Introspection on an Empty Apartment

When we last left the “Chas Show”...

INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – EVENING

Light is barely visible in an open, spacious, abandoned warehouse. The railing of an old wooden staircase can somewhat be seen. The SOUND of GUNSHOTS outside ring and vibrate the aluminum siding walls. In rush CHAS and EDUARDO.

CHAS

Where the fuck did they come from?

EDUARDO

You got me, amigo.

CHAS

And what the fuck do you think that you were doing?

Trying to 'cook some fools' or somethin'?

EDUARDO

(catches his breath) Sid is dead.

CHAS

I KNOW Sid is dead. What about Eric?

EDUARDO

Taken hostage by Wendy.

CHAS

Wendy? Dammit!

Chas takes out his piece and racks the 9mm's slide.

CHAS

This shit just got real...

EDUARDO

Gonna make a deal?

CHAS

In fuckin' blood, buddy.

EDUARDO

You can always talk with Norma...

CHAS

And sell my soul? Nuh-uh compadre.

It's mano e-mano time and someone's not comin' home for the holidays...

And now Part Two of “Buechel Livin'”

Hope you enjoyed that one, folks. Always love to leave my audience captivated :)

I'm sitting on my futon in the living room of my new living space: an apartment I'm sharing with my uncle. We'll see how things go. Right now my bedroom feels like the leftover closet that people forget stuff is in. I have to literally make my way through a maze of stacks of stuff to get to my bed which is now a single. I kinda miss my queen-size mattress (which wound up being slashed within minutes of leaving it next to a garbage bin). I'm listening to Martini in the Morning (great jazz channel you can find online. Look it up.) And just trying to think.

Clearly. I can't remember when I last thought clearly.

I'm getting sleep which is good. I can go to sleep by 2am and wake up at 8 feeling better than when I was in Buechel. I'm attributing that to moving away from Bardstown Road. My stress level has significantly lowered but I'm still having problems dealing with my job.

Okay, this is the thing: my job killed two of my relationships (not THE reason but it didn't help them). Why did I spend so much time destroying myself? Inquiring minds might like to know but the truth is change. My mind works on patterns and once something becomes accepted, no matter how bad it is, I just get used to it. I'm more an intellectual person than emotional per se so I don't consider a job good or bad -it is whatever it is. I stay as long as I need the money to survive and then leave at whatever point I generally want to. I shouldn't be this way. I still go back to Deanna asking me if I wanted my life to pay for my art or my art to pay for my life. I would like my art to pay for my life but I have to have faith in it. To believe in what I'm doing. And I feel damned lost on that notion.

Sorta misplaced. Living on the outside. Like no one is letting me in.

So there's a lot of things going on right now. First off I'm still blogging for entities and I've been seriously cutting back on that because of frustrations with the rules, software platforms, etc. That and the fact that I need time away and so I'm figuring an article here or there won't hurt. There's not too much film stuff in Louisville to expound upon so I'm limited on Louisville.com and I like my more “intellectual” blogs to be on WLKY uLocal. I haven't even kept up with other blog stuff.

Which brings me to another point: getting back into the swing of what I want to do. I need to setup my own website which I will operate the Neverending Highway blog through, as well as my photography and even a side thing for reviews. I'm planning on taking a course through MatadorU on travel writing and photography and that's what I'm looking into right now.

However, my friend Dean brought up an interesting point: how long will his last? I've been fighting the whole “hiatus from the world of film” for a while (note: too much bullshit) and went back to the basics of what I enjoy: writing and photography. Generally this leans toward journalism but I'm not a fan of the cynicism; that “well, it's all crap anyway” nudge that's the undercurrent of journalistic sentences. I just wanted to tell stories and be good at it. I wanted to explore the world and find myself. I wanted to be cool.

Right now I'm detoxing from my previous life here; the last 3 years. I'm probably not going to go to the Gardiner Lane Heine Bros. (aka Chas' coffeeshop) until Saturday or Sunday. This is probably for the best seeing as Jennifer (aka The Ex) is there on Tuesday nights studying. I think back to all the exploits at my place and... yeah. The times. I think the next few weeks are gonna be rough but I have to get my head on straight and just deal. Figure things out. Know what I want and what I won't put up with.

