I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman

I just watched Lars and the Real Girl. I realize that this movie might not have much mass market appeal, but I loved it. It is a very dense movie, you have to peel away at it once you've finished watching it to make any sort of sense out of it. But then you see the core of it which is that no matter how alone we all might feel at times there really are people out there that care about us. Sometimes it takes something utterly bizarre for them to really come to our side, perhaps, but they care. It takes on depression and loneliness with a softness and sweetness that is lacking in almost any thing else I've ever read or watched before. I'll grant that there are some unbelievable bits to how the town reacts, but you love these characters so much you just won't care. And the acting is just brilliant. As is the cinematography. Normally I barely notice the directing in a movie but in this case there are so many shots and images that just stick in your head.

I had a restless last couple nights. Bits of insomnia and crazy dreams keep me tossing and turning occasionally waking up in my chair wondering how it was I managed to actually fall asleep. When I do sleep I wake up with a sore neck and a sore back. I feel like an old man. I guess I'm just stressed out about life again. I'm in a bit of a writers block, I'm quiting my job in a week, and I keep obsessing about a girl I can't have.

Even though I was going to be everything from a book store owner to a cop since I've graduated, none of those things really seem to have worked out. In the back of my mind I kept saying "well, if these don't work out I'll go back to school." And I suddenly realized why so much hasn't been working out is because I just want to go back to school. I think I go after these things more half-assed than I should be and don't work to get a better job because even though I always thought of school as plan B, its really been my plan A and I am sabotaging myself so that nothing gets in the way of that.

This realization isn't that helpful though. Because I can't get accepted until next Febuary anywhere I want to go. And then I wouldn't start till August 2009. So I've got somewhere around 16 months to kill. I shouldn't speak of over a year of my life as just "time to kill." But I have to find something to occupy myself for that amount of time. Maybe this is a good thing though. I can do a lot in 16 months. Expecially if I know I don't have forever to hang around doing it.

Fuck, I don't know what I'm going to do. And 16 months is a long time and I change my mind every couple of weeks anymore. I used to always think I just need to get focused but I suppose that isn't my style. My brain jumps all over the place and I just have to accept that and work with it instead of against it. I have to understand that I am without sails. I must go where the current takes me.

Power nap

When I graduated I felt like things would magically work themselves out for me within a couple of months. It's almost been a year already. I remember about a year and a half before I graduated I was working in Pizza Plus and this application came in for someone who had a duel major in Philosophy and English and I chuckled because he was applying at a pizza place. I think I've more than made up for that chuckle at his expense now. I've also learned why it is that people with arts degrees don't find great jobs. I always kind of thought they did. Somehow. I just assumed there was this huge market available to the 25% of people in this country that graduate college and there were fantastic jobs around every corner. Now I'm getting the idea that there are only jobs for about 50% of those graduates. The rest of us come out of a life long dedication to education to find the world doesn't think we have any real qualifications. I suppose they might be right in that. They could say, 'hey, at least we know they can learn and accomplish something fairly major. Lets get them some jobs.' But they don't. They just want the people who can work at their peak in a pre-established system. Those of us they see as wanting to do things our own way, even if our way is better, are not good employees. I don't mean this as a stab at anyone, just that there is a difference in the way people approach the world. Some people work well in closed systems. Other people don't. The problem is if you don't you end up being kind of screwed until you can make your own path. Which is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I've lasted a lot longer than I thought I would at my job now. Its a shitty job with shitty hours and shitty pay. And yet here I am, three months in. I just have had to suck it up and deal with it because I have a feeling there is something in it for me. I stayed in Fallon because I had a feeling that there was something for me here. I've stayed at this job to be able to afford to stay in fallon with that same hope. Maybe there isn't. Maybe there never was. To be honest I felt like I was going to meet a woman here. I don't know why. Desire. Optimism. Just a hunch, really. So far that hasn't happened. Though I am starting to feel more confident about asking girls out. I just struggle to meet ones that aren't already taken. Or, well, undereducated, poor, substance abusers with children (read:white trash). Ahh, Fallon.

Whats more to it I suppose is that I just feel connected to this place. As much as I hate it at times, I did grow up here. Born here. In a book put out a couple years ago about Fallon's history there is a picture of my Great, Great Grandma Thorton on the first page.

I'm not sure what is going to happen with me as far as life goes. Right now I am applying to become a Deputy at the Sheriff department. I was planning on, still am planning on really, going back to school. But that can wait. The bookstore was a great idea that just wasn't feasible for me right now. So instead I am going to go ahead and try to do that. It might work out. It might not. I have no idea. I have a feeling it might work out, though. Mostly because I really don't want to do it but I'm doing it anyway. Its usually situations I feel like I have to do rather then want to do that work out for me. As if my mere desire for something is enough of a factor to disqualify me from ever getting it. But we shall see. A few more weeks should tell on this.

In the meantime I am going to try to get into shape and start taking some martial arts classes since that is one of the few physical activities I enjoy doing. I think I'll try to pick up Judo again. I did it for a bit before I dropped out of college for a half a year and I was enjoying it. I just never ended up going back to it while at UNR. And maybe some Karate or something as well. Learn how to punch a guy so hard his nose goes up into his brain. That could be entertaining.

Lamentation

Lamentation
By Matt Moore


Dawn with her rose-red fingers might have shone
upon their tears, if with her glinting eyes
Athena had not thought of one more thing.
She held back the night, and night lingered long
at the western edge of the earth, while in the east
she reined in Dawn of the golden throne at Ocean's banks,
commanding her not to yoke the windswift team that brings men light,
Blaze and Aurora, the young colts that race the morning on.
-Homer: The Odyssey, XXIII.273-280

