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Jun. 17th, 2017 11:16 pmI started fucking about with pictures to post and comment at but then I thought nah, fuck it, blog. Diary.
Today my cousin got married, it was sweet. In Akron. I rented a car for the weekend and it was alright.
So that goes like this - I take the train to the airport after work on thursday - on thursday work got weird/stupid as the exchange server went down - and at 4:30 - I'm all, I gotta go! I gotta! Cause of this car waiting for me across town at the airport. So I go get a car and drive home and then my usual thursday dinner with Kid Agatha ends up not happening. So I work remote and resolve the Exchange server going down and people have emails again - except some of the automated email system isn't right - so my boss texts me about it and asks me to go in early and I'm all. . cursing? Under my breath style - but whatever. And then, also - I have this car now.
So I goi in early in this car I got, and there's really no problem with the automation but there's other problems - I'm in a weird place at work - somewhere between enjoying it and hating it because of... Really because my boss is so fucking temperamental. It's weird - but it's so - he's super moody and it puts us all off anymore. I hope he figures his shit out because he was close to a mutiny/mass exodous - we talked about by the smoking area. Where we conspire.
Anyhow - it went okay - friday. I get home and silly A's mom is silly & makes weird issues - lateness. But in the end kiddo comes walking down the street. (Maybe this isn't in my diary but my ex lives like a block from me, and kiddo goes walking around - when she feels like it - which isn't often - she's got more inertia even than me - but I try not to whine about it - she's just a kid, growing.) Anyhow she comes walking down the street strumming her ukulele and I run at my car and she runs at me and it's funny. We race accross town and go to a party of Egyptians whcih is NICE.
Beshamel - I dunno if you ever have this? Macaroni - like, severely overcooked, and some kind of cream sauce and fried up meat baked up as a casserole - they have this every time - and Kufta - so effing good. And the fried chicken - I wish I knew how aunties make their fried chicken. Anyhow- food is good - my cousins in from out of town and their little kids - one of them is having a birthday.
We sing for him and it's cute- he's 6. Little, for one of us - he's about the size of my sister's 4 year old - he and his sister are both elfy & small, adorable - they're brave though. I'm talking at one of my other out of town cousins, a great one, who I don't know well. She's in the uniformed service- which is interesting because I learn that if you're part of a certain branch of the federal health service you're actually considered like, part of the armed forces? Sort of? She has a rad uniform and answers to one of the surgeon generals and also Obama shook her hand once. We talk about leaded gasoline as a cause of the peak in urban violence in the 90's and I comment about these little kids- well, they're sure brave & bold - because as groups of people go, they don't come mouch more intimidating than us.
Today - me and A drive off to Bob Evans for breakfast because they have those pancakes that are insane, and also it's a couple of miles away so having a car... it's an easy lifestyle thing - I think about how it'd be maybe okay, I think about it. We're leaving after stuffing ourselves on rad pancakes full of cinamon and this lady is talking at me about how I'm all tall, and then she says her husband is tall and her six daughters are all tall and one just turned 14 & is 6 feet and we make a little small talk, and it's... okay. I bet her 14 year old daughter is already bored of strangers getting at her about her height - but Whatever! It's a net positive interaction & I don't have dislike - but A starts saying - she feels bad she isn't 6 feet tall, and I say - but you're taller than your mother, how tall are you? Because I quit measuring when she hit 4' - for unfortunate reasons involving the sadder aspects of my life - but we figure she's 5'10" now - and also 14 and that's not bad. She'll make six feet, I promise her. So if the kids in the crowd are bigtalls and the bigtalls of the crowd are ferocious staring dark-eyed folk with excellent eybrows & furious sense? Those are brave kids to show no fear. I've scared a lot of children in my time without wanting to.
But my people are sweet, and those of my generation are even better than our forebearers, It's incredibly gratifying to see that. As the eldest of my generation I do feel a certain... duty. They're doing fine and I'm by no means an authority - too far an outlier.
We come home and it's nice I show off my latest book which came back from the printer with a shitty problem - all the pages are printed in negative - which sucks. If you make books & get Fucking Frustrated by putting them together - it's not neat when there's a printing problem.
