what happened today?

I thought this was all over at this point. I've settled into a routine of working out in the morning, reading most of the day, sitting back in the afternoon and watching a movie or some Attack of the Show, and then going off to bed after a little more reading. Wake up, repeat. I was doing this because I thought, in all honesty, that I had a job prospect that was going to work out. I figured with all the awful shit happening lately this would be that one good thing that is supposed to make it all okay. But it wasn't. The lab job I looked so forward to learning was swept up by some internal applicant. Easy for them because no training is required, and I'm back to the drawing board after giving up several things thinking the job was a done deal. So far, I've missed two substitute teaching training meetings and a civil service exam. Guess I'll have to wait on those and settle for some entry level high school level employment until I get the fuck back into school where I obviously belong. I'm tired of the real world and everyone looking at me like the golden child who wasted his chances and didn't try hard enough. So, I'm back to square one of making money. All those dreams of getting a car and starting a social life have started to drift off, especially with the loss of Martha. Lately, I just want to sit in a room and cry to sad songs. Pretend that those away messages are meant for me. Hope that something good happens for all the good I try to do. Almost makes a person want to start drinking or smoking or something that the other people do to cope.

Duck Soup

The Marx Brothers' movies are based around the idea that people have no peripheral vision.

Fight Club

So, I just finished Fight Club last night. This was my first time reading it. I know. I'm behind in the whole pop culture thing. Right. But, I've been thinking about doing my masters work and doctoral work with an emphasis on these Transgressional writers. Why not catch up. All summer, the real books I've read have been Chuck's books and Bret Ellis'.
This one got me though. I saw the movie a couple times, and was kind of used to the way things were running there. I liked the whole idea of getting rid of Tyler. It held to the whole self-help theme of the book. It made sense that Marla would be there as the whole world fell, and now, in my head, I'm putting things together between the movie and the book to make the perfect ending. Already I'm having trouble remembering what was so bad when it seems so perfect in my head. It wasn't so much the suicide scene. It was the narrator being dead afterwards. What the fuck? Nevermind that he could never have lived a normal life after all that, but couldn't he have tried? I guess Mr. Palahniuk did what he had to do.
I'm going to read some essays on the book and see if I can't come to grips with this. That always helped me appreciate something I didn't like in college. Just reading some paper that someone had worked so hard on, analyzing something I hated, it was inspiring and made me want to keep reading.
Onward and upward on the Chuck books! They're still better than fantasy literature. Can't decide which one is next though. They all sound so good! Still, Stranger Than Fiction was the best so far.

Waka Ron

In the morning
drinks are far
more wet.
____

I can't believe you called.
It was sweet.
____

She'll squeel
as it hops,
and go hopping.
____

Mirrors had to be broken
for her to see.
____

Lifting the box
Realized I missed us now.
____

This scar
This is just another bad day.
____

These slipped and deep kisses
go away.
____

Be brave from afar
never to drunk dial

?

Pretty sure I figured one thing out today.

No!

This should be for handicapped people and old people that cannot open a can, jar, bottle, etc.... Yet, they're selling it to, ummmm, middle aged people and kids. No. No more. Enhance your fucking forearms and open a god damn bottle, or I'll fly over and hit you. In the temple. Doesn't matter where you are. I'll hear the whimpering and wheezing and find you.

Friday, August 17th

Scream. Scream until the acid churns again and rises up and out. Drain yourself. Drain yourself of whatever this is growing and chewing its way into your head. Your head that's lost silence and hope and any semblance of satisfaction. Your head that only clears around 4:45 in the morning, when you don't need it, and won't remember it. Silence means so much to someone such as myself, and now it's all noise and churning. It's showers that run cold after hours of stinging water that could block out the noise if you could clear your head enough to think about clearing it, but all you want is her face in your mind. You want that smile back, and the glimpse of privacy. Here's that old pain again, and it's welcome.

NASA

Off the cuff science since 1958.