I need to be protected. More so because I don't think I need to be protected. I'm sensitive. I'll admit it. I'm sensitive and I take care of my own problems. I need more help than most people and I'm the last one to ever ask for any help. I may not turn down help if its offered. I like to be helped. I just don't know how to ask for any help.
Perhaps this is why I find myself standing on the Great Wall. Perhaps this is why I find myself alone on a structure older than Christ and I'm alone. All alone. There are still sections of the wall that have never been put on film. Places that exist only in one place at one time. No photocopies of them anywhere in the world. Just approximations of what they must look like based on what has been shown of the rest of it. Perhaps I am like an un-photographed section of wall.
We were supposed to be here together. This was our honeymoon. Twenty years ago we were here and I laughed as she joked about the serious demeanor of our guide. The other tourists barely noticed, too busy pretending to be awestruck as we strode u pon the fifth mile so far. It all looked the same. History had happened here, we were sure. The English translator had long since given up relaying what that history was as the guide continued to tell it. She saw we were just here to go for an interesting hike. She saw that we were ready to be back in our hotel room.
I remember this kid. Maybe not so much a kid, twenty probably. We were barely twenty-five. He looked German. Maybe Swedish. He had fallen for my wife. He said hello to her when we were meeting at the entrance to the tour. He wanted to say more before I came up from a few feet away and said hello with my left hand outstretched with my right reaching over her, pulling her into the curve of my body. When it had an inward curve. I look down now and see the inverse, my belly stretched out beyond recognition. Twenty years can change you.
Maybe I should have let him talk to her. They would have flirted. She was always flirting. It used to bother me. Not so much as to say anything about it. It just bothered me. They would have flirted and he would have gained more confidence and he would have walked along the wall beside her and perhaps she would have gotten lost with him for a while and I would have left her there. Here. Maybe if I had left her here in China I would have had a much better life.
Now the sun is rising and I wonder just how many hours I have spent on this wall. How many days? Just since last night, I am almost sure of that. Just since last night. I think I remember it. I woke in the dark and wandered aimlessly trying to find my way back to anything resembling civilization. Soon the remains of the alcohol took their toll and I found myself just sitting and watching the sun come up. And I wonder why we never did this. Did we watch the sun come up from the longest wall in the history of the world? Would it have made a difference? The warmth of the sun can't even be felt yet. My face is frozen. Like a stone. Like the stone I'm sitting on.
When we were here before she wondered if we could be seen from space. I laughed at her. The first time I laughed at her but certainly not the last. Though at least this one was not meant with malice. She explained that since the wall could be seen from space, so could we, couldn't we? I told her it was just a myth the wall could be seen from space. It isn't even tall. She told me that she had seen pictures of China from space and that it was there. So maybe one day she would see a picture from space and there would be two little dots that loved each other dearly and they could be seen from space. I agreed that I supposed it was a small possibility. Then I pictured us as dots from space and I think that was the first time I realized how little our love really was, no matter how big it seemed.
That kid just walked away when I came up. He was alone. Not alone, with his mother and father. He was alone as they enjoyed themselves and he tried not to ruin their good time. I wanted to let him walk with us. Is that how I used to be? Looking out for other people? Trying to cheer everyone up? Was that me? Or was it her that wanted to let him walk along with us? I think that it was more likely that it was her personality coming through me. That is how we used to be. Her goodness shining through me. And I was transparent near her.
Someone is on the horizon. A camper, probably, maybe a couple of them. Or a couple. They are coming towards me. I don't think they have seen me yet and I want to hide but I can't stop watching because now I know it is a couple and they are holding hands and I recognize them. I've never seen them before in my life but I recognize them. Young. Happy. In love.
I hate them.
They are at least a mile away and they will see me before long as the sun continues to rise. I should move. Though my mind makes itself up to do so long years of sobriety have forgotten the torment of a hangover. So to stand could lead to my death. A relatively short fall to the ground from here. I doubt I would ever get back up. Sitting on the ledge was probably a bad idea. Hopefully they can at least stop their love-fest long enough to help a hapless drunk to a more sensible location. Like a hammock on a beach somewhere.
We were going to go to Hawaii. That was the plan but as the wedding approached she told me that she wanted to do something less cliche. Go somewhere fun and exciting but not somewhere where American's go on honeymoons. I suggested China. She had the tickets changed before I could explain I was mostly joking. I didn't care though. The thought of twenty-hours on a plan with her there and back seemed quite pleasing to me at the time. Now I wonder if I'll be able to endure the flight back. Maybe I can just stay here. On this wall. It does get pretty cold out here at night. And all I have to eat is a bag half full of beef jerky. I should have changed the tickets back to where we should have gone in the first place. I shouldn't have come back here. My friends told me not to come back here. The tickets were purchased. The plane was leaving in two weeks and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be on it. My friends are really just my coworkers. I haven't talked to any real friends in fourteen years. I don't really know what happened. They just sort of faded out of my life. I thought of them later as actors. Minor characters that are just there when they have something to add to the plot. My plot had already played out. Oh god, how my plot had already played out.
The dating process was fast. The engagement was faster. The marriage dragged on longer than this wall. We didn't so much as meet as find each other. I sat in a cafe. Trying to appear to be refined. She walked in and sat down at my table and asked me if I were Chris. Chris Sale. I remember his name though I never actually met him. I told her that I wasn't. She said sorry and started to stand up and I told her she should wait for him right there. She told me it wasn't a blind date or anything. Just a business call. She sold metals. To everyone from contractors to jewelers to soda can manufacturers. I told her I was fascinated with her work. And I was. At the time. Later I came to find it quite dull. Almost as dull as she found me.
When I saw that boy walking a few paces behind his parents, kicking rocks and dirt out of his way, head down, the quintessential restless teenager, just a little bit older and a little bit calmer, I told her that we should have kids. Normally the thought of a little baby in the house is what makes people want to have babies. Or at least that's what I thought. But seeing this kid who was really almost the same age as us I realized that one day we would come back here and she and I would walk around, eagerly paying attention to everything we missed this time, there could be one or two restless kids walking behind us. And for some reason this appealed to me.
We did have kids. And they are in college now, both of them. And I am proud of them. They don't know how to talk to me anymore. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't know how to talk to me anymore either. They were supposed to be here. Walking aimlessly behind me and the wife. They were supposed to talk pictures of us smiling in the bright afternoon sun and I was supposed to talk them to Beijing and make them try food they've never seen before. They didn't know I was coming. I told them I gotten a refund on the trip. Next year, I told them, next year.
It never really worked. Once we left this wall it never really worked. Up to that point it was magic. Then we fought, then we made love, then we fought. I thought that it was just a release of stress. I didn't realize it was the tone for the next twenty years.
That couple has made their way to a stairwell in the wall and they are on their way up. My fat and tired legs are slowly working their way back over the ledge. I should be standing by the time they get here. I think about jumping off. I think about but I don't want them to have to try to get me to a hospital. I may hate them but I'm not spiteful.
They see me when I get turned around and I am facing away from the sunrise. They smile. They stop for a second and asses me. They decide I'm not a threat. They walk up to me and he pulls her in close to him and reaches out his hand. They are Chinese, they are young, they are in love. And I don't want to deal with them right now. But they will walk right on by before too long so I take his hand and he nods slightly.
"You are American?" He asks and she smiles in that way that only Asian women seem to be able to do. Or at least non-American's seem to be able to do. A smile that reflects actual happiness. I don't recall the last time I saw an American face with such a smile on it.
"Yes." I say and I nod slightly to him.
"We are," he pauses searching for a word, "pleased to meet you." She doesn't change the expression on her face and I want to hug her so badly suddenly. A face that brings hope to the world. Only a face that belongs to someone in love can do that. Only a face like that can make an old man like me feel like their is still something left to hope for in this world.
"Pleased to meet you."
I refrain from hugging her. Instead I pull out the bag of beef jerky and offer it to them.
"Oh, we," he pauses for longer this time. A breeze comes off the fields around us and chills me to the bone. "We don't want your beef." I smile and laugh and he laughs with me and she joins in for a moment when we don't stop laughing. Then they stop laughing and I wipe a tear from my eye. I wasn't crying because I was laughing, I realize.
I hate them again.
Those stupid grins and that take on the world attitude. I wish that he wouldn't make the same mistake I made and leave the girl with me while he leaves her here for good. Maybe they haven't even married yet. Maybe their is still a chance for him. A chance for her. It would be better for everyone if they never gave into the fallacy of love. I stand and begin to walk away from them. I can feel them watching me so I turn around and they have suddenly forgotten to smile and I think that perhaps I can reach them.
"Don't believe in love. It will never last." They seem to be confused. Better confused then hopelessly happy.
Checking her face between every word he says slowly "You believe in love?"
"No. Don't believe in love."
"What is... love?" He says it like he's never heard the word before.
I turn and walk away, not even sure which way I came onto the wall the night before. Not sure where the village I was in is. Not sure what it was called. Not sure what the hell I am doing next. I should ask them for directions. I should find out what it is that makes them happy. But I know what it was for me. What it is for them. They could help me. They could protect me until I can get back home. But they can't. Because I won't ask them. Instead I choose to hate them.
And I hate them.
"Close enough" I yell into the morning sun as it finally begins to warm my face.

New Every Morning

Okay, so it took me a little over twice as long as I said, but it is finished (sort of). I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I feel it is complete if not as refined as it could be.

Also, this is my 100th 76th post on this blog! Woo!? (I just realized it was counting drafts as well as actual posts, so it only comes to 76. Lame.)