Oh funny story - It's been really hot. We stopped by the store we always stop by to get beers and the guy there, I'm friendly with him, he's looking downtrodden & it's late - I figure I'm not gonna sock away a 6 pack (when kid is around, you dig?) and offer him some. Usually, walking home, there's enough beggars on hand that I can forgo worries about alcoholism because I always make it home with 5 or 4 instead of 6. Anyhow I offer some to him and he's Into It. But can't on camera and he gives me a secret bag and tells me to put them in this bag in a hidden location in the parking lot. Of course I fucking do it.
One thing about the livejournal. And facebook. Life even, but the documented life. I talk to people and they're... the word I use is cowards, but I feel like it's an even deeper moral failing. That they're just defeated, and they see every other person as somehow having a hand in defeating them. And I think this business about sneaking beers in a secret spot in a parking lot is a story that would repeated & whispered by a lot of the people I know and thought of as a Big Deal. And I almost forgot it happened because - of course you want the dude who sells you beer on a hot summer day to have a cold beer. Shit's not hard, if you don't make it be.
Today though - the wedding - and Agatha's got a little outfit but no shoes, so we head back out into the car-world to buy shoes, and that's an expensive & aggravating journey - because of traffic & parking lots & the Whole Nonsense of living in a world of cars & I remember that I really, in my heart, do not want one. And shoes were got and we go to Akron & make the scene and it's sweet - too religious - but sweet.
I sit with A and my Aunties at the back since we were basically late - and I whisper blasphemy pointing out how the preacher makes the thing be about jesus & god before it's about the two people getting fucking married - I point out how it's their charlatan duty to try to subborn all the good in your life & make even pure & sacred things subordinate to their goddammed snake-oil.
Then I write "Don't give these liars anything" on the offering envelopes in the church - so when you open the envelope to put in a check or cash - you'll see it. This is what I do whenever I am at church. I get so fucking mad.
As a CHA build myself I see the preacher as a terrible, wicked person, someone wihtout dignity or prspects who uses conviction & the fear of others to cobble together a tacky little kind of authority.
Naturally I can forgive a good preacher - but when's the last time you saw one of those? No one's an artist anymore.
Then we go dancing and are recieved.
My old Father. So the thing of him is. He is dying. And that's nearly impossible for me to bear or consider. It's a weird horrible shadow over everything but I am me & how I am, so I laugh & try and have a good time & just feel The Worst about it without really letting on. It's my way. I'm good with how my way is.
Poor guy is having the worst of it though - because, right, he's loosing his mind, and so has to rely on my mother & my Mother. Isn't... Clutch. My mother is all kinds of ways that are basiclaly alien to me, she's indecipherable, but her weird ideas afflict us all.
At the party I go looking for my dad and my mom is yelling, really yelling with her horror-mask angry face at him. I step in. What's wrong? And kind of dismiss her. He'd been too greedy at the cookie bar, is what she got on about - what she was getting crazy over. I'm thinking. The old man is fucking dying. Let him be greedy about the fucking cookie bar. Let him have five slices of cake, Jesus Christ.
And then it's time to go - my kid is a wallflower so we skate at 9, me thinking - Jesus Christ. But also, my knee kind of hurts and I can probably only dance for 3 consecutive songs before needing a break & feeling suddenly quite exhausted & middle aged.
Last time we had a car and went out of town - to columbus, we were coming back on a Saturday night & put on the classic rock station where they take weird saturday night requests & we ended up hearing a pretty weird song that we kept on thinking about and joking over. So we're listening to it again, because that's how that goes & she realizes that there's a request line & that people call in and they play their requests & she is Blown Away by this - that you can call the radio and ask them to play a song - and she does, and they take her call, and... They don't play her song before we make it home & there's a rush for making the bathroom & of course I don't have a radio in my house because... I have the internet? So she got the joy of making a request and the weird experience of having the DJ not play it. (I'm reminded of calling the station all the time to scream Ministry! at the hapless DJ who absolutley was over my bullshit before he even had me bother him once). But this is a little document, in the end, of a weird & bygone time, when you could get on the phone and have someone play a record for you. Do you remember that? Yourself?
