Nesting

It’s been a long day.

Rather, it’s been so cold that it feels like it.  The temperature’s in the 20s, and it’s not going any higher than that.  I decided to start my book reading endeavor with The Death of Bunny Munro by Nick Cave.  I was going to buy Blood’s A Rover and The Clinton Tapes along with it, but I decided to get a Barnes and Noble Membership instead, and get the other books when cash is more plentful.

It feels good to buy books and not just borrow.  I never was really fond of borrowing books.  There’s something sensual about a new book, something in the touch, the feel, that attracts me.  The Tao of Wu by The RZA, was another book on the GQ book list that I remembered to look at today.  It turns out it’s really good — the RZA is an amazingly well-read lyricist and author, and he’s a rather captivating writer.  I think I’m going to be purchasing that one next, though I was looking forward to getting a thicker book for the money.

I’ve been looking into the book Homer and Langley, and it looks well written; so does the book Lit.  Last Night in Twisted River looks downright captivating so far — I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that one.  I’ll probably borrow that from the library first, though.  I just might end up buying Evening’s Empire though, just to do it.

The radiator is hissing and crackling, and the house is getting warm.  I’m sitting down to a Cup of Noodles, warming my insides.  Looking forward to making a dent into that book list.  Here we go.  :)

Davy Crockett at the Alamo

Do not read this post.

I promise, it won’t make a difference in your life except waste your time.

Fine.

If you don’t like it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Seriously, don’t read this.  It’s not worth it.  Click somewhere else.  Please.

—-

Post title: The Death of Hope, or The New Society.

I wish it were just a weird title to a murder mystery, but it’s not.

It’s tough to read GQ’s December issue and try to figure out what the eff happened to the first decade of the 21st century.  It’s tough to be here, now.  Walking my neighborhood earlier today, trying to figure out why what used to be a 50-cent bag of Doritos now costs 99 cents.

Why what used to be a 25-cent bag of Cheese Doodles now costs 50 cents.

Why I feel like I had more money in my pocket as a teenager than I do as an adult.

I’m not trying to be negative, or dismissive.  I’m just trying to figure out why I find myself raiding my effing piggy bank more times than I’d like to admit.  My piggy bank ought to have a “Police Line – Do Not Cross” tape around it, because it’s been broken into and violated so many times.

To my credit, however, I raid some, and I deposit the rest in savings.  Even today, I took the last of the silver coins, and wrapped the rest: a buck in pennies.

This is not going to be a glamorous blog post, one which makes me feel like I’m a good writer or anything.

I’m just looking for some direction.

I call this The New Society because we took a step backward.

I’m not trying to overstate the obvious, the unemployment rate, the job situation, the state of the economy.

I’m saying that this is changing me.

I had no idea adulthood looked like this.

If I did, I would have done things differently.

Today is the first time in a long time that I considered buying just-add-water pancake mix as a serious foodstuff.  Two boxes for $5.  A 32-oz jar of honey for $5.  That, right there, is a seriously good breakfast.  Granted, it might give you a coronary, but it’ll stick to your ribs long before it sticks to your heart valves.

The things that used to be my primary foodstuffs — junk food, really — has become unrealistically expensive.  Like, a packet of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups is 85 cents.

Really?  That’s fucking insane.  When I was in high school, it was 50 cents.  And even though I was in high school 15 years ago (where did the fucking time go??), it was 50 cents.  And it should not be 85 cents.

So, I’ve got to re-evaluate.  Maybe it’s about going back to the days of fruit punch and lemon juice and sugar, I don’t know.

If what we’re truly witnessing is the death of the middle class, the slow, dramatic, agonizing death of the masses, then I’m just trying to figure out what to do to make the money last.

I’m thinking that Christmas gifting is going to have to come to a halt.  Not that I was all that into gifting, but really, there’s no chance of significant gifting anymore.  Also, dinners out are done.  Snack foods?  Scratch that.

What used to be our way of life is now history.  We’re living the poverty line.  Slumdog Millionaire will have nothing on us.  ;)

I knew the shit had hit the fan when I discovered there were no eggs in the fridge.

We never run out of eggs where I live.  Never.

So running out of eggs was the equivalent of an intruder coming into my home and violating me.  This whole economy thing was for the birds, for people who had something to lose, for ambitious, hard-working people, not for slackers who really just try to have fun and live life.

After all, we didn’t kill anybody; we’re not trying to harsh anyone’s buzz.  Why is this happening to us?

My miniature life was being tampered with.

It’s not even as if I had a life worth tampering with.  I have a miniature life.