New Every Morning
By Matt Moore

Windshield leaflets cover the parking lot as he walks through. There is only one car there at this hour, it is his. He leaves it as far back as he can and enjoys the cool breeze of the early morning as he walks. He reaches the door, he knocks. A dead-bolt slides on the other side, the door creaks open and he walks inside.
The room is dark. It smells of mildew and stale beer. Now cleaning off the back of the door as she pushes it closed is Sandy. She doesn't say hello to Him. He studies her from the back and finds her nearly attractive. Blonde hair in a bun. A body that would drive him wild save for a few misplaced curves within it. But as she turns around and catches his eye for a moment the years have clearly caught up with her. She smiles, but it is a hollow smile. She smiles, but He knows she doesn't not mean to smile at Him.
The chairs are still up on the tables from the nights before. The bar stools have been set back down on the ground, the counter wiped down. This place will open at ten thirty. Now it is just before nine. In the back someone is cooking bacon, maybe eggs. Today is Tuesday, it must be Mike. He hopes Mike has made enough for everyone. He hopes, but Mike rarely does unless he is asked.
He walks to the stage, still set with amplifiers and microphones from the night before. He begins to unplug everything. He goes to a closet hidden behind the raised dais that makes the stage, opens it, begins to roll in the equipment.
When he is done Sandy is vacuuming and Mike is sitting at the counter eating bacon and toast. Mike smiles at Him, and this is a smile that is meant for Him, and Mike has points to a tray of bacon sitting beside him and he finds a plate behind the bar and grabs a handful and sits down next to Mike and they eat in silence save for the vacuum.
Soon Sandy is sitting at the counter smoking a cigarette and Mike is chopping tomatoes in the back and He is in the bathroom with a plunger. By the time ten-thirty rolls around He has finished. But the bathroom still has a smell He wouldn't wish upon anyone.
"What's with all this hootenanny?" Hollers a voice from the large wooden door as soon as Sandy unlocks it.
"Hi George." She says and turns away and goes behind the bar. She begins to pour Pabst from the tap and opens the door to the back and says simply 'George' to Mike. Mike nods and begins to make a ham and cheese omelet.
"What's with all this hootenanny?" George asks again and Sandy stares at him. "Out with it then." George says after a moment.
"I don't understand." Sandy says as she hands him his beer.
"Last night." George says with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression. Sandy knows that he thinks she should know what he is talking about. She stands with one arm on her hip and one arm on the bar and thinks and can remember only an overly loud band and hardly anyone sticking around for the evening. "What they are saying about Him." George points to Him as he walks out of the bathroom and He smiles and waves walks behind the bar.
"What are they saying about you?" Sandy asks Him.
"I wasn't aware anyone was saying anything." He responds.
"They is saying your some sort of messiah." George says and then laughs a gruff laugh.
"Really?" Sandy asks and she joins in the laugh, adding a high squeaking noise to George's baritone.
"Oh, yeah." He said, "You hadn't heard. Yea, look upon me, my children, and know me, I am the Lord your God." He now laughed alone, but only for a moment as the others joined him as well.
"And so shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars will fall from heaven and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken. And then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven. And then shall the tribes of earth mourn. And they shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory." Mike said with his head sticking out from the door to the back. The laughing stopped and the three froze to reflect upon what he had just said.
"Matthew 24:29 through 34." Said a voice from somewhere behind George. The four turned and saw a man in priests garb. Salt and pepper hair, his clothes neatly pressed, a bible tucked under his arm. The priest was smiling and that smile was for Him. "The second coming."
"Yeah, that's right. How are you Father?" Asked Mike.
"I am very well. Thank you for calling me."
"No problem." Mike smiled at the priest and nodded with a large grin to Him and went away behind his door once more.
"So, may I have a word with you my Son?" Asked the father to Him. He met Sandy's eyes and she shrugged and leaned over the bar to whisper to George. With that He motioned to a booth near the back and strolled over with his hands in his pockets as the priest sat and straightened his bible so that it was perfectly perpendicular to him.
"What would you like to talk with me about?" He asks.
"Last night of course." The priest lights up like a kid in a candy store.
"Nothing happened last night."
"That isn't what I've heard."
"Well then you have been misinformed." He sits back in his seat, draping his hand over the back partition.
Rock and roll oldies from the sixties and seventies played over the radio. The two sat quietly contemplating why it was that Mic could not, in fact, get no satisfaction. Perhaps the double negative was meant to imply that he always did get satisfaction. It would be nearly impossible to tell.
"I don't believe that I was misinformed."
"Just because you may not believe it doesn't mean that it isn't true." He scooted nearly out of the seat, sitting on the edge the priest grabs his arm.
"You saved her life."
"Let go of my arm please." He shrugs the arm off but the priest stands, stands in front of Him, places his hand on His shoulder.
"You placed your hands on her and she was healed. You have saved her life. You must take responsibility for it. For what that means."
"It doesn't mean anything. I didn't do anything. Let go of me." He stands, but the priest does not move. "Please get out of my way."
"Not until you admit what you are."
"And what am I?" Standing, starring, they look like father and Son.
"You are He."
"I am just a bar back."
"Jesus was a carpenter."
"And if He came in here after a long day of work I would happily serve Him a drink. But I would not take his position." The priest loses eye contact. Picks up his bible and rubs it in his fingers. He squeezes it, the book bends up and down in his hand. Suddenly it flies open, lands face up on the table.
The priest, his hands curled nearly into fists, takes a deep breath. He picks the bible off of the table and holds it open in his hands, reading.
"Matthew 10:8. Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give." Said the priest.
"You don't need to quote the scripture to me. I have heard it before."
"Perhaps you weren't listening closely enough."
"I think I was." He tenses, His arms and His fists seem almost ready to strike.
"If you were listening then you know how deeply I regret what I have done. The things I have done in my life."
"And how would I know this simply from listening to a sermon? A sermon by someone other than you?" His hands relax, but His face turns to a scowl.
"If you were listening, really listening, then you would know I can, no one can, ever live up to what is expected of us from Him." The priests face stays soft, smiling, affable.
"Are you saying that you have sinned? That is no great surprise, you above all should know that we all sin."
"I have sinned worse than you know, my Son."
"Well, I am sure that He will forgive you."
"So then you forgive me?" The priest touches His arm.
"I am not in the position to forgive you." He brushes it off.
"Say that you forgive me."
"I can't forgive you. I am not who you think I am."
"Yes you are. You are!"
"Perhaps you should leave, preacher. I'll buy you a drink if you'd like or-" The priest grabs His hand once more.
"Freely give! Freely give to me! Drive out my demons!" The priest falls to the floor, holding His hand to his forehead. "Heal me! Heal me!"
"Get off you old fool!" He says and he pulls his hand away from the priests head. The priest drops to the floor. The priest lays motionless. He kneels down over him. Pokes him lightly on his arm. The bar is completely silent. The others stand by the bar watching. "Are you okay?" He asks.
He hears nothing, no breathing. He checks for a pulse, finds nothing. Holds his hand in front of the priests mouth and feels no breath escape. Checks for a pulse again.
"I think someone should call an ambulance." He says but no one moves. They watch, the lean forward, they hold their breath. "Shit." He says under His breath. He places one hand on the top of the priests head, the other on his chest. He closes his eyes, breaths deep. Exhales. A small shimmer of light escapes from his lips and shrouds the priest.
A moment passes slowly. Another moment. Then the priests gasps, his eyes shoot open. He raises his hand and feels His hands upon his body and sees the light surrounding him, but before he can reach out to touch the light it vanishes, and He removes His hand from his body.
"You passed out." He says.
"I think perhaps I did more than pass out." The priest attempts to stand, He gently pushes him back to the ground.
"Rest for a moment, you just had a shock to your system."
"Yes, I think perhaps I shall rest... just... for... a... moment..." The priest closes his eyes as He lowers his head to the ground.
"Sleep well preacher." He says, then He stands, and the door opens wide and there is a bright, bright light. And He walks into it, and then He is gone.

The Second Coming

I'm still working on the second story in this series. It took me a long time to get going on it and then I've had a few problems with getting it done, but it should be done before the end of the weekend. Hopefully before the end of the day, but I make no promises. I just wanted anyone who cared to know I hadn't given up on it yet. And I'm still accepting new ideas from any takers.

Okay, see you back here soon with the second story. I know I'm looking forward to it!

Ha ha, sell it.

Fall From Fort Point

Josh gave me a setting, character, and line of dialog for this story as I was asking for in my last post. This was a lot of fun. Feel free to go back to the last post and read what I was saying and throw out your own ideas. The minimum I'll write is 500 words. This one came out to 1,666 (oooohhh) words. Thanks, Josh!

Also, this is a first draft and I skimmed over it briefly but there are bond bound to be typos (see?), sorry.

Fall From Fort Point
By Matt Moore

This is it. This is the spot she fell into the water. Fort Point. Below the Golden Gate bridge. This is where she fell. Where she always falls. She continues to fall each time I replay the scene. Each time Kim Novak falls in and each time James Stewart saves her. Then he falls. Falls for her, and she falls again for him and again to her death, though the first time she doesn't die, the second time she does though, after making him fall in love all over again.
I feel like falling. Not into the water. But falling, forever. With only space above me and below me. I feel like falling. I've been falling all of my life. Just not free falling. The wind is picking up and I can smell the daily catch coming from, well from just about everywhere. I wonder how long I have been standing here. I wonder how it would feel to fall from further up.
I woke up here this morning. No real memory of coming here, though I find I wake up here many mornings. Clutching onto my empty bottles like a cliche. I never used to drink. That isn't true. Do you want to hear that I was once a successful man? Do you want to hear that I was just screwed over? By a woman, by a boss, by a bank? That I found myself on the street all of a sudden one day having ostracized everyone in my life? That I turned to drink only after I was left alone in this world? Do you picture me falling from the top, hitting every ledge but never getting a handhold before falling further down?
Yes, I was once the head of industry. I ran a newspaper, we have several here. A homeless newspaper. I was in charge of everything. We take turns running it. This was last week. When I was a newspaper man. Now I'm a poet. Sold my first poems on the street just days ago. So far I've gotten positive reviews. But who am I kidding? I wasn't being read by the Paris Review. I suppose there aren't many people out there who read a poem and tell the smelly old fart that wrote it and sold it to you for fifty cents worth of beer money that it was a piece of shit.Unless you plan to tell him he is a piece of shit. I've heard that more than once.
You'd think I'd be tired of falling. Each muttered remark and each condescending ass who gives you a quarter and expects you to kiss their ass for it. Even the ones that just drop a dollar or two my way and barely make eye contact bother me. What sort of asshole would give me money? What is so wrong with them they feel they need to buy redemption from me? I fall further down each time anyone does anything for me, even if all they are doing is nothing.
Perhaps I don't hate them that truly want to help me. They are just too naive to understand that they can't do anything to help me. No one can help anyone. Everyone is falling, and everyone is powerless against the forces around them. We grab onto each other in mid-air, we shout into the wind at each other. We hold on for a while then let go. Some of us just fall faster than others.
I'd love to stop falling. To find my feet on solid ground. Yet when it gets cold and wet at night and I haven't got a place to sleep I lay on the ground and picture myself falling. Sometimes I jump from a plane first. Sometimes I'm just falling. I never hit the ground. I can't see where I started from. I'm just falling. A bottomless pit and I am completely powerless against anything in my environment. All I can do is allow gravity to do what it is already doing. And I know that thinking I am the one to allow it to do that is just as ridiculous as the thought that I could stop falling if I really wanted to.
I'm sitting in a corner, hidden almost in the long shadows from the rising sun. I'm cold, but I hear someone coming and I don't want to go into the open just yet. A woman, I can tell from the clicking of the high heels. I suppose I don't know its a woman for sure in this city. Either way she would like to be called a she so long as she is wearing high heels. Perhaps she will become he when he goes into work. You can't take any of this stuff for granted anymore.
She passes by me and I know she doesn't see me, but she wouldn't slow down even if she knew I were here. Determination. I don't expect a woman like that to have any interest in me. Not even enough to acknowledge my presence on the same planet as her. But that won't stop my interest in her.
She stops in just the same spot as Ms. Novak. And from behind I could almost, almost... she turns and looks right at me. She is. She looks as good as she did in 1958. She's even wearing the same clothes from the movie. She can't be her. She'd be in her seventies by now. She looks barely twenty. But I am standing up now and I don't know and she has turned back towards the sea. And I'm standing in the warm morning sun, the same sun as her. And we stand, the wind blowing my tater clothes the same way it blows on her tailored dress. She doesn't let out much of a sound, just a gasp, and she is gone. Over the edge. And I am Jimmy Stewart and I am going in after her. I take only a moment to throw my coat and my shoes to the side as I run towards the edge. She is laying face down in the water, the current pulling her away from me, towards the open water just beyond the bridge and I am a terrible swimmer.
Now I am falling. Finally a true free fall. The water isn't too far away but I am in the air for what seems like a lifetime. Minutes, hours, before I hit the surface of the water I see her young body age, die, decompose, turn to dust atop the water and blow away. I'm stuck in the air, not moving. Not falling, and yet I'm still falling, somehow.
Time remembers it has forgotten me as I smash into the freezing water.
"Ahhh... Fuck!" I hear before my ears go under. There is a current down here, its pulling me, not an entirely different sensation than that of falling. Yet in this place time moves much faster. I want to embrace my new life underwater, the few moments of it I feel I will have before I suck in enough water to become John Doe. But there is a hand on me chest, and another hand on my leg, and I'm being pulled towards the surface. Falling upwards.
"Come on Al, at least try to swim." He was talking to me. All I could see was his face. A pleasant face, but to square to be doing anything other than working for the government. I kicked absently in the water, but knew to try to push against the water was as useless as kicking against gravity. I was falling sideways now.
Soon we had gotten to a ladder and he helped me climb up. He wore only soaking black slacks, but laid out on the ground next to my discarded clothes was the upper half of his uniform and utility belt. I laid myself out next to them, he sat on the cold stone ground and shook his hair of the salt water.
"I thought you might be a government man," I said to him. I want to hate him for helping me. For grabbing onto me in midair for a few seconds. But I can't seem to hate him as much as I'd like. Something about him tells me that he knows how to fall better than most.
"Goddamnit Al, one of these days I'm not going to be here to save you."
"You already saved me." I sat up and extended my hand to shake his.
"Just like last month, and last year before that. Do you wait for me before jumping in or is it just that I am that goddamn lucky?"
"I'm sorry, have we met?" I retracted my hand, not wanting to shake his hand until he started to make some sense.
"Trying to save Kim Novak again?"
"Yes, she fell. She keeps falling. Just like me."
"That was a movie Al. It was a movie from a very long time ago."
"But she hasn't stopped falling."
"Yes she has. You haven't." He stood up and pulled his shirt and belt back on, ran a hand through his hair to try to even it out, then reached out his hand to mine which I had extended towards his again. "Come on, get your coat and shoes. I'll take you to the hospital."
We walked dripping the cold water from our clothes back to his car.
"She died out there."
"Al, your going to die out there. I can't always save you."
"But you saw her. She died out there. She fell and she died. But she loved the fall. You saw her." He opened the door and let me in the back. "Tell me you saw her." He closed the door and walked around to the front and got in.
"I saw her." He said as he turned on the siren and headed towards the VA hospital. "I saw her."

