You know it’s been a long night when you’re drinking your last beer, the sun is up, and you’re watching Good Morning America. I had a rough one last night, and the sad thing is, it didn’t take that much to send me over the edge. I wish they had an alcohol vaccine, so you could drink 28 beers and it wouldn’t do much aside from make you piss a lot. I’ve heard that if you can eat a pound of butter before you drink, you can consume about any amount within a couple of hours and still drive home, but it would be the most discomforting gastrointestinal malady you’ve ever felt.
Actually, that’s what it felt like all day today. I tried to go see Armageddon, and I stopped at McDonald’s to eat first. Half of a chicken mcnugged meal produced a new world record stomach malady, and I was almost certain I would end up in the hospital. In fact, I was driving faster than hell down I-5 toward the hospital, vowing that if I was still in pain when I got to the James St. exit, I would drive straight to Harborview ER and check in. It calmed down before that – it usually does.
Ray Miller says he wants to write a book about me writing Rumored to Exist. Not a documentary, but a weird through-his-eyes postmodern tale of horror. I am flattered, but aside from that, I think it’s one of the coolest ideas I’ve heard before. On the tale of my failed attempt at book3, it’s not so shocking, but this was completely out of the blue. Just the other day, I told Michael that I wished Ray quit everything else and started writing books. It’s not that I dislike the music stuff and the zine, but I could really see Ray turning into some kind of all-out Burroughs-esque skullfuck of a writer. So I hope he does a little work on this.
I think I’m back on Rumored to Exist now, but not at this second. I need to keep working though.
And I need to eat now. Chicken noodle soup, maybe? We’ll see.
It’s the Fourth of July. My opinion:
I’m not anti-society, society’s anti-me
I’m not anti-religion, religion is anti-me
I’m not anti-tradition, tradition is anti-me
I’m not anti-anything, I just wanna be free
I’m hoping that while all of the idiots are watching fireworks, I’ll be able to watch movies in an empty theatre.
It’s been three years since I pulled into town, which seems sort of weird. It seems like thirty years ago in a way, but sometimes it doesn’t. Last night, I was watching old episodes of ROX, a show that Bart Everson and a few other people made for public access. The shows I have on tape are from 1994, and remind me a lot of that summer – that era: running around in my Mustang with Larry, working at the support center, trying to find a comfortable spot in the mediocrity of Indiana that I could call my own. The ROX gang seemed to have this weird pseudo-hippie commune of cool people doing cool things, and I was always envious of that. It seemed like both me and Larry tried to find other things or activities that would make our pathetic lives seem more Kerouac-like (or GG Allin-like, or Irwin Rommel-like, or whatever.) The ultimate act of adventure finally happened when both of us left town, sick of Bloomington and eager to find that safe haven in a real city.
I guess I haven’t found that yet, although I haven’t tried as hard as I did in the summer of 1994. My life here in Seattle could’ve probably happened in Bloomington, except for my job. I don’t leave the house much, and I could easily type away at a computer in the Varsity Villas as I could here. Bloomington now has a Barnes and Noble, and there’s a few places to buy CDs. But I do like it here better. It’s just a matter of getting out and doing stuff. I think next year, I am moving into a place in the student ghetto near UW. I want a single apartment or maybe a 2-bedroom house, with no roommates, but I want to be close to the action. I want to be able to walk to the Ave on a Saturday afternoon, eat some shitty Chinese food, and buy some good used books and CDs, while checking out the sights and sounds. That’s what I miss about Bloomington, and I want to be close to it. Close to all of the wannabe poets and people in weird grad programs I’ve never heard of, studying dead languages and talking about postmodern deconstrution as flippantly as an Indiana resident might discuss NASCAR.
It’s 2:46 and I haven’t eaten or showered. Time to get on it.
The rockets are red glaring over lake union. I just went on the deck here at the apartment, and I had a beautiful view of the shitty dreariness of skyscraper park, which blocked my view of the aerials. Oh well, saw ’em last year.
Three years. I never celebrated anniversaries when I was in Bloomington, since there were so many gaps of living in my mom’s basement here and there. When I started my first good run, it ended and I moved here. But three years ago was The Big Rebirth, when I planned to change it all – write books, meet women, buy stuff, live the life. And now, 1096 days later, I’m depressed as hell because I haven’t.
The only other anniversary that causes me this much grief is October 30. That’s the night, in 1993, that Tanya left me, and started what became a minor Big Rebirth. Every year after that, I celebrated another year of singularity – not just to whine “I still don’t have a girlfriend”, but to signify that I was drifting deeper and deeper into the abyss. And even in 1997, when I had a girlfriend, I celebrated in the strangest way possible – I flew back to Bloomington. Yes, when I planned my fall visit last year, it wasn’t scheduled because of my new nephew or Simms’ kick-ass party or the weather or my work schedule. I specifically flew back so I could be in Bloomington on October 30, 1997. And each year, no matter how far I’ve gone, I haven’t done anything if I still think about that date. I don’t even remember what she looks like anymore, but I still have to stop and think about how much things have changed since.
July 4 is different, usually because I’m around other people and watching fireworks and eating barbeque and I don’t think about this stuff. But this year, I didn’t have any plans and it rained, and I sat in my apartment eating a turkey pot pie and replaying the last three years in my mind. I never wrote the books – I’m still stalled with the same two that are always on the roster. I’m single, through no fault of my own, but I don’t think that was in the original plan. I’ve bought some stuff and paid some bills, but I’m probably just as much in debt now as I was in 1995. I can count my friends in this town one one hand, and I don’t feel like I’m part of some tight-knit community or even a loose circle of friends. I could go on like this but it gets ugly – the point is, it feels that in three years, I’ve accomplished what the average human could do in a few days. It makes me wonder what I should do in the next year to change that.
Whew. I saw Armageddeon today. I could see why reviewers are panning it, but I thought it was a pretty kick-ass movie. Very funny, very edge-of-the-seat, and it really pulled at your gut. It was way better than Deep Impact, in my opinion. Of course, Deep Impact didn’t have Liv Tyler…
Time to get to work. If the fireworks traffic wasn’t blocking the whole damn universe, I’d go for a little midnight drive. Maybe I will a bit later…