A life that’s an imaginary replica of the real world.  An income subsidized be the Bank of Mom and Dad.  A front door that’s actually the door to my room.  Access to cars, and I have absolutely no idea how the car note get paid.

A tiny, microscopic, miniature life.  I have a kid, and even that feels like a weird dream I’m on the verge of waking up from.  It feels like any minute, I’ll wake up and I’ll be back in junior high.  Because really, who has a child and lives in their parents house, in their room they grew up in, works, and gets an allowance??  (And who the hell does it with such boldness and panache?)

I feel like I wouldn’t know how to survive as a responsible adult if my life depended on it.  I was convinced that it does, but at this point in life, I have my doubts.

I always figured that this sucky little stupid stinking job I have is God’s will.  Much the same way that it’s God’s will if the economy of a whole fucking country collapses.  Much the same way that we wonder why bad things happen to good people, why my cousin with so much academic promise committed suicide a few years ago, why there are still very bad things that still happen.

It made things very, very, very, very simple and easy to deal with.  My grades, my job, my life, all very small and neatly packaged.  I didn’t pay a cent for college, because my parents paid for it.  They wanted me to go to college, so I went.  (Age 17.)  And here I am, working this peanuts job at age 31, with my parents still paying for it.  Go figure.

Why am I still in college?  I dunno.  Things’ll work out eventually, I guess.

Sometimes I really wish my parents hadn’t sent me to college, but instead just left me to mature and live life.  Kicked me out to get a job at JC Penney’s or something and get a basement apartment somewhere where roaches get into everything porous.

At least I would have had a more realistic view of life.  I wouldn’t have been so sheltered, so white bread, so painfully unprepared.

I remember having a conversation today with my mom in which I said that I really don’t think I’d be able to tell a youngster anything hopeful for the future.  I was telling her how young people like me are saying these days that if we would have known about the major financial collapse of our country back when we were kids, we would have played and had our fun back then, and not studied anywhere as hard as we did.

I remember telling her that nowadays, when I see little kids playing around when they should be focusing, I think to myself, “Leave them be.  Let them enjoy their youth.  They’ll have their entire adult lives to toil and drudge.”

Her answer was that it’s the principle of the thing, to get them ready for when things turn around, because at least if things get better, they’ll be prepared to take advantage of it.

Her answer was that the problem is that I don’t see an end in sight, and so therefore I limit my aspiration.

I didn’t respond, mostly because I didn’t want to get her emotional.  (She tends to get emotional when we disagree about something significant.)  But I really don’t see a point to continuing where there is no way forward.

I didn’t really come from a subsistence generation.  But I have a feeling that most people are going to be homeless.

I remember telling my mom that I cannot in good conscience tell a youngster that he can be anything he wants to be when he grows up — after all, that field may not be hiring when he grows up.  They just might be laying people off.  Heck — it’s happened to me.  I wanted to be a video game tester/producer.  Didn’t work out.  Everyone got laid off, and the company folded.  And that was when I was 21.

I just wish that Mom wasn’t so excessively optimistic; I wish she’d just acknowledge my acute fear.  But, whatever.  This is the Great Depression, in more ways than one.  The only difference is that we’ve got cable and Internet access.  All the economists in the world can’t fix this.  Like Davy Crockett at the Alamo, we make merry tonight, for we know tomorrow will come the slaughter.

Suddenly, As If By Magic

it appeared in front of me.

As if I had merely to ask for it, and here it was.

GQ Magazine, September 2008, Pineapple Express star James Franco on the cover.

Near mint condition, over a year later.

Lower left hand corner of the cover, a headlne: “Why No One Uses Condoms Anymore > And What They’re Doing Instead”.  Inside: “We All Forgot The Condom”, an article by David France.

I had it hidden away, and one fine day, it uncovers itself.

Brilliant.  This is a big piece of the puzzle.

My doc.  This is important.

To think, I was just looking for another book list.

What I found was a cornerstone.  Not the keystone, but a damn good thread upon which to get started.

In the back of my mind, I was looking, scrambling for this article I knew I’d stashed away somewhere.  Looking for shreds, threads like this.  Something about gender studies, sex studies… agh, I’m saying too much.  I don’t even fully know what I’m looking for.  I do, but it’s way, way too soon to say.

But this is an artifact.  And I’ve got to keep digging,

and in a way more sophisticated, even academic way now.

I’ve got chills. Sweet.

Scouting

Finally, the polarity has switched.  Finally, I’m looking forward to reading.

