Saturday, May 31, 2008

schtuff

"Tall buildings shake
Voices escape singing sad sad songs
Tuned to chords strung down your cheeks
Bitter melodies turning your orbit around"
-Wilco's Jesus, etc

Which is a great song. Chuck Klosterman wrote a great piece in his fourth book on them called "An American Radiohead" which is a great way to describe them.
They remind me of Pink Floyd in a way - sorrowful songs that really tie you in to the moment via empathy. They help you feel.
So, no wonder I've been just playing the shit out of them the last 4 days.
I've wanted to feel sad.
Today though, I'm just feeling hungover. I shouldn't party with my brother or any of his friends, it's painful the next day.

Anyhow.
Here's something funny for youse guys:

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

it's done

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas


Ace, you will be missed.

Here's a pic of him in his last days.

Monday, May 26, 2008

It's my party

And I'll cryget high if I want to!!!
33 years old today.
Hung the fuck over. Did you read my maudlin ode to kitty right below?
I was three sheets to the wind, bemoaning my cat's fate in the sort of insincere emotional orgasm that only the truly drunk can personify.

We are going to miss him but tears streaming down my face as I typed a heartfelt goodbye was just a little much for a guy who just turned 33.

THIRTY THREE!
I am for all accounts and purposes done with more than 35% of my life.
According to some better informed friends, my lifestyle puts me at about 50% done.

Which is actually great; my dental plan isn't that hot and I've never been that keen on flossing. Dying before it matters is the way to go.


Time to recap!
I've:
Never impregnated anyone, so I'm losing the gene war
Never smoked a lot of crack, so I'm winning the stupidity war
Donated to the Democratic Party, so I'm losing the stupidity war again BUT
winning the compassion war
But last winter I knocked a pigeon out of the sky because I felt like it wasn't fearing humans at an appropriate level so I'm losing in the compassion war all over again
But I did watch a Grey's Anatomy episode and totally felt empathy for the burn victim with the heart of gold, so I'm back up on the compassion war
But watching that sort of television makes me lose the stupidity war - badly.

I'm lucky in love - getting married in the fall. She's super amazing. The only problem is she's almost always right. I like arguing from a position of strength (that's why I only pick fights with Republicans and toy dog breeders) and this often doesn't happen when I'm up against her.
There are worse problems to have. Psoriasis on the balls seems like a bad one.

So at least I'm winning the war on love.
Hope you all have a happy memorial day. Get drunk and cook meat in honor of our fallen heroes.

take pictures

The rain just started here. It's going to be a doozy of a storm tonight, and probably slide on into tomorrow like a comfortable pair of pants.
Tomorrow's my birthday; we've scheduled a hastily put-together BBQ to pretend my friends live in Chicago. Some do, most don't. Most probably aren't aware it's my birthday. That's ok; no gifts, please. Unless you can save a geriatric kitty.
If that's the case, you know what the gift is and you know we couldn't repay you.

Take pictures. The things you love won't last forever unless you love Hadrian's Wall.
In which case, I hope you find the most glorious glory hole and rejoice in your love of History. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Keith. NERD*.
Our household has been tinged with sorrow the last month or so. Her cat, who became our cat, is dying. Kidneys were failing. We started injecting saline, but he's got this wacky sack of fluid around a kidney that constipates him and stops a lot of shit from working.
He's fifteen and a half, and he's pretty much toast.


Take pictures. My first real cogent memory of this cat as more than just a cat. . . that moment when its personality shines through its nature. . . it was great.
I'm sleeping over at Andrea's. She's fallen asleep in my arms. I wake up, and Ace is sitting between us. This is a habit he gets into early and pushes for the entire time Andrea and I are together. Andrea hates it; before I was in the picture he would never pull that shit. I'm a pushover. The kitty can go where he wants with his kitty litter paws as long as he purrs when he does it.
The first time though, I wake up. I have horrible vision, so it takes a few seconds to figure out I have a cat staring right at me, laying on his side.
Dogs hate getting blown on, I figured a cat wouldn't dig it either.
I start blowing in the kitty's face. He does nothing for a few seconds, then leans in and takes the inside and outside of my nostril in his jaws. He doesn't break the skin, he just bites my nose, makes eye contact with me, and lets go.
That's the last time I blew in his face.
We had an understanding, then. He knows when we're vulnerable and could kill us, but he liked us enough to let us feed him.
Which was a cool Helsinki-esque relationship for us all.