Tree Fiddy

The last four days have been a blur of illness. I guess a lot of folk have had what I got. I called in monday and tried to go to work on tuesday but as soon as the boss saw me he told me to just go home and try again wednesday, which didn't happen as I was stuck in bed all day wednesday. Today is thursday and I feel well enough to head into work in a couple of hours for my shift, but I do still get dizzy and light headed when I stand up for too long. Fortunately I can take it slow and since I'm a driver I can sit most of the time I'm working.

I still need to get a better job. Since my last posting I've done very little looking for anything else as I've been bedridden so much of the time. But it did give me time to think and think I have. I have thought, "I'm mother-fucking broke." I have also thought "Am I a fucking idiot? Why am I working as a goddamn delivery boy?" Apparently when I'm sick I like to swear a lot. Hell yes I do.

I haven't written anything creative in a few months now. I'm going to start up again soon. Sometimes I have to let life sink in for a while before I'm ready to write anything. Perhaps I shall even post some of this writing if anyone is interested in reading it. Although I always say I'll do that and rarely do. But we'll see. I need to get something published. I think if I do that I'll be more motivated to finish the final drafts of things. As it is now I just sort of forget about them because I hate editing my stories. But when I have motivation to do so I'll get them done.

But for now I want to have an interactive writing experience. So if you are so inclined, whoever it is thats reading this now, please provide me with a setting, a character, and a line of dialog and I will attempt to turn that into at least a 500 word story to be posted here later. And if anyone else wants to join in on this with me the more the merrier. I'll even start you out:

Setting: A mineshaft
Character: George, the fast-talking detective
Dialog: If only I'd remembered to tie my shoe.

The story doesn't have to be all in a mineshaft or all about George, they just have to make appearances. This is an old workshop trick to force creativity out of people under strange circumstances. So hit me with something and we can see what we come up with. Or not, if you don't want to. I understand.

Brian Williams Talk Fire With Me

Lately I've been feeling like an old man. Not because of my age, but I wake up with a sore back and an aching shoulder and I get in my favorite chair and watch the news for a while. I think I'm going to start doing some Yoga. My body just hurts, some stretching would be pretty good for me I think.

Tomorrow should be the last day for Hilary. I mean, I really hope so. I'm getting quite sick of her. Though I was sick of her months and months ago. If by some fluke she wins I am going to have to stop paying attention to the campaign, I don't think I could put up with her till November. And if she won the election then I'm going to have to go into some sort of news free box for the next four to eight years.

I'm still working on the bookstore, but the more I talk to people in Fallon and the more I look into the long line of failed bookstores in Fallon I am starting to think that Fallon may still not be ready for a bookstore. I want it to be, but is it? I've heard several times already that people want a Chili's here way more than they want a bookstore.

I heard a few times the statistic that half of all american's didn't read a single book last year. Books are really being relegated to cities and to places with a lot of people with higher education. I wonder what the percentage of people with a higher education in fallon is right now? It doesn't seem very high. Maybe ten-fifteen percent? On average in America its 25% of people have degrees.

Even if its 25% here, if out of those people that was the only group who'd be coming in thats really not enough to keep a store going. I don't know, I just don't know.

I should get a different job. I'm supplementing my income with my savings to be able to afford everything and those savings are quickly dwindling. Somehow not having money come in for almost a year takes its toll on your bank account. And if I do get a better job then I would be able to save some more for the bookstore. Of course the reason I'm doing what I'm doing is because I couldn't get a better job anywhere. But I can't do this much longer. This job is shit and it pays like shit. Its really, really not worth the time I'm putting into it.

I think I will go out and try to get another job. And keep working on the store. And maybe look into grad school as a backup plan if other plans fail. I still planed on going back to school sometime, even if I got the store off the ground. So I might as well keep thinking about it and looking into it.

Phase Two: ???

So I said you may hear more about this idea for a store o' mine. I don't know if I like talking about it so openly at this stage, which is what I think the professional types would refer to as the 'pre-planning stage.' Or I may have just made that phrase up. Because when I think about it if you are planning a plan, are you not planning? So maybe I should refer to it as the pre-business plan stage. Yes, that makes more sense.

At about two in the morning the other night I came up with a name for the shop. Well, not the official name, mind you, just the best one I've come up with yet. I wanted something that said "books" without using the word books in the title. What I came up with was: Literate. The sign would then read: Literate, New and Used Books. But then I got to thinking maybe it sounds a little too much like an education center than a bookstore. So I don't know about that name. I thought of making it "Literate Books" but that doesn't make any sense at all. How can a book be literate? According to dictionary.com (which also claims braggadocious is a word) literate is defined as:

lit·er·ate
–adjective
1. able to read and write.
2. having or showing knowledge of literature, writing, etc.; literary; well-read.
3. characterized by skill, lucidity, polish, or the like: His writing is literate but cold and clinical.

Which makes it seem like a good name for a bookstore, but possibly misleading. The name isn't the most important part. But as it would be something I'd have to live with for a while if I went with it I suppose its important to have it work and be something I really like. I am open to suggestions however. Zaq called it Mor's Bookstore in a comment earlier, possibly just as a description of what it would be and not as a suggested name, but I'd like to avoid using my name in any form in the title. I'd also like it to be a short name. Something easy to remember.

In about seven or eight hours of doing some reasearch online I've got the bare bones basics of what I'd need to do to get this thing off the ground. The only real obsticle I can foresee at this point is money. No way I am getting a loan from a bank for this. Okay, maybe not no way, but very little chance. Even once I get the business proposal finished, which I've only just, just begun. Which means that the person I am going to have to convince of loaning me the money is someone in my very family (dun-dun-dun)! I don't even know if anyone can really afford to loan me that sort of money right now. Which means this idea may be going nowhere. But I have confidence that I can get enough start-up money and enough to cover expenses until I start making money on it somehow.

After getting the money the only real problem is getting the place I want. I found the location I'd like and the price on it is better than I would have hoped. And all I'd need to do is slap up some paint and some bookcases and a few chairs and couches. No remodeling needed. Also a table to put a chess set on. Totally. I just don't know if it will still be available come time that I am ready to move on it. If not I have a few back up choices, but none nearly so good as the first place. Well, actually one would be better as far as size and location, but the price might be upwards of six times as much, this of course because it has about six times as much space. But I might be able to lease out only part of it, so that would cut costs. Of course more space means I need more stuff to put in it, so thats more money anyway.

I've been wanting to open up my own little store since I was a young lad. Its always been a sort of dream of mine. That and becoming a famous writer. And directing a full length film. So now is the time for the shop. When I'm still young enough to do that for a while and once that gets off the ground I can write my amazing debut novel that gets turned into a movie that gives me the movie experience I need to go out and direct my own movie that wins every oscar. And when they present me with the last one I'll be all like "Take that Hobbits!" And laugh. Okay, so that may not happen. But a bookstore is definately something I could do. And honestly, if I stay in fallon working at a chinese resturant much longer I'm going to go completely insane. If I haven't already. Which I assume I haven't, but I guess I'm not the one that can be the final judge on that.

Clinton getting pissy

I have the news on in the background watching Hilary bitching about Obama. Goddamn, this is just the proof the media has been waiting for, I think. They all kind of seemed to think she was sort of a bitch. Or maybe that was just me projecting onto the pundits.