I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday, toddler in tow.  I went looking for some of the books on my list, and in my search discovered in plain view other books on my list that I neglected to write down on the small scrap of paper in my pocket.  And most of these books were thick, which I like, because what’s the point of spending $20+ if it’s not a thick book?

I didn’t have a lot of time, but I searched for each book and read the first page, the same as if the first page were available online.  Turns out many of them were doggone enticing.  I took my toddler to the expanse, colorfully decorated children’s section and set him down to mill about while I tried to get comfortable in a cozy-looking, well-lit corner on the floor by the stuffed animals, and tried to get a preview in a few books with interesting-looking titles and covers and characters.

Yes, I was blown away.  And my toddler didn’t seem to mind the free roam time, getting into the stuffed animals, holding them to his nose, hugging each one tight and putting it back in its respective place.  He looked as if I’d just brought him to the quiet section of heaven, filled with its sights, wonders and delights, yet calm, warm and fuzzy.

So yes, I left excited.  I didn’t get to purchase a single book, but maybe I’ll discover a local library and go borrow them.  Now I need to look for my nearest library.  But I’m tempted to buy Nick Cave’s book The Death of Bunny Munro, Blood’s A Rover, Blame, and Homer and Langley, just to tie me over until then.  Of course I won’t be doing that.  But then again, who knows?  ;)

I’m starting to feel that old feeling again — the feeling of promise.  The feeling that accompanies the purchase of new textbooks for class in your favorite subject.  The feeling of cracking it open and absorbing something new.  Becoming more of yourself.

The GQ 2009 Book List (Sept Issue)

Recently I’ve discovered that I’ve developed a growing hatred of reading.

This, of course, disturbs me, but I also understand how this came about.

The point is that I’ve decided to start reading again.  I recently uncovered my September issue of GQ, and in it is a GQ 2009 Book List.

I don’t want to be the stereotypical guy who doesn’t read, who only reads one book his whole lifetime after getting out of college.  The justification is crystal clear, but there’s something about hating to read that hurts me.

If you’re not growing, you’re dying.

And there’s a still, small voice in my head that says, “Better to read and hate the books than not to read.  After all, you don’t want the people who read these books to have a one-up on you, do you?”

There are about 25 books on the list.  The Clinton Tapes.  Tracy Morgan’s autobiography I Am The New Black.  Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem.  Blood’s A Rover.  Blame.  The Original of Laura. Googled.  Where Men Win Glory.  Last Night in Twisted River.  The Death of Bunny Munro. Evening’s Empire.  Lit.  Liver.  Nocturnes.  Juliet, Naked.  Eating Animals.  Mathilda Savitch.  Andre Agassi’s autobiography Open.  Homer and Langley.  The Good Soldiers.  A Fiery Peace In A Cold War.

Honestly, I don’t want to write them all out, but I’ll probably update this list later.  Even if I wrote them all out, it really wouldn’t make a difference.  They’re a bunch of books, fiction and nonfiction, autobiography and history books.  But they all came out in 2009, and I figure that if some cat (or few) at GQ thought enough to put a list together, I should at least make an effort to read the books.  Just once.  Just to know I did it, know I hated it, and maybe start to build a tolerance.

Maybe, just maybe, I want to like books again.  Maybe I want the books I read to be of substance. (Maybe I want to be of substance.)  I want to read and not feel put upon, not feel like I’m reading because some professor told me to.  I want to discover.  I want to feel.

I’m tired of reading people’s favorite book lists and feeling like the idea of reading all those books hurts my head.

Time to grow up and read.  One step at a time.  Baby steps.  One book at a time.  One page at a time.

I’m going to drag my consciousness, kicking and screaming, into changing into someone worth becoming.  And as weird and fucking juvenile as the phrase “I hate to read” is, I think that the noteworthy part is that at least I want to change.

Remember what I was talking about, about that new social citizenship?  About not wanting your birthright to slip through your fingers?  This is a part of it.  I can feel my brain starting to atrophy, and I don’t like it.  I can feel my potential starting to seize up, and I don’t like it.  I can feel my social standing slipping, and I don’t like it.  For all these reasons and more, I’m going to read.

“Where you’ll be in the next five years is based on the books you read and the people you associate with, period.”

It’s something I’ve heard in recent years from some people who’ve had a big impact on my life.  And regardless of where I got that quote, I believe it.  I think that the truth is that I’ve outgrown myself. And it’s a scary feeling, because who wants to have to revamp or even totally rebuild their entire state of being and belief system?  That’s hard work.

