And an Unusual Silence Fell Over the River City...

Saturday night. Nine o'clock. Pitch-black sky under cloud cover I snaked my way along the concrete ribbons heading home from downtown Louisville. I had just left Mrs. Potter's; a coffeeshop still open because a friend of mine, Rachel, had setup a night of music performances there. As the orange speedometer nears 75 I look around and realize something: no traffic. A Saturday night in Louisville with seventy-degree weather and no traffic whatsoever? What gave?

I stopped at one of my old haunts – the Heine Bros. coffeeshop at Gardiner Lane Plaza. With the exception of four whole people in the place it was dead as dead. I ordered a mocha and chat with the blond barista about why all was quiet on the Buechel front. We guessed about the game. It apparently became the kind of big deal that Derby was for locals meaning that everyone stayed home. Or at a friend's place.

I finally got back to the apartment on the other side of town around ten. I would find out that the UK Wildcats lost by one point. One. What a pisser for the fans. That silence that cloaked the city must have been a collective silent scream of disappointment. Oh well.

But let me take you to the beginning of this story...

The week sucked. Plain sucked. Not merely “things will hopefully get better but right now they suck” kind of suck but “all things in the world, at once, taking such a big crap that it clogged up the vortex of suck” kind of suck. I got upset while chatting about texting (and I shouldn't have). I got the lowest on the low end of raises at my job along with coming to the conclusion that I don't need to be there but there's no where else to go. My car had been having a “choking” effect that made it shutter at stops and while accelerating. I had to cut-off chatting with someone I like because I was becoming stressed-out and didn't want all the crap of the world that I was absorbing to spill into characters in a chatblock. I quickly found myself burnt. Overwrought. Tired. Done.

I put in to take a half-day that Friday because I wanted to let it all subside for a bit. By 1:30 I walked out the front lobby doors, got in my car, drove back to the apartment, and crashed on the futon for 90 minutes or so. Got up, made sure I had my orange wristband, grabbed my camera and Cage the Elephant CD, then got into the car and drove into the Highlands to ear-X-tacy to watch them perform.

Killed 30 minutes in the Heine Bros. next door. I walked in to the ear-X-tacy by 5:10 and it was beginning to pack. Most of the clientele seemed to be late-high school and twenty-somethings but there were those older than me in the crowd. I talked with a lanky, red-headed guy who sported a Canon 5D Mark II (MSRP: $2500 for the body alone). He was trying to get into the “taking pictures of rock stars” niche but was working at UPS currently. We talked shop a bit then the band took the stage.

I took about 50 shots. Afterward I waited in line for 30 minutes to meet the band. They autographed the inside of my CD liner and let me have a picture with them.

On my cellphone I called Ronald who was with one of the Meetup groups downtown doing the First Friday Trolley Hop. The group was at an art museum and I decided to meet them over at 21c. I drove to Slugger Field, parked there, and caught one of the wandering trolleys over to the combo art museum/hotel. Along the way I listened to two girls sitting adjacent from me talk about the different downtown stops, etc.

At 21c I met up with the group: Janice, Teresa, Tamara, Ronald, Peter, Teresa T, and a girl named Jennifer. I helped them “tour” the place and split time hanging out with the Teresas and Tamara. I hung out a little with Ronald and talked with Peter some. 21c is one of my favorite places in the city.

Some time later we go out to eat at the Mexican restaurant Los Aztecas. The rain began dropping in buckets outside right before we began leaving. Tamara and Teresa T made for a place called the Bodega while the rest of us paid our tabs and wondered how we were going to get through the rain. I used my jacket to cover over my camera and braved through while taking cover under awnings and building with high columns. We finally got on to a trolley and were about to head back to Slugger Field to go home when Ronald called Teresa T and we were let off the trolley around the Bodega. Incidentally the rain had stopped by then.