He hasn't eaten in five days. I figure this is the end and we're saying goodbye to a hell of a cat. The tough part is saying when enough is enough. . .let him starve himself to death or put him down? Either way is a shitty decision.
I couldn't imagine this if it was my grandparents. Wait, according to sixthcircle420, you can't put your grandparents to sleep.
Good call, sixthcircle420. Hope the cab driving business is serving you well in the big apple.

Anyhow. Throw a little bit of beer down for Ace, "Mr Woobins" Kessler, my fiance's cat. He's riding off into the sunset pretty soon and we're both going to miss him.
(10 to 1 Ace ruins this moment by killing a small child tomorrow. Everyone's going to second guess us. "they should have known the cat was in dementia!")
shizzle.
too much alcohol.
no spins would be the best birthday present ever.






*Keith doesn't read this blog. If he did, the fact I called him a nerd would leave him flabbergasted. But he's gay for history.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Look, I'm still statuesque!

So my Day Job is pretty much project oriented at this point. In a nutshell, I'm given a specific product line and need to bring it to the web.
Management being what management is, they set expectations on roll-out dates.

Since I'm so optimistic, I've started naming my projects after American foreign policy blunders.

Currently I'm working on Viet Nam. Technically we should have been live in 'Nam some time in January. If you want to get really technical we should have been live March 2007 but we can blame the lying liar consultants who low-balled the project in the first place.
(as an aside - I think unfortunately all my goals are based on the assumptions that the turd blossoms made a year and a half ago - even though they failed to live up to any of them)
So, I'm in 'Nam, casualties are mounting, and there's no chance this administration is going to pull me out.

In fact, yesterday they launched the Bay of Pigs.
In 3 weeks the assassination attempt of Castro has to go off without a hitch, and we haven't even figured out where he lives or who's going to shoot him in the face.
Shit, we don't even know if shooting him's the right call. It might be poison. Or maybe just character assassination.
Point is, it's going to be a debacle.

My intial reaction to having to deal with both 'Nam and the Bay was to freak out, and stress over working 80-100 hours a week to get them done.
Then I realized that even if I worked 80 hours a week from here through July, these projects aren't going live on time.
I'm going to fail at every goal set for me on this project.
Some people might feel sadness or stress.
Me, relief.
I can fail at all my projects working 80 hours a week, but I can fail at all my projects working 40 hours a week, too.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Look at me, so tall and lifeless

"Some days you're the pigeon, some days you're the statue."- David Brent (The Office UK)

That's a pretty good summation of the week I've spent thus far. Nutshell version: the project I was hired for "went live" this Monday.
Unfortunately, it did it T.S. Eliot style, "not with a bang, but a whimper".
Lots of reasons, and lots of blame to spread around for everybody. The best part was we turned it on and told nobody in order to test it to . . . wait for it . . . CATCH THE FUCKING ISSUES BEFORE WE TOLD THE WORLD!
Which we did but the expectations were set that it would be perfect and shiny on Monday.
Guess who set those? Not me.

I approach every roll-out into a production system as a disaster to be averted; I don't want access to production systems, I don't want the responsibility that comes with that geekery, and I certainly don't want weekend access for my security badge. (I've failed all of these goals)

So I've been sweating bullets every day this week, working late, busting ass. Meanwhile, outside of my day job I've been performing stand-up on a nightly basis.
It strikes me at how different the two activities are. Both from the surface level -

  1. I get to drink alcohol when performing
  2. I get paid for the day job (and how!)


And on the deeper level of job satisfaction and desire. I love performing stand-up. Even when I eat it I love it.
And Jesus have I been eating it a lot. It's been mostly intentional - I'm trying to craft a lot of new material and experimenting a lot. Everything from delivery, wording, sobriety levels, trying to write on stage, the whole 9.
You fail a lot that way. It's ok to die.
What's not ok is the fact that I'm not getting booked for showcases because a lot of these comedians haven't seen me do a "real" set where I'm actually being professional and doing proven material.
Tuesday night I asked a guy who runs a room for a slot in his showcase.
"[some excuse on why he won't book me without actually saying No you suck]. Keep doing the open mics!"
Gee, thanks coach.

