My Quiet Life

Quite is a euphemism for boring. I love my boring life. All the cliques apply to me. It's 5:30am and I just fed a bunch of stay cats. I have a raccoon (Frederick) who bit me three days ago. He literally bit the hand that fed him when I was grabbing his plate to put cat food on it for him. My own cat has the soul of Mussolini; a 20 pound tuxedo cat who I rescued from his deadbeat dad in Los Angeles. I never got into Nathanael West's Day of the Locust, but I remember the first sentence said people go to L.A. to die. More like they die from being there. I escaped with a tuxedo cat. My ex was such a narcissist he had to get a cat that looked like a butler.

Of course I attend Alcoholics Anonymous. Like clockwork I get dressed to go to the 5:30 meeting. I had a blog on it, but I took it down because:
a.) They really value their anonymity and someone might find this electronic diary.
b.) They brain washed me into putting my all into my recovery.
c.) Both and more that I can't think of to list as d, e, f, g, etc.

I don't work. In November I turned 37. My mid-life crisis is in high gear, so I posted a half naked photo of me in Northern California where everyone goes nude. This is my last year in Texas.

That's my quiet life. It should be boring, and I think I've earned the right to be boring by now. I took down the blog on my arrest (paranoia) but the blog about the year long fight never mentioned that the sweet D.A. was originally asking for two years of my life. I did not know this of course, because when my lawyer pulled me out of the court room to tell me I might serve a month of prison time (a lie he knew) I freaked out and- well, I'll leave it with "I freaked out."

All of 2015 was spent fighting that jail sentence. I was beyond stressed out. In my life I've only seen a few people who have reacted to stress the way that I do and usually it has something to do with their reaction to me. I just stare at them, secretly impressed as my love grows for them.

The prison sentence has been served. I've already quit one job. The stress should be over with now. After the fall. I love those three words. In Blake mythology it's the start of life on earth. We are all shattered pieces of ourselves, trying to find one another to be whole again.

In May I leave Austin. This time I'm breaking the 'A' rule. Annapolis, Albany, Arcata, Austin, Alameda (I never really lived there, just visited often while living in San Francisco.)  My moving makes me a one percenter by proxy; to San Diego. I miss my family there.

*I've decided to post photos because this is just a diary. Lucian is six years old and our next move makes it his 18th move so far. Hopefully our last.

 Our theme song is The Beatles song, The Two of Us.

Frederick is

trying to dig through concrete to get inside our home. He's not invited.

I had to add this guy. He got stuck on my kitchen screen window. 

Insomnia

And at night when it comes, in the darkest of times, I ask God-
There is a God
I just don't know Him;
My prayer is that he soften my harden heart.

Passive Aggressiveness in the English Language

I don't know how much the world has affect/afflicted me since I started this blog in late 2007. Diablo Cody said that Twitter was a joke (actual words: A Circle Jerk), because every word has to be written perfectly because of political correctness. Since I read her book, "Candy Girl", and I respected her written word so much, I was inspired when she said that she missed the age of the Blog. Well baby, I never had a Twitter account.

Side Note: When my apartment manager is telling residents to vote for Donald Trump simple because, "[I] am tired of all this Political Correctness!" we have stormy weather coming.

There are a few blogs left in me, and this one is a long time coming. It's basically a essay in response to "The Evasion English Dictionary" by Maggie Balistreri. Language is all we have to communicate ideas that are not primal (dancing, sex for base engagement). From reading her short book on the topic of skirting what you are saying, I took from it that its more proper to add a lot of 'pleases' and silence rather then get to the fucking point.

Another side note: I'll admit in some of her examples she seems presumptuous rather then correct. But the main idea stays: People are cowardly communicators. Why? Someone wrote our language that way? Why? That I do not know. Why? Because the only language I have a handle on is American English. I don't know if people in general share passive behavior embedded in all language, or if American English does alone and as a result, weird side effects occur: Like forming an ARMY that is the largest industrial complex in the world and not referring to its employers as 'killbots.'

