Sunday, October 29, 2006

I will bore myself healthy

It is a setence that i have actually said to myself out loud a number of times this week. The whole point was that I was going to somehow write about what this meant to me.

SOmehow derive a point that not only was entertaining but also enlightening. It was going ot make you sit up and take notice.

The one sentence was going ot make you start cheering for me each time i decided to get up off my ass from a job that is slowing sucking my soul and run for an hour or do afew crunches.

Instead, as i say it to myself over and over with each rythmic pounding of my feet on a treadmill i find it to more depressing.

I have gotten to a point in my life where the excess and the party has ended.

I quit drinking two weeks ago. I becasme to much for me.

I was tired of feeling sick and all I was doing was making myself sick every night of the week.

BUt that does not explain my sudden desire to want to run and lift weights like the scrwball meat heads that I see every night at the gym at the same time

10 p.m. lats. 11 p.m. glutes

It is a system that not even the biggest of weight-and-ballance clocks could disrupt.

But this is not about those sorry animals who measure their worth by the amount they bench press. Fuck no, this is my rant about where I am.

I turned whatever this frutration with my co-workers and the people around me (which are few and far between) and have turned into a raw energy that allows me to run 2 miles every night for 10 mins at a time.

Its kind of sad to think that it took this kind desperation to want to work out. Then again, as i said before, I am jsut bored.

I have nothing better to do with my time than to run and pump and do something that does not invovoeld me force feeding myself fried foods or beer.

It something that i have done to keep my mind from wandering about all the self doubt that has kept me from being social or trying to actually meet people.

Fuck, who needs people. I got my 2 miles.

I got time where i can fade into a headset of music and thoughts from the past day.

We got a new person on the desk. Another woman. I don't know why I have become so frightened to talk to people all of a sudden.

I avoided her so i did not have to introduce myself. she sits directly acrosss from me at the City Desk, but i maamnged top pretend to be busy that i did not look up from my computer or notes long enough to even say hi.

I escaped at 7 p.m. and went stright to the gym Maybe to punish myself for being rude....maybe becasue i did not want to sit alone at home eating noodles and tomato sause...maybe becasue i am too cheap to even buy that and decided to jsut skip dinner all together.

Whatever the reason, I run now. no emotion, jsut sweat and sore muscles. You want ot feel pain, bench press your own weight.

I run listening to songs sung by a dead man.

I did not know this man, nor is there any literature on him. Only the stores that were told to me about his life before he took his own.

Its good music.

Not that anyone would know that. He is not famous or known for his music. He is just another man. Another man who got bored and found something to do.

He bored himself talented.

If only i could bore myself a personality again.

Monday, October 16, 2006

You will want to sit down for this.

Are you sitting?

Becasue what I am about to tell you flies in the face of everything that I have learned in my few fragile and woeful years on this rock.

What I am about to say will shatter any exposed reality that bobbs along this sea of lae like a jagged ice berg waitning, hoping, praying or te next ship to silently slide by o take it down into the murky depths of truth.

Oh sweet jesus, merely typing this makes me want to tear my hair out beat myself to death with my shoe.

I joined a gym.

Not jsut some backwater shed with a few tredmills and weights. No, I joined a really swanky place with pulsing loud music and neon bright lithgs shouting things like "LIVE STRONG" and "BE HEALTHY"

The employees wear matching track suits and have clean cut hair with noy piercings. As soon as I walked in - still wearing my dress clothes from work.

I was completly out of place with everyone wearing their wok out accessories and me in khakies and curdory jacket.

I was well dresed for teh financial raping I was about to endure.

At least the she was gentle. She smiled teh entire time she told me it was going to cost 30 bucks a month to join, but for only a little bit more I could get a personal trainer...

"I would do this ifyou really want to get into shape..." she would say smiling clearly not ever having to experience such a thing as strech marks.

I have strechmakrs - the last person who i saw with strech marks like this was a methed out stripper just south of Wichita. I refuse to become that.

I was marked a sucker from the momentt I walked in. So i somehow got signed up for not only a personal trainer, months worth of shakes, nutient bars and vitiamins but also the use of the racquette ball courts.