Time to tear the building down, and re-dig the foundation.  Because it’s time I moved on and made something more of myself besides just a really old 14-year-old.

This is new territory.  And sometimes it feels like I’m just wandering in the desert.  But I can’t stay here in this stunted state of mind.

I’m gonna read these books for the same reason I hit the weights: Because it’s common knowledge —  it’s good for ya.  ;)

In the Marrow

One of the things I learned in documentary class is that it all starts with brainstorming.  Poems, news articles and clippings, newspaper articles, magazine articles.  Something that tickles your mind and makes you want to delve deeper.

I’ve been thinking, writing, delving… but judging myself too much on what I’ve been coming up with.  It comes to me in fits and starts, vapors on the breeze, whiffs and hints of it.  It’s in the air… but it’s hard to make out.  I have to keep writing… I have to keep trying to suss out a workable concept.

It’s one of those things that’s in the substance of our conversations, it’s in the subtext of out movements.  But it’s so taboo.  I’ve gotta try to… I had it before.  I already threshed it out and fleshed it out, but I destroyed it again.

It feels like I’m Thomas Edison, and my lab got burned down in the fire.  And now I have a fresh chance to rebuild, because it’s all in my head.

I’ve got to figure this thing out.  This is big.

I’ve got to keep working, archiving, scrapbooking.  It’s in the air, it’s on the breeze.  I’ve got to find it.  I’ve got to stay attuned, more accepting, more open, liberal, relaxed, lenient and tolerant.  More willing to consider new ideas.  Unprejudiced. I’ve got to completely chill out.  Only then will it come.

Bloodhound

It’s raining heavily out, and I’m here at work.

It’s a lonely time.

I’m still thinking about the road ahead, thinking about what the next ten years have to hold.

I didn’t care until now.

I don’t understand why I cared so little before.

I don’t understand why I care so much now.

Why this great sense of urgency?

Why can’t I just take the rest of my life off, like I’d planned to before?  Just spend the rest of my life being a professional chiller.

In the past, nothing had really felt worth it.

I think that it’s not because I’m lazy.

I just have to find the right motivation.

It’s always been that way.

The trick is to not judge what motivates you,

but just use it, y’know?

Whether it’s wood, or coal, or gasoline, or premium, or nuclear power, or wind, or solar, or geothermal,

just find what drives you… what fuels you… and use it.

That’s just something I’ve been wrestling with.

The steam engine shouldn’t beat itself up because it eats coal and belches soot,

and the windsurf board shouldn’t beat itself up because it can’t go as fast, and tow heavy cargo across continents.

Just be you.  And be the best you that you can be, as cornball as that sounds.

I’ve always been really good at hitting my goals, provided it’s something I’m passionate about; it’s just my way.

So…

Why did I care so little before?  I saw no way to real self-actualization.

Why do I care so much now?  Because there’s so little time left.  It’s either you’re going to do it, or you’re not.  It’s either you’re going to take a chance and make it happen, or your dreams are buried alive within you.  (Buried alive because my dreams don’t die… I’m not that kind of person… My unusual potentiality just haunts me, like ghosts.)  Strangely, that reawakens a sense of boldness; a far keener sense of purpose.  Way weird.

There’s much to do, much to consider, and little time left…

Course Corrrrrection.

“I’ve seen every possible ending.  None of them are good for you.”  - from the film Next

Sometimes I think that in my relationship life, I can see into the future.  It isn’t reassuring.

“Here is the thing about the future. Every time you look at, it changes, because you looked at it, and that changes everything else.” – from the film Next

It’s hard to not see collapse in the future.  Not because the future is inherently flawed, but because we’re inherently flawed.  It can be a good future, but the odds are not in our favor.

——-

It’s looking more and more like a MFA in Social Documentary Film.  How I’m going to get in, I have no idea.  Correction: I have one idea.  Just plow.

Things were different when I was younger.  You went to school to get your Bachelors degree, then you went out and lived your life.  When you were way older (40s+), and you needed an edge, you got your Masters degree. These days, things are different.

If I can get my Masters in documentary, sign me up all day, every day, no problem.  I’ll slave for the next ten years so I can get my computer and equipment, and go to school.  That I can work for.

I’ll probably take some classes in Design, to get my foundation under me.

I always, always regretted not getting into School of Visual Arts.  In truth, I didn’t even know it was an option before it was too late.

Had I known, I would have went to an art-oriented high school, instead of an academics-and-sports one.

That messed me up for quite some time.  I was acting on bad information, thinking I could get just as good an (art) education at a CUNY school.  Wrong.  I took some classes at SVA some time ago, and I can easily say that being at a private art institution is like night and day from going where I went to college.

