Old Fashioned, Plain Water, Skip the Fruit Garnish

2005-11-09T00:38:00.000-08:00

[title of post at end]

written in and around September 13th

I was lounging around in the living room of my twenties, secure in the thought that having paid in this much equity, I would never have to move. But then I was sitting happy-hour at the local pub, blowing out a cake with twenty nine candles, and out the window I saw moving vans brought to me by imminent domain.

What is a birthday really? We take birthday celebration as a given. And God knows I too am well disposed to unquestioningly receive an opportunity to partydrink. Why? Past about the age of 25, nobody really celebrates aging. The “good” things physical aging brings have ceased and henceforth what physical aging brings us is the long slow descent into the nighttime of death.

So why do we celebrate Birth-day? The fact of birth on that day? This doesn’t seem quite right. Otherwise, we’d be throwing parties for everybody who's been born. With the exception of Jesus, Martin Luther King, and a few dead presidents we generally don’t have birthday parties for dead people.

I suppose it is just that then. We’re not dead yet. When people would start in with the bland, perfunctory “how ya doin’?”, my dad would intone with a weathered optimism “well, I’m not dead yet.” And while he can no longer give that answer, the rest of us can. We have completed one more heliacal circumference without getting ourselves killed in the process. Chalk up another 3-6-5 without being nabbed by cancer, heart disease, running into a wall, terrorist bombing, gangrenous limb, gangland shooting or STD...well not a fatal one at any rate.

Fare thee well, and get your self another Hefewefeisen. Your not dead yet.

Celebrate Life

2005-02-17T22:15:00.000-08:00

So my new job in Santa Monica is going fine. I mean, I haven't the slightest idea what I’m doing of course, but they cater breakfast and lunch. I had the turkey avocado club.

Now, my commute, the 110 to downtown, then the 10 west to Santa Monica is, like…let me put it this way: we’ve all been in bad traffic before, but I had never engaged the E-brake. People read the morning paper. My 19 mile drive is 15 minutes shorter than the technician’s, who comes from Ojai. I’m not making this up.

Oh and by the way, I’m glad I now have the internet so I can be reminded of the fact that I never get email and have no life, much more often.

2005-02-15T00:37:00.000-08:00

I want to run. I get this urge to run. I don’t want to run away from, I want to run over or through. No. I want to run past. I want to run past my anxiety. My rotting stomach. While a great man, reduced to bones and skin, lays dying, my stomach rots. I want to run past the $74.65 in my checking account. I want to run past the unrequite of my affections.

I want to run past because I want to sleep again. Turning and tossing. Rotting.

I want to run away from my vices.

I’m tired.

2005-01-27T02:37:00.000-08:00

today conquer

tomorrow sleep in

2004-02-17T21:23:00.000-08:00

[homer simpson voice]

shiny.

http://www.aftonbladet.se/sport/0307/19/serena.jpg

2004-02-16T21:32:00.000-08:00

2-12-04
Among my many vices, my addiction to periodical literature may be the most ensconced; with the LA Times at the bottom, Sports Illustrated near the middle and First Things near the top.

Having perused FT’s latest issue I noted Fr. Richard John Neuhaus’ mention of a Bishop speaking publicly and authoritatively on the issue of Catholic politicians and their voting responsibilities. While it’s virtually impossible to improve on Fr. Neuhaus’s insight or his rhetoric, nevertheless I shall endeavor to add my proverbial 2 pennies, for this subject is a special peeve of mine.

The very fine Bishop Raymond Burke formerly of La Crosse and recently appointed to St. Louis, in Father Neuhaus’ words, “reminded them (Catholic Lawmakers of Wisconsin) that, as Catholics, they had a moral duty to protect the innocent, especially the unborn and those threatened by euthanasia.” It seems elemental, however, such an admonition is the exception. That it happened underscores how often it doesn’t happen.

