Category: Personal

Today’s the first day of a week off, my first since May but what feels like 15 years. The past couple of weeks at work have been very slow, waiting for the other shoe to drop and then just sitting there without much to do. it just seemed like a better idea to go ahead and take the time off than to keep spending all day at work doing nothing.

So I’m at home doing nothing. I made it a point not to make any real plans, but to just spend the whole time in San Francisco, finally getting to see the city. And it’s an astoundingly beautiful day outside. And so far I’ve just spent the morning reading e-mail and browsing the internets. I keep thinking I should go look at the bay, or take a walk along Golden Gate Bridge, or go to the park and finally see the buffaloes I keep hearing about.

But then again, there’s that couch there, with a TiVo full of stuff to watch. And some DVDs. And a couple of videogames. This is going to be tough.

And I was too bored to do it today, so I’ll quit smoking tomorrow. Probably. Maybe.

Last night, in celebration of the game’s finally going into CQC (something quality control, meaning that the game’s almost done), I went out to a bar with Alex and Bailey.

As the night wore on and we drank more, the conversation turned to a religious “debate.” I can’t say that it was all that deep, considering we were in a bar and had been taking full advantage of it. But it was fairly impassioned and belligerent, anyway. Alex is a “devout” atheist, Bailey’s agnostic, and I consider myself a Christian. It was the usual kind of discussion I’ve had with atheists in the past — I don’t believe that I’m “fooling myself” by believing in God, and I don’t think that the foolish and evil things said and done by people in the name of religion invalidates the entire notion of faith and spirituality. I’ve tried to conceive of a universe where God doesn’t exist, and it just makes absolutely no sense to me. There’s just too much beauty and too many people doing good things without realizing that’s what they’re doing.

We eventually got kicked out of the bar (because it closed, not because we were arguing) and started to make our way home. The last thing I said, as far as I can remember, was, “I can’t explain why I believe the things I do, I just do.”

Bailey and I shared a cab, and as I got in he handed something to me. “I just sat on this; the people in the cab before us must’ve left it. Do you want it? Ironic, huh?” It was a small crucifix, like you wear on a necklace. I should try to find a way to return it to its owner, but I can’t even remember what cab company it was. Instead, I’m thinking I’m going to find a chain for it and wear it myself.

Well, I’m blaming last night’s little panic attack episode on a combination of job stress, lack of sleep, and reading my friend’s very dark and cynical short stories right before I tried to go to bed. And, of course, the typical self-indulgent whining. But hey, this is a blog, after all.

Job situation is almost somewhat looking up: a ton of bugs got magically whisked away from me today, and the end is (supposedly) in sight. I’m already planning what I’m going to do with my time off. It involves sleeping, seeing more of the city, going out with friends, and the sweet, sweet healing power of booze.

Plus, Rachael got me tickets to the Pixies concert in Berkeley later this month! How much does that rock? Well, it rocks a good bit. And it rocks hard. This time I’m going to stop concentrating on how old I am and just focus on how old they are now. A while ago my friend Chris pointed out that Frank Black is looking more and more like Divine every time he sees him. Ha ha! Take that, so-called rock “legends!”

Plan for tonight: watch Mulholland Drive while waiting for the Tylenol PM to kick in. Seeing a David Lynch movie while under sedation. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, if this is a journal, and the whole point is for me to become a better writer, then I guess I have to write down the bad stuff as well as the good.

I’m always hearing from people that I’m grouchy, or surly, or cynical, or hard to read, when I think anyone who really knows me knows that I’m completely the opposite. Several years ago I got into a nasty fight with someone whose opinion I had previously respected, and he told me “you’re just so hard to read.” I stewed on that for a while, and eventually told my friend Bret, and he replied, “No you’re not! You’re like a wire! A tightly-pulled wire. The slightest disturbance just vibrates throughout the whole of your being.” Finally, someone who gets it! I wish he and I talked more.

Usually, I think Candide was a cynic. This isn’t just the best of all possible worlds, this world is pretty freaking awesome on its own, no qualification necessary. There’s just so much beauty and wonder in the world, and so many people who do good things so easily, without giving it a second thought. I’m desperately optimistic; clinging to the idea that everything is going to be okay despite all evidence to the contrary.

Except when I can’t. Because now I’m thinking that everything I’ve assumed or taken on faith is wrong. And I was a sap for believing it. The people who I always assumed had it all figured out, are just as miserable as everyone else. Not only was I naive to believe I could have all the things I wanted; I’ve been wanting the wrong things. Nobody has that perfect life. Nobody accomplishes anything. Nobody is truly happy, or even content, because there’s always someone else to pick away at it, or that desire that’s always just out of reach. Each of us is completely alone, doomed never to have true insight into anyone else, only passing time with each other to kill time until we’re dead. And as proof of that, everything here can be dismissed as self-indulgent, whining, crap instead of genuine emotion, or even a genuine panic attack.

I’m not sure what brought this on, whether it was job stress, or lack of sleep, or too much sleep, or staring at myself too long in the mirror tonight, or something I read before trying to go to sleep, or realizing that this year has passed without my paying attention to it, or going outside and seeing the fog roll in just over the roofs of the buildings as if it were pressing down on everything, or worrying about the election, or wondering whether next year would be the same as this one.

All I know is that I’m looking at a picture of myself from 15 years ago. And I’m back in Georgia at a friend’s house, and I’m holding my puppy, and we’re both smiling, and I vividly remember that day, and how I hadn’t started smoking, and how I had so many dreams of what I was going to accomplish, and whom I was going to love, and how I was going to raise my kids, and the kind of man I was going to be, and I wish to God I was back there right now.

