Pearls Before Swine in the Wild of the City

This is your captain speaking. Today you'll be reading over 38,000 feet. Below you is the River City...

I don't know about you and where you're at but it's been a wild week for me. It's nearing springtime and all the chicks are going crazy to get outside and do something which means my “backburner” status has been called up. Whether some of the ones contacting me are truly interested OR I'm being relegated to (again) “backburner status,” we'll see.

Of the positives of this past week I finished added shelves to my bookcase. I had boxes of movies in my room and wanted to get them displayed and there happened to be too much room in-between shelving in the bookcases I have so I borrowed a friend's cordless drill and went to Home Depot to have four shelves made. I started the project Sunday, finished a bookcase on Monday, and finished the other Friday night. After I immediately uploaded a pic on Facebook asking others to guess how many movies total are on the shelves. Hint: I don't even know. I really don't care. At this point I'm just trying to get them converted to Blu-ray before I need to convert them again. How technology goes...

Another positive note: I spoke with my manager about what else I can do within the job I already have. Outside of running some reports... zip. Zelch. Zero. Nothing. Nada. I could try to see if I can be elevated to a “III” position however it's more responsibility, no pay increase (that I know) and it's not going to make my job any better. I then applied for the position of Account Manager whereby I would get to speak with clientele, travel, keep up with what's going on, etc. I remade my resume and need to get it back out on the Web and whatnot; apply for different things in different cities. See what happens. I need out of my rut.

Speaking of rut Saturday is reminiscent of the old adage, “do not cast ye pearls before swine.” Funny thing: I never grew up with this one. For those who don't get it: do not try to impress those who would not understand anyway. Kinda like the old joke that bacteria is the only culture that some people have. Case in point is Uncle Roomie who didn't get out of bed Saturday until 3pm after having went to bed around midnight the previous night. Friday night we sat and watched “No Country for Old Men,” which he proclaimed sucked because the end didn't mean anything. Anyway after returning from driving around/researching historic Middletown and returning the cordless drill I got to the apartment and found that he was gone. He reappeared around 6pm asking where we were going for dinner (alluding to the fact that every weekend we try at least one place new). After fifteen minutes of me wracking my brain trying to come up with a location and his help being “anyplace that's cheap as far as I'm concerned” I picked out Shiraz Mediterranean Grill. There was a location not too far away so I navigated him to that.

Let me hit pause for the moment. Let me describe Uncle Roomie to you. 49 years old. 360 pounds. Diet consists of tea, tuna, fast food restaurants, and whatever generic snake cakes, brownies, etc. that he can pick up at the Wal-Mart five minutes away from the apartment. He's a dietician's worst nightmare (or possible source of income – it's all perspective). The guy who wants to “eat nice” while only paying the price of a Sonic combo. Ya got me? Let's continue.

Shiraz MG is a little restaurant nestled into the front of a complex where by the rest is used for housing. There are other first-floor storefronts but an alleyway leads to a courtyard in the center of an apartment complex. Kinda nice. The restaurant itself seems low-maintenance enough: aluminum chairs and tables, drink machine, small room overall. I ordered a beef kabob and two sides, one being hummus and the other quinoa. He ordered a beef kabob with two different sides. We both got their “cucumber” sauce.

And the results?

I liked it. Uncle Roomie didn't. “Next time I hear 'mediterranean' I'll remember to skip it.” Some review I read stated that the hummus was great and it was – best hummus I've ever had. But I've been in this situation before where I was the person not “impressed” with where my friends took me so... yeah.

Having read the Internet announcements of a “supermoon” I had him drive downtown to my favorite spot to shoot – a parking garage. I grabbed my camera and tripod, went to the top, and took pictures while he walked around. After I showed him around 21c Museum Hotel and we looked at their current art offerings. His version of “art” is short for some guy named “Arthur.” (it's a joke, people) We finally went back to the apartment.

It was around 10 and I asked him if he wanted to watch anything. “I don't know. Read them off to me.” I have a collection of over 400 movies in two bookcases sitting in the corner of the room – get off your fucking ass and pick one! I didn't say it but I wanted to so I got up and picked out a movie I hadn't seen in a long while - “Into the Wild.” For those not in the know “Into the Wild,” was directed by Sean Penn and stars Emile Hirsch as a guy named Christopher McCandless who, at the age of 24, graduated Emory University and went out in search of Alaska. Great movie in my opinion. Roy chimed in every five minutes asking questions about the guy and I just tuned him out. Eventually he went to bed.

