May 9, 2009 (129/365)

[erases a bunch of "my life" stuff that isn't important to anyone but me.] V. was the only thing that kept me from feeling like the world was having a good ol' time without me tonight. I hate the growing feeling that I'm orbiting everyone else's lives instead of having people orbit mine. May is turning into a fluid, action packed month. Oh, yay.

May 8, 2009 (128/365)

Just pretend I whined about something and go elsewhere. No one reads this anyway.

May 7, 2009 (127/365)

Typical day-after-comedown-day. I hate them. They make me want to... change my life for the worse. In better news, I wasn't left alone holding the bag at work. I still feel like an idiot.

May 6, 2009 (126/365)

5:00am clause.

May 5, 2009 (125/365)

They're probably not going to be too keen on my "I told you so" regarding making me come in and be functional and accurate at ass:o'clock in the morning.

May 4, 2009 (124/365)

It would be so nice to have someone who was into my art. Not just approving of it or enjoying the result but sincerely interested in the process. Someone who'd want to just watch in amazement while I work. N. used to say she felt that way, but she was never anything more than an online phantom in a nonexistent world.

May 3, 2009 (123/365)

It's so weird and unexpected, after having a nice day at the art show, to have one of those "stare at the wall" nights. Feels like I'm crashing.

May 2, 2009 (122/365)

1/3 the way through the year.

May 1, 2009 (121/365)

I know what people with deadlines are like. They put off and procrastinate until it's too late to actually meet the deadline, then it's the panicked scramble and half-assed rush to get done. This leaves those who count on them meeting that deadline (in today's case, me) swinging in the wind and being danced about cleaning up multiple, spuratically-discovered mistakes that wouldn't have been made if they'd properly managed their time to begin with. And in my case, it's not like these deadlines are an unexpected surprise to them... They come along at regularly spaced, scheduled intervals. If it's just a matter of not having enough time or manpower, that can be dealt with, but that's seldom the case. There's just no excuse for willing incompetence.

April 30, 2009 (120/365)

Did something with L. tonight that I haven't done in a while. I was reminded how much doing it with another L. long ago made me smile.

April 29, 2009 (119/365)

Frightening Realization: It's disturbing that most of the things that keep me stable are things I can't get regularly.

April 28, 2009 (118/365)

Want is a frigid, sadistic bitch, and I'd kick the living piss out of her if I could.

April 27, 2009 (117/365)

You can look at the menu but you just can’t eat
You can feel the cushions but you can’t have a seat
You can dip your foot in the pool but you can’t have a swim
You can feel the punishment but you can’t commit the sin
And you want her and she wants you
We want everyone
And you want her and she wants you
No one, no one, no one ever is to blame

No One Is To Blame - Howard Jones

April 26, 2009 (116/365)

I'm inventing a new word/title: Soul-Ally. V. is mine.

April 25, 2009 (115/365)

I've felt like I belonged somewhere else all day, but I don't really know where that might be. It's an "out of place" feeling. Like I'm someone other than who I am. I've been thinking about multiple personality disorder lately and wondering if I might be headed for something like that. I realize it's a detrimental condition, but I wonder sometimes if it might not be nice.

April 24, 2009 (114/365)

Give her red hair, and Ali Larter might make a decent Mary Jane Watson-Parker in the Spider-Man movies. I think my preferred actress is still Charisma Carpenter. Kirsten Dunst is just not good in the role.

April 23, 2009 (113/365)

My carefully planned presentations always degenerate into oral ramblings. I hate it when I do that.

April 22, 2009 (112/365)

It's unsettling and/or unfulfilling to be creative and not like the things you end up making.

April 21, 2009 (111/365)

I wish Z. was right and I could be paid for what I'm best at. It's sexual discrimination really.

April 20, 2009 (110/365)

I love waking you up from your nap. Because in that barely awake, reality-hasn't-sunk-in-yet state, you smile like you're still in love with me. It makes me cry.

April 19, 2009 (109/365)

Last night ended exactly as I feared it would. Road to Hell... good intentions...