I don't fucking play recquet ball..i probaly never will.

My goal though - lose 60 lbs.

Was this vain of me. Probalby in some sence. But i hope the 600 buck i droped tonight will motivate me to make some damned use of it.

Otherwise, i am jsut fat, retarded and now broke.

Sunday, October 15, 2006


My new bar, Bogarts - where white trash meets lower-middle class - I have gotten into hte nasty habit of tearing up my coasters.

This was such a problem at the ole stomping grounds, The 'Berg, that the girls fianlly quit bringing me coasters. Yes, they recognized me and knew to stop feeding the beast.

You could always tell when we had a new waitress becasue she would bring everyone in my group a coaster and by the nedo fhte pitcher I would have shredded them like it was my job.

Well, the bartenders at Bogarts caught on really quickly when I started folding my coaster and began to tear it down the middle.

"Shit, if you leave that in a little leaf pile next to your tip, I am going ot run you down with my car," The waitress said as I was trying to live through the 45-7 smoack down my Cheifs were enduring. I was in no mood to mess with this woman. She and I had a slight recognition thing going on after only my second time in the bar.

I think it was becasue we went to high school together. She sort of remembers seeing me, I sort of remember he r being pregnant. It was kind of akward to bring up.

"Sorry. Bad habit."

So from now on she vowed to only bring my napkinds as a coaster.

For some reason, I do not tear up napkins. I will crumple them up and bat them around and eventually throw them away. But void are napkins to my shredding and OCD fate I deem on them.

My new habit, I have noticed at bars here, is to write on naptikns. I will write anyhting and everything. a constant note taking and documenting.

The songs that were playing. The people in my eye-sight. The conversations swirling around me.

But at this end of this week I noticed I hads stuffed a few in my coat pockets.

And so I submit them, off spellings and all, here as my story:

1: Even mad men and fools utter lines that history will remember.

2: Big Head Tod
Stevie Nicks
Janis Joplin
Bob Dylan
Led Zepplin

3: FRiday, October 13 @ The Record Bar. Roman Numberals BE THERE.

4: You expect professionalism from amatures.

5: I want to preserve the dignaty of the people who have to encounter a faceless and ambigious legal system.

6: (A picture of what looks like an aneorixic Garfield) (816) 555-8106 (Editors note: the real one turned out to be a fake)

7: (Doodle of what looked like some star ship) - Bamma

As I read back over some of these it makes my life seem kind of interesting. But really, if you heard the stories that i know behind each of these (in no particualr order) then you will realize that I am still that coaster shredding freak you have known all along.


Thursday, October 12, 2006

My one friend in Independence.

Drunken men find flaws in silence
Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with jsut voices
Your words in my memory
Were like music to me
I'm miles from where you are.

You would kill me if I told you where that came from. So, tonight it will go unattributed, though any smart man with a half sence for internet research and the abilty for music might know.

Fuck, my ability to care about what people think has overtaken every inch of my being, my living here in IndepMo, the real world.

For Morethna four months, I have lived in a cripple state of being knowing that it would take only one night out, a simply foray in the bars and night clubs this subrubs on the outskirks of Kansas City - the wrong side of the tacks from everyhting good - to actually find friends and people who seem interested in the sotries I tell and life i lead.

Instead I became a hermit living my life in at work and at home. My new home has become too drab for me to want to remain here and work has become a palce that I want to be at for only the pay check.

It is the saddedstate of affairs when your job is no longer fun. When it has taken itself to the level of being a job. Maybe i ned to stop being so laid back and easy going. Maybe I need to stir up shit for the sake of stiring up shit.

The first compliment I received for even doing my job came from someon who does not work in my office. In my line of work, as a historian of Journalism and fact, that is kind of sad.

On my home tonight, though, i fianlly conqured whatever self made fears i had about going out and decided to sit at a bar during happy hour. It was the first time i did this by myself since graduating.

I know, all those time i was drunk or madea fool of my self came at the xpence of being at home, alone.

TOnight was different, i was sick of my lot. I was tired of coming home and splitting a bottle of burbon with myself. It was time to adventure out into the real world and see what this shit hole of a town can provide for me.

There is a neighborhood bar, Bogarts, not far from my house, that provided hte perfect stage for this farce. If i got there and decided it was not worth, it would not be far to begin sucking down the burbon stored neatly aboive my fridge.

I do not know why I keep my head down and remain to myself. There was already on guy there with a note pad writing - that role in this little drama was already taken. I had to play the part of intently reading guy. I sat there for nearyl an hour, only talkin to the waitress.

"Thank you,"

"Yes, I'll have another."

The converation was short, and to the point. My reading was what took up most of my time.

Bamma came wandering over from the pool talbes in a drunken kind of wander thato nly depraved men know how to walk to appear sober. He had it down, he knew the route. he had been ehre beofre.

Bamma was from, get this, Alabama. HE was a transplant from the state after a few run ins with the law. He was travling from Alabama -getting aay from fialed marriage and a criminal record - only to land in jaiuo one more time.

This time he was broke and had no car - the police, he said, took it and did not return it.

So he was stuck, homeless for about month in Independence. He fianlly found work as a consturction worker - building homes and commercial buildings. He had a hobby for drawing and though that his artistc talent was his way about of this town and back home to Alabama.

The only probelm was he kept spending his money at the bars on half assed writers like myself.

"I'll tell you, what, you haveto have dreams," he said listing to the right just far enough that his t-shirt revealed a US air force tatoo on his arm. "YOu have ot know what you want or else you have nothing to live for."

The waitresses appologized to me when he got up to leave to go the restroom. He was aregualr and a seriosu drunk at that. Passed out in the bar a number of times. But they were more interested in the fact that I as new and promissed to come back.

As much as they told me that he was harmless and that I should not be scared off by him, i was actually endeared. He was not a smart man - the first thing he said to me aas he asked what I was doing.

I was writing down dates, times, quotes that I was reading about in the paper.

This, of course, led to the inevitable what do you do question. I love it when people are not impressed with what I do. That sounds stuck up, but its true.

"President of the USA," I would like to ring out. "Aw that's nothing you pussy. I lay dry wall for 15 hours a day. Can you do that," is what I would want to hear come back.

I don't think you job should define you and with Bamma. So he bought me a drink. And another, and another. Before I knew it I was drunk and he and I were talkingabout hte meaing of a goal and how to properly form one in life.

The bar was eirrly quiet. Despite, Janis Joplin and Led ZEplin blaring over the juke box, the palce was still somewhereyou could have a good covnersation - something I have ye to find Anywhere in this vile town.

Our conversation went back and forth. His life, my life. Why I stayed, who I thought shold win the world series - the super bowl - the Americas Cup. It did not matter.

I nteh end my bar tab for 7 beers was about 3 dollar. I tipp heavily - about 4 dollars - simply because i have this condition where waitresses who bring me alcohol paly this dual role of enabler and lust object - a deadly combination for any drunk of my stature.

Bamma strolled to the back and out the fire exit somewhere near where i think his home was located. I went home and laughed my self to sleep.

I was not making fun of the man - i am sure his heart is in the right palce, but to knw that Bamma and so many other s are desprate for a conversation - something that has gone dry here in KC - fills me with a kind of joy.

WEll, if you arereading this far into this boring post, then you deserve adrink on me. COnsider this your coupon. one free drink and a retalling of the Mike and Bamma bar adventure...

I think this is a good start out of hte hole i have dug for myself. I depres myself knwoing that htere is nithing beyond what I used to have. The last remanented of gonzo or whatever it has transmorgified into, are gone nad not i must make due with merely smearing the ashes on my face to mask the constant grimace i have.

I need to be happy. This did that. Though it is only the start. I jsut hope I do not find mysefl in some town like Independence - drunk, strung out on drugs with a bloody t-shirt - when the cops pull me over and take my car away.

Then I will wait in the nearest bar for the next punk to come along to feel some gratifiaction that he has not sunk to that levle to find that the images of crashing his car on the freway are not something that are healthy to have.

Gd this wretched post needs to end.