Here is one example of Balistreri's book: The "LIKE" in a sentence. As in "filler like" 
Translation: I finished my sentence.
Example 1:
-How could you do that? I  mean, I went out of my way to meet you there, and then you didn't show, and you didn't even call, and it was like...
Example 2:
Let's see if we can't work something out. I have to go to my supervisor to approve this raise, and she's gonna ask me what you've done for the company to distinguish yourself, and I'm gonna be like....

Get it? Make no mistake that Balistreri is trying to be funny, but there is something that sits heavily in the pit of my stomach when I stopped laughing. In a broader form of examples like the two above, what we are getting is a lack of communication and a sarcasm that is not kind, nor direct.

A few more examples: BUT
But= bu(llshi)t
Example 1:
I see your point...bu(llshi)t I think we should do it this way.
Example 2:
I'm married to a wonderful man, loving, witty, a doting father to our three children, bu(llshi)t lately I've wondered what it would be like to be single again, get a fresh start.

Lets try whatever
the self-pitying whatever
Translation: Why do I always have to be the martyr?
Example 1:
Never mind that I'm the one who came up with the idea in the first place, but whatever. 
Example 2:
I don't know why its called a group project because I did all the work, but whatever.

Or: The doubting thomas whatever
Example 1:
It's over. She actually gave me the It's-not-you-it's-me line. Whatever.

Lets try sensitive=insensitive 
Example 1:
I had to walk out of the movie. It was too sad. It would have just made me cry and cry and cry. You have to understand; I'm really sensitive. 

Side Note: It's worth pointing out that Martin, my friend and fellow Linguistic student said that above sentence alone shows a presumptive nature that he did not agree with in this book. Also, I thought Martin was hot.

Another example: The oh, well 
The passive-aggressive never battles, and never loses. 
Example 1:
Wow. That's a pretty good raise. You must be a better negotiator than I am. Oh, well. 

Last example: like
the betrayer like
Translation: I lie.
We like, fell in love on the spot.
I was so upset I cried for like, three days.
You bring up a good point, and I like, totally sympathize with you; however...

Okay, one more for real, because it's funny:
Like
The cowardly like
Translation: I disagree. That is, if it's okay.
Example:
I don't want to like, tell you what to do, but it just doesn't sound, like nice.
Did you like, misspell that? [fuck it, says this blog writer.]

I'm passive-aggressive. Last example:
Like
The undercutting like
Translation: I'm not smart; I'm cool. I don't know where I picked up that knowledge.
Example 1:
I think he meant it like, metaphorically.
Example 2: That was by like, Beethoven.
Example 3: I think it's like, N-i-e-t-z, then, s-c-h-e, or something. I don't know.

Okay, really!
Hate
hate=have
Translation: It's not grudging, it's begrudging.
Example 1:
I hate to say I'm holding out for something better...
Example 2:
The dress was nice enough. I mean, it's not that. It's just, well, I hate to say she's fat...

A favorite whatever:
The faltering cliche whatever
Translation: Insert psychobabble here.
Example:
I thought it was gonna help me work through my inner demons, or emotional wounds or whatever. It didn't.

Everyone's favorite whatever:
the minced oath whatever
Translation: Fuck you.
Example 1:
I tried to explain that my computer crashed but she's such a bitch, she just said she didn't believe me and that she was gonna give me an F. I said, "Whatever," and left her office.
Example 2:
Big fat cop pulls me over and he's all, "Son, do you realize how fast you were going, I'm gonna have to give you a ticket." and I was just, whatever.

-------------------
Point being, this is the norm in conversation. Balistreri speculations are fun and often funny, but also often true. Linguist Steve Pinkerton once asked, "Why do we ask someone we are interested in, "Can you pass the salt? Rather then saying, "After this dinner, do you want to fuck?" Here is my question, in this blog that I've been meaning to write about how we as humans communicate in whatever geographical region suits our customs: If language is all we have to communicate, does vague speech and cryptic dialog affect our daily connections more adversely because it's more negative and passive aggressive?

There are certain books, people, and concepts that fit a stage of one's life perfectly, like a missing puzzle piece. This book came at a time when I began to think that I was hard on myself because for decades I believed I deserved nothing better. It was a supernova of a breakthrough in therapy. So for two weeks I spoke with direct eye contact. With a sincere smile. I said what I meant and I hid behind nothing. Because honestly, I can act tough, but I know that people will bury us yet people can be our salvation, when we want to be saved. So I let my real self shine on for fourteen entire days. At the time, my happiness eventually annoyed my (now ex) fiancee, and he pulled the rug out from under me with a hateful comment.
I lost my confidence after that. Giving people power so that a hateful comment can make me lose my footing makes me question whether I am faking it.

James Joyce's famous last words were: "Does no one understand?"
I'd rather mine be, "I love you all."- Said at an old age, surrounded by loved ones.

A classic tangent.
Fuck Twitter too.
I am maladjusted; that seems to sell tickets.

When Intellectuals Throw Down

I've been wanting to put this video up for a while now, because there has been a lot of hype about William F. Buckley as of late due to a memoir that has been written by his son, Christopher. Before I talk, maybe I should pick up one of his books. But my time is restricted to reading books I know are not written by possible antisemitics, so instead I am posting this so we can all have a good hearty laugh at his stuffy accent. Gore Vidal sued Buckley for public slander (he was called a homosexual by Buckley.) Vidal had affairs with Anais Nin, as well as some men. An interesting fact about the feud between Buckley and Vidal is that it never ended. When asked how he felt about Buckley Jr.'s death by a New York Times reporter, Vidal responded, ""I thought hell is bound to be a livelier place, as he joins forever those whom he served in life, applauding their prejudices and fanning their hatred"

My Hope...

Zev Rathe at seven weeks

Short and Sweet

I've always told my friends that the only qualification I have for a partner is that they can always beat me in speed chess.

I'm not interested in playing Twister. 

One Answer to Cynicism

Dear Rose,

Word has gotten around about your desire to do some guitar playing.
Well, you will need a guitar, hence my little brown friend.

I found him for sale in a parking lot at a Grateful Dead show in Atlanta
around 1987. I had flown into Atlanta for the shows (there were two) and I
was desperate for a guitar so as to join in on the parking lot jamming that
was a trademark event at all Dead show parking lots.

I bought him from a New York Deadhead who needed money for gas to
get home. His history before then is a mystery, but being found in a Dead
show parking lot helps to give the guitar great MoJo.

He hasn't been doing much lately, so I cleaned him up and strung him
with very light strings. Still, your finger tips will get a little sore until you
build up some callouses.

He's not a particularly "great" guitar, but he's friendly and eager to be
used. I would move up to medium lights as soon as your fingers can take it
as he won't sound his best with the light set I put on him.

I'm sure he'll be a good guitar to learn on. He is modest and earnest.
(something we could never say about an electric guitar)

He will need to come back home one day, but only after you've tired of
him or have upgraded to a better axe. When you are done with him, just
leave him leaning up somewhere in the front of the shop and I'll see him
and bring him home.

You might want a tuning fork, the little music shop near your shop will
have one and they can show you how to tune with one.

Have fun and don't worry about bumps and scratches.

Enjoy!

Anonymous

P.S.His name is Harvey, like the big white rabbit. (I think he was a Pooka
before becoming a guitar or he may still be a Pooka pretending to be a
guitar. If you're not sure what a Pooka is, rent the old Jimmy Stewart movie,
"Harvey")

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The above letter was taped to a guitar in the office of the restaurant that I worked at for 5 years.
I'm fairly positive I know who the person is behind the awesomeness. One day I was working and moody, and a musician asked me what was wrong. I wanted a guitar, but I told him I'd never be able to afford one. That was about five months before this generous deed. I knew his wife as well. Both very unpretentious, beautiful souls in an environment of snobbery and pretense (Annapolis is the Yacht capital of the country, if not the world.)

After this gift, I never saw either the musician or his wife again. He wanted nothing from me at all. Just to help make me a happier person. The following day I posted a handwritten thank you note on the cafe door with a rose. It stormed that day, and I found my gushing thanks you letter near a storm drain, soaked and illegible.

The timing of this anonymous guitar was divine. There are some things that are too personal (or controversial) even for this blog. But it gave me such hope, when I was in the ninth circle of hell. This man will never know how much that meant to me, and that is the only sad aspect to this story.