Today my cousin got married, it was sweet. In Akron. I rented a car for the weekend and it was alright.
So that goes like this - I take the train to the airport after work on thursday - on thursday work got weird/stupid as the exchange server went down - and at 4:30 - I'm all, I gotta go! I gotta! Cause of this car waiting for me across town at the airport. So I go get a car and drive home and then my usual thursday dinner with Kid Agatha ends up not happening. So I work remote and resolve the Exchange server going down and people have emails again - except some of the automated email system isn't right - so my boss texts me about it and asks me to go in early and I'm all. . cursing? Under my breath style - but whatever. And then, also - I have this car now.
So I goi in early in this car I got, and there's really no problem with the automation but there's other problems - I'm in a weird place at work - somewhere between enjoying it and hating it because of... Really because my boss is so fucking temperamental. It's weird - but it's so - he's super moody and it puts us all off anymore. I hope he figures his shit out because he was close to a mutiny/mass exodous - we talked about by the smoking area. Where we conspire.
Anyhow - it went okay - friday. I get home and silly A's mom is silly & makes weird issues - lateness. But in the end kiddo comes walking down the street. (Maybe this isn't in my diary but my ex lives like a block from me, and kiddo goes walking around - when she feels like it - which isn't often - she's got more inertia even than me - but I try not to whine about it - she's just a kid, growing.) Anyhow she comes walking down the street strumming her ukulele and I run at my car and she runs at me and it's funny. We race accross town and go to a party of Egyptians whcih is NICE.
Beshamel - I dunno if you ever have this? Macaroni - like, severely overcooked, and some kind of cream sauce and fried up meat baked up as a casserole - they have this every time - and Kufta - so effing good. And the fried chicken - I wish I knew how aunties make their fried chicken. Anyhow- food is good - my cousins in from out of town and their little kids - one of them is having a birthday.
We sing for him and it's cute- he's 6. Little, for one of us - he's about the size of my sister's 4 year old - he and his sister are both elfy & small, adorable - they're brave though. I'm talking at one of my other out of town cousins, a great one, who I don't know well. She's in the uniformed service- which is interesting because I learn that if you're part of a certain branch of the federal health service you're actually considered like, part of the armed forces? Sort of? She has a rad uniform and answers to one of the surgeon generals and also Obama shook her hand once. We talk about leaded gasoline as a cause of the peak in urban violence in the 90's and I comment about these little kids- well, they're sure brave & bold - because as groups of people go, they don't come mouch more intimidating than us.
Today - me and A drive off to Bob Evans for breakfast because they have those pancakes that are insane, and also it's a couple of miles away so having a car... it's an easy lifestyle thing - I think about how it'd be maybe okay, I think about it. We're leaving after stuffing ourselves on rad pancakes full of cinamon and this lady is talking at me about how I'm all tall, and then she says her husband is tall and her six daughters are all tall and one just turned 14 & is 6 feet and we make a little small talk, and it's... okay. I bet her 14 year old daughter is already bored of strangers getting at her about her height - but Whatever! It's a net positive interaction & I don't have dislike - but A starts saying - she feels bad she isn't 6 feet tall, and I say - but you're taller than your mother, how tall are you? Because I quit measuring when she hit 4' - for unfortunate reasons involving the sadder aspects of my life - but we figure she's 5'10" now - and also 14 and that's not bad. She'll make six feet, I promise her. So if the kids in the crowd are bigtalls and the bigtalls of the crowd are ferocious staring dark-eyed folk with excellent eybrows & furious sense? Those are brave kids to show no fear. I've scared a lot of children in my time without wanting to.
But my people are sweet, and those of my generation are even better than our forebearers, It's incredibly gratifying to see that. As the eldest of my generation I do feel a certain... duty. They're doing fine and I'm by no means an authority - too far an outlier.
We come home and it's nice I show off my latest book which came back from the printer with a shitty problem - all the pages are printed in negative - which sucks. If you make books & get Fucking Frustrated by putting them together - it's not neat when there's a printing problem.
