Father’s shed, in the snowfall of December 26. There is so much beauty and hope in the walls of a simple dwelling. May our hearts and prayers reach out to those around the world who have lost their lives, their friends, their loved ones and their homes.
Wednesday: Between the three thousand lines of Excel spreadsheet I’ve been working on, and the viewing of tsunami videos on blogs (e.g. Pundit Guy), my mind is turning into byte-froth. Horror piled on monotonony.
TR called me today to ask me to browse the internet for opportunities for going overseas to provide aid assistance as a carpenter. He was very insistent, though, that he be flown charter and NOT have to pay for the flight himself and he would prefer a six week assignment as opposed to something like the six months required by Doctors Without Borders. Hollywood fucker. When I explained the six month assignment thing I read on the Doctors Without Borders site, he reminded me that he was a carpenter and not, in fact, a physician. Duh. Not that it has anything to do with anything, perhaps, but I think he may have been calling me from a Wal-Mart in Kentucky. Anyway, I told him to call my father for web browsing assistance instead, who, when you call the house, now responds to the question, “What are you doing?” with, “I’m sitting in front of the FUCKING computer, of course.” After all, I was busy with three thousand lines of Excel spreadsheet, making the world safer for Internet advertising.
My father is an expert in all things internet related especially as it applies to sending to a massive web of influential and powerful contacts important information on and including: human rights violations in Vietnam, beautifully shot family photos, blonde jokes, and animated gifs with titties in them. If there is any sociologist or cultural anthropologist who has inadvertantly been making fat American teenagers who are addicted to the Internet the subject of their studies, I encourage you to contact me immediately to witness and study for yourself the awe of the middle aged decorated military hero in retirement who is addicted to the Internet. He can simultaneously play Microsoft Flight Simulator, write essays, email them, browse for books online, do genealogical research AND look at titties, while engaged in subversive covert operations of some sort or another.
Get this: as an added benefit of his military service, he can fly to Italy or Hawaii or pretty much any other place in the world with a large American airbase for the whopping sum of $6.95. On a commercial-fitted jet, with “civilian flight attendants” (translation: women who may not necessarily be dogs), food and three movies. THREE FUCKING MOVIES. I saw Bourne Supremacy seven times in one month as it seemed to be the sole movie showing on every flight on every different airline I took in the month of November.
Bastard. But he earned that and a hell of a lot more from his country.
And like I said, Dad builds a nice shed. And the world could use a whole lot of nice shed building these days. Maybe TR was on to something – you can build a whole lot of hope in a simple shed.
Peace on Earth.
From my boss, who was vacationing in Thailand when the tsunamis hit:
“We are ok. Had one of the scariest days of my life. We were kayaking off the Hong island off the coast of Thailand between Krabi and Phuket with my sister. When the wave hit we were on the back side of the island and luckily missed the impact. They came to get us telling us there was an accident. We had no idea. As we returned to the beach where we started on the island there was total devastation. Dead bodies everywhere. A little boy floated by [who] was too late too help. We helped a couple who the woman had lost most of her leg and was barely conscious. The man had lost his calf. Our boat couldn’t make it to shore so we put the injured on a smaller longboat and waited for another free one to come by before the next wave they said was coming. We finally transfered to a small boat with other survivors and made it to shore. As we did the next wave hit and we had to run from its path. We grabbed a scooter and got out of the area. We are ok and are leaving the area immediately with my sister.”
His close experience brings back to the front of my mind the feeling of loss and confusion after surviving my apartment fire in New York. I haven’t really thought about it much, lately, and the subject only comes up as a matter of humor when I tell it as a “funny thing happened on the way to Los Angeles” story. I’d like to be able to tell him the things I felt and discovered about myself in the days and weeks trying to figure out the whys and hows of not being killed. The scale of the destruction and suffering of this international disaster is not even comparable, but I think there is a shared experience with anyone who feels that layer of safety and security stripped away in an instant, exposing one’s mortal core. The thing I’ll never forget was the conversation I had with my father, a war veteran, the morning after the fire. I can’t quote him directly, but what he said was this: now you’ll know what it’s like to wake up every morning and wonder why and how it is that you survived.
