Human Nature

Michael Jackson died rather unexpectedly today.

People immediately took to the internet to post their comments about it. Then people took to the internet to post comments about how sick the are of seeing everyone posting comments about it.

I can't help but feel a little relieved for him. I think he probably had an extra difficult life.

And how about this information superhighway, eh? I remain impressed, mildly horrified and always fascinated by its existence and constantly evolving state.

"just tell 'em that it's human nature..."

shakloot special

Sunday afternoon is best served breezy and cool at the laundromat around the corner with a Shakloot Special Sandwich from Hy Mart Deli next door. Of note: I ordered the exact same sandwich as the dude standing next to me who happened to be wearing a tank top that said "I am here to kill you". He turned out to be pretty nice as we laughed about being sandwich twins. I love North Hollywood. For reals.

you'd think after so long...

There are some days when I just miss certain people, places and things almost more than I can bear. I'm beginning to suspect my heartache is like any other general chronic condition. Occasionally, it just flares up.

Today, I was walking to my car and my heart just felt a bit cracked. But then I stood there and silently acknowledged to myself that it is okay. I gave myself permission. I said I'm allowed to still feel this way sometimes. I took my lingering sadness and sat with it for a while.

Then I went out and bought myself a belated valentine: some flowers, dark chocolate covered pretzels and blackberries.

I'm feeling a little bit fatter than I'd like, but that's okay too. It's not forever. Nothing's forever.

same as it ever was

Well, how did I get here?

moe the plumber

I spent a large portion of today hanging out waiting for plumbers to fix pipes under the apartment. (I'm in a ground floor studio) Moe was the head dude. I'm not sure I'd ever met anyone named Moe until today.

Later on, after they'd gone, I flushed the toilet and heard a loud ssst! sound and a lot more water noise than is usual for that chunk of porcelain. I pulled off the top (this is me being brave as I have toilet/germ issues of Seinfeldian proportions) and water gushed out at me all over the floor all over me.

The water pressure must have some how blown off a piece of that plastic pipe thing, I thought to myself while using my hands to try and keep all the water gushing into the tank. The tank finally filled and geyser subsided. I rooted around the bottom and found the cover thing that must have come off. I put it back on. It seems to work again now. Kind of. There's a mini geyser, but it's all over the tank thing and maybe that's how it's supposed to go? Probably not, but for now it's good and as far as I'm concerned, I fixed my toilet! I'm a grown up! Bonus point!

In other news, my taxes are too complicated this year. I can't do them myself. Crap. I'm not a grown up. One point deducted.

BUT they're complicated because I have "securities" and "dividends" and "short term losses". Grown up stuff! Point reapplied!

But in this economy what am I doing with stocks? I'm too much of a wuss to call my financial adviser because I don't want to deal with it because I'm scared. Foolish. Point retracted.

My friend Vince's mom died of cancer last Thursday. He and I talked on the phone over the weekend. He said he appreciated what I told him. So I guess I'm glad I was able to pass on a little of what I learned from my own experience.

It's so sad. His mom sounds like she was amazing. Why do all the amazing moms leave too early? But I suppose, if they're so amazing we would want them here forever and perhaps that's a bit selfish.

I'll leave you with this incredibly superficial note. The last few years my mom was alive, I was rather overweight and had horrible acne. Typical for a teenager, you say? I was 27!, I say. Anyway, most of my pictures of the two of us are incredibly unflattering photos of me. I can hardly look at them, mostly because I look like such a tool compared to this amazing woman next to me. And I regret that I looked so crap back then and that I'll never have a chance for any re-shoots.

I assume, at some point, I'll look at the pix when I'm old, fat with thinning gray locks and only think "wow, I look young and thin. And look at all my hair!"

I'm okay with getting old. (I'm not okay with getting old)

Just think of this as The Sandwich Monkey 2.0

2004-2005 was the the peak of my weblogging times. I had started a blog, years before I'd ever heard of myspace, facebook, etc. I established a web presence to write things,I guess, "out loud" as it were. It soon became a place where I chronicled my life and times during my mother's 14 month battle with terminal colon cancer. It was a way for me to keep my faraway friends posted (pun!) on what was happening. It was also rather therapeutic for me.

But it did get me into light trouble occasionally. If I'd had some bad times-- as was the case probably 50% of the time-- I'd get concerned emails from family asking me if I was okay. I was in my 20's and a somewhat of a basket case time and again.

My internetting faded after my mom died and I really hit the dark times. To be honest. 2005 through mid 2007 is pretty much a total blur. I really have to think hard and long if I want to recall specifics. These days, I avoid thinking hard and long if I possibly can. But that has left my brain mushier than it's ever been.

My sentence structure/spelling/grammatical knowledge has almost reached an embarrassing state of atrophy.

With each passing day I grow more loathing and resentful of the internet as a whole. Perhaps it's because wading through all the muck of the world wide web every day has made me feel redundant, unimportant and unmotivated.

I assume everything's been thought of by now. Everything's been written. Any idea I have has probably already been had by someone else and posted immediately to the internet. And then 50 people have probably stolen it and reposted it as their own.

How do I compete? How do I even fight for a spot in this place that seems infinite and overcrowded at the same time?

The answer: I have no clue.

The solution: Close my eyes and jump back in.

I had lunch with a friend at work yesterday. He told me to start writing again. The thought terrifies me because my strengths used to lie in quick clever emails I would write to friends, and goofy short rhyming poems I could whip up in 5 minutes. I fear those skills are gone.

And with no more deep, serious dying-mom type content to give more meaning and purpose to my prose-- well I'm sunk. Probably. Maybe. But maybe not.

I have an art blog. It was suggested that I keep my art posts separate from my emotional rants/political diatribes/etc. He's probably right. So this will be my weblog where it's just me. Writing words. I might draw occasional pictures or post links as well.

I chose "green kangaroo" because it's from a book I loved as a kid. "The One In The Middle Is The Green Kangaroo".

I forget now what it's mostly about, but I remember I would read the section about a kid choking on mashed potatoes and milk coming out his nose and it would make me laugh hysterically. I could read it over and over again and laugh just as much each time. I have always loved to laugh. That sounds so cliche.

Also, I feel very much "in the middle" these days.

So this weblog will often be about that.

I will try to make few apologies for what I write.
And I will try to write responsibly and respectfully, while still staying true to my own thoughts, feelings and voice. I'm not sure about allowing the "comment" option. I'm not sure how interactive I want to make this. We'll see...

I forget who knows this URL. I forget who might be looking at this. The rule I operate under is that I always assume everything I put up here will be seen at some point by everyone in the whole world. So the Golden Rule is in effect. Or something.

I don't know how to end this post. ...

pocket guide to miscellany

I miss the time when my brain was hopeful enough to attempt a clever turn of phrase simply for the purpose of cracking my own self up if not anyone else.

I want to chronicle my upcoming year as a 31-year-old, but I'm afraid everything I write and everything I do will be dumb.

But I'm refusing to buckle under my fear.

Stay tuned...