To be continued...

Goodbye Bardstown Rd...

Blink. Blink. Blink.

This cursor stares at me while I try figuring out what to say, how to elaborate the goings-on of my life. Outside the world is dark. Quiet. The Sunday night before Turkey Day and a calm permeates the storm I sit in the eye of.

Strike that. Not a storm. Change.

I think back to when I ran into Julia at the Borders. I was going to grab a mocha from Heine Bros in the Gardiner Lane plaza and saw her enter the bookstore. Making a beeline over to it I went inside and struck up a conversation with her and told her I was moving. I relayed how my entire childhood revolved around this area. She said that she understood and if she were still living in her hometown she wouldn't be able to stand it either.

Growing up in Beuchel. The Showcase Cinemas, where I first saw “Bram Stoker's 'Dracula'” and a score of other movies as well as working there as a janitor one summer, is now rubble being carefully combed-over by construction vehicles since it couldn't be made into a viable movie theater again. Bashford Manor Mall where I would go see what was new in Something To Do or play in Aladdin’s Castle (the arcade) was intentionally ran down and eventually imploded. Now the land is occupied by a Lowe's, Wal-Mart, Taco Bell, and Burlington Coat Factory. The Bon Air Swim Club where my cousins worked during the summer closed down due to the contract with the owners expiring and the ones leasing the land not wanting to rent the parking lot to the pool. Now it sits like a forgotten warehouse surrounded by low-income housing on the cheap side of gentrification.

I sit here tonight in the remains of my last days in Beuchel. Like Billy Pilgrim becoming unstuck in time I am unstuck in my memories. My life ended here in 1996 but became resurrected between 1999 and 2004 and then died again to be brought back in 2007. And for everything I've had to learn, every bit of life that I've been force-feeding myself because I just didn't pick it up during Round One, my friends, I have to leave this place.

I'm glad at the same moment of being sad. I've rallied my life against creature comforts (okay, yes, the movie geek setup I confess to having) and this place grew on me. The more I wanted to go the more it seemed to pull me in and I would find reasons to stay instead of moving on. As fate or fortune would have it my uncle moved back into the area and offered to help me out by letting me move over to his place. I thought about it, the good outweighed the bad, and said “Yes.”

The remains. Books. Some DVDs. Trash. Dishes. Stuff in the fridge most of which can be thrown away. I'm giving myself until Saturday to vacate.

And the change isn't just moving to a separate side of town. It's me figuring out what the next move is. I don't know if I'm done with dating in this place or dating period but it seems the more I try to find somebody the more I miss Jennifer. Maybe because she was the smartest woman I've had an extended relationship with. Maybe it's because she gave me my freedom to be me. I've just not found those qualities in any woman since her. And no I'm not expecting any or every woman to measure up to her (because the rules vary per person) but my checklist is becoming more defined and seeing what's out there has an interesting set of misadventures which leaves me thinking about her. And yes I'm sure several of my friends would gladly punch me in the face should I backtrack and go back to her.

The change isn't just about figuring out what I want from a relationship if I have any. Entertainment blogging burnt me out and I just ceded away from it. In fact my job has me burnt out and I've been ceding away from humanity a bit. This isn't an afront to anyone so much as when I think I understand it all everything changes again. People want to know what I want and my answer has been “Let me out. Let me go.”

I've been asking myself what it is that I truly like or even love. Aside from music and movies. Travel. No, I'm not rich but I miss being on the road, taking pictures, and writing/blogging back about my adventures like you don't know. Maybe that IS my purpose...

So I'm proposing an idea which is quaint in humor because I seem to ask people what they think of my good ideas as if they are bad and vice-versa. I'm going to go on a sabbatical in June and hopefully going to spend 2 months in New York City (“New York City?!?”) and taking a course in travel writing from an instructor and learn how to get into travel writing/photography. The Neverending Highway...

I'm trying to piece together how I'm going to pull it off (donations anyone?) I'm not so much scared to go as how to make it work in NYC for 2 months. Maybe subletting or finding a hostel to stay in. The overall truth, if it does so exist, is that I have to hit the road again.