I took some classes in art at community college years prior; I liked it.  Not necessarily drawing, but I liked it.

If I recall the meandering story of how I got to where I am now academically, it really wouldn’t make for a well-written story.  It frustrates me to think about how life can oftentimes be such a winding road.  Sometimes I wish I could just take a pair of scissors and cut and crop my story so it would be more linear.

I wish I realized way early in life that I had a learning disability, instead of way late in my college career.

I wish I had the presence of mind to realize that I should go to an art junior high and high school, instead of bearing an academics-based school and feeling stupid.

I wish I’d worked on my artwork when I was in high school and college, so I’d have a portfolio worth showing to art colleges.

I wish I didn’t go to community college, but a senior college, off the bat.  But, that wasn’t my choice to make, because I wasn’t footing the bill.

I wish I knew what I wanted to study, and knew what was available, and had the mental acuity to do it, earlier on rather than late in my academic career.

But now I know.  And I can make up for some sick lost time.

Sometimes I wonder why I took Japanese.  Why I minored in Asian American Studies (and loved it).  Why I took and loved documentary.  Why I only found out about documentary by accident.  Why I went on all those internships.  Why a good computer and setup for doing professional video production costs so much.

Life must be lived forward.  But it can only be understood in reverse.

I just thank God that I’ve lived enough of life to gain some perspective, enough perspective to get a better look at who I am and the abilities I’m working with.

I’m looking forward to saving up for a computer and software so I can (later on) learn PhotoShop and such.

All I need to do is finish my Bachelors, and I can be free to work on my portfolio so I can get to my graduate work.  Finally, life is gonna be fun again.

The Cold

I want to go to karaoke today, but it’s so cold.  38 degrees is not fun weather (unless you’ve got appropriate clothing).

Got out of work late today.  I really f–ked up royally — I pissed the day away, then discovered I had real work to do.  By the time it was time to go, I couldn’t think.  I stayed overtime, but I only spent it watching Hulu.

Yeah, that was stupid.

Was supposed to go to the bank today to deposit the check, but that didn’t happen.  So, it’ll have to wait til tomorrow.  It’ll still be cold tomorrow, but I don’t want to drive to the bank.  It’s too far to justify burning the gas.  I’ll just take transit.

On an afternoon like this, I’m supposed to have the world by the tail.  It’s only 4pm, so early.  I could go into Manhattan and play around for a bit.  But, it’s dark.  And cold.  Can’t think in conditions like this.  I should be doing something mind-expanding.  Like going to the museum, or working on my portfolio so I can get back into art school.  Or looking for a new job, sending out 100 applications and resumes a week.

Or writing songs.  Or rehearsing songs.  Or doing drills on piano.  Or hustling, marketing, selling products and putting more money in my pocket.

But I’m thinking that this is a spiritual winter.  It’s a coldness within.  Food is becoming scarce.  So is cash.

Little by little, the bird builds its nest.

That’s one of my favorite sayings: “Little by little, the bird builds its nest.”  My dads says it.  It’s comforting.

Didja ever notice that merchants and sales people these days seem like they absolutely do not want you to save up and buy something?

It’s like if you walk away with a price, but didn’t buy it, they look absolutely betrayed.  Like you messed up, or wasted their time and hopes.

Everyone’s asking, do you have a credit card?   Do you have a check card?  You can just put it on that.

No, no man, I’ve got no money in my checking account.  After all, if I’m not writing checks, why should I be keeping money in checking?  To just blow it??  It’s so that I don’t end up making impulse purchases like the one you’re trying to coerce me to make right now.   Whatever happened to consideration?   “Take your time; it’s a purchase to consider.  When you’re ready, I’ll be here.  Here’s my card.”

I don’t want to put that $1300 violin on layaway, because the initial alone will put a huge hole in my savings.  I’m already saving up for a bicycle, and a down on a violin would be really schizophrenic thing to do.  Let me just finish saving for the bike, buy it, and then save for the violin.  Sigh.

America is returning to savings, by hook or by crook.

Another thing — I’m really angry at how easy banks have made it to blow your savings by linking your savings account to your check card.  Impulse buys are catastrophic.  ;)  Especially considering how hard it can be to just put a little money away and not touch it.

I ain’t financin’ shit. And I’m not laying away anything.  Financing translates to “We own your money.  You are not in control — you work for us until it’s paid off.  We manage your finances.”  Dude, if I can’t save up for it, I don’t want it.  I learned.

But, that’s just me.  ;)