Soon

Not to be totally deceitful, but I don't officially work for American Airlines yet. By saying officially, I mean they do not have my tax information, and if I were to never show up at their office again they would not be able to track me down. That's a comforting feeling the more I look into this job that seemed to answer all my problems - namely joblessness.
So, why have I not learned my city codes (foreign and domestic) yet? You know how you just get feelings about things sometimes? It's a full time job. Starting pay is upwards of nine something an hour. Insurance? Sure, it's there. Kind of the way Jesus is always supposed to be with us: you may pray and pray, but in the end you're going to have to do a lot of the work. Paid time off? Nope. Why? I would only be a lowly call center worker. What do I need time off for. The longer I work the more time I accrue to use as vacation, but no pay. In the end, it's a shifty job for people that can't do any better.
What am I doing at home still? Trying to do better. A friend of my mom hooked me up with this lady that works in the lab at Rex Hospital, and I've met with her about a position growing cultures in the Microbiology lab, which would be totally schweet. (That's the nerd voice for those of you without imaginative reading skills.) I get to mess with people's blood and pee and stools and that is totally awesome to me for some odd reason. And I can sense what you're thinking. "Ian likes to touch poop?" Yes. Always have. Your poop. I've just kept it on the LD.
Plus, I'd get to wear scrubs to work every day and a lab coat with my name in it. Not on it, because doctors get that. But, it would be emblazoned on the tag of the coat. And I'd get all kinds of latex gloves to wear all day. It's a very tempting job and I hope I can land it. The woman I spoke with said that unless someone applies that has "14 years of experience and wants to go back to plating samples" I would probably get the job. That was inspiring. It's across the street. It pays two to three dollars more an hour, and it has excellent benefits. I'd have to work some weekends, but some is better than working all holidays and weekends.
What happens when I get a job? I'm finally buying a car! So I can come to your house. So I can drive around town in the late hours and ease my mind listening to Gotan Project remixes or similar. Right now, I'm pretty set on a Yaris. Cheap, easy to maintain, and great gas mileage.
Soon I'll have a life outside the house.

Almost like the old days

It's hard to top driving around with the windows down on the first cool night of the summer with two very old friends and Deftones' "White Pony" on the stereo. What a comfortable life.

projects

Here are some samples of some writing I've been doing. The first bit is something Molli drafted me to do. It's a sea shanty, and this is the chorus I've come up with.

Under a cross all done up with rope
I'll be workin' here towin' the line
For to pay for the day
When my ship finds the way
Though I still drag these coat tails behind.

And the other thing is silly really. I was just riding in the car with Martha and there was the Saturday night bluegrass show on WUNC, and I started to sing words to go with it. It came out:

I get my candy from the candy sto'
Got my hand stuck in the bow'
Lady said, "You're not doin' that right."
And we made love and danced all night.

Martha thought it was good so I figured I better write it down.

Mi Casita

Veggie quesadillas with beans and a side of rice.

Dark Knight

The new Batman movie will probably be the coolest so far. First, it won't have any of that origin stuff that some people had a problem with in Batman Begins. Despite the origin stuff being cool in my eyes, and somewhat accurate to the comics, a lot of people complain about it. Ra's al Ghul was an okay character, and it would be cool to see him come back in every other movie. The way he usually showed up behind all the major plots in the 90's cartoon. And if they start showing the Lazarus pit that would be even cooler. Okay, secondly, fuckin' Joker's in it. No more needs to be said. And it's rumored that this is going to be the crazy, psychopathic, throw an acid soaked pie in your face and then make fun of the result Joker. A darker Joker for a darker time. He's by far my favorite villain. Begins ruined Scarecrow when they had a real opportunity to make him awesome. I mean, they were close with the straitjacket at the end, but then he got tasered in the face and disappeared. So, you know he's probably locked up in Arkham in this new movie, but will he get darker than all the other villains (with the exception of Joker)? Who knows. All I can hope is that this Gotham will be the dark place that was always so scary for the citizens that they never really left the 50's. Batman's toys kept upgrading and then the citizens would be driving Studebakers. Still, I do know that I'm excited about the trailers I've seen.

This is the official trailer:




And these are two pretty good fan made trailers with some good footage of the new movie:

After that, I guess all that's left is to check out the IMDB page for the movie. A little more information:

(Plus, if anyone knows the brand of knife he's using in this picture, I'm interested in knowing.)

A letter from Sharon Olds to Laura Bush.