I'm already getting sort of sick of this job. Well, really sick of it. I really don't like working in a restaurant, but I'm sort of stuck for the moment. No other money coming in. Also, there really isn't a whole hell of a lot that I'm doing these days. I hardly ever see anyone that I don't work with anymore. I try to get out of the house from time to time. But there just isn't a whole lot to grab my attention in Fallon these days.

I've been fairly depressed lately. A big part of that is that I'm not sure what I've got to look forward to in my life. Part of me wants to go back to school and get a masters. Part of me wants to try to start my own business. Part of me just wants to get an idea and stay focused on it and write a book and try to get it published. The biggest problem for that last plan is that when I'm depressed I can't write. I can't focus, and I just don't have the motivation. I write a lot when I'm feeling good. And I think about my life and think that there is some good fodder for stories building up that I can work with when I'm ready.

I asked this girl I work with out on Friday and she said maybe. So I figured I'd give it a couple of days and ask again, but now I feel so awkward around her that I can barely talk about anything. Its really frustrating because she'll be standing there and I'll be joking around with this other girl and I can't think of a damn thing to say to her. The other girl is married and a bit of a nerd so I feel pretty comfortable talking with her. No need to impress her and I can be a dork and it doesn't matter. But the girl I want to go out with I have no goddamn idea what to say to. I suck at this. And I really like this girl too.

I do well with unavailable girls. And this problem is compounded because as I said I don't really have much a social life, so I don't meet many girls and thus don't have many options. And I'm sort of banking on getting into a relationship to try to pull me out of this rut I'm in. The more I want something the worse I am at going for it. Maybe I get afraid of making a misstep. Or maybe I just don't want to get my hopes up and the best way to do that is to do nothing and just hope it will work out.

Going back to something I mentioned earlier, I think I found the building I would want to get if I were to start a business. It's on Richards St., right behind the old JCPenny's that also used to be 88cent/Next Dimension. I forget what was in there before. Anyway, its just off Maine street and really run down and there has been a for lease sign on it for a couple of months at least, so I figure I could get a pretty good deal on it. The only problem being what I would want to sell. I was thinking maybe a sort of mini-Borders minus the music section as I don't think cd sales are going to go up anytime soon. But books, dvds, magazines, maybe a decent used section and, at least so long as I still have them left, the comics my dad got me. And a coffee bar. Maybe. If I could find someone else to run that part of it most of the time so I didn't have to make coffee for people ever. Actually the more I think and talk about this idea the better it sounds. I already know at least one person I'd want to hire to manage the place. Someone I work with at the Wok who I get along with and who seems to be really, really detail oriented. Anal, one might say. But not uptight, so that seems like someone that would be perfect to oversee things coming in and going out and all that crap. Not that I wouldn't still have to be in charge of that stuff, but someone that could prepare the paperwork and do it right and someone I could trust and would probably work pretty cheap, at least until I started making money, is perfect.

Actually, I like this idea a lot. If I can find my way out of this little rut I'm in right now and get this idea out of my head and onto paper, in some sort of business proposal, I just might be able to get a loan for it. I mean, there isn't a bookstore in fallon right now. I'm just not sure if its really something that is going to make money. People still read, right? If I make it like half used half new I might have a bigger profit margin. Maybe. Fuck, I don't know. I still like the idea. Maybe you will hear more about this in a few days/weeks. Maybe.

Domestic blend

Yesterday afternoon I rented the first season of Dexter. Very good show. They actually managed to make a likable serial killer. That show is very addictive. As I've finished the first season, all twelve hours of it, approximately thirteen hours after renting the damn things. I didn't sleep much today. Totally worth it. It's like reading a book your really into. Impossible to put down until you get to some sort of ending. I love shows with continuity. Sure, it's episodic a lot of the time. But it builds really, really nicely on itself. The guy is a sociopath. But he has a moral code that was imposed upon him. It wouldn't make sense save for that the guy who gave him the moral code knew what type of person Dexter would become. So Dexter has to pretend to be normal. Has to pretend to have emotions. Bullshitting his way through life. Don't we all on some level? Well, I don't. But then I probably should. I shouldn't say I don't at all. Most of the time I come off as a jackass because I tell people what I actually think. It isn't that what I'm saying is bad most of the time. But I'd rather hurt someones feelings then lie to their face about something. The truth is always the best answer, just not always the most likable one.

I'm so close to be happy with my life. So close. I thought that if I ever went back to food service my life would be miserable. But I've got an apartment I really like. I'm not all that fond of being in Fallon but it isn't all bad. I'm comfortable here, though I do miss some things about living in a city. And lately all I can think about is sitting on a beach down in Mexico and drinking Margarettas for a couple of months.
Or any beach without too many people around. Get a nice quiet beach house and sleep in a hammock and never have to wear shoes. But right now I am mostly content. I am missing something in my life and that is a woman. By my nature I am a loner. But I don't have to be. I think I'm afraid of letting anyone new into my life. After watching the highly ritualized nature of Dexter I started to realize that in my own way I am highly ritualized. I have a fridge and closet full of diet coke. I smoke Camels everyday. I sit in the same chair, I take a shower and go to bed at the same time. Normal stuff for anyone I suppose. We all have habits. I go into a coffee shop and before I open my mouth they make me the drink I want. It doesn't really matter whose working that day. I go to burger king and order the number two with cheese and no tomato. Taco bell and get a number six with beef and a diet pepsi. I get them to go, I come home and watch an episode of whatever sitcom I am into watching those days (currently Extras). One thing I am is consistent. And the introduction of a girlfriend would mean a change in my routine. She might call into question everything about my life merely with her presence. Yet I know I can't ever really be happy on my own like this. I think I do what I do just to survive. To maintain a system in my life so it doesn't descend into chaos. I live entirely in my head, and without a system I would be completely lost. The problem with my system is that it is entirely a self reliant system. It doesn't leave a ton of room for other people. I guess I fear introducing an unknown variable into an environment I feel is just barely stable. But in the end all it is is a fear. A phobia. An intangible feeling deep inside of me that I need to learn to master before I forever become its slave.

Yes, I am overly dramatic today. Sometimes its the best way to take a serious look at yourself, though.

Up the down Date

My life is not gone exactly as planned. Not that there was a real plan, I suppose. On the upside I have found myself an apartment that I really enjoy. The down side is that I am now locked into both Fallon and a job delivering Chinese food for the Wok. The upside being I don't really mind the job. The downside is that I don't have anything else going for me at the moment. Taking a job like this one is good when your a student. Short shifts and extra money to be made each night off of tips. But I'm not a student, except for in a broader definition I might call myself a student of life. I don't know that really counts.

It is a strange thing to be around teenagers again. A good half the people I work with are still in high school. One thing that has become quite certain is that the people who are my age or older, or even a couple years younger, who go out with teenage girls have either incredibly low self esteem or some mental deficiency. I used to have nightmares that I was sent back to high school at my age. Usually a strange man with a thick gray mustache (or how my subconscious views authority, apparently) would arrive with a message that I had not completed this or that and that I was to be sent back post haste. There is something hellish to me about the idea of being sent back to high school. Some people call these days the 'glory days' or other such nonsense. To me that is like looking back fondly on your times in a prison before you were paroled. I see myself as having made it through high school. A sort of exercise in surviving. True it wasn't all bad. But I'm sure I could have had some laughs on the yard with other inmates as well.

I suppose what my real problem is is that I am afraid I will be stuck around girls like these for the rest of my life. Mood swings, constant need for attention, flat out stupidity. Are these to be my coworkers for the rest of my life? It frightens me a little. Hopefully this is but a layover for me.

Not a whole hell of a lot else has been going on with me of late. My love life is the same nadda. There is a girl I really like that I work with. She's married, so I guess that train has left the station. I realized I am really only interested in a certain type of girl, and in my life I've met only a few of them. All the ones I've met have been in long term relationships. To me it makes sense they would be as I suppose the type of girl I like would want commitment. It's just my bad luck someone else swooped them up first. I'm trying to be patient and wait till I meet the right girl who is actually available. When I do meet her I know all the waiting will be worth it. But at the moment my patience is starting to run a little dry.

The Dark Knight

The trailer for the Dark Knight is supposed to premier with I Am Legend, which I think opened today. Or next week, I'm not really sure. Anyway, here is the trailer which, as the article points out, "Someone who caught an early screening was kind enough to film it using his own butt."

Ron Paul is a Republican

I thought he was different. Seriously. I mean, I knew he was a republican, but he is really a republican. He spoke in Fallon last night. Paul and I were there listening and listening to him for close to an hour I realized that he isn't really different from other republicans. He just is a little more honest than his compatriots. Which is refreshing, but I was almost beginning to believe the hype and thought I might vote for the dude. And now, safely, I am escaped from such a follie.

It also makes me think I should probably sit down and really listen to a few more of these supposed candidates a little more closely and see what they are really saying. Hear. Hear what they are really seeing. Saying. Yeah. I'm tired. Shut up.

You know who else has hands? The Devil!

If anyone is interested, Rottentomatoes has released the first ten minutes of Walk Hard: The Dewy Cox Story for your viewing pleasure.

Muttonhead Quail Movement

More corrections from a list compiled at Regrettheerror.com


My favorite is "Reuters, the reigning back-to-back champ in this category, didn’t win but did come in second place by calling the Muttahida Quami Movement the 'Muttonhead Quail Movement.'

Now for something completely the same

Fallon is surprisingly not driving me mad. I thought it would. Especially considering I've been staying with my mom for over a month now. Well over a month. Like a month and a half. My god, I am such a fucking loser. Over half of recent college grads these days end up moving back in with their parents for a while. I think the reason is that people don't want a shitty job and end up needing to save all their money for a while whilst they search for a non-shitty job. Or at least that is how I perceive it as that is why I am back.