It’s after 4 AM and I’m still wide awake, so what better to do than get on the internet. I was just outside and noticed that San Francisco, or at least my neighborhood, has a weird hum to it after dark and everyone’s gone to sleep. Kind of a hollow, airy rumbling, much like the hallways of the Overlook Hotel in The Shining. For all I know, it’s either the fog rolling in, or the sound of thousands of bongs being cached simultaneously.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten links to various livejournals from various different sources. I know I’m late to the party, what with its being 2004 and my just discovering the whole livejournal thing, but still I have to ask — what the hell? It seems to me the textual equivalent of Jame Gumb dancing around naked in front of his mirror. This is stuff you think and then immediately dismiss; not post up on the internet for millions of people to see.

But then, it gets to be 4 AM and you’re a raging insomniac and it kind of makes sense to write this stuff down. You see why someone would want to post his mood (tired and maudlin) or what music he’s been listening to (The The: Dusk). And the bit of maudlin introspection said music triggered in him: that record gets to me like few other records can. I haven’t listened to it all the way through in years, but every time I do, by the time I get to the last song “Lonely Planet,” I’m left over-emotional. Like a caffiene buzz, but from feeling and remembering stuff. Maybe it’s the late hour, but the last lines are exactly what I’ve been thinking over the last two or three months:

I’m in love with the planet I’m standing on.
I can’t stop
I can’t stop thinking of
All the people I’ve ever loved
All the people I have lost
All the people I’ll never know
All the feelings I’ve never shown.
The world’s too big, and life’s too short
The world’s too big, and life’s too short
To be alone… to be alone.

Also, happy birthday to my friend Alfredo. We were roommates my freshman year of college, and I think we managed to get one of those lifelong friendships all covered in one year. There are very, very few people I’ve ever met who I’ve gotten along with so well, so quickly. Just one of those people who’s such a good guy, it comes through instantly. And it sounds like he’s happy, and nobody deserves it more than him.

I had an inordinately cool weekend, which is especially remarkable when you consider that I didn’t even realize it was Labor Day weekend until Monday. I had to work for a while on Saturday, but left “early” to go to a dinner party with some people from the Straight Dope Message Board. I hadn’t met any of the people before outside of posts on the board, but they were all extremely open, friendly, intelligent, and cool. I learned quite a bit about San Francisco history and was forced to re-think my previous assessment of San Francisco natives, that they’re all basically cold and unfriendly.

I ended up hanging out at The Phoenix hotel (which just rocks; I’d never heard of it before — it’s a 50’s style motel, palm trees and a pool and everything, right in the middle of the Tenderloin) with a few new friends until 4 in the morning, just shooting the shit. Cool people, every one of them. I’m looking forward to getting to hang out again.

In other news: Bjork’s new album sucks.

Today’s my brother’s birthday. I’m realizing that my gift(s) aren’t going to get there in time. I’m also realizing that I wouldn’t be out here if not for him. He was the one who got me into Star Wars when I was six years old; I was happy just watching Pete’s Dragon. He always liked the coolest stuff. I can remember sneaking into his room and looking through all his old Starlog and OMNI magazines. Anything he liked was just the neatest thing. I can remember taking trips down to Florida and fighting in the back seat of the car, then we’d stop at a road-side store over the state line and get fireworks. I’d just get a box of sparklers while he loaded up on the M-80’s and cherry bombs and roman candles and I’d be jealous because I was always too scared of the neat fireworks. The folks would always try to even everything out between us, but they were fighting a losing battle — anything Skip got would always be cooler than whatever I had. Even if it were the exact same thing.

I remember a few years ago Lucasfilm was doing a promotion with one of the fast food restaurants, where they had a whole set of Star Wars toys you could get with the happy meals or some such. Skip went around to the places and got one of each one and mailed them all to me in one big set. At the time, I just said, “thanks, but I’m so tired of Star Wars at this point.” I was a jerk, and I just didn’t get it. I get it now.

I looked up to him and thought he was just as cool as hell when I was six years old, and nothing’s changed since then.

I was just looking through my friends Drella and Grandpa’s baby pictures and feeling envious. Ruby is the most photogenic baby ever, and I get to go and play with the dogs and the baby while avoiding all the diaper-changings and tantrums. Score one for the single guy.

And she’s just crazy nuts. Already grabbing life with both hands. And able to have long, passionate conversations about dog hair and cotton balls. Can’t understand a word she’s saying, but you’ve got to respect her conviction.

They need to keep a better eye on her, though. There’s far too many hairy, creepy-looking guys sneaking in and frightening the dogs and the children.

Yesterday was my 33rd birthday. Took the day off (says something, when I consider not working on Sunday as “taking the day off”) and did a bunch of nothing. I invited a bunch of friends over to The Crow Bar for some good old-fashioned binge drinking. It was supposed to be a joint birthday for me and a co-worker who I found out was born on the exact same day (eerie). He never showed, so it ended up just being me and most of the people I’ve managed to collect over my eight years of living out here.

I don’t think I’ll ever do that again. For the most part, it was just great, being reminded of my friends, and having that many people who’d take time out of their day just for my sake. But it also reminded me that I’ve got a bunch of circles of friends with not a whole lot of overlap. It was weird having so many people in the same place who had nothing in common except me. I guess I really don’t like being the center of attention.

So I ended up not being able to talk to everyone I wanted, or for as long as I wanted. But I kind of think that was expected. And I did get way too drunk, but I think that was expected, too. On the whole it was a great reminder; not that I was getting older, but that I must be doing something right to be able to know such cool people.

And it didn’t even occur to me to do my usual birthday ritual, of plucking gray hairs out of my beard and chest. So that’s a step forward.