Dear Mrs. Bush,

I am writing to let you know why I am not able to accept your kind invitation to give a presentation at the National Book Festival on September 24, or to attend your dinner at the Library of Congress or the breakfast at the White House.
In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The idea of speaking at a festival attended by 85,000 people is inspiring! The possibility of finding new readers is exciting for a poet in personal terms, and in terms of the desire that poetry serve its constituents--all of us who
need the pleasure, and the inner and outer news, it delivers. And the concept of a community of readers and writers has long been dear to my heart.
As a professor of creative writing in the graduate school of a major university, I have had the chance to be a part of some magnificent outreach writing workshops in which our students have become teachers.
Over the years, they have taught in a variety of settings: a women's prison, several New York City public high schools, an oncology ward for children. Our initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for the severely physically challenged, has been running now for twenty years, creating along the way lasting friendships between young MFA candidates and their students--long-term residents at the hospital who, in their humor, courage and wisdom, become our teachers.
When you have witnessed someone non-speaking and almost non-moving spell out, with a toe, on a big plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new poem, you have experienced, close up, the passion and essentialness of writing.
When you have held up a small cardboard alphabet card for a writer who is completely non-speaking and non-moving (except for the eyes), and pointed first to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get to the first letter of the first word of the first line of the poem she has
been composing in her head all week, and she lifts her eyes when that letter is touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy the human drive for creation, self-expression, accuracy, honesty and wit--and the importance of writing, which celebrates the value of each person's
unique story and song.
So the prospect of a festival of books seemed wonderful to me. I thought of the opportunity to talk about how to start up an outreach program. I thought of the chance to sell some books, sign some books and meet some of the citizens of Washington, DC. I thought that I could try to find
a way, even as your guest, with respect, to speak about my deep feeling that we should not have invaded Iraq, and to declare my belief that the wish to invade another culture and another country--with the resultant loss of life and limb for our brave soldiers, and for the noncombatants in their home terrain--did not come out of our democracy but was instead a decision made "at the top" and forced on the people by distorted language, and by untruths. I hoped to express the fear that we have begun to live in the shadows of tyranny and religious chauvinism--the opposites of the liberty, tolerance and diversity our nation aspires to.
I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival in order to bear witness--as an American who loves her country and its principles and its writing--against this undeclared and devastating war.
But I could not face the idea of breaking bread with you. I knew that if I sat down to eat with you, it would feel to me as if I were condoning what I see to be the wild, highhanded actions of the Bush Administration.
What kept coming to the fore of my mind was that I would be taking food from the hand of the First Lady who represents the Administration that unleashed this war and that wills its continuation, even to the extent of permitting "extraordinary rendition": flying people to other
countries where they will be tortured for us.
So many Americans who had felt pride in our country now feel anguish and shame, for the current regime of blood, wounds and fire. I thought of the clean linens at your table, the shining knives and the flames of the candles, and I could not stomach it.

Sincerely,
Sharon Olds

Pripyat

So, I really can't explain this. I was thinking about this last night as I looked through these pictures. Why would anyone want to go to this tragic locale of Pripyat? Maybe it's the allure of something being untouched for so long. Everyone wants to go to the Galapagos. This is just a little more radioactive. Anyway, from what I've heard of people I've discussed this with, I'll be going on this trip alone.











In the end, if it's safe for a dog I'm there.

missing

After parties, going back to the dorm room and watching Food Network and eating Oreos and milk until I couldn't keep my eyes open.

somewhat independent

My friend Matt who's been my boy practically since I moved here is going out to get his mom a computer so she can hook up with family through e-mail and such. You know, cruise the interweb and all that you do. He's just going to go out and do this. Buy a computer. I'm excited to have a job. Well, a couple of jobs to be fair. This American Airlines thing, and the substitute teaching, and tutoring eventually. I'm excited to be able to pay for my girlfriend again because, as much as I'm for women's rights and all, we still live in the south and if I can't pay when we go out in a group, people look at me with these wandering eyes. Eyes that wander to my crotch and wonder how I lost my penis. Well, no more. Soon enough, I'll have all that stuff that makes me grown up. All that stuff I've been waiting for for so long! Car, job, girlfriend, friends to do stuff with, vacations, old college friends again!

lyrics

And in this dream
Tell us are you satisfied with fucking

Don't walk away
Don't walk away
Don't walk away
I'm talking to you

Love is hell
Love is hell
Love is hell
Love this

I'll tame you

Dave Matthews wrote this song after his proposal of marriage had been turned down something like three times.
I love this song.

mixing

I'm also looking for creepy songs. Shit that makes your skin crawl and want to keep looking over your shoulder. Stuff like "Hurdy Gurdy Man."

missing

Summer days playing Vice City and listening to David Byrne's "Grown Backwards," Mae's "Destination: Beautiful," and Annie Lennox's "Bare."