My hands are getting beaten up by the cat, who has decided that it is a good idea to claw into them and try to bite them. If I could backhand a cat, I totally would. And as funny as that would be to see a kitty fly across the room while I called out "bite this!" in my terminator voice, I just can't do that. Mostly because the cat would probably be broken. Also that is a really mean thing to do. And I am in no way advocating violence towards animals. Just theoretical violence. Fantasy violence. Like in the movies!

I left my laptop in the car last night and now it is cold and getting condensation on it. I imagine this is a bad thing.

I think that if people are allowed to play christmas music non-stop from a little before thanksgiving to a little after christmas I should be allowed to blare an air horn as often as I want in the places doing that.

There are two cops within about two feet of me. This is kind of unnerving. I am in a coffee shop so its not odd to see them here. Just that the table they sat at is right next to mine and I can hear them talking over my headphones. And they can probably read this if they want to. Or at least the one on my side. Scary. Moving on.

If you've got a few extra dollars or know of some other way of getting musical cd's you should check out the soundtrack to "Walk Hard: The Dewy Cox Story." Its a satire of the musical biopics like Walk The Line and Ray. But they got a lot of people together to write the music for this supposed musicians entire career. So there is a lot of Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash and 60 political and 70s dance, as well as many other styles, that have 'inspired' the songs. Of course its a bit silly. But there is some really solid work on it. I imagine when that movie comes out there are going to be a lot of people talking about the music. Probably more so than the movie itself, although that movie does look awesome. Granted I know that eventually I will tire of this soundtrack, mostly because I've been listening to it over and over, which is what I do with lots of music a couple weeks before I get tired of hearing it, but still, its good.

Those cops left so I think it might be time for me to get to work on my actually project I came in here for. Which is an ultra-secret, mega-mysterious writing project. Pretty tantalizing, eh?

Age of Scientific Terrorism

You might be wondering what 'scientific terrorism' is. Well, according to this man:






It is, aparently, when someone with a Ph.D. tells you that your "facts" aren't supported anywhere. Ever. I mean, I think thats what he's getting at. You can try to figure it out. Read all about how the 'scientific elite' think "That you are incapable of making “complicated” health and safety decisions affecting you and your family’s health, which decisions are better left in the hands of the educated elite."

"You may have a four year degree, a Ph.D., four years of sub-specialty training, and eight years experience on top of that. But I read an article on webMD!"

The best part about that article, however, is how much that guy looks like this guy:

Greatest correction of all time.

From the Washington Post

Correction to This Article
A May 1 Magazine article about Savoonga, Alaska, incorrectly attributed a remark from the movie "Jaws" to Richard Dreyfuss. It was Roy Scheider's character who spoke of needing a bigger boat.

They came for the teachers, I said nothing...

Everyday I read a couple dozen articles online and scan the headlines of hundreds more. But rarely do any of them move me to want to do anything about them. This is one of those cases as a teacher is arrested for making idiotic remarks on a blog from his home computer.

I hate anything that threatens free speech. I was debating this a little with paul not too long ago saying that I didn't think networks should have the right to even fire on air people for saying racist/insensitive remarks. At the time the thing was Dog the bounty hunter. But that is old news now. And at least in that case it wasn't government interference, merely a network wanting to distance itself from that sort of thing. Fine. Whatever. Fire the fucking teacher and see if I care. But arrest him? Arrest? For saying vaughly threatening things on a blog? An annoynomus blog?

Time has come to end this shit. I post about it here knowing it won't be read by that many people but I am outraged, outraged I say! I can't live in a society without free speech and I ain't moving to canada so we need to fix this.

Earlier I tracked down the phone number and home addresses of the Chief of Police and Mayor of West Bend. I had them up for a while but took them down as I've decided that I would rather, if anyone cares, have the address for the senator as this is more a matter of national importance than of a small Wisconsin town. Which you can do Here and Here


I realize this is more or less a futile attempt, but I can't sit idly while people are being arrested for saying shit. I almost hope someone tries to arrest me for saying shit so that I can be as loud as humanly possibly about why the fuck they have no right to do that shit.

The Hobbit: IN 3D!!

Peter Jackson is going to direct the Hobbit. I know, its been said before. But this time it is for realz. I think.

Anyway, its going to be in 3-D, which is fucking awesome and maybe a little frightning since, well, 3-D movies are directed at kids generally and it would be easy to push the Hobbit to be more of a kids movie or more of an adult movie, whichever way they felt like going, so its probably going to be kids.

The real news is that New Line is going to convert the Trilogy to 3-D for 2012 to 2014 releases. Fucking rocking.

But hte best part of the article is this photo:



Which I am fairly certain is Peter Jacksons photo for Bear's Life Magazine (which according to Kevin Smith had Kevin Smith on the cover recently! So maybe that isn't as far fetched as it might sound)

!

After several hours of deliberation I've decided that the original post here was no good as it said somethings that whitey just wasn't ready to hear. It also said some things that African-americany wasn't ready to hear.

Hardly the time

I haven't felt like updating this in a while. I still don't, to tell you the truth, but I figure I might as well.

I've moved back from Maine. While it wasn't a mistake to go out there, I don't think that that is really the place for me. At least not right now. I felt sort of homeless most of the time. Possibly because I walked around aimless for hours on end the downtown. Whats strange is that it's already starting to fade so much in my mind. Like a strange dream. I hardly believe I was ever there at all.

So I am staying with my mom trying to figure out the next move in my life. I imagine that it will have something to do with getting a job. Probably.

Other than that I haven't really been up to much. You may have noticed that I am posting this on friday night. Meaning of course that I probably don't have any plans for the evening. In reality I do have plans. I am going to the movies. Well, I am going to watch a movie. Alone. All alone.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to be in Portland either. I don't want to be in Reno. Or California. Or Oregon. Or Arizona. Or Utah. Or Washington. Or....

Like one of those dreams when you keep running in place, I am still trying to get out. It hasn't been working out so well.

I've been constantly trying and failing at different things since graduation. I guess I could be trying harder. A lot harder, probably, but I'm trying in my own fashion.

I'm not entirely sure how I've been keeping going in the last months. Something inside of me is still driving me towards doing something. I just don't know what that something is or where the hell I am supposed to look for it. I keep hoping that my life will turn into a novel. An ephiphany will strike. Or something or someone will be put in my way that will send me down the next path. Lead me to some greater understanding of myself or the world or at the very least lead to happiness. Of course, it could be that my life is going to be the debut novel of some half-talented wannabe film-maker who will steer it towards certain doom simply because they think if they kill me off it will make their story more powerful. Even if my death does nothing to advance the plot. God damn, I swear to christ if my life is being written by some hack, I will jump out of the pages and strangle them. Unless this is some sort of really weird story and I jump out and the writer is myself and if I kill him then I have to kill myself but then it turns out that now that I have left the pages I can't go back and the world can't have two of the same person in it for too long or it will kill us both just to equalize. But I know that if I let him kill me then he will go on living, but if I do manage to kill him then I will be killing myself in the process. Unless, of course, I can become the writer of my own life, so I steal his manuscript and take over on it. And then I hire an albino assassin to kill him. And then I write the novel the way I feel it ought to be writ, but since I am off the page it is causing weird dilations of the space/time continuum, so I write in a beautiful woman to be my love interest but then the story starts to write itself and she turns out to be a mass murderer and she is planning on making me a puppet by taking the manuscript and forcing me to write her in as some sort of emperess of the universe. Thankfully, at the last second, I find a way to pull Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter, Robin Hood, Frank Sinatra, and Silent Bob from their respective movies/books and they manage to fight off the evil woman. Who, in the end, it turns out was actually --- Darth Vader's illegitamate child he had with Cleopatra!

Yeah, thats the type of book I'd probably end up in.

Biggest Little Apartment

Stayed up all night so I could take Paul down to the bus station so he could take it to Boston to get on a train to head down to Oklahoma to visit B.J. I just woke up, and now my apartment seems so empty. When I first moved here I wasn't sure how I was going to deal with such a small place. When Paul was coming I wasn't sure how both of us were going to fit in here. Now that he's gone the place seems so big and empty. Oh, deep sigh. I know, I know, I must sound pathetic right now, but I've gotten used to being around people from my native land over the last couple of weeks, now I have to deal with the fact I'm in fucking Maine by myself all over again.

As for what else has been going on, my dad is in trouble with my sister and my mom because he's been speculating on some house that he's planning on buying and he didn't tell anyone about it. My mom found out (I mean, it is happening in Fallon) and told my sister and me and now my sisters pissed at him for lying to us. Paul and I were playing Scrabble yesterday and the first two words were "Green" and "Secret" and then I was rearranging my tiles in my little board and as I was moving them around they spelled out "Doug Lie." But apparently the house isn't green, so maybe scrabble isn't a psychic board game, although it could be...

My mom is taking off for Italy in a couple hours. Which should be fun. Except for that I don't get to go, so its not that fun. And I really want some pasta right now.

I'm going to have to get another root canal it looks like. A tooth that was iffy the last dentist visit got pretty badly infected. I was on vikadin for a day and now I'm just on ibproufin and penicillin. Drugs are not fun. Well, vikadin was alright.

I posted something last night to make fun of Zach. Since I'm sort of posting over it you should scroll down and join in the laughter! Haha!