And I know and realize there are no guarantees which is easier to write and say than actually quantify. Or rectify if need be. I know my problems of when I went to stay in California but going to NYC is not to stay as it is an opportunity I want/need to make for myself. Maybe the answers I am looking for are there. Maybe not. But it isn't just about finding answers as it is something to kickstart me into something I think I'm good at doing that I miss. And it's not forever but the highway IS neverending. I just have to get back on it.

Goodbye childhood memories. Goodbye Buechel. Goodbye Bardstown Road.

A Smile From the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

“It seems like yesterday

But it was long ago...” -Bob Seger

Tuesday night. I had just gotten off work, dropped off my badge and stuff at my apartment and had a little bit of time to grab some coffee from Heine Bros. up the street. 6:50 I walk down to my car and go up to the coffeeshop. The first entrance was too crowded so I took the roundabout second into the lot and drove down to it. As I rounded a group of cars to find an open parking space I spotted a car.

Blue Hyundai Accent. Indiana plates. Really familiar.

I parked and walked up to the double glass doorway but saw her before I was even 100 feet from my car. Jennifer. She sat alone at a table looking through a book; was probably doing homework. I got up to the doorway and stopped. My heart pounded like the diesel engine of a U-boat evading capture. I wanted to turn around. Maybe take the drive-thru. I decided against it and opened the door. Briskly I beelined to the front counter and gave my usual order: medium mocha, no whipped cream, hot. While they were making it I cooled down for a moment and made a decision.

I had to talk with her.

It didn't matter what I was going to say. John wasn't around or there as far as I could tell and I had no idea if I would ever see her again. Call me crazy but it had been eating me up not talking with her.

My coffee was done so I grabbed it and walked along the wall and turned toward her table. I think she saw me and delved back into her book, writing in the journal beside her. I went over to her table looked down and said “Hi.”

(I'm going to interject here for a moment. We all have that “If I saw this person again I would...” moments. It's only human. God knows I've had multiple imaginary conversations in regards to her...)

She looked up and responded. I asked what she was doing, how she was doing, etc. I told her that I was on my way to see a movie and stopped in for some coffee. We were cordial. She smiled a few times and I told her that I had to go but it was nice seeing her. She paused for a moment, looked up and said, “You too,” and went back to doing her work. I left and looked back once or twice to see her attention on what she was working on.

And so I can close this book for now. She wasn't livid when she saw me; she was actually being nice. I think she was happy to see me. She's one of the smartest I've ever been with.

As I've said before: take the good things.

“And her memory is all that's left for you now...” -Fleetwood Mac

Life and Life Only: Junk Love

Been a bit since I've posted anything personal and it feels forever. It's a Sunday morning and I'm realizing that I'm missing writing a little. And I'm watching the Genesis video collection, doing laundry, charging my Zune player, and in the slow migration. Yep, for those of you reading I'm moving to a different (and better) part of town. Upside: I'm saving myself a chunk of money per month. Downside: I'm sharing an apartment. It's not about who I'm sharing it with so much as I've been in my place for the last 3 years. Yeah, I did have the “unemployed roomie” and even a girlfriend who lived with me for two weeks but really... it was still my place. We'll see how this goes and will keep you informed.

The videos are distracting. I'm watching “Invisible Touch” right now.

2010 and everything is changing all the time. Life 2.0 and I'm having to quickly pick up those things I avoided knowing and learning that I didn't in round one. Which is fine to a certain extent with some, not so much with others. Five. I shake my head as I write that. Five. I've had that many relations this year. I'm honestly surprised Guinness hasn't called me and asked “What's up?” (To which I would respond, “4 Non Blondes?”)

It's funny. A friend of mine asked what song I would come up with about her and she would return the favor. The song we shared was the acoustic version of “Plush” by Stone Temple Pilots. Sometimes, a song works for a place and time. Jennifer's song would've been “Wagon Wheel” by Old Crow Medicine Show; hers would later become “Gold Dust Woman” by Fleetwood Mac. I never really gave Lisa an entrance song but she did like listening to Coldplay (but agreed Ryan Adams was depressing). Her song after I broke up was “If You Could Read My Mind,” by Gordon Lightfoot and damned if Bob Dylan wasn't right -you really don't want a Lightfoot song to end. And if I go back far enough someone warranted “Human Touch” by Bruce Springsteen.