Oh funny story - It's been really hot. We stopped by the store we always stop by to get beers and the guy there, I'm friendly with him, he's looking downtrodden & it's late - I figure I'm not gonna sock away a 6 pack (when kid is around, you dig?) and offer him some. Usually, walking home, there's enough beggars on hand that I can forgo worries about alcoholism because I always make it home with 5 or 4 instead of 6. Anyhow I offer some to him and he's Into It. But can't on camera and he gives me a secret bag and tells me to put them in this bag in a hidden location in the parking lot. Of course I fucking do it.
One thing about the livejournal. And facebook. Life even, but the documented life. I talk to people and they're... the word I use is cowards, but I feel like it's an even deeper moral failing. That they're just defeated, and they see every other person as somehow having a hand in defeating them. And I think this business about sneaking beers in a secret spot in a parking lot is a story that would repeated & whispered by a lot of the people I know and thought of as a Big Deal. And I almost forgot it happened because - of course you want the dude who sells you beer on a hot summer day to have a cold beer. Shit's not hard, if you don't make it be.
Today though - the wedding - and Agatha's got a little outfit but no shoes, so we head back out into the car-world to buy shoes, and that's an expensive & aggravating journey - because of traffic & parking lots & the Whole Nonsense of living in a world of cars & I remember that I really, in my heart, do not want one. And shoes were got and we go to Akron & make the scene and it's sweet - too religious - but sweet.
I sit with A and my Aunties at the back since we were basically late - and I whisper blasphemy pointing out how the preacher makes the thing be about jesus & god before it's about the two people getting fucking married - I point out how it's their charlatan duty to try to subborn all the good in your life & make even pure & sacred things subordinate to their goddammed snake-oil.
Then I write "Don't give these liars anything" on the offering envelopes in the church - so when you open the envelope to put in a check or cash - you'll see it. This is what I do whenever I am at church. I get so fucking mad.
As a CHA build myself I see the preacher as a terrible, wicked person, someone wihtout dignity or prspects who uses conviction & the fear of others to cobble together a tacky little kind of authority.
Naturally I can forgive a good preacher - but when's the last time you saw one of those? No one's an artist anymore.
Then we go dancing and are recieved.
My old Father. So the thing of him is. He is dying. And that's nearly impossible for me to bear or consider. It's a weird horrible shadow over everything but I am me & how I am, so I laugh & try and have a good time & just feel The Worst about it without really letting on. It's my way. I'm good with how my way is.
Poor guy is having the worst of it though - because, right, he's loosing his mind, and so has to rely on my mother & my Mother. Isn't... Clutch. My mother is all kinds of ways that are basiclaly alien to me, she's indecipherable, but her weird ideas afflict us all.
At the party I go looking for my dad and my mom is yelling, really yelling with her horror-mask angry face at him. I step in. What's wrong? And kind of dismiss her. He'd been too greedy at the cookie bar, is what she got on about - what she was getting crazy over. I'm thinking. The old man is fucking dying. Let him be greedy about the fucking cookie bar. Let him have five slices of cake, Jesus Christ.
And then it's time to go - my kid is a wallflower so we skate at 9, me thinking - Jesus Christ. But also, my knee kind of hurts and I can probably only dance for 3 consecutive songs before needing a break & feeling suddenly quite exhausted & middle aged.
Last time we had a car and went out of town - to columbus, we were coming back on a Saturday night & put on the classic rock station where they take weird saturday night requests & we ended up hearing a pretty weird song that we kept on thinking about and joking over. So we're listening to it again, because that's how that goes & she realizes that there's a request line & that people call in and they play their requests & she is Blown Away by this - that you can call the radio and ask them to play a song - and she does, and they take her call, and... They don't play her song before we make it home & there's a rush for making the bathroom & of course I don't have a radio in my house because... I have the internet? So she got the joy of making a request and the weird experience of having the DJ not play it. (I'm reminded of calling the station all the time to scream Ministry! at the hapless DJ who absolutley was over my bullshit before he even had me bother him once). But this is a little document, in the end, of a weird & bygone time, when you could get on the phone and have someone play a record for you. Do you remember that? Yourself?