Stephen Colbert has a new book out that I found mildly ammusing when I first saw and now can't stop thinking about. I'm having some buyers remorse. Some un-buyers remorse or whatever you call it when you pass something up. I just can't stop thinking about that book. And I think that's a little weird. A little really weird.

Its starting to get cold out here. I still don't have a job. I've been trying to work on my writing but between motivation and visiters I haven't gotten a ton done lately. So it looks like I will be needing a job since I can't count on writing a bestseller in the next two months.

That is all I've got for right now. Look for a long monolog on here in the future, as I'm sure I'll go back to my normal ways in a couple of days.

Crazy Liberal Hippy Colleges

Hello, Paul and I are at my apartment right now. Paul's getting ready to leave in a couple hours, but we came across something we found rather ammusing, especially considering a certain person we know. This is a copy of the email we sent, I think the rest should more or less speak for itself.

(the following takes place between 1 and 2 am)

Hey Zach,

This is mor, if you hadn't figured that out yet. Anyway, I was just surfing the internet while Paul was reading some comics here and we happened to come across a list of crazy college classes. You know, like the Star Trek one you were bitching about the other day. So here is the link in case you want to check it out. They are all pretty funny, but I think the funniest one was "Getting Dressed." Yes, a class on how to get dressed. Man, what sort of crazy liberal college would offer that? Oh, wait, it says right there on the page, lets see...










its PRINCETON!!!


Too bad I didn't go to that Ivy League school, then I would have known pants don't go on my arms! Or that shoes don't belong on my head! Ohh, and don't make me recount the horrors of trying to discover the function of socks.... so much pain could have been avoided...

Hope your having fun over there learning all they have to offer. Hey, if you need to do some studying, I found a great site for you: http://www.cosmogirl.com/. You better bookmark it! Remember, thong underwear is best for hiding those unsightly panty lines!!!

Sincerely,
Mor and Paul

I think we've all learned some valuable life lessons today. Especially Zach.

It has been a while

A few more weeks out here and there really isn't all that much new to report. I finally made it out to one of the islands around here today. Took the ferry with my dad and his girlfriend and got lunch and rode around on rickety old bikes. My dad's and sue got here wednesday and I've been trying to keep them occupied for the last few days with things to do. I guess I knew there wasn't much to do around here but when you first have to entertain people for a couple of days you realize how simple life really is out here. It feels like a big city, but it isn't a place you would go on vacation unless you knew someone there. Or, you know, if you were me. And then you'd go live there for the hell of it.

I've just finished writing a fairly long letter to that girl I've mentioned in Reno. Instantly after I sent it I regretted it. If you've read my blogs before you will understand that "fairly long" by my definition is around seven pages. I do have a tendancy to go on. And I'm all mixed up with emotion right now. Luckily for you people I've written most of it out of my system for the moment, so this should be a decently straight forward blog.

Next week I am planning on going down to visit Zach and Paul, who is getting there sometime next week as well. If all goes as planned... actually I'm not really sure there is much of a plan. I think we were planning on going to new york. Although I have to admit that as much as I know I should go to new york and check it out, I really don't have much interest in the place. My dad was there before he came up here and it sounded like a headache trying to see the sites and just getting around in general. I drove through new york once before and the traffic was god awful and I just wanted nothing to do with the place. Its sort of like LA. Sure there is a lot there, but I don't have any interest in it. I don't understand how people can live that densly. Although it is pretty dense out here, but nothing like new york. But who knows. We'll probably go and I'll probably be like "man, this city is awesome!" and then I'll pretend that I hate it just to be all anti-anything mainstream. Even though I like a lot of things that are mainstream. But the point was to point out that I was being hypocritical, so admiting to liking other things mainstream seems to be obvious. And you might ask "how can a city be mainstream?" Well, ask someone from new york if the world revolves around the city, and they will answer with a yes. Also they will think since they are from new york the world revolves around them. I've had to deal with a lot of new yorkers up here. Well, not a lot, but a hell of a lot more than in nevada.

My apartment sucks right now. I've been keeping a lot of stuff in my car to clear up space in here and I had to move it all up here while I've been driving my dad and sue around. There isn't a ton of stuff. But there was precious little room without it in here and with it here I tend to look up from my computer and get really claustraphobic every couple of minutes. I really need to move.

Now my head hurts from staring at this screen and I want to go to bed even though I'm not tired so I think I'll get something to drink and maybe watch a movie which will also require looking at this screen but with much less white. Unless I watch a movie about snow.

Bad Dreams

Some nights just end up feeling so restless with dreams. I won't go into detail with what I was dreaming about because most of the time people find that to be quite boring and besides I don't remember very well what I was doing. It was just a long night that had me waking up a lot trying to remember where I was and had my heart beating that I had moved back to the West at the worst possible time to be back there. That sort of upset me more as I woke up some more because for some reason my subconcious was telling me to stay away from nevada. Of course, as it was a dream, there was probably some other thing it was trying to tell me. But waking up and saying "oh thank christ I am still in Maine." was enough to get my out of bed and start my day because I couldn't deal with my brain anymore.

I finished reading "The Watchmen" by Alan Moore a couple nights ago. If you haven't read it you really, really, really should. I mean, if you have even a passing interest in superheros then I think its worth a read. It shows just how far the masked avenger ideas of comics can be taken, and how small in comparison most comics make what could be the most compelling of stories. What shocked me is that it is from the mid-eighties. Over twenty years its been around and still there is nothing that even compares to it, save perhaps for some of Alan Moore's other work. God, I so wish that guy was related to me. I mean, I know he's probably pretty nutty as a person, but carrying the same namesake as someone who I am pretty sure qualifies as a genius just makes me want to be able to say "oh yeah, he's my second cousin" or something. I have relatives in England, but they are on my mom's side of the family, so the Moore relation is lacking. But everytime I read a comic not written by him and I say "this is really good" and then I go and read one of his I'm just forced to admit that every other comic just doesn't come close. Not by a long shot. I've read a forward written by one of the artists that worked with him and he said they'd been working on two seven-page stories for Green Arrow and when the artist got the script for the comic it felt like a phone book because of the massive amount of description that he Alan worked in. It just seems to say that he really doesn't take any of this lightly. I read V for Vendetta after I saw the movie and didn't understand why what seemed like merely superfluous changes to the story would make Mr. Moore take his name off the movie, but figured it was just because League of Extraordinary Gentlemen got so fucked up by Hollywood that he was just over reacting. But I see now that it is because he knows what the hell he is doing can't stand seeing his babies get fucked over just to make a few bucks. That being said I wouldn't expect to see a "The Watchmen" movie ever, so you really ought to read it.

I finally watched Knocked Up last night. After that came out everyone was saying (well everyone as in the people in the media) that it was too impossible to believe that a guy like him would get a chick like that. That is such a goddamn stereotype. I mean, if the chick were younger than she probably wouldn't go for a guy who looked like that, but at her age that is when she would look for a guy that she thought could take care of her. That is why it was only when he took some responsibility did they really work things out. People are so hung up on looks. But I mean if you look at older couples wedding photos you will often see a sort of weird looking dude with a really hot chick. Its only because people get older and look less like they did that we think it never happens. Being good looking will help you in the short term, but for longer relationships its all about personality and compatibility. Our culture seems to be saying when it says that a guy like that could never get a chick like that that it doesn't believe in romance anymore, it really and truly only cares about looks. Period, if you don't look good you should leave society forever because no one will ever love you. Such rubbish. I was in the store yesterday and they had one of those celebrity rags and they had pictures of actresses on the beach in bikinis with big circles around the cellulite they could find near their bums or on their stomachs. They looked like women at a beach *gasp*. I think they point it out so much and mock them for it so much because people see actresses as the front line against looking like real people. If they fall, then we'll all be forced to admit that the real freaks are the super-thin people in magazines and movies. I have nothing against someone wanting to look good, but when you compare their weight and size to that of the average person than it is almost freakish. Models used to be big and curvey and busty and thin women felt out of place, then the dinamic shifted in the seventies towards the wafer-thin. You'd think that by now we'd start seeing larger women showing up more, but we don't. I don't mean obease, I just mean full bodied. Its sad that our society, and most of western society at this point, seems to think that the best looking women look like fifteen year old boys. Curves are only okay so long as there is absolutely no fat. Its just so unnatural, and quite frankly I'm just not attracted to most of these ultra-petit women.

Okay, I think that is enough of my ranting for one day.

Blue Whale is never the correct answer

Wow. Sometimes I really don't have much to start one of these things out. I've tried like eight different things to start out on. Nothing seems quite right. Perhaps it is an indication that I really don't have anything interesting to say. But it is a blog and saying something interesting has never been a neccesity.

"Dear Hearts, the Coffee House is the citizen's academy, where he learns more Wit than ever his Grannum taught him." The Men's Answer to the Women's Petition against Coffee. London, 1674.

I'm having some coffee right now. There are some pictures of spiderwebs made by spiders on LSD and ones who were given caffine and the LSD is fucking perfectly semetrical and the caffine looks like a crack addict made it. 80% of people drink caffine every single day. Learning is fun!

Still, I feel the weirdness of the caffine in my system. First I get all tired then I get sort of out of it and things become harder to understand. This is only if I have a lot of coffee all at once, as I did tonight because I made a pot to break in my new mug. Yes, that is the level of excitment in this apartment right now. Breaking in the new coffee mug. And watching old movies. Well, not that old. Point Break and Children of the Corn. Not very old at all, really.