April 18, 2009 (108/365)

Having friends who are "users"* is really a drain on my ego. They make more than casual contact only when they need something from me (which I always accommodate), and when getting together is important to me but not them, they bail out at the 11th hour 100% of the time. It's infuriating because it hurts and sad because I consider them my friends and get slapped in the face with the realization that we don't consider each other friends on the same level. Their excuses may be legitimate or not, but because the situation is important to me and not them, they don't bother making preparations/adjustments to their schedules to make it. If I didn't so desperately need people to help me keep my emotional balance, I'd [deletes something unnecessarily rude, instead choosing] just distance myself.

*A user in this respect is not drug related but someone who bases social interaction with others on what they can do for them, essentially, using them. It's not malicious, that's just how they're wired.

April 17, 2009 (107/365)

My fucking psyche.... I've been so beaten down for so long that the mere thought of something good happening to me scares me. When I have mental images of good things happening to me, I flinch like I've been burned. I can't dare allow myself to become hopeful or enjoy the ideas for even a moment. That way lies pain and disappointment. Always.

Pretty fucked up, huh.

April 16, 2009 (106/365)

I can feel myself screaming just below the surface tonight. The impulse is there, but I'm always able to hold it down. Still, I can visualize it and hear it in my head. It's born of frustration. When you stand on railroad tracks, you know you'll eventually get hit by a train.... yet I keep stepping onto the tracks hoping for something good will come of it. Am I crazy?

April 15, 2009 (105/365)

Wow, there's a strong pressure in my ears tonight, and they're ringing. It's off-putting.

No.... no, I've got nothing else tonight.

April 14, 2009 (104/365)

I can feel "bad" nipping at the edges of my psyche again tonight. I think it's because I have so many things I need to get done soon and so many more I want to do (in many cases, want to do instead). I am making a sincere effort on one of those many fronts tonight. I've needed to get this book laid out for too long, but let the little graphic stumbling blocks stall me.

I've also realized in the past couple days that I'm having to sensor what I write here because it's an open blog, and I don't want some people reading some things that may be on my mind. It has the pang of restriction.

March 13, 2009 (103/365)

When those little voices inside your head start talking to you, listen to them. Especially when they tell you to stay home and work, or watch TV, or pick lint out of your navel instead of going to visit someone you'd like to see but who the little voices say will only bring a string of circumstances the likes of which would make the Keystone Cops cringe in disbelief.

Lesson learned, little voice, lesson learned.

April 12, 2009 (102/365)

I realized something today. I dread holidays... with a neck-sweat-trickling passion. And it's because on the holidays I'm expected to trek the 3.5 hours downstate to visit my family. Today was once again time for the reaffirming that I'm the disappointing freak of the family. ... the misguided son ...the irresponsible sibling ...the useless father. They never really say it, but it's written on their faces and between the lines of their smalltalk.

I used to like holidays.

April 11, 2009 (101/365)

Special circumstances here. I was out til 3:00am and had to get up at 7:00am. No writey.

April 10, 2009 (100/365)

I'm really not handling late nights very well.

April 9, 2009 (99/365)

Tomorrow will be my first day back at the magazine since they quartered my hours (same as all the other "casual" workers, except the 4 unlucky bastards who got canned). It's a little like going to a social function that you know a freshly-ex'ed girlfriend is going to be at. Uncomfortable. Not that I didn't know this was coming. Even before the sales department started coming up short, I realized this was a print publication and was therefore 99% likely to be doomed. (In the roshambo of publishing, Internet beats Paper.) The Powers That Be have, unfortunately, hastened its demise by not fully understanding what it is they're printing. If this were any other magazine, what they did would make financial sense. They cut production from biweekly to roughly monthly or even bimonthly. The detail not fully appreciated is the fact that this is a nursing placement magazine (interspersed with light articles) instead of some normal special interest-rag. No hospital nor doctor's office is going to want to pay to run an ad that no one's going to see for a month when they have an open job now. Counter-intuitive as it might sound, what they needed to do was bump the book to a weekly, print one national issue (they currently print a dozen regional versions), lower the price of ads, and pump the fact that we're showing more ads more often now. Did they consult me? No. If they had, I'd have grown the largest, brassiest pair of balls in the house... I'd have told them to publish more, not less, and that they needed to pay me more for my scintillating insights.

