Thursday, June 21, 2018

World Salad, June 21, 2018

Had a dream about Florida Man last night. He asked me if I belonged in this country and for documentation to back it up.

Hasn't happened in real life so, I got that going for me.

I've been thinking a lot about Charlie Chaplin. He was a lot of things. A comedian, an actor, a creator who tried to bring good things into this world. He was a philanderer, married four times, he was a father.

Our heroes are never perfect.

It's never a coincidence that our heroes are so very much like us. Some might say that's because we emulate them but, I disagree. I think there is something of us in them whether we see it or not at first.

I admired and loved John Lennon and Eric Clapton long before I learned about their complicated relationships with their mothers. Same with James Dean and Jim Morrison.

As I learned more about them the things I loved in them made more sense. The reasons things they created resonated with me so profoundly took on an even deeper meaning.

My love of Shirley Manson and strong as fuck women in general makes more sense when viewed through the lens of a boy with an absentee (weak willed) mother.

Of course, even with Shirley, it's that bit I learn later that brings it home even more. The struggle with who she is in this world, the self-hate covered by a false bravado, growing up and into her own skin and accepting (to a point) just who she is and being okay with herself just as she is.

When someone tells me they admire me or, gasp, that I am their hero, I think, if you had any idea how fucked up I am, how much I am absolutely faking it, you would change your mind.

And then... sometimes, I hear myself talking to me like I would talk to you:

Why not you? Yeah, you fuck up, maybe even more often than not but, you get up every time, dust yourself off, and keep fighting the fight. And yeah, the fight is mostly with yourself but, so is theirs and if you offer even a glimmer of hope to them fighting theirs then maybe you should cut yourself some slack. Maybe, when you can't get up, they'll be the ones to pick you up.

I used to want to be a hero. When I was a kid.

Now that I am old man my heroes have changed. My heroes are people most of the world have never heard of. They're the small handful of people I hold close who fight their own fights with a courage I aspire to.

There is no real point to this post.

My coffee needs a refill so I will leave you now.

Have a day.

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

No song today. I just don't have it in me.

Watch the above clip and you'll know how I feel about my country lately. 

When people tell me Republicans and Democrats are the same I think, kids, veterans, women. One side uses the three for rhetoric, the other side at least tries to serve them as constituents. 

I texted Kris yesterday that I was not writing much because I am so angry so much of the time and that when I write I angry I come across as nagging. 

We commiserated on our exasperation at what our country has become and went about our day.

I find myself loathing people I once admired. People who are bending over backwards to justify the kind of behavior we used to point to and say, we're better than that.

We aren't better. 

We take children from their parents for political gain. We point to those parents and children and say, they're the problem, they're to blame, if they didn't want their children taken away they shouldn't have come, they're using their children as shields...

We the people have the power to change all of this. It was built into our Constitution. 

We'll protest, we'll shout on social media, we'll blog about it but, when it comes time to doing something about it - actually voting - we sit at home. 

That makes us all complicit. 

I'm done worrying about 45ers anymore. Fuck them and the horse they road in on. 

Anymore, I am going to try to work on the non-voters. Or, better yet, the disenfranchised voter who gave up some time ago for any number of reasons.

It's either that or take a fucking flamethrower to whole fucking thing. 

Have a day. 

Monday, June 18, 2018

Misheard lyric

You always said that Father's Day was just another day...

First, I always hear that lyric wrong. Also, the song from whence it comes is a bit of a downer about a shit relationship with dad but, that particular line means something to me that is a bit anathema to the song itself.

My dad never made me feel obligated or pressured to celebrate Father's Day. It was just another day. Of course, that made me all the more determined to celebrate the man on that day.

Which, now that I think of it, may have been the plan all along. Maybe my dad was just an evil genius.

Yesterday I hurt for a lot of my friends. The usual faire of thanks mom for pulling double duty posts made me wish they could have met my old man.
I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and, broken things.
Friends of ours (mine and my siblings) with shit dads loved him because he took them as they were. He loved the kids who felt unlovely, unlovable.

When we had his funeral I had strangers tell me that my dad was there for their kid, for them, when their dad wasn't. He spent time with kids whose fathers wouldn't.

I don't know that there is a better gift than time spent.

A little more time would definitely be nice.

Have a day.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

If you have my back

My favorite thing about seeing a Frank Turner show is watching people that have never seen him live before get it. That moment when something clicks and they know this is just the first of many more FT shows for them.