Now for a moment I want to reflect on the movie. I went and saw it in a theatre (Village 8 if I remember correctly) and bought the 2-disc DVD when it was released (my pre-Blu ray days). Not having watched it in a while I had forgotten enough to enjoy it and to realize...

I understand Christopher McCandless. I really do.

If McCandless was really anything close to being like Hirsch portrayed him in the film then he is quite possibly high-functioning autistic. That's not a bad thing, mind you, it's just that the person is so headstrong about ideals that nothing is going to stop them. I could relate and understand every step of the way why he did what he did. Why he thought what he thought. Felt as he felt. A friend of mine recently said that one reason enjoyment is had from my blog is my introspection – the ability to look and dissect my insides. Again if he is like anything remotely exuded by Hirsch then I know exactly who he was.

And that brings me to the lesson of today which is: you are not alone but the others you seek are a helluva long way away. My friend Cindi points that out to me on occasion and it's hard, so fucking hard, to see that sometimes because those people who are most like us would think like us, would see, breathe, live and die like us shying away from finding others like us while secretly sorting through the loneliness and desperation inside locked behind a 128-character digitally encrypted code that only we know. It's that difficult for us. And our world slowly dims little by little because we want so much to be understood, to be accepted, to feel either that we can go about it the wrong way with the wrong people. When we find our others they come as “blips”; momentary reprieves from a society we feel cast away from but tethered by a chain to. “We don't want you but you need to stay.” “You don't have to go home but you can't stay here....”

And so it's cool that I have Andy as a friend. We've hung out a bit this past weekend – went and saw, “Paul,” ate at BBC, shot the shit – and he's dark and more “realist” than others I know. And by hanging out I feel normal as opposed to a lot of the more shallow ones that I've gotten to know. I swear I'm caught between in-betweeners, cheaters, liars, yuppies, the shallow, etc. It's cool just to have a friend.

Aside from that I'm just trying to get a few things done. I've killed my exercise routine so that starts back Monday night. Most of my online chatting friends haven't been around as of late, or I've been busy at work, so I have no clue as to what's going on. Tired. Lonely. Feels like I'm going crazy. “Running off the rails on a crazy train...”

From Zachary Taylor to Fondue to People Flaking on Me and a Happy Jen-iversary

Go ahead and groan now. Alright. Done? Through? Can we go on?

Okay.

As always I try to update this whenever possible which sometimes means it’s after the fact and sometimes WELL after the fact. So first thing’s first:

The end of February I had my monthly photowalk. This time around the attendants were my photog friend Jon-Erick (straight from working at the Army base) and his friend Melanie who does sports photography. We all met at the Zachary Taylor on that cold, gray overcast Saturday and walked around taking pics. Melanie was curious to know more about me so she asked me questions here and there while her youngest kid walked around. At the end Jon-Erick left early and Melanie stayed and talked with me for about 30 mins, finally driving me over to my car (I parked it in a church lot down the road). She took my phone number and told me that mutual friend Christi was having a photowalk the next day and she would call me.

Sunday morning and I was taking my time. While talking with my dad on the phone Melanie texted me. I hate trying to text while talking on the phone with someone so it was kinda convenient that she called five minutes later. I got off the phone with my dad and spoke with her.

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you got texts or even if it was the right number…”

I assured her that yes, she was talking with me at my phone number and it does text but I was on the other line. The plans to meet with Christi had now changed – instead of the floral nursery we were going to the Falls of the Ohio area/museum. The plan was to meet at 1:30pm and I arrived there at 1:15 (miraculously, given that I live outside Jefferson County almost). Parking in the lot next to the river I walked down the wooden bannister as close as I could to the water and took several pics.

After I got back up the steps a woman was standing on the sidewalk and struck up a conversation with me. Her name was Kim and seemed to be dressed for church. There was a simpleness to her and while she seemed nice it all felt odd. She told me that she was looking into pursuing photography after getting her nursing degree. We began talking about when/where to shoot and I saw Melanie pull up. I smiled, wished her a good day and she left in her compact car that had tinted windows and was blaring country music.