The Bodega was a Spanish-themed eatery that seemed to cater towards the sandwich and smoothie lot with beer and alcohol served as well. As soon as I walked in through the front entrance two guys were playing music center stage; one had an electric guitar and the other played drums. Tamara and Teresa T were already there drinking and swaying to the music. I went to the bar and ordered a BBC “seasonal” which I later deemed “tasted like crap.” I remember watching the rest of them gathered at the opposite end of the table talking, Teresa swaying to the music, the beer tasting like shit, and I was five planets away. As soon as I finished it off I went back for an iced tea (with mango) and became more sociable. I guess I was tired.

We walked back to Slugger Field and bid farewell for the night. The next day I was set for the photo scavenger hunt...

Which had its moments. By 1:30pm I left my apartment, drove downtown, rounded 4^th Street Live to find their free parking, and made it to the Food Court by 2. By then four people had showed. I went over to the CVS pharmacy and bought a bottle water and Snickers bar. By the time I got back the population 'sploded and Michele, the organizer, was going through the rules and divvying up who the teams were. I was paired with Shane and Jennifer (who was at the previous night's Trolley Hop) and we were given the sheet. While out taking pictures with my camera Michele asked me if the card in my camera would fit her laptop. That'd be a negatory. So, we had to opt to use Jennifer's camera.

What happened next was 90 minutes of going around trying to find what we could and coming up short. Some things we tried didn't work. Some things we could've done but didn't realize. Some things we ran out of time on. The last half-hour was spent circling back to 4^th Street Live to get to the TGI Friday's and doing whatever we could along the way. Closing out on the meeting time of 4:30 we realized that we were going to be short of what we needed and each person displayed their disappointments differently.

4:30pm. The last group made it there on-the-dot. The restaurant setup our tables and I sat across Jennifer and Teresa, with Shane on my left and a new guy, James, on my right. I ordered the new Picatta (sp?) Chicken while waiting for the results. My group came in last. It's how it goes.

It soon became 7 and some of us wanted to continue hanging out while most of the others left. I suggested Mrs. Potters because my friend Rachel would be playing (as adverted by her FB status). A new couple to the group agreed to come along so it was I, Teresa, Joe T, and the new couple that made it over there. Teresa gave me a ride over after I picked up my camera from my car. The group icked a table in the back of the restaurant.

I ran into Rachel outside who asked me to take pictures of her performing. Sure thing. When Rachel took the stage I grabbed my camera and went to the front alternating between two chairs (one withint a foot of the amp) taking pictures of her. Right after she finished I went back to the table and the group, collectively, decided it was time to go. They thanked me for inviting them, citing that she was “really good” (with one guy thinking I was going to take them to a poetry slam), and we all dispersed separately. Of note the girl (part of the couple) thanked me and said that it was truly nice and that it “meant something” on top of her enjoying the first 30 of the show. That's cool.

Hitched a ride back to 4^th SL with Teresa again. We rounded the blocks to get close to the parking garage. “I'm gonna let you off here and you're gonna have to hoof it. Follow the legs.” She pointed toward the four blond chicks in mini-skirts and high-heels pounding their way to the entrance to the place. I laughed, thanked her, then went to the parking garage. Got into my car and drove home.

Sunday. Got up not-as-early and my uncle followed me over to GoodYear Tire Center to have my car looked at. We dropped it off and then went in search for breakfast. Or lunch. His stomach was changing like McDonald's at 10:30; your bacon, egg, and cheese artery-clogger will now be a Big Mac Heart Attack. We opted instead for Bob Evans where I found out that he had never tried a crepe. There's a first time for everything... Went home, zoned out to jazz on WFPK, got back up, then went to a place called Joe's “Older Than Dirt” Bar. From the outside it looks like a shack with rocking chairs; inside, it's a MASSIVE bar. Tried their Philly cheese steak sandwich (good different) then went back home. I would have to get up early the next morning, be at work for an additional 90 minutes, miss cardio/strength training, and get my car.

Which is what happened. $310 dollars later.

Closing it off here. Tired. Need a shower. Burned 400+ calories at the fitness place. Ate at Fazoli's (going downhill for a bit...) Got some coffee. I think I've earned tonight's sleep.

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…

Friends, Mortality, Love...

…and the rest of that !@#$

I'm starting this around 12:40am. It's been a day. Yesterday (Sunday) I was sick and didn't know why. At some point toward 1pm I was lightheaded and just sorta swinging in and out of wanting to stay awake. My friend Ronald dropped off a lens I left at his place after taking photos of his Transformers collection and I kept him outside of my apartment because if I was sick I didn't know if it was me, food I ingested, or something in the air.

Let me back up a little: Saturday was all-intensive. I got up around 10 which was later than I had wanted to. I grabbed some breakfast bars and stopped at a gas station for a small fruit drink before hitting the road to go to my old stomping ground, Buechel. Once there I got a haircut before driving over to the school I graduated from and taking pics of the basketball courts and some green chalkboards thanks to an old instructor Phil.

From there I booked it over to the Clifton Center off of Frankfort Ave. to sit in on the meeting for the Derby City Film Festival. I offered to help out with the fest and take pictures for Kris, the guy running it all. I also met up with Aimee (sp?) who I was interested in last year and still interested in BUT she jerked me around a bit and I'm not sure I want to deal with her anymore. I found a blackboard and started taking pictures before heading to my car to go back to my apartment.

I called Ronald from the road and told him that I would be running behind. I made it back to the apartment where my uncle was awake and sitting in his computer chair by his laptop. “Hi.” “Bye.” I grabbed my desklamp and went over to Ronald's place.

The guy has a massive Transformers collection. Massive. I had never taken “product” pics before so it was new for me. Fun? Yes. Exhausting? Yes. Did the pics come out well? Not as much as I had hoped but for not having done it before better than expected.

Following that we went to the Brick House Tap and Tavern. Three girls, one named Jenny, were having their birthdays and were planning on meeting down at Sully's on 4^th Street Live. Ronald and I were down for that and so we decided we would leave for it around 11pm.

Went back to my apartment. Grabbed my USB cable to transfer original pics from camera to Ronald's computer. He did that while I did a crash-recharge on his living room couch for at least 30 minutes. Got up, got moving, had some more Canada Dry, and we went out on the road.

4^th Street Live. Paid the $5 to get into Sully's. Jenny and her “crew” of 30 were nowhere to be seen. Ronald was letdown by this. He doesn't drink and he's not too much into club dancing and if you're not into either of these then 4^th Street Live is not your forte. We walked around trying to see if they could be anywhere else but, no dice. We finally agreed to go to Ri Ra's Irish Pub where we sat and hung out; he had a soda and I took a Stella Artois, listening to some chick go on about how she would leave a guy who wanted to drink that. Whatever. We found a spot to sit toward the other end of the bar and I perused an imported Irish newspaper. I read about how the Irish seemingly had no rights in their own country and about them finding work in Boston and New York. And I come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, I'm a bit more Scottish.

Went back to Ronald's place, grabbed my stuff, put it in the car and went home. Got to sleep by 3am. How it goes, how it goes...

I mentioned something about friends and making them in the title and so let me pontificate and elaborate on such matters. I'm bad at making new friends. Some part of me wants to blame Crazy and Psycho but that can't take all of it -a lot of it is me. I work in a job where most of my co-workers are women; I'm the only white guy that works until the other shows at 3pm. Most of the others have the job as a means of supporting income, getting through a relationship/divorce, or they just wanted an “easier” job to deal with. I've absorbed every pound of bad crap the place has doled out and I'm damn near done with it all. I think I've become paranoid of everyone just a little bit more.

I work with these ladies but keep an arm's distance because who and what I am and do isn't of interest to them. And that's fine. I'm used to being by myself.

But this seeps into other areas. Whether I'm speaking with an engineer, accountant, etc. my world of having a nowhere/dead-end day job to support my writing/blogging and photography doesn't equate to most of them. I went to a Meetup group where people who are new to the area come to meet others and most of them are of the yuppie variety or defined as conservative twenty-somethings from other places with cash to blow and not a lot else going on. Am I in the wrong? Should I curtail what all I'm doing in order to be on a common ground?

Ronald and I talked about friendship. In this locale it's difficult to get to know someone because the ones who live here have lived here for a long time and have to SERIOUSLY consider adding you to their circle of friends that they've known since childhood. All my former friends have wives and kids and the suburban life that the Joneses require you to have. I relate to Ronald that it's difficult because outside of these people there are the Meetup people, mostly transplants and transients, who I get along with for the most part (because I've been places) but not entirely because I lack that “corporate America” feeling. That and my hours of operation go into 2am (it's 1:18am as I write this sentence).

The other thing about friendship is that we're all looking for companions moreso than friends. We want someone to be our support system and there when we get home rather than go out, meet up, then go home alone. And that's understandable. Problem is that losing the aesthetic of friendship robs us of our relationships platonic and otherwise. And besides that with social networking, TV, our jobs, freelancing, etc., do we have time to be “just friends” with someone? Go, hang out, have fun, then go home alone? We've been drilled into “everything or nothing” so badly that guys you hang out with, girls you get into relationships with. If a girl isn't about having a relationship there's not a lot of time to be friends. There can be exceptions to this rule but they usually involve distance, relationship status/marriage, and/or the Internet.

Now to mortality. Last Wednesday my dad had chest pains that night and into Thursday morning. By 7am he was taken to the local hospital where they administered several tests (a few involving bloodwork). The results? Good news: it wasn't a heart attack. Bad news: they have no clue what it was.

Which brings me to that “whumph” I felt when my mom told me that my dad had to go to the hospital. My dad goes damn near yearly to the hospital for whatever reason and my mom doesn't make a fuss about it she just goes and sits by his side. This time she sounded UPSET. Hurt. Frightened. As if this were one card away from the Big CPU in the sky.

I felt it too. If/when my dad dies the dynamics of everything involving my family will change. I'm not looking forward to it. I'm not waiting for the phone call that's going to make me feel 10 years older than

I need to be. But I imagine it's just over the horizon.

“Love? Lord above, now you're trying to trick me in love!”

It may have been “alright now” for Free but not so much for me. Back to being tired and burnt out. I have no clue as to what women want but I get back to the square that says “Not me.” I had up a decent profile on OK Cupid and the only person to talk with me had no picture and felt like I was pulling teeth instead of having a conversation. Being tired and sick the other night I changed my profile and had a friend of mine read it who told me, in a general sense, that my new profile was a bad idea.

And so I'm going to put it all on hiatus. It doesn't matter if I'm nice, it doesn't matter if I'm not – I just don't “click.” And that's fine. I'm going to change my profile tonight and not bother with it unless someone messages me. I'll leave it at that.

How it goes, how it goes

-C

When I Feel That Time's a Wasted Go...

Y'know what? I'm about five seconds from letting the world win.

World: you got me. Is that what you wanted? Another defeat? Another person blasting out into the jumbled 0's and 1's how unless you agree with it, it's not happening? That these Hollywood-ized dreams we have about how one person can make a difference, can change things, is bunk because you have to be willing to let it happen? Is that how it really goes?

Then fuck it. Fuck it all.

I'm just high-strung tonight, people. Sitting on the edge looking into the chasm below.

I guess I'm more than slightly pissed tonight because this movie group that I'm trying to start is not going very well. Not at all. I attached myself to another group in order to get members who would be interested in coming to my place and watching a movie. And what happened?

The exact opposite.

If I were in some sports game my team would be taking a time out and using their cellphones to call the bookies and bet on the other team. It's that bad. I haven't went back to the site yet but I'm pretty sure the odds are sitting at 13-1 against.

Either I suck or these people are extremely fucking shallow. Let's not discount that both theories are possible.

Nut up or shut up time. Do I really want a movie group? Do I dare go up against the group I co-created currently presided over by Crazy and Psycho? Do I need to deal with any more shit from them?

Goddamn it. Goddamn it all.

* * * * * *

And someone asked me what I want, what I REALLY want. My answer: out. Just out. Cash in my chips. Write the check and leave the table. I'm done. Thanks. It wasn't really all that fun.

Which brings me to why am I still here? Why am I kept around? God and Satan have had more than a few chances to finish me off, the last being my car nearly creamed by a semi-truck that didn't realize I was in the lane it was merging in. Why? Am I some sort of sick joke being played out? Does neither side want me or has the bidding for my soul just not got there? Even in death I just might be by myself.

Let me attach to this rant: being “special” and a “nice guy” doesn't do dick for me. Sorry. No, strike that. All it really means is that a large ass target hangs over me head for the world to shit on me. For stupid shallow fuckers who can't see life bigger than themselves and who have nothing better to do than do right by themselves to squat on the bull's eye? Fuck that. Fuck me.

* * * * * *

So the last bit of frustration is in the fact that I'm trying to do something with my life. In terms, I'm trying to get my photography up and running/sold/recognized/jobs/etc. What's been holding me up?

A name. I have no name for the company.

Which shouldn't be difficult but it is. I'm trying to stay away from using Chas because I feel kinda done with it. Or maybe it's that I'm tired of me. Either way I've been pressing my friend Cindi for ideas and thankfully she's given me a few. And I've asked others but nothing feels like it really RINGS, like it's cool. And so amidst other crap I should be doing I'm dickering around with the name for my business.

One crisis at a time,

-C

No Love

I’ve been busy a lot lately. I’m stacking up phone numbers to call left and right for personal business. I’ve been whittling down the 220 images I shot last weekend. My friend Cindi suggests I go into stock photography which I’ve been considering for a while; I just need time to sit down and seriously concentrate on it but my mind doesn’t like staying at any given locale too long. We’ll see what happens…

And for the moment I’m tired. Again. Done. Burnt. I went to play trivia last night and the female bartend (”Steen”) acted pissed-off to see me. So, I didn’t talk to her except to order beer, get some ginger ale, and pay my tab. If you’re happier not talking to me THAN talking to me, just keep being happy. I don’t need to have anything to do with you except professional business.

* * * * * * * * *

“I dunno. I’m not looking for a relationship right now…”

So says the black woman into her cellphone earpiece; a white cord with an earbud that looks like she’s listening to an iPod. She’s standing by her cart next to a shelf to the right of the walkway on the left side of the store. Her shoe makes a heavy sound as she pounds it on the floor.

And then I realize my generation: the broken one with no love. I’m caught between friends such as Rob who, while he put in the time and effort to get to know how wife-to-be still put in the time and they had their separate lives, he’s the last of ones that I think I’ll ever know that did that.

I’m reminded of the Jennifer situation: a girl who just wanted to find someone to be with. That’s not entirely true –she was with Kurt. The point I find myself digressing from is that she goes after someone, goes to move in with them, then moves on to someone else. She’s been married before to boot. Part of me, the rational side, says it’s for the best. Emotions, however, do not have rationale.

The point I’m getting to is that dating, ergo relationships, seem to be in extremes. On one end there are those of us who are perpetually broken – jaded, cynical, tired, burnt, and fed-up; we’ve heard it all before. We suck at relationships/are horrible at them and just bob up and down in the sea of loneliness. On the other are the ones who find someone, latch onto them, and move in with them with the mentality things will get better or they’ll just work themselves out. Both of these roads are not without their share of peril.

Maybe it’s a question of wants and needs. A friend of mine, Jennai, posted on her FB status that she wants to call a truce on the war between the sexes. I think that war has downgraded to skirmishes of an almost “who could care less” mentality. It just feels like everything is… busted. Not to throw out any generalities here but women seem to have a checklist only slightly thicker than the Clinton Healthcare document of the 90’s while hoping that the guy they are dating not only makes it through the checklist but is every bit the fairytale Prince Charming meets Marlboro Man that they want him to be. It is impossible come highly unlikely that any guy can remotely match this image or come close. Meanwhile us guys are steeped in the idea that the an incredibly hot, huge-chested, high-heel wearing chick will accept us for being slobs which is NEVER true because beautiful chicks, hot chicks at that, mainly stay around those as equally good-looking. Both sides hide within their own fantasies crossing their fingers for it to become reality.

So I’ve talked with exes and friends and the question becomes: what do I want? What am I looking for in a person? I really don’t know. A woman I FEEL attracted to, not just someone I think I can grow into linking. A woman who actually APPRECIATES me for being me instead of trying to control me or make me feel like shit. A soul I can cry into in the darkness. A woman I can complement (and compliment) and vice-versa. Someone who puts me at ease just being with them.

But how do I market that? Are women actually interested in that or are men just chutes and ladders? The Old Man (ergo, old apartment neighbor) once said that women are looking for three things: fun, finance, and security and they’ll do anything to have that combination, whether it’s one guy or many. And I do not know where else to go on this tangent…

I guess I’m at the fact that I sit tired. And disillusioned. Not as broken but tired of having to sift through the leftovers of the alcoholics, the crazies, and the rest I’m not attracted to. And there are times that I forget the point –that those moments I so forget about, that deep down I miss, that all this is clouded under a veil of “never again” nostalgia that I’ll not have a chance to experience, just vaguely remember like I’m watching a movie unfold before me.

I dunno. It’s all just crazy talk.

The Struggle of Birthday

Tuesday I turned 34. 3-4. In medieval times you were lucky to live past 30. Fifty years ago the cultural standard was that I should've had the house, mortgage, good paying job, wife, kid, etc. Hell, my parents were married by the time my dad was 20. Me? I'm none of those things but I'm alright with that.

There was something in my twenties when I believed that the Program was the way; that I would have all of those above things by the age of 25. I saw myself somewhere different. I did not foresee dealing with depression, loneliness, moving, bad friends, self-esteem issues, etc. If I went back to the 'me' of Middle School how would I then see the 'me' of now? I don't want to venture to guess.

But as far as life goes I've had more fun after turning 30 than I think I did in my twenties. I spent a decade running around asking if I was doing the right thing and now, while I am still paying for some of that I found that following my heart is really all I can do.

Speaking of... people still want me to get back to directing. I'm still not there yet but I'm getting closer. I think.

I remember turning 25 and I was like “I'm 25. I have now achieved a quarter-century of life on Earth. I now know all THIS.” I was full of myself. I didn't realize that life always changes and who you are now is not necessarily who you are tomorrow or who you were yesterday. The core programming is all there but as the bumper sticker states, “Shit happens.” Sometimes I do wish I could go back to the me of then and talk to me.

I know I'm rambling at this point but ya know what? This is my blog.

I'm looking at starting a movie group again. The last one I walked away from. This one I'm going to see if I can build it off another Meetup group. Will keep you posted.

Speaking of struggle... my friend Art finally convinced me to help work on the show he's trying to do. He wants to showcase people's attempts to get where they are going albeit fame, stardom, coveted positions, etc. I told him that if we did it the show would be about the trials and tribulations and that, sometimes, you don't always get where you were planning on going. We'll see how this goes...

I don't know what other pearls of wisdom to share this morning. Currently, my car sits off to the side of an on-ramp and I need to get a new battery for it then take it over to have the alternator checked as well as a new tire put on. There goes trip money I was hoping to have. I'm trying to save up for my NYC trip. We'll see how that goes.