I mentioned a couple of girls last time I was on here. Nothings really happened with either of them. Actually, to be perfectly honest, nothing at all's happened with either of them. I haven't spoken to either since last I was on here and before that actually. Though I suppose something has happened with both of them, just nothing that involves me. At least not directly. I think that may be a good thing in its way. The more I think about it, the girl in Reno and I probably don't have much of a future, sad as I am to admit it. And the girl here is just a mess and I'm completely into the idea of never having to deal with her again. The thing is with the Reno girl I have a connection, we have a connection, but it just seems like maybe I was wrong in assuming it was going to go somewhere. But I guess I assumed a level of commitment from her before I even left which was sort of unfair of me. Since I told her I wanted to be with her. And we sort of agreed to wait and see what happened. But I feel like I was probably already since I've been here just a few phone calls and another date or two from falling into a bad relationship, and she can't seem to stay out of bad relationships for more than a couple of weeks. The fact that she hasn't called me back or answered my emails gives me pause and makes me wonder if she already found someone else and either doesn't think its any of my business or is afraid of telling me. Either way it doesn't bode well for me.

That's good in a way, since I did want to leave and try to start over fresh somewhere else. I've just kind of got to get her out of my system and then move on. Its a challenge, but I can't go my whole life waiting for a girl to say she's ready to be with me, I've done that before and it didn't end well. Ever. So maybe this is the final wake up call I'll need. I can do pretty well on my own, but I can't handle life completely without some companionship. And friends help with that part of my life but I think sometimes I need more. Not to mention that I've almost completely fallen out of contact with most people over the past couple of years. Its hard for me to stay in contact, mostly because I get so caught up in whatever I'm doing that I sort of let my inner life take over for most of the rest of my life. I've never been very good at taking initiative when it came to keeping in touch with people. Sure, I'd probably show up to do something if someone invited me, but I never asked other people to do stuff with me. Mostly because I was never doing much more than watching tv and movies and reading. But really I've just always liked being by myself, I think its because I don't want to be dependant on anyone else. Its not really the best way to live, but its just how I was brought up and I can't seem to break the cycle.

Buddhists are like that. They like solitude and independance and the ability to be able to take care of their mind and bodies without help. I think its to get better in touch with the zen of the world. Although I sort of think Buddhism is crap. Not the theory of it, but how can you create an organization around an idea like zen? How is that different from any other religion that tells you that if you follow a certain path you will receive (x,y,z)? Its like they were dissatisfied with organized religion and sought a different way and ended up at organization again. I guess people can't really help it. We're social and we have to create social groups to belong to. I think thats why I wonder about myself so much, since I don't really have that same desire to be part of a group. I like people, I like being around other people, but if it starts to feel too much like I'm in a group I tend to shy away from it, even when part of me wants to be an accepted member of the group.

I don't know. I could continue down this path of self-analysing what makes me dislike groups for hours. But then someone would probably find this blog and be like "yeah! I hate groups too! Lets form a club to protest groups! I'll get everyone together for the big meeting!" So I'll just let it be a sort of mystery for a while longer.

Culture of Bohemia

I bought an art yesterday. I was going to avoid downtown but then I decided that I wanted to go buy a comic book so I headed down there and discover, to my shock and awe (lame joke? never!), that there was a huge art sale-thingy going on. I mean, ten-fifteen blocks of tents filled with every visual medium (non-moving picture mediums at least) you can think of. I walked around for hours, just looking at everything and being more and more and more impressed by the people's work that I saw. I still feel like an idiot talking to artists because I have no fucking clue what to say "that is a pretty... color." Or, "oh, I like the way the light plays with the, uh, light." Regardless I talked to a few of them. Most of the stuff was out of my price range, but I found a perfect priced/sized piece and went and found the wacky artist and bought it. I wish I could describe what it is, but it is so abstract and surreal that it would be hard to put into words.... okay, you got me, its a picture of two gorrillas sitting on massive piles of bananas. One of the gorrillas pile is, like, way bigger than the others and the one on the smaller pile is looking at the other with all this disdain in his eyes. It's called "Envy," and I love it. I wanted the big one but it was like $300, worth it if I had the money to spend, but I don't. The print I got was $15. Totally worth it.

I went on a date last night. I haven't been on a date in a little while, last night reminded me why. The only girls that are crazy enough to go out with me are, well, crazy. And I don't know if it was telling every guy she met in one bar that she loved them or taunting a bouncer at another place or skipping and yelling like a fourteen year old while we were walking between places or running into her seventeen year old cousin who was a little high and with her drug dealing fiancee with the guarentee that her baby was safe at home or just listening to this girl talk about the stupidist shit for hours on end, but something just wasn't right (that's what we call an understatement, also there was more crap that I won't even bother to mention because it was more depressing than just sad). What makes it all worse is that knowing that I am a guy and that had the opportunity arose I still would have slept with her. Its probably good that it didn't, then, but then again it would have made for a more enjoyable night. Well, at least there would have been some icing on the shit-cake that was the rest of the night.

Fuck it, its funny in its way. And it did give me something to do last night other than read and watch epsiodes of curb your enthusiasm which was what I probably would have done last night (and will do tonight, huzzah!). I guess the first girl I met here I shouldn't have expected to be a perfect match, but a guy can dream. The real problem is that there is a girl back in Reno that might be a near perfect match for me. We got pretty close right before I left, but then nothing was going to happen between us since she is technically still married. You know, until that pesky divorce business is over. So nothing happened and nothing happened and then I was like "well, I'm leaving." And I did. But we keep talking and I can't stop thinking that maybe I walked away from someone who actually would have been perfect for me, but I didn't walk away completely and I don't know if she really feels the same about me as I told her I do about her, but she claims to at least. But she's not ready to move on just yet but in time, yeah, in time. Oh god, sometimes I fear that my life is actually a really poorly written sitcom. That of course makes me wonder, just how poorly written are all those sitcoms? I mean, if this all sort of has the feel of a bad sitcom then maybe they have hit on a bit of a truth in those crappy half-hour spots. And I think thats what scares me the most.

Disgrunteled (un)employee

There are a lot of coffee shops next to where I live right now. I mean, there are several. Anyway, I didn't feel like going to any of them today so I got in the car and found a place... somewhere, I don't know, where I don't exactly know where I am. The manager said she was looking for emloyees and as I haven't really started looking for a job as of yet I said "yeah, give me an application." But I don't really want to work in a coffee shop. Nor one that I'd have to drive to, considering how close I am to others. But so far today all I've done is read and watch a couple of episodes of south park on my computer. And now I'm sitting here so that I can use the ineternet. Pretty fucking exciting. Fuck, sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing here. Okay, most of the time.

But I feel like it will be good for me, even if I spend most of my days in my dinky apartment reading and fucking around on my computer. It is nice to get out for an hour or two every now and again though. I can walk to a movie theater from where I'm living. It's not a huge theater, but its got like five screens that can hold probably about two hundred people per. But in the days its only $5 for a mantinee and there are hardly any people in the theater. Almost a cliche of a single man in the city, I feel. But its quite enjoyable.

I feel better out here. I don't know what it is. Although I always did suspect that reno was sucking the very soul out of me. I even got what I figure is a more or less completely bullshit parking ticket today and I didn't even feel that annoyed by it. Slighlty, but nothing like when things went wrong for me before. I don't know, I suppose its just that I'm happy, at least for the moment. I'm scared out of my mind that I am going to spend months here and start hating everything about it because I'll be losing whatever it was that made me feel good, but I don't really think that is going to happen. I'm trying to make something out of myself. I just have to be patient, I guess. I feel like I should be going faster on getting things done (mostly my writing) but I know that when the time is right I will not only be able to write what I feel I need to write but also that I will be much more passionate about it than I have been in a little while.

That probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but whatever, I don't know how else to put it. And I really have to pee, so talk to you later.

It Always Turns Out This Way

Right now I'm sitting in a Days Inn in York, NE looking out the window towards a cornfield in the vain hope of seeing some fireflies frolicking around out there. So far I've seen none.

As you may have guessed from the part about Nebraska, I am on my way out east to Maine. There was some back and forth on if I was going to go or not, but eventually three things overpowered my chilled feet. The first being that I swore to myself that not only would I not stay in Reno any longer than a couple months after graduating, I also swore that I would not live in another apartment/house in Reno the day I moved into the Bluffs. The second being that every attempt I made to get something going in Reno after college had fallen through. I won't get into exactly what those things were right now, maybe later. The third being a strange attraction to Portland, ME. You know that feeling when your just starting to fall in love with someone? That's how I felt about Maine, still feel about it. And I have no idea why, but, shit, I just had to go find out.

I'm fucking excited as hell about getting there and scarred shitless as well. I have a feeling it will work out okay. But at the same time I'm going with no job to go to, no school to go to, no friends to go to, no family to go to. All alone. I make it sound worse then it really is. The thing I'm really afraid of right now is not getting there by Friday morning. Only because if I don't get there by then I'll be stuck in a hotel for an extra three nights when I could otherwise be in my apartment. Had I not (massively) overslept Sunday I would be on track to be there, but alas I left Monday.

I found the perfect diet for me to road trip. It keeps my energy up all day without those massive crashes that you get sometimes. Nutra-grain bar for breakfast, Cliff bar for lunch, jerky and trail mix for late afternoon snack, and then whatever is being sold in the nearest resturant to the hotel I bunk down in for the night. The last two nights its been Chinese food, which was delicious. Sort of a backpacking diet, I suppose. It works well for driving though.

Okay, I am very tired and though I sort of want to keep going and make this one of my super-long (average) posts, I shall take my leave now.