Was at the Tabernacle in Atlanta this weekend and when he asked, how many of you are seeing us for the first time I took note to watch some of the hands raised. The show went on and I could see so many moments where those first timers full blown Turnerds.

I had a first of my own in Atlanta. I got to see the Menzingers for the first time ever. They were every bit as good as I had hoped. Next goal: seeing them with my good friend, KK.

The next night, in Orlando, I got to watch friends of mine have their moment. Watching people I love fall in love with Frank makes me smile so big water escapes from the corner of my eyes.

It's like, hey, I love you and here is this part of me and they're all oh my god, I love this part of you and now it's a part of me and you both dance and celebrate because something inside each of you is that much more alive and your bond is a little more unbreakable because of music.

And then, boom, one more Turnerd.

It's way fucking cooler when the men on stage are better human beings than they are musicians. And they are, each of them, beautiful human beings.

Frank hugs like you're the only person on the planet to him. I love that. - TGB.

Yeah. And they play every show like it's their last night on the stage.

I want to do more of everything like that.

Have a day.

Oh yeah, and this happened. But you knew that already.

Saturday, June 9, 2018

It is all of us

I think about suicide a lot. Everyday a lot.

I don't want to die but, it is one of those voices that whispers in my ear.

When things suck, it's almost a scream.

When things are good, it's a constant yeah but...

I am not saying this as a cry for help. I am saying this because of the response to yesterday's dribble.

It was pointed out that, while my post was good and well meaning, maybe, the best course is to be there long before things get to that dark place.

And you know what? The people who say that are right.

It was pointed out that the strongest among us are every bit as likely (arguably more so) to take their own life and that it would be wise and compassionate to check on them, too.

I am telling you that I think about suicide daily because I know my life is, from the outside, a magical thing. And it is, actually.

And yet, that nagging is there.

I tried once and ended up in a psych ward for four days.

Pills and alcohol. A text sent in my haze brought friends to my home. They stood me up, walked me in my yard until an ambulance arrived. I was made to drink charcoal and kept for observation then admitted.

Again, I tell you this not for pity but as an example.

I love the shit out of my life. It is staggeringly beautiful.

And yet... there is always that part of me that just wants to get it over with, a part of me that cannot wait for the relief that I am sure will come with the end.

I approach my tendencies the way I approach my sobriety: one day, one hour, one minute and, when it is particularly dark, one second at a time.

Again, this is not a cry for help. This is my reminder that it is not always the sad, seemingly depressed sorts that take their lives. It's all of us. That smiling kid you see at the show tonight. That woman in love at your office. That guy with the fancy car and new promotion.

It is all of us.

I write this so you know that you are not alone. You are not abnormal. You are not weird. You are just like me. If you are thinking, why would you ever think your life would  be better served without you... well, I wonder the same thing about you and your life.

So lean in. Listen. Love hard as fuck. Let's, all of us, never take each other for granted.

Good talk.

Have nice day.

Friday, June 8, 2018

Thoughts after another suicide

It's a weird thing, suicide.

It's like you decide, okay, this is where my story ends. And then the rest of the world you built gets to clean up the mess.

There's always a question of why and what could we have done to stop it. But that thought always seems to come after. 

But what about now? Like, while I am alive. What can I do to stop you from thinking, I must be going now?

How do I make it clear to you that my life is richer simply by having you in it? And is that even enough?

Is it enough to tell you that if I get that call tomorrow morning I will crumble into a million pieces?

Do I need to scream at the top of my lungs that I not only love you but, I fucking need you?


If I quote your favorite movies or songs or books, will you stay another day?

I'm not a doctor but, if I could I would heal all the broken bits inside of you. If I had to carry that burden for you, I would.

I don't want to wait til after you're gone to wonder what I could have done to keep you here.

I need to know now so I can hold onto your light for as long as possible.

Because that is what you are, a light in my sometimes dark as fuck world. You have helped guide me, kept me smiling, made me laugh, made me simply glad to still be alive.

I love you.

Have a nice day.

Thursday, June 7, 2018

Yeah, we'll definitely have all the best stories to tell

One of the best things in life is the sadness that comes with goodbye. If it's a goodbye filled with tears and the kind of hugs that go on and on because neither of you want to let go, then it is one of the best kind of goodbyes.

There were a lot of those after last weekend.

In between the hellos and goodbyes was a weekend spent laughing til it hurt, dancing like nobody was watching, singing badly, celebrating and, generally just being really alive.

Most of you know what I mean by really alive; that kind of alive where you want it all to stop for a moment so you can wrap yourself in it like a cocoon. The kind of alive that makes you almost cry from gratitude, this is my life, what the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?

That's what last weekend was.

Watching TGB laugh and relish the beautiful people of her life celebrate her achievements... it was storybook. The perfect epilogue to a lifetime spent in service to her country.

I know a lot of people think I like to be the belle of the ball but, my favorite thing is sitting back and watching it all. Taking in the life we've built.

Watching friends from different parts of my life engage with strangers to them and seeing a bond form. Seeing lifelong friends of mine become fast friends with each other is the kind of thing that melts me to goo. Seeing them form a squad of their own... I have a lump in my throat thinking about that.

I have an army. And now, my army have a deeper army of their own.

TGB was the glue that brought it all together. A lot of those friends would never have come into my life were it not for her.

She reminded me that this life is sweet, that magic is real, that, if I get the fuck out of my own way, the fairytale is real.

This weekend was one of the best ever in a lifetime full of amazing weekends.

Thank you to everyone who was a part of it. The people who showed up. The people who sent messages. The people who sent videos. Every single one of you made this weekend perfect and we fucking love you.

Have a nice day.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream

I've been awake for several hours now. I am tired but, I would be getting up soon for work so, fuck it, may as well stay up.

I was working in the White House for Cheetolini, trying to help keep him from fucking up my country more than he already has. I got up to take a leak when I was greeted by his uglier son at the door to be informed that they were planning on firing 44 WH staffers at the end of the day and I was, wait for it, #45.

Then the fucker wouldn't let me back in the meeting to at least grab my coat.

He threatened to have things done to me if I tried to get my coat.

I bit my tongue because I didn't want TGB to get in trouble (yep, even in my fucking dreams) seeing as how dipshit's dad is her boss.

I walked home in the rain with no coat. There were Secret Service dudes waiting for me. They told me they hated their boss and bought me lunch.

Every time I tried to take a bite of my lunch they would bring up a photo of the ugliest of #45's kids and show me. I ended up crying.

I would rather be waterboarded.

I woke up ascairt and couldn't go back to asleep.

So now I have coffee and heavy eyelids.

I'll tell you kids all about TGB's retirement weekend festivities tomorrow.

Ti... er, no.

Have a day, or whatever.

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

This could have been a FB post, sure.

I keep wondering what my country would look like if we had no voter suppression, had no gerrymandering, got money out of politics, made election day a national holiday and, people actually showed up at the polls.

I really need to stop watching Aaron Sorkin shows before bed.

Have a day

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Skip to the 1:10 mark

I don't really want to write this morning.

It's not that I have nothing to say - I always have shit to say.

I just don't want to put the things I am thinking about saying down on paper.

Paper being a euphemism for writing on this blog or, whatever.

Etta James singing to me does that; makes the things I have deep inside tearing me up come to the surface.

I was wondering what it would be like to live in another country.

Imagine that, a Mexican-American emigrating to another country because he's sick of America.

I love this country, I am just embarrassed. By our POTUS. By the people who elected him. By the people who still support him.

I'm applying for a bunch of jobs. Need something that pays a little better than the libary. Breaks my heart to do that but, it is what it is.

I'm still going to drive the boat on weekends. C'mon, getting paid to be on the water is the tits.

Power was out all day yesterday and into the night. Candle light should have been romantic as fuck. Except that this is Florida and it was hot and muggy as fuck.

Ball soup is never romantic. Ever.

Have a day.

Monday, May 28, 2018

I don't need a savior if I don't believe in sin

There is a named storm raging outside.

That is to say, there is a slight breeze and some drizzle. Named Alberto.

That's the irony of living in Mexico Beach, Floriduh; as soon as a storm gets named we know it's going to be weak sauce by the time it gets to us.

That's not to say we don't get bad storms. We just get zero warning about those.

Hey, look, there's clouds over th... holy shit! Run inside!!! The power just went out! Why is the house shaking?? That's not norm... oh, it's over. Oh my god, the sky is so gorgeous and blue. 

We also get rain on one side of the street. It's not as cool as it sounds. The rain side gets respite, the non-rain side gets humidity and mosquitos.

I do love the ocean during a storm. The raging sea is my favorite sea.

That's where I want to die.

In forty or so years.

Or tomorrow.

Just depends on my mood.

Have a day.

I love people who love the place that made them. Even if that place is a shithole like Philly.