So, I know that it looks like I never write anything. But I do... aces... every day. It’s just stupid, journal-diary crap though, no substance and hardly worth reading. “But really,” I asked myself, “how is that any different from your other posts?” It’s not. So. I am going to post my most intimate journal nonsense, with the convoluted hopes that it will slowly morph into something noteworthy. I'll even settle for entertaining.
Sorry you’re coming into the middle of the show…
Saturday, October 23, 2010
This morning I overflowed the coffee maker. Again. I hate that. It is quite possibly the worst way to start a day ever.
On a brighter note… I finally managed to get my Cracker-Barrel pancakes yesterday. Delicious. And no regrets.
I also picked up the business flyers from the printers yesterday. Bret had dropped them off. In his wisdom, he decided that color was too expensive and had them scanned to black and white, “It looks just about as good as the other, and half the price!” he explained. You know how his bullshitting goes. They look like a 1984 punk garage band’s flyer… mimeographed… ridiculous. He has no taste. I burned them. No really, I did. I will have them re-printed, in color, and foot the bill myself.
Speaking of no taste and 80’s garage bands… weren’t black, fringy moccasin boots made illegal? Black moccasin boots are a deal breaker. Even on Indian chicks.
Speaking of Bret, I had this crazy dream that he was in…
Let’s put us out front of a shopping-mall or a convention center maybe, a modern-ish building: concrete, steel, glass… a loading zone… weekday I would say, or a, Make Snails Your Friend! seminar… minimal human traffic. We’re waiting.
Maybe I had just watched a demonstration on how to properly irrigate the ear, but in my boredom, I was trying to get the gunk out of mine. I was using a tub of a baby-blue something that I knew to be primarily and under normal circumstances used on Volkswagens as a lubricant. It looked forever like blueberry yogurt, sans fruit and greasier. I was putting it in my mouth, trying to get it packed up into my sinuses with the intent of pushing said ear-gunk out from the inside, via the eustachia tube.
Apparently there was some trick I had missed, because I wasn’t getting it to work.
Then I saw Bret demonstrate the process on some kid.
He packed the blue-goo into the kid’s mouth. Then pulled out a pouch of chewing tobacco—leaf—and stuffed some under the kid’s right eye, up his nose, and plugged his mouth full. Then he did this little three-points tap with his finger: around the right eye, left cheek and below the left ear, real quick like. This hamster-size wad of foulness popped out of the kid’s ear.
Bret then repeated this process on himself with similarly distasteful results. Then, since I still couldn’t get it right, I conceded and sat down in the chair—there was a chair now—to let Bret work his magic. I was about to get tobacco stuffed under my eye, worried about how that was probably going to hurt like hell, when I woke up. Darn.
Maybe I had just watched a demonstration on how to properly irrigate the ear, but in my boredom, I was trying to get the gunk out of mine. I was using a tub of a baby-blue something that I knew to be primarily and under normal circumstances used on Volkswagens as a lubricant. It looked forever like blueberry yogurt, sans fruit and greasier. I was putting it in my mouth, trying to get it packed up into my sinuses with the intent of pushing said ear-gunk out from the inside, via the eustachia tube.
Apparently there was some trick I had missed, because I wasn’t getting it to work.
Then I saw Bret demonstrate the process on some kid.
He packed the blue-goo into the kid’s mouth. Then pulled out a pouch of chewing tobacco—leaf—and stuffed some under the kid’s right eye, up his nose, and plugged his mouth full. Then he did this little three-points tap with his finger: around the right eye, left cheek and below the left ear, real quick like. This hamster-size wad of foulness popped out of the kid’s ear.
Bret then repeated this process on himself with similarly distasteful results. Then, since I still couldn’t get it right, I conceded and sat down in the chair—there was a chair now—to let Bret work his magic. I was about to get tobacco stuffed under my eye, worried about how that was probably going to hurt like hell, when I woke up. Darn.
No, but seriously Daniel, interpret.
Did you wake up with your mouth full of pillow? or maybe a dirty sock?
ReplyDeleteGwen...
ReplyDeleteNo. I wish. I'm sure the translation is far more neurotic.
Steven, with anyone else, the day to day can sometimes get monotonus (like I'm sure you all don't want to hear every detail in my day), but with you its different. It always sounds so cool, so interesting. I can't describe it any other way. You're so creative in your writing styles, and I'm thrilled that you're posting from your journal!
ReplyDelete(And I'm sorry you overflowed the coffee maker!)
Sitting here looking through 26 drafts, all unfinished, I've got nothing. Some of it's OK but lately nothing I do, think or write seems to do it for me. I know it's just a phase but that doesn't make it any better. What's more lately I've been pouring more coffee on the counter than in my cup. Hurting ankles and heels has not helped. My dreams have not helped. Your dream did not either.
ReplyDeleteSitting in the woods stoned listening to the sunshine, hearing the smell of the flowers and smelling the song of the universe without human interference is all I want.
Your post didn't help but then it didn't hurt either. In fact I rather enjoyed it.
Emmy... Are you an Angel? Or what?
ReplyDeleteO.F.,
You should read David Rakoffs' description of the writer's/writing experience... 'Half Empty'...it's perfect. Sorry my dream harshed your mellow. I have plenty of woods (sans humans) you can borrow to make up for it.
To dream that you are cleaning wax from your ears, suggests that you are not listening to those around you. There may be something that you are refusing to hear. Are you turning a deaf ear?
ReplyDelete..that's what dreammoods.com says, anyway.
BUT, i think you just need to lay off the cheetos before bedtime, bucko.
The trees....they are in anticipation of your arrival.
ReplyDelete