What am I doing this morning? Waxing laconic about the beautiful moments. Laying on my futon. Having my back kissed. Seeing a woman lie naked in my bed. Tracing my fingers along the contour of her body. Falling asleep next to her. Morning sex. Making breakfast. Baring my soul. Staring at the stars. All the good things I can keep.

Once again I'm confronted with the question: what do I want? And the bad thing about it is that unlike others who have the checklist I'm just making mine up. What do I want? The other half of my soul. The person who complements me (and complimenting works, too). Someone who makes me feel appreciated. A soul to cry into in the darkness. The rest of the knobs, buttons, levers and switches can be negotiable. Someone I can talk with and feel on the level with.

Are these ideals too ethereal? I don't know. Sometimes I feel like they are. But I've got to get better at slowing things down and taking time with having a relationship and have to set my boundaries instead of having whatever comes my way. I'm getting older and that lifestyle leaves me feeling empty after it's done.

What have I learned? First off, sex without love sucks. Physically it can be rewarding but once you've lost the deeper connection or it's not entirely there.. it's junk love. Secondly, sex is not the carrot at then end of the stick that should be dangled in front of someone's eyes. That's beyond putting all your eggs in one basket; it's hedging a bet on an implausibility. While it's noble to want to wait I'm inclined to believe that the pot o' gold at the end of the relationship rainbow is making it to the end happy. Third, women pursue sex hoping to find love and men pursue love hoping to find sex.

And that's all I got to say about that.

It's in the Suit That I Wear

Sunday? Check. Coffeshop? Check. Writing my life away? Check.

It's been fast and furious and tumultuous over on my end of life. I would ask to someone to wake me up when September ends but it's already gone. Done. I remember going to see “Machete” Labor Day weekend. I remember looking at the computer's toolbar date/time and seeing that it's October. I don't know what happened.

I'm at a stop point -that moment where the world's axis has slowed and I'm seeing what's leftover. Is it time for reclamation? Is it time for redemption? Is there anything left to salvage of a 900mph life?

“And you may ask yourself, 'Well, how did I get here?'”

Maybe I'm living life and fucking up on my own terms. Maybe I'm just learning. But then again do any of us really know or understand the consequences?

I'll stave the rest of my cryptic ramblings because I'm rambling. Because I am as hypocritically human as the next person and I want to save you the effort of breaking out the “Get to the Fucking Point” card.

I did some things that I'm not necessarily proud of. First off I wrote an article where I lambasted LouisvilleMojo for changing what they were doing, for not having the wherewithal to be progressive enough to continue what they were doing and garner the support of a community of people that for a minute could've believed in what was trying to be done. I was at a bad place, pissed-off, and detonated a literary nuclear device as opposed to just launching an angst-ridden SCUD missile. I don't regret what as I said so much as how I said it and the opinions contained therein. And I can't get that moment back. I blew up a bridge instead of burning it. The reward? It became my highest-read article on the site it got uploaded on. The cost? Feeling so alone and out in the cold I don't even think Alec Leamus would talk with me (literary ref if you don't know the name...) as well as my best friend saying that he was disappointed with me. That sucks. It really does.

And what I do, what I say, what you are sitting here and reading... there's a danger to it. Maybe it's always been that way. I can't say. I've experienced the highs and lows of it all. On the upper part of the mountain I've traveled across the U.S. writing and uploading (blogging) at nearly every stop. I've blogged “live” during the first Louisville International Festival of Film. There's nothing like it. In the mountain's valley there are those who get upset by what is written, who call you on your professionalism, who feel betrayed when they find themselves in your work (which itself is a double-edged sword, let me tell ya). The punches that come from those instances make or break you and the realization that no matter how carefully you pick your battles not all skirmishes are in your favor so you gotta pick a side and stick with it. Middle of the road opens you up to being hit on both sides...

And maybe that's something else I'm fighting: being passive-aggressive. I can't remember what exactly I was thinking but I called a friend of mine one Saturday morning. She called me back during lunch and told me that maybe I have passive-aggressive disorder. I've been cited on the fact that I generally try being “cool” and “non-confrontational” and she suggested to me a group called Emotions Anonymous. I'm considering checking in on the group and as another friend of mine states, “You can't make everyone love or like you.” Which is true. Maybe I'm just trying to find someone to make me believe I'm worth more than I think I am. Maybe I'm just looking for someone to tell me that they appreciate me.

Yeah. I know. That's probably the extent of any leaning-on that I have in this episode of the blog. Nut up or shutup. Pull up your boots. Man up. Remember to breathe.

In a moment I found part of something I was looking for: someone to listen to me. I've been talking with her about life, problems, etc. for the past week averaging at least 2 hours per conversation. Through her I found the core of my faults; the things I couldn't see. Or maybe I saw them before and wasn't paying attention. But in her I find a friend and we listen to each other and the realization hits that maybe there is something to the passive-aggressive thing and that I couldn't face Jennifer or Lisa. There's something inside that prevents me from “going off” or saying what I really think/feel in regards to a woman. I'm working on it...

Which again is interesting (I'm hating that word. Honestly) because as another friend points out I have no problem articulating what I think or feel for others to read. In person I clam up, try not saying anything, keep the peace, etc. And I'm sorry about that. Real fucking sorry. The other person gets pissed/disappointed with me, I get pissed-off at myself for not being able to communicate, etc. Jennifer and I had a joke once where we when we realized we couldn't answer a question or feared the other person would become upset by what the answer would be there was a “fake” answer. “Abraham Lincoln's beard.” It's fun for a while in order to bypass the things that need to be talked about but being at the end of relationships it's not cool. It's not respectable. I wished to hell that we had talked but I didn't know what the fuck I was doing -it was my first relationship in a period of time so long that love's search party had nearly abandoned the search. There's one helluva emotional trust issue that I have and I'm not sure on how to get past it.

So again I'm sitting here letting my body imbibe itself with the “coffeeshop smell.” The trees around are changing color and I'm gearing up to take some photos next weekend. I have at least two phone calls to make one of which is an apology and the ethereal dice roll on that is not showing me any results. And I just have to deal with what may come.

Life and Life Only: Naked Chats and Third Party Candidates

As a kid growing up adult movies were the ones in which adults talked to each other and not much else. They talked about their relationships. They talked about their love lives. They talked of the lack of either or both. But mainly there was a lot of talking going on. When you’re six years old your entertainment value is stuff blowing up, laser rifles, and maybe even “Yo, Joe!” or “Autobots, roll out!” You don’t get what the adults are saying and they’re really not doing anything about it.

One day you realize that you’re an adult and that all the talk happened to be adults knowing what they’re saying but not what they’re doing. You find yourself in a constantly changing maze in which the rules for one room do not constitute the rules for another. People you love come and go and everything is up for grabs. We find ourselves turning to others to fill needs not met by the ones we’re with.

Enter Naked Chats. It’s 1am and you’re online, talking with a friend. Both of you are tired. You strip yourself down to your flaws; your honest assessment of yourself. On the Internet talking with your friend you have no one you need to impress –you already know the person. It’s a matter of listening to what the other person has to say or is trying to say. It’s about the delicate desires residing internally that cry out to be filled from their darkness; the request blinks at you as it’s your turn to type back what you need to say. It’s a matter of the questions that maybe you’re afraid to look up in books, or that books have no answer for. Call it finding the solace of friends and relating with them on a sexual nature.

And there’s no denying the attraction to the concept. Maybe you’re attracted to the person you’re chatting with, maybe not. Imagine that cybersex meets emotional purging as much about figuring out how love works as it is fantasizing about other possibilities. Feeding our internal emotions and questions to others we receive answers and play tug-of-war with notions, eventually rewarding ourselves with fantasy.

But why naked chatting? Is it the arousal of finding out what makes the other person tick? Or is it unloading upon someone else what makes our tick, what turns us on, what works or doesn’t work for us? Is it a comfort of not seeing someone, not feeling the judgment of another person, and massively expunging the dark sensuality of our needs? Or the simplicity of cutting through the garbage shouting out a none sugar-coated or fluffed-up version of events?

As much as we need someone close to us that we feel we can talk to we need to find someone who will listen without prejudice; without knowing us. The bartender serving your beer. The woman sitting next to you at the airport. The person standing in line next to you. We can be as isolated as we want but there’s something inside that makes us want to reach out and be social. In the field of relationships, or love and sex, you don’t want to be the only person who feels the way you do. You don’t want to speak to your other, or maybe you feel that you can’t. Just like naked chats you want to be honest and forthcoming with the details but you don’t want to know the person –anonymity will give you the most honest assessment of what’s going on with you. Need to know what to do about the boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/person you’re cheating with? Ask a stranger.

These releases can have conditions as well as consequences. While third party candidates are usually a one-way road naked chats are not. You get what you put in and vice-versa. The more you put in, the more you should get back and the less you do, etc. The only real drawbacks are in the amount of emotional trust that is placed in the other individual and keeping a certain level of responsibility –if the person you are naked chatting with has a significant other issues could come about none the least of which is a certain amount of addiction to the practice that could make relationship dam cracks into fissures that just get worse. As always with either responsibility has to be observed but if done right and acceptably, either could be just what you need.

Life and Life Only: Just Not That Cool

When it comes to music my generation just ain't that cool. We have some good bands and maybe a handful of great ones, but really... they're not that cool. Sure I like Foo Fighters and I have been listening to My Morning Jacket before they were featured in the movies “Elizabethtown” and “The Lookout,” but I'm not exactly sure how the future will paint them if they are at all.

Case in point: you can't go a day watching television without hearing a Zeppelin song selling a car, someone using a Janice Joplin song, or even an investment firm referring back to the summer of love. There's also “Rockband” and “Guitar Hero,” games designed for my generation of slacker wannabes who, while incredibly gifted with hand-eye coordination from years of Playstation, just don't have the communal idea of creating a garage band itself. I guess that if you can't get your friends to help you form a band you might as well grab a plastic guitar-shaped controller and try to play along. Let me know how you do on “Thunderstruck.”

There's no one central reason why we're just not that cool. Some could reason that technology has killed music. While you can promote your band on MySpace there's about a million others of you. Technology has made more types of music available as opposed to 40 years ago when you had to have serious drive and passion just to make it through the Studio system. Now, any balding white guy with the right software on his laptop can cut an album in his apartment (see also: Moby). “Studio production” technology has affected music as well. Would Brittany Spears sound as good if she wasn't performing to a synthesized beat?

Or maybe it's the magic and mysticism of a time I never knew; “the good old days.” There's something fascinating about listening to someone say, “Mick Jagger and the rest of the stones dropped by my farm and did some acid in 1967.” “I remember that night: the Fillmore, 1968.” “Me and David Crosby had to go rescue Neil Young from a jail in Alabama thirty minutes before the concert...” “I woke up in bed with Grace Slick.” “I was at a concert in New York helping Jim Morrison stay on stage while he was completely drunk and falling everywhere.” The best that my generation can hope for is, “I helped knock over a corner store with Maroon 5 because they were low on Red Bull.”

Rock music, especially in its infancy, seems to have this aura of youth, rebellion, love, and change. Or at least it's marketed well that way. And while we have classic rock music stations playing the same 8 songs by the Eagles, Zeppelin, Rolling Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and the rest every day, at least they're being played. I'm not so sure that 10 years from now anyone will still be listening to Puddle of Mudd, Default, Staind, or any of the others.

I've mentioned technology as a culprit but really it's just collusion. We can blame the RIAA for forcing bands to put out albums that are slated to be big sellers right out the door instead of fostering good music. We can blame a culture wrapped up in the one-hit-wonders of the past two decades to bother listening to any full album by the “wonders.” We can blame studio “de-regulation” or the fact that the Internet has made music more accessible but snows us under with its mediocrity (your MySpace band probably sucks). Or we can blame our culture which seems to promote making a buck over making educated expression.

Aside from some catchy riffs and a lyric or two, there's nothing cool about the music of now. Rap/RB/hip-hop speaks of money, power, and fashion but little substance. Country music has not only infiltrated the pop scene as it has for the last 30 years but now sounds like rock music from the late Eighties. As for Rock music it sits in a quagmire of lyrical retardation waiting for something to happen as if it will catch the cultural throne again and rule. Until then it ceaselessly churns out ballads.

Gotta go. I'm going to raid the liquor store with Nickelback.