For a long while, I would indeed wake up and ask myself that question. It is always followed by some kind of mental commitment to be thankful for being alive. With time, the idealism (and I might even say “burden”) of thinking that you can make the absolute most of every single moment of the day passes. Now, with this latest event bringing back some of those memories, I realize that it is still important to greet the day with some sort of optimism, that in each day, whether banal, frustrating, or tragic, there is simply life and living to be done, and for that we should see life as good, and be grateful.
Peace and love, folks, peace and love.
Well I promised that the next post was going to be something about an embarassing picture of me, but instead, I googled myself to see how my page results are coming up, and to my surprise I’ve found out that I’m now an OFFICIAL ENDORSEMENT of a company I have no recollection of every using, but especially have no recollection of being quoted. Maybe they did some CD-ROM or something when I worked at Paramount.
Hey, at least they managed to spell my name correctly.
I guess I should write them and ask them how they got permission to quote me. Just for shits & giggles.
As a Southerner, I must say that I’m asked more that I care to be about the relative popularity of Southern Comfort drinking in the South. The answer always involves Janis Joplin, who as a Texan would qualify in most books as a Southerner, but other than her and the occasional drip in high school, I’ve never really known anyone who drinks Southern Comfort.
Until the Team Party Crash unit at Gawker.com, writing about a book party, complained about having to PAY FOR SoCo AND COKE. Somehow they’ve made Southern Comfort drinking more pathetic by actually purchasing it on purpose.
On the beverage front, Laurent, and his girlfriend, Caroline, are visiting Alexandre. At a party the other night, Caroline made me a vodka and apple juice, which tastes remarkably unlike hard cider and more like a really light apple martini without all that super sweet green apple Jolly Rancher flavored crap. I recommend mixing with the brand that comes in the glass bottle shaped like an apple.
I sent Christmas cards for the very first time. If you didn’t get one, but think you should, please feel free to bother to send me one first, since really the only people who got them were the ones who bothered to send me one first.
Coming Up Next Post: a hugely embarrassing shot of me drunk at my company Christmas party.
Sad boy says it all.
So I’ve somehow found myself in a complete haze of commuting, work, commuting, home, sleep, commuting to girlfriend’s house, girlfriend time (good times!), commuting, work, commuting, girlfriend time (more good times), work, work, more work, commuting. Sometimes there is food, a party, something playing on the Tivo that I’m only half paying attention to, a bar. Time is flying by. Somewhere in there I managed trips to Seattle, New York, Jamaica and North Carolina. Christmas is approaching, I’ve managed to get the girlfriend a present, but I haven’t built the time in to even go online and buy gifts. I have the feeling I’m running out of time on that one.
Work. Well, shit, it’s working on a campaign for the Super Bowl, a bunch of new business pitches and a hell of a lot of day to day crap. But the paychecks coming in, the car hasn’t broken down, there’s not a whole lot of rent to pay, the office is at the beach (although I can’t tell you the last time I was actually at the beach looking at the ocean or anywhere near sand).
I thought I had some pictures from my camera phone. I have to see if the funny shit is still around.
I’m fried and I have nothing to say.
1996 MIAC Men’s Football Statistics Read Scott Wensman’s 1996 St. Olaf statistics right here!
Just when you think the other Coast can’t be more bizarre than this one, a story like this one breaks on Page Six of the NY Post:
DELI SLICES HOMELESS GOLDSTEIN
DOWN-on-his-luck smut sultan Al Goldstein has finally hit rock bottom.
The former Screw magazine publisher, who has lately faced destitution, legal woes and homelessness, called us from a shelter at Bellevue Hospital yesterday and said he was fired from his job as a greeter at the Second Avenue Deli.
A couple of years ago I saw Al walking through the shopping arcade at The Venetian in Vegas with some Asian porn star/hooker/hottie. Now he’s homeless. Go figure. I remember watching his kinda-sorta-totally-lame Screw magazine show “Midnight Blue” on Channel 35 on Time-Warner cable in Manhattan (you know, the channel that also aired the Robyn Byrd show?!). It also aired two episodes of my brother and my attempt at producing quality community access cable show: Half Hour Super Power. Yes, I’m proud to say I have appeared in my own show on public access all across New York City.