Melanie walked over to me with her two sons; the oldest was interested in video work. I talked with him a little about that while we were out taking pics of the area. A train went overhead on the trestle/bridge and I took pics. Christi and her husband Joey showed and went across the road. Christi got out and went up the hill to take some shots.

I walk over to the car and talk with Joey for a few minutes before climbing the hill to get to the tracks which is a definite No Trespassing area. But “luckily” for us most of those signs are gone or desecrated in some form and hey, we weren’t bothering anyone. We all take different shots of the railway before heading back down. Christi and Melanie had to go over to Westport Rd. (my current grounds) and agreed that we would all do it again soon. Melanie is interested in doing more photo outings. We’ll see what happens…

Between these two photo shoots I went to a fondue place called The Melting Pot. Not to be confused with the term or the Mellencamp song (hero of the heartland) it’s basically a restaurant that serves melted cheeses as well as chocolate that can be dipped into. Before arriving at this place I left Zach Taylor cemetery, went home, crashed for twenty minutes, got back up and on the road.

So…. Back at the fondue ranch…

It was alright. “L” stopped and talked with me for a moment about what’s going on with me. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I am burnt out. Yes, I would rather not be alive most days. Yes, just friggin’ shoot me. I sat down and within moments another photog, Christy, came in and we both occupied the time talking about things. I was getting a little drunk and probably was by the end of it all. I talked with Kristen who “flaked out” on me in regards to even returning a phone call. Which brings me to a central point:

One of my “pissers’ in regards to the whole human race is the question, “So, how did that go?” We usually ask when we know something is destined for failure and we opt out, sometimes brazenly doing so, and just for shits and giggles we ask those words as if we’re turning a screw through someone’s innards. Per se Kristin asked me how my “movie night” went that I had planned for February.

It didn’t go. It didn’t happen.

One of my friends, we’ll call him Shallow Guy, first signed on to support that I was doing it then changed his mind by Wednesday. I brought it up after the fact and he responded, “Well, I wound up being busy that Saturday.” Awesome; it’s why you changed your mind midway through the week, right? Fuckin’ A.

Back to the subject at hand. I organized the event through Meetup and put a limit of 10 people. How many people RSVP’d to come? That’d be a big, fat goose egg. Incidentally, the amount of people NOT planning on showing? 14. Fourteen. In the negative. It’s one thing not to be interested; it’s another to be vocal about not being interested. I ran through the scenario and was trying to figure out what I can/should do but it comes down to support and… there just seems to be none for it.

And that’s what I’m left with – a film outing without a group. I understand if people don’t want to show up at my place but there’s a personal twinge that comes from the added asking of the question. If I’m looking at it wrong then I’m sorry to judge. If not it’s just more shallow, shitty people in my life.

Moving down the list of the shitty happens to be Molly. I was interested in her and one afternoon she sat and we talked and the best she said she had to offer was friendship. Well, I could take it or leave it and me being who I am I took it. I spent quite a few weeks only being sparsely up there until this last one in which I came in Monday and Wednesday nights. Molly was working them. On this past particular Wednesday night I was introduced to the new element: her boyfriend.

Which is fine. Don’t want me/not interested in me? I can live with that. No hard feelings? Give me a few days or so. Not being awkward when conducting business? Not a problem. Blatantly sucking-face thirty feet away from me in the coffeeshop foyer? Yeah, that hurt. I didn’t stay around long.

Which then leads to some people “getting” what I was talking about and the fact that a person who did got upset with me. Majorly upset. And so began a cool down then conversation with her that didn’t end as well as it could’ve. Not because of the event just that we started talking really late and I was getting drunk while she was already there (I think). And I felt that shit is bombing-out.

There’s a general rule of thumb I’ve created: if it doesn’t work the first time, it’s not working the fifth time. Case in point is Malissa. I met her last year at the Derby City Film Fest, found her interesting (read: attractive enough) and FB’d her. She accepted and we went to chatting. We were supposed to get together BUT things happen, etc. I basically wrote it off.

This year she messaged me saying that she was coming to the Fest and hoped to see me. That’s cool, I thought. I asked if she was interested in meeting to get something to eat. She was up for that or coffee. A tentative date was set for Friday, 7pm.

Friday, at some point in the afternoon, she messaged me via Facebook and gave me her number to call and talk with her. Around 3:30 I did. She was going to be busy watching her ex-husband’s parents and could we reschedule for Saturday? Sure. I mentioned that I had to meet with Kris to give him the photos from this year’s DCFF. She wanted to meet two hours before at a restaurant down the street called the Irish Rover. I was fine with that.