April 8, 2009 (98/365)

Watched some old episodes of Pushing Daisies tonight. It continues to amaze and infuriate me over how the American TV-watching audience shuns quality programming in favor of what they've seen a million times. Pushing Daisies was one of the most brilliant shows I've ever seen on TV. It was equally hailed by "critics," yet the average TV watching zombie didn't take the time to "get it," viewership quickly sank, and the network got nervous and killed it even before all their finished episodes had aired. They're finally showing the last 3 episodes this summer.... on Saturdays at 9pm. There is no worse air time. Insult to injury. The same thing is now happening to the new show, Kings, which is also fresh, interesting, and well made.... everything viewers fear. They'd rather have season 105 of Law & Order: Creative Intent or the inexplicably bad but intellectually unthreatening Knight Rider.

I deeply, deeply hate you people.

April 7, 2009 (97/365)

I'm a little sick and tired of the forced balancing of my life. I've endured it for as long as I can remember. Whenever something good happens in my life, something equally bad has to follow it up almost immediately. I had such good things happening around me a few days ago, and today it's time to pay the piper. I fucking hate you, Fate. If you had physical embodiment, I'd kick your fucking teeth in.

April 6, 2009 (96/365)

Classic "bad thing" about depression: A day like today when everyone around me is happy and being nice to me, and I'm still down and can barely motivate myself to leave the house. Days like today, I miss out on life.

Depression... whine... blah blah blah. Days like today I actually hope no one reads this blog.

April 5, 2009 (95/365)

It saddened me today to realize that everything in the world boils down to money (et al). Courts place a dollar value on "pain and suffering." Cigarette and pharmaceutical companies use the estimated payout in court of lives lost through their products when determining if a product is profitable to produce. This all came to mind, while watching a show about WWII, from a simple urge to express thanks to war veterans and the realization that personal gratitude carries no value any more. Much like a person's promise or sworn oath, it has no meaning any more.

Fuck you, you greedy, unscrupulous world.

April 4, 2009 (94/365)

I'm evoking the "didn't get home til 5am" clause.

April 3, 2009 (93/365)

I promised no minutia of my life, so I'll keep this brief. Layoffs at work today. My hours quartered. I'm not much in the mood to write. In fact I'm not sure I'm in the mood to continue this blog. We'll see.

April 2, 2009 (92/365)

Work was overwhelming. Didn't bother writing.

April 1, 2009 (91/365)

Sign me up for a Stepford wife. I want that perfect, custom-made girl, and no one's enough for me tonight. It's not their fault, I'm just a whiny fuck. I'm also tired of being a whiny fuck. I'm tired of writing here night after night about my negative feelings. ...oh, poor me.

March 31, 2009 (90/365)

This just in: People are strange. I wish I was of a better frame of mind to appreciate it.

March 30, 2009 (89/365)

Tried to explain to K. tonight what happened to me on Friday and why it's effected me the way it has. I don't think I was able to make him understand, maybe because I'm not sure I fully understand it myself. He applied the same logic that I tried to, but it just doesn't fix anything. All I know is that I'm not going to be able to just "get back to normal." I'm changed. I'll either evolve into someone I haven't been, or I can try to be what I was. But if I go that route, knowing what I know... having experienced what I have, the "old me" will be damaged inside. The story of Pandora probably applies here, but her box wasn't opened by accident.

March 29, 2009 (88/365)

2 days out from the "big awakening" and I'm still fucked up. Part of my brain is trying to push my psyche back to the way it used to be. The other part is telling me how naive and pointless that is. I feel insignificant and ineffective, and I wonder if I need to change myself fundamentally to be the person I want... the person I thought I was. I just don't want to feel like I did Friday night again.

