotten rid of the Wii, the associated games, cables, etc., some DVDs, a fair amount of books, and lots of CDs. It's nice to see my room's items shrinking as I reduce the stress of my life by reducing the random shit I don't need, or use anymore. It feels like a Japanese Buddhist conversion. Something like that.

Being a good friend) which is really isn't all that hard, but I'm terrible at it. Need to keep in-touch with people better. I always forget to call, to text, to write, to... whatever, and then suddenly a month goes by without talking to the boys. Makes me feel disconnected in strange ways. But so it goes. Each day is a new day to be a better person! (Slash-friend.)

And, finally, being a boyfriend) which is harder than it looks, but better than you think. Girlfriends are like Super Nintendo game-cartridges -- you need to blow on them the right way for them to work. (Yes, darling, I know I just compared you to a video-game. You'll survive. I love you.) And as for the whole long-distance relationship aspect, well... it's actually not bad, at least not for me. I get by alright because of the different technologies to make constant contact not just possible, but normal. Sure, I miss the physical, but in the end I didn't fall in love with a body. I loved the person, who exists whether I can perceive them or not. If nothing else, my memories of visits -- visits that seem so short in comparison to the time apart, and brief to the weeks between them -- make every night and every morning still beautiful for the secret-smiles they bring to my face. I get by just fine for a man in love because I know my woman doesn't just exist for me. I love her as a person, not an object for my own benefit. And that helps keep the inconvenient time apart in perspective. It's the loving that matters, not the how.

Anyways, that's the update on my small world. I got most of the major stuff in. The rest is too personal for blog-discussion, so you'll have to wait till I write it accidentally in to some random short-story.


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