Around 11am-ish Saturday morning I walked out of my shower and checked my not-so-smartphone. She had messaged me through Facebook and said that she couldn’t make it and didn’t want to keep me waiting – she was stuck in Charlestown, IN and could I call her when I got a chance? I called her around 11:15. No answer. 12:05. No answer. I finally logged onto FB and messaged her back saying, “That’s fine. I understand. Take care,” because there was nothing else for me to say.

Again, if it doesn’t happen the first time it’s not happening the fifth time. Or rather backburning pots only get black.

Next on the Shitty and the Shallow (coming to NBC this fall) would be Shallow Guy himself. I contacted Shallow Guy midway through the past week because there was an Arcade Expo happening in the Louisville area. To elaborate, people were able to bring in their stand-alone arcade machines (NES, SEGA, Atari) and consoles and play video games for free Fri-Sun (well, $12 entrance fee). I was interested in going. Shallow Guy said he had a possible date on Saturday but he might after the fact. Fine. Not a problem. He texts me Friday night to let me know his date is off and that he should be going. I call him but he’s busy with the Meetup group at the casino.

Saturday he texts me and I call him back. Apparently he’s not able to make it due to the fact that…. He’s trading in his car. Awesome. Thanks. “Everything’s coming up roses,” I say before hanging up. Just how my day goes.

And there’s my meeting with Kris. Kris is a good guy but he sits at on the fulcrum of figuring out what he wants to do in regards to the Derby City Film Festival. He honestly just wants to hand it to somebody to do something with it but that’s not going to be an easy task. He drops that hint more than a few times and I let it slide – I’m not interested in taking over a film festival. Hell, I’m not interested in being in town longer than I have to. He’s planning on leaving for Seattle with his wife Ashley. We’ll see what happens.

While we meet I give him the disc of images (165 out of 400) that I took for the DCFF. Behind the counter is Kacie whom I met at the fest. She’s 26, blond and a partying neo-hippy. Or, one of those chicks who would be a “band aid” in the movie “Almost Famous.” She has the snarkiness of dating down and let me note: I sent her a text message a week or so earlier and never got a response. I mention that I met two girls a few nights previous who knew of her.

“Did you get their numbers?

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Not my speed,” I reply. And they weren’t. One seemed a little boring and the other had a tattoo across the inside of her elbow. Sorry, not crazy about tats.

But the one girl who had worked with her said Kacie was nice, so that’s something.

I showed her my picture of her. She was not impressed and secretly I think she disliked it.

And then I meet Edward. Tall, lanky, doc filmmaker.

“Who’s Edward?” I ask.

“The guy I’m steady with.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t like labels.”

“Right.”

“You know how the dating world is.”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I think I should just be a lesbian.”

“Well…. There’s a market for it,” I dryly reply.

She repeats what I said trying to figure out if it’s a joke on her or one in general before turning toward the office space in the back. I turn and leave.

And so I went to have dinner with my uncle. We ate at Joe’s OK Bayou and I had gator tail for the first time. Not bad, actually. Softer than calamari.

Went home, got a Stella from the fridge and sat and watched half of “4 of the Apocalypse.” If you’ve never seen the movie think 60’s rock (lighthearted psychedilia) inside of a Western. And there’s a bad bandito named Chaco. I’m currently halfway through it. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I then call up another friend, Norma, whom I hadn’t spoken with in a few days. I talk with her about various things and she tells me that I probably need to take some time off for a vacay. My problem: means and money. Not enough money and my means may break down on me. She invites me to PCB or Myrtle and I’m really thinking about it.

And I cap off with what may be the reasoning behind such lackluster karma: the one year-anniversary of breaking up with Jen. Yes, on 3/5/10 I got a phone call while on break and within six minutes it was over. All I could do was stare at my cellphone before I threw it, kicked it around, then retrieved it. In the year since I’ve maybe ran across her six times at most, at least twice without her bastion of bullshit boyfriend, and as previously reported probably still engaged. But does the bad karma from the breakup still reside within the vibes of time? Can a single event pose disaster for any date following it? Will I go through more crap next year on the same date? I don’t even think The Shadow knows. But yeah, one helluva year since…

Oh, I’m feelin’ better now…