Regarding Catholic lawmakers, the list is long and distinguished: Gov. Arnold Shwazenegger, former Gov. Gray Davis, Senate Minority Leader Tom Daschle, House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, Ranking Democrat on the Senate Judiciary Committee Patrick Leahy and of course, also on the judiciary committee, fellow Irish Catholic, Ted Kennedy. He makes me so proud. Also on the list is his fellow Massachusetts Senator, one John Kerry. The Governor and former Governor of the most populous state in the country, the two most powerful Democrats in the country, the two ranking Democrats on the senate judiciary committee which confirms the President’s judicial appointments, and the presumptive Democratic Presidential Nominee; all Catholic, all contumaciously pro-choice. Nice.

Yet their respective Bishops remain virtually silent. Maybe its just me, but it seems that, to a Joe Average Catholic, the facilitation and advocacy of the slaughter of thousands of innocents by a fellow Catholic, without repercussion, is well, a bit scandalous.

Fr. Neuhaus often makes the rhetorical but powerful point that the frightened young girl who procures an abortion is excommunicated latae sententiae(automatically) but the politician who thoughtfully and repeatedly tells her it is her right to do so and works to secure her right to do so is welcomed at the altar.

In his book, What Went Wrong with Vatican II, Ralph McInerny argues that it was not the council, so much as it was the “Crisis of Authority” that arose after the papal encyclical Humanae Vitae that led to many of the problems cited today. The Pope said one thing, highly pedigreed theologians said the opposite. Then, with said opposition not having been authoritatively dealt with, much of the laity, not being theologians themselves, felt adrift as to what to think.

Whether one agrees with this argument on the sometimes volatile discussion that is Vatican II, it seems that there is something of a piece going on here. “I guess if Senator Kennedy can be at the forefront of the abortion cause for thirty years and still receive the sacraments, it's not a huge deal if I'm a little pro-choice?”

Upon review, I suppose the last two paragraphs are just a wordy explication of what it is for something to be a scandal, but witness the decay wrought by decades of moral reluctance:

In those rare events where a Catholic lawmaker is reminded of their duty as it pertains to their political life, the responses (and for that matter, the respect shown to their arch bishop) have ranged from patronizing contempt to virtual taunt:

1) Democratic Senator Julie Lassa responding to Bishop Burke. “I’m concerned that the bishop would pressure legislators to vote according to the dictates of the Church…”

2) In early 2003, then Gov. Davis’ office criticized Bishop Wiegand of Sacramento for “telling the faithful how to practice their faith,” and that the bishop’s statement was “sad.”

3) Senator Kennedy to a pro-life journalist regarding the bishops, “Its their problem not mine.”

4) Senator Kerry to the same journalist, “If the bishops can’t or won’t do anything about that, don’t come to me. You know what I’m saying?”

"…the Catholic people certainly deserve a more adequate explanation of what appears to be episcopal indifference to prominent Catholics who in explicit and persistent defiance of the Church’s teaching, promote and abet the 'abominable crime' (Vatican II) of abortion."
Fr. Neuhaus, First Things, October 2003

You know what I’m saying?

2004-02-05T21:52:00.000-08:00

unfortunately, there is a part of me that hopes these quotes arent true, but I know better.

http://boundless.org/features/a0000860.html

2004-02-05T18:39:00.000-08:00

http://gfx.dagbladet.no/sport/2002/11/06/sdfwer.jpg

2004-02-05T18:02:00.000-08:00

Today I got to say, "sorry I couldnt get back to you. I was in Beverly Hills casting for my film." It was so deliciously ostentatious.

Nor was it entirely true.

Its not really my film.

But, from the snotty eight year old with an agent, to the 81 year old Elwood Carlisle who seemed to be coked up, randomly yelling, Tourette's style, "Fantastic!", it was a modifying day.

We even had sushi for lunch. [of course, Id rather eat a big bowl of Whiskas than eat a california roll, but thats beside the point]

The room next ours was casting for a feature length film, starring three young women. Yes. A seven hour parade of Hollywood starlet hopefuls; ranging from lots of 'tude, to [walk up to table where I and another guy were sitting with sign in sheets for our respective films] "...is this where I sign?" [paul, with idiotic grin, knowing whats about to happen], "yes." And then she'd sign the paper.

2004-02-03T20:10:00.000-08:00

I must apologize to, what by this point, must be my throngs of fans, but between trying to drum up work so that I can eat, helping to produce a movie and the fact that I dont have internet access readily available [crucial because, like some of the other blogs Ive been reading, often it is later in the evening that I feel "inspired"] my posts will be sporadic at best.

What follows is some cross-eyed garbage jotted into my computer at some unGodly Hour. Clearly, Im still getting the hang of this. Give me time. After they transferred his brains back in, it took awhile for Mr. Spock to get back to normal.

2-1-04

Run, run, run. How can I be this busy and this damn poor.

I hate teaching. But Im running out of microwave popcorn so sure, Ill teach that Final Cut Pro Class. Heres the manual. 700 pages. [paul releases a low moan]

Also, I find teaching is more challenging if the students don’t speak english. Marcelo from Telemundo listens to me patiently with an utterly vacant look in his eyes. I finish. [heavy spainish accent] “How…how this is working?”

At the end of class I asked "Are there any questions about anything of the things we covered?" Marcelo blithely asked "How...How do you...blur.. the eellegal...[hands to his upper chest moving shoulder to shoulder] ehhh...the teeties?"

Splendid.

2-2-04

Sometimes youll see on the TV, the drug addict, prostitute, alcoholic who has blown up their car four times say in the course of their “recovery” [in a tone of forced peacefulness] “…I’ve made some bad choices.”

Reflecting on this evening last, “I made some bad choices.” Following up 814 beers by dumping a double double, fries, and a burrito into a body that didn’t have a sand grain worth of moisture left, then drinking more beer was An all night wrestling match ensued, but unlike Jacob, I was wrestling with sabre toothed demons chewing on my cerebrum.

In this world of reward for good and punishment for bad that God has designed, the hangover has got to be one of His most obvious occasions. Youd think..."and all that other shit."

2004-01-29T23:39:00.000-08:00

Circa early 2001. Take a Crazy guess what this is about.

I confess to being acutely sheepish and a little embarrassed about retreating to the womb. Indeed, I am happy that there are no longer people here from my era to recognize me.

If I were to quickly build a wobbly defense of my actions, I suppose I might say that it is ok to periodically take a recuperative time-out, so long as one does not stay too long, persisting in the inaction brought on by fear.

Being here does call to mind the venerably hackneyed clichÈ of “time standing still.” “Slowing down” I suppose, is more accurate.

It is remarkable, given its simplicity, the gratification gotten from the simple act of languidly strolling the grounds on a sunny afternoon. The hills, the quietude; the smiling faces on the one hand, and the solitude, if desired, on the other. And I suppose for those of us who spent the time here, there are the personal connections. Around every corner, on every knoll there is a memory.

Though, as I write this, it dawns on me that it’s somewhat irritating to dwell and meditate for such long periods in such a serious, almost melancholic way. For my favorite activity in this world so far is to sit/stand around with friends in total relaxation and laugh. Stupid jokes, old stories, bad impressions, whatever. But then, that recognition brings me to the bittersweet fact that this is the place where I did that with the most frequency and spirit. The countless afternoons spent luxuriating in our lack of responsibility. Indeed, it is the thing that I have long missed most.

Sun drenched afternoons, porches, the naÔve arrogance of being a college upperclassmen; absolute comfort in your surroundings. Ramshackle structures that smell, but like broken in sneakers, conformable to ones aesthetic. Not the stiff antiseptic I abhor.

There is, of course, that guy on the other side of my brain armed with my ever active sarcastic faculty asking embarrassingly sharp questions about becoming nostalgic about rickety structures, redolent of two decades of college males. I like that guy. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I generally side with that guy. But, if what you enjoy, if what you love, is such as it is, well then, it behooves you not to be cowed by petty insecurities, and come to level terms with it.

What a dork.

2004-01-29T23:31:00.001-08:00

This an email from late 2001
Con: A little too much from Roget's
Pro: It's 100% true. My life was quite a mess.

Like ships passing in the night. or (upon reviewing your last electronic communiquÈ) should I say boats?

Long time no type. I deserve hardy reprobation.

The maternal of your relations informs me that you will not be returning for that most august of December Christian holidays. St. Nicholas day. and Christmas neither.

Indeed, we teeter precariously on the brink of letting a winter come and go without reclining at table to quaff a certain Joe Senser's tastiest potables. For shame, William. For shame.

Well, at this point in the show, I think a perusal of the newspaper is in order, shall we:

In the front section we have of course stories of the United States Military reducing brother Osama and the rest of his Al Queda/Taliban frat brothers to bouillon cubes. Tucked down in the corner however we see a little article about an impoverished Liberal Arts graduate. In the course of his 53 mile commute, he was tootling down the highway at about 70 when his engine exploded. "It sounded like a howitzer went off inside my crank shaft," the Liberal Arts graduate said between his howls at cruel fate. In spite of all the smoke and smoldering asbestos, this is referred to as "freezing" the engine. "No oil. Boom." he stammered to no one in particular.

In lieu of his transportational privation, reports from reliable sources inform this newspaper, that he presently charioteers a Suzuki Swift, rented to him by a smelly Russian man. "They screwed me six ways from Sunday." he said. This car is roughly the size of a Kangaroo pouch. "At least it doesn't have power steering," he said.

Meanwhile, there is a transplant team at Victor Sanchez's Auto repair standing by to remove the old engine and implant a new, check that, used engine, en route from Denver. The poor cretin bought it sight unseen online, "cost me 1000 Greenspans."

The sign said "Transmission Specialists!: Se habla espanol."When asked about the daring procedure, Victor said, "que?” Indeed.

Well, on to the sports section: We immediately see a column about a man with chronic automotive problems who just blew out his second to last pair of jeans right at the button because he has not exercised since a basketball game on his graduation day. As it turns out the FDA does not include Chee-tos as dairy. "When I brush my teeth it makes my tits jiggle." Lets move on...

To that dirty little pleasure that we dont like to admit to; the Entertainment section. Just below yet another story about Cruise and Cruz we see a story about a chubby little aspiring screenwriter in an utterly ridiculous looking car. Yes, it seems our corpulent friend has been moonlighting as an assistant to his uncle, presently in the midst of production on a documentary on Model A cars. The irony of 70 year old cars running just fine is lost on this automotively challenged cinema novitiate. It would also be depressing for him to find that the model A has the same number of cylinders as his car does: a pitiful three. Alas. He has rather enjoyed his time as assistant and received rave reviews in his portrayal of a "soda jerk."(Their words, not mine) He walked up, set down two waters and said, "here you go." Powerful stuff. Powerful. He only helped out on a couple of occasions and none of them recently. He has on the other hand, interviewed at an special effects rendering house in Los Angeles called Pixelmagic. They have done special effects work on movies such as that masterwork colossus "Scary Movie 2." And while that movie did suck Godzilla dick, he points out "It pays a lot more money." A salient point to be sure. He would be a tech assistant. They of course have been stringing him along for weeks and will continue to do so, get his hopes up, and then when he cant stand it any longer, they will pull the plug.

Classifieds: Available Liberal Arts Graduate: will syllogize for Chee-tos.

Whats going on in the Chicago Tribune?

2004-01-27T22:11:00.000-08:00

I know this man is not liked in all quarters but you have to admit he can turn a phrase.

And I used to live up there.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A43375-2004Jan23.html

2004-01-27T21:20:00.000-08:00

ahhh...blogs.

My own little peice of the colossal wall that is the internet to grafitti on.

Technology, facilitating the expression of that guarded narcissism which compels us to write. "People want to know what Im thinking!"

Well, sadly, Im no different.

And as for this revolution thing, Im not really sure what it is, but Im up for it...as long as it involves Serena Williams. Non-negotiable.