There's part of me that bristled in resentment. How dare he! I was doing comedy for years prior to him even taking to the stage! What gives him the right?!
What gives him the right is that he's fucking running a room.
Period.
And I really need to channel the resentment there into proving I can "hang with the big boys" and Bring It.

So, this Sunday I'm hitting up Schuba's and doing an "established" set. No risk taking, just do comedy the way comedy is supposed to be done.
Boring as shit. No thrill of the hunt. No "will they sleep with me?" challenge of new material.

Hollow conquest.
But it might get me stage time.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Since I'm getting called emo

I'd like to defend my most recent post since a wag basically called me "emo" and complimented me as follows:
(9:18:28 AM) Some Jerk: hey the blog is looking pretty good
(9:18:40 AM) Some Jerk: even though the content is not so much
(9:25:24 AM) Our Hero: lol
(9:26:46 AM) Some Jerk: (we don't want to read about your happiness level that's what your finance is for)

Aside from the fact he meant "fiance", he missed the point of the post entirely.
(1) I'm not unhappy.
(2) It was all about perspective and perception.
Motivating yourself to avoid a situation is fundamentally different from attempting to reach goals.
A great example is drugs - after a period of time, drugs just aren't going to make you happy. They can numb you - they can make you not unhappy, but they can't really help you in becoming happy.
Exception: Ecstasy. That's basically its whole job. Unfortunately it fries the seratonin uptake receptors and makes you incapable of feeling happiness without it after a while, and you become a bipolar twat who likes rave music.

Over a long enough timeline, every drug stops working entirely. Prior to that is the dark times where it just gets you to "even" instead of shitty.

Another great example is working out and health in general. Running sucks. Lifting weights sucks. It does. It's not fun to fail. It's very frustrating when you're a 98 lb weakling in a 250 lb frame to know you're just a soft lump.

The short term avoidance of being unhappy shouldn't trump the longer term goal of happiness.

Anyway.
It was mostly a setup for a "can't touch my shoes" one liner that was mediocre at best.
But the whole idea of satisfaction and happiness has been bugging me for a while recently.

"Do what you love doing and you'll never work another day in your life."
It's a bullshit hackneyed aphorism that I'm not sure is necessarily true.
Example:
I love fucking. Seriously love to fuck.
Woooohoooo fucking!
Consequently maybe I'd love to be in pornography!
I try out, and find out I get severe AIDS stage fright whenever the hot lights are shining 3 inches from my junk.
I don't like this, I don't like doing it.

I think that's why I hate the "do what you love" bit. I love performing. LOVE IT. But most of the other bullshit - jockeying for stage time, getting jerked around for human pieces of waste that decided to book comedy, getting rejected by said pieces of waste, and the general bullshit of road comedy which seems just AWFUL. . . all that stuff sucks.
And to do it for $25,000 a year gross? SIGN ME UP!

Seriously, fuck that noise.

Anyhoo.

Comedy news:
I'm performing tonight at The Edge Comedy Club at 10:30 PM.
Eventually I'll pull together a calendar widget for the right-hand side of this page I suppose.
Maybe get my shit together and get a real headshot and comedy website.

But first I want to lose weight. That'll make me truly happy.
But working out will make me unhappy.
SHIT.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

I think

I think I've been worried more about not being unhappy lately than trying to be happy.

Might be a life changer.
But I'm lazy, so it might just make me feel bad about myself.
Which would in turn cause me to desire happiness, motivating me to do some yoga or something.

I think yoga might be the answer but I can't even touch my toes.
Doomed to samsara I guess.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

What's the matter with Austria?

Geez.

I'm glad I live in America where crazy atrocities never happen.
Thanks, media, for figuring out we want anything atrocity + Austria.
Even better would be Austrians who keep and are eventually mauled by wild animals.
Lions, and tigers and bears. Oh my.

Hello everyone.
A weak-sauced christening of the site, but I'm really busy at work.