March 28, 2009 (87/365)

Post-traumatic stress. What am I supposed to be?

March 27, (86/365)

Just the right combination of emotional switches inside my head and circumstances outside my head tripped last night and I'm traumatized. I feel ridiculous and fake. People who probably know better would tell me I shouldn't, but I do. I thought I was just climbing out of a social hole; if this fucks that up, I'm going to be pissed.

March 26, 2009 (85/365)

I forgot what I was going to write about tonight. Dammit.

The studio closes for 10 days for spring break starting tomorrow. Someone needs to take away my shoelaces.

March 25, 2009 (84/365) 2

AIG buzzkill claims first victim.

Jake DeSantis, an executive VP at AIG whines that he's being causelessly villified and is taking his ball and bat (and giant paycheck) and going home. With the party over, all the cheese puffs eaten, hookers passed out on the living room rug, mom's good china broken, and the cops banging on the door, it seems like the job is just no fun any more. Poor guy. Well, at least he'll get one last giant tax write-off since he's giving his own personal $750,000 bonus to charity.

Um, no. We'll be wanting that back, thanks.

Douchebag.

March 25, 2009 (84/365)

Good Idea/Bad Idea.
Good idea: Commercial glass installer wants to drum up repeat business.
Bad idea: Doing it by driving by the customers' stores at night and throwing rocks through their windows.
(The sad details.)
On an intellectually-similar note, two girls in the studio last night were trying to decide if the Great Depression happened during the 60's or the 70's.

Bleach for the gene pool, stat!

March 24, 2009 (83/365)

Pictures are of unusual importance to me lately. The photo shoot with V. turned out quite well and made her happy. And tonight L. sent me pictures of my work with her on Saturday which made me quite happy. (Her too, I'm pleased to say.)

March 23, (82/365)

I'm so fucking jealous of V. and Z. I could cry. They're perfect for each other. They live life. Life lives me. No, I'm not making any sense. That's probably for the best.

March 22, 2009 (81/365)

Line for a future poem:

She's a playground, and I have skinned knees.

March 21, 2009 (80/365)

ok, I get one other caviate: I'm also not going to post if I don't get home til 6:00 am.

....Christ, I'm too old for that shit.

March 20, 2009 (79/365)

I'm a paradox. I'm a bad person who cares too much about other people. I want things. And there are things that I would do if I were alone in the world, yet I don't do them because of the caring for others. I end up angry either way.

March 19, 2009 (78/365)

A brief visual:

Young children, perhaps 5 or 6 years old, crying hysterically, as helpless children do. They would tug at your heartstrings.... if they weren't also frantically tearing someone apart like frenzied sharks.

I creeped myself out.

March 18, 2009 (77/365)

(I would have posted this last night but couldn't figure out for the life of me why the page wouldn't load. I thought there was a problem with my cable connection. This morning I remembered I'd turned off my javascript last night thinking it was interfering with some pages I was looking at. I forgot to turn it back on. Dopey me.)


Nancy Grace and her ilk are pissing me off. She's not a reporter or even a news anchor, she's a grandstanding sensationmonger. She spends hours ...hours... on the biggest news network in the world, harping on the minutia of the latest hot child abduction case. She trots out any tiny detail, legitimate or solid as smoke, and shoves it under the magnifying glass of the cameras until it appears crucially important. It's not just the media sensationalism that grinds my gears (we've been barely-tolerating that since Geraldo Revera crawled from the slime), it's that she, and all the others like her, seem driven to "break the case." Like it's her job to investigate ongoing cases above and beyond the proper authorities. She rails like a televangelist at how the authorities aren't jumping at the same shadows she is. While poor, poor little [insert name of currently missing child here] goes unfound or unavenged. Well she'll step up and champion that child because, obviously, no one else is.

These are headlines from her CNN-hosted web page today:
-"Breaking details in the Caylee murder case: Prosecutors release e-mails and videos to the tot mom's defense team. What evidence do they hold? Will these videos be released to the media? Nancy Grace has the latest developments at 8 & 10 P.M. ET."
-"LATEST: 7 PM ET - WESH is reporting the owner of the land where Caylee Anthony's remains were discovered [has put it up for sale.]."

In a similar vein, Headline New's afternoon host, Mike Galanos, yesterday announced that they would interview some politician or corporate board member and "get a confession out of them." For these people it's not about news any more, it's about breaking the case. Listen you delusional, self-important windbags, let's leave the investigating to the people who should be doing it and get back to reporting the news instead of trying to make it.

And unless Nancy Grace feels like going to the training academy and joining the FBI she needs to leave the "investigating" to the professionals and devote her efforts to something more suitable to her obvious skills, like shilling products on the Home Shopping Network.

March 17, 2009 (76/365)

Was out very late enjoying "chaos day" with V. and her friends. Saw her new house. Got to exercise skills I haven't used in a year. Boy did that feel good.

Tired. Bed.

March 16, 2009 (75/365)

I wish I didn't have a headache tonight, I'd feel like writing more. I'm going to devote what little capacity I have left tonight to making notes for the Champions game reboot. No, I don't expect anyone to know what that means.

March 15, 2009 (74/365)

J. got a wake up call this year, and I'd probably feel bad for her if I wasn't the alarm clock. One year ago last Christmas, she was in the hospital with a fairly serious, weight-related condition. I supported her, encouraged, helped directly where I could, and played cheerleader. To no avail. She didn't care enough to make the necessary changes. (Sure she "cared," but her weight didn't change significantly. So draw your own conclusions.) One year later (this past Christmas) she was back in the hospital with related ailments, this time even more severe. This time, after another month in the hospital, she's taken aback by my standoffishness. I have a hard enough time bringing myself to take action without being slapped in the face by the feelings of futility and pointlessness. For Christ's sake, her life is threatened because she can't drum up enough motivation to lose weight. Why should I try harder than she's willing to... again. If I can't motivate her enough to fix her life, she needs to find someone who can. .....or let herself continue deteriorating due to "fear" and ambivalence. Just don't be mad at me for my lack of enthusiasm.

And thus I take one more step towards complete isolation.

March 14, 2009 (73/365)

I've been sorting through the gigantic mess of my music files. Music has always been unusually significant to me. I associate almost every song with a particular time or situation and more often than not they conjure up feelings and emotions from that time/place. Many of them... from happier times... make me feel good. If I was smart (and felt like slogging through literally thousands of songs), I'd collect all of those to use as some kind of music therapy.

March 13, 2009 (72/365)

I have a tendency to put off writing these pearls of wisdom until very late when I'm too tired to remember anything profound that I thought of earlier in the day. This is such a day.

March 12, 2009 (71/365)

I'm getting petty in my old age. I wanted to rain self-righteous vengeance down on some no-name student douchebag in the studio tonight the likes of which would make the authors of the Bible crap their pants. Not that the assbasket didn't deserve it, but I would have gone waaaay across some personal boundaries just to make myself feel better.

Fuck, it would have felt good for about two and a half seconds.

March 11, 2009 (70/365)

It feels really pointless saying this, but I'm in a weird place tonight. While, in typical depression-induced fashion, I've gotten absolutely nothing accomplished today, I've made attempts tonight to organize my thoughts in hopes of pushing forward towards.... something. Over the years I've compiled quite a long list of writing ideas. I look at them every days ...the bits and pieces of novels or short stories or scripts... in the hopes another piece of one will fall out of my foggy brain. There's some excellent and original concepts here. I've also just put the old 80's flick, Into The Night, in the DVD player like I used to back when I wrote into the wee hours of the night. The whole evening feels like I've laid all the ingredients for a cake out on the table, looked at them, and said to them, "ok, go!" I feel like, in my own dysfunctional way though, I am trying.

Oh, and the WebMD page for Wellbutrin sits there and sings to me like a Siren, promising me the answers to all my troubles.

March 10, 2009 (69/365)

L. is such a good girl. She works so hard, for long hours, and without complaint. Saving lives is a normal part of her daily work routine, and I can't imagine doing the things she does, but she's one of the best in the world at it. Most people have a gift for something ... a knack, a natural talent for it... whatever you want to call it. Most spend their lives looking for it. She's found hers. She makes me proud every day. At home, she works diligently, and even though she makes mistakes sometimes, she always has me in mind. We've had our rough spots now and then but always work through them. Even so, we're frequently out of synch these days. It makes me unhappy. I've grown more worried lately that I'm not good enough, and that's a dangerous mental place to be. I want to do something to make her life better, but right now I can't think of anything except removing me from it ...and she's made it very clear she believes that would not make it better. I disagree, but I would never put her through such pain. Still, I wish I could do something for her.

March 9, 2009 (68/365)

How in the world did I end up being in a family again? I mean it in the traditional sense: husband, wife, children. Of course, L. and I aren't married, and her children are not my own; but all of us hopping in the car to go to dinner... and my having to step in when little J. isn't getting the point his mother is trying to make gives me the creeps. I know for everyone else out there, "family" is a warm fuzzy thing that makes them happy. That's not how I feel about it. (Or maybe it's that I consider other people my "family" ...the ones I feel that comfort with... and not the people I'm related to.) I'm a terrible family member and a terrible parent. I'm not at all comfortable being in that role (as history has certainly proven). I've gone out of my way in life (an understatement) to protect others from this shortcoming in myself. Yet here I am and have been for years.

March 8, 2009 (67/365)

Depression is inconvenient. Even so, I'm apparently not going to do anything about it, since every medication causes reduced sexual interest.

....and I'm not going to stand for that. [cue rimshot]

March 7, 2009 (66/365)

Saw Watchmen today. Really liked it. As with any movie-izing of a novel, a lot of stuff got left on the floor, including the specifics of the endings, though it remains intact in concept (for reasons I think I agree with). Another surprise is the realization of the serious amount of coin they must have paid the Motion Picture Association of America to get that R rating because, seriously, that thing's WAY into NC17-land. Aside form Dr. Manhattan's glowing blue bits hanging out all over the place, there's a fairly graphic sex scene as well as extremely graphic splodey-people.

All that said, be prepared for the world to declare it a disappointment though. Anyone going in who hasn't read the novels (ie, 90% of the movie's audience) are going in expecting to see a sooperheero movie and are going to be angrily disappointed by the lack of action-packing. It's a fucking drama about costumed vigilantes, you assholes. You want mindless action, go rent X-men 3 again.

March 6, 2009 (65/365)

I talk to myself all the time. Looking at this blog, which no one else reads (and seriously, who would?), I think maybe the only thing more pathetic would be writing to myself. If this o pinion doesn't change, I'm going to stop doing this. I blogged before, you know, a few years ago. The only one or two people who read it, I talked to regularly anyway so decided to give up the blog. Pathetic as it was, I had more of a reason to write then... why in the world would I continue now?

March 5, 2009 (64/365)

Another late production night. I'm tired. I wish I had something interesting to say, but I don't. I'm sadly bemused by the people who display such surprise/panic/disbelief that our print magazine is generating less and less income. 99% of all print periodicals will be down the shitter in the next several years, and a nursing placement rag certainly isn't going to make the cut. It effects me, of course, and I'm sad to see it happen, but I at least know what that oncoming light is while I stand on these railroad tracks.

March 4, 2009 (63/365)

Dinner with K. tonight. He's writing a book on how to write screenplays for Hollywood. We talked at length on the content and theory of the book and the nature of screenwriting. It wasn't combative nor cooperative, but my role was providing perspective and alternate theories to explore. I could tell I was making him consider what it was he was writing rather than just assume he had it right the first time. (He may or may not have, but now he's thinking about it.) It reminded me very much of my days as a roleplaying game editor. It was a fulfilling feeling and made me realize I miss that job terribly. It's a shame the bottom dropped out of the gaming industry years ago. The circumstances at that time were ideal, of course, but I think I'd enjoy getting back into it. I also wonder if there's a market out there for a "writing assistant" ... not a co-writer or post-writing editor, but someone to keep a writer in check during the writing process.

March 3, 2009 (62/365)

Posting late. This falls under the clause of "unable to post" as the cable was out yesterday.

It wouldn't have been a very nice post last night anyway. I was foot-stompin' mad at the studio's student aides, who decided to move a piece I'd loaded into the bisque kiln myself. I put it in the kiln myself because the glaze treatment was delicate, and I didn't want some bonehead running his grubby fingers all over the surface of it and fucking it up. ....which is exactly what they did. Now the surface is ruined and had to be taken off completely, and I don't know if it's even possible to reapply it.

Goddammit.

March 2, 2009 (61/365)

Introspection: I was listening to 80s music tonight, and it reminded me there was a time when I didn't have depression. 19 years of nightmares aside, I've only been depressed for about 8 or 9 years now. My personal philosophy has always been "if my body can't take care of itself, it deserves what it gets." It's kept me away from doctors for about 40 years. It's also been a fairly successful philosophy. Tonight I weakened. Tonight I'm almost ready to get help, and I feel guilty for that... and it makes me feel a little like a failure. But I'm just so tired of it. It also dawned on me that the philosophy might not be the only thing that's kept me from seeking help. I think it's possible that I may sometimes use the depression as an excuse to not accomplish some things that I really do want to but am afraid to face (or face the results of). If I were to suddenly lose the depression, I'd lose the excuse.

March 1, 2009 (60/365)

R. came over tonight, and conversation turned (as it always does) to how we should have our own television network. Granted, our ideas are unorthodox but they're also groundbreaking. And with TV viewership gradually dropping off every year, our plan would help shore up the industry. The networks would benefit from listening to us. Sadly, of course, no network will ever hear us let alone listen to us. Just let it be known that we have a plan.

February 28, 2009 (59/365)

Courtesy and honor are dead, and I mourn them every time I go out in public. I think we should change our name to The Entitled States of America. I swear, almost every person in this entire country apparently feels they have the right to be aggressive, rude, and discourteous. It's ok for them to suddenly change lanes in front of you without warning as long as they make sure you have time to hit the brakes without hitting them. The sidewalks and store isles are theirs and their mewling crotchfruit's and doddering senile elderlumps' to fill from side to side as they meander oblivious to the fact that other people would like to walk past them. Jumping in line is ok as long as it gets you your Jujubees a whole 45 seconds before the 2 people you would have had to wait for had you gone to the end of the line (and we won't even talk about long lines that some people may have waited hours in).

In the 20 minutes it takes me to get from inside my nice, safe house to the isle I need in the store, I've gone from being in a decent mood to filled with enough righteous rage to belt some clueless fucktard in the face. It makes me feel like I have only 2 options in life: Never leave my house again, or get myself an automatic weapon and start rebalancing society one exploding head at a time.

goddammitIhatepeople.

February 27, 2009 (58/365)

I'm a little freaked out tonight. A little while ago I suddenly smelled L., a girl I used to love and live with. The smell was strong and unmistakable. I don't know what it means. God, I hope she's ok.

February 26, 2009 (57/365)

I saw Slumdog Millionaire the other day. I hate seeing high quality movies... not because they're bad... usually far from it... but because I'm always obligated to evaluate or express an opinion of them afterwards, and high concept or art movies come with a different set of rules than, say, Zombie Strippers. I most often go to a movie to be entertained, to enjoy what I'm watching. I can judge them based on how much I enjoy them. Movies like Slumdog are experiences. They (usually) rise above typical "entertainment" in quality of writing/movie-making. I don't always enjoy them, but I usually feel enriched as a person for having had the experience.

I enjoyed Slumdog Millionaire, but I'm a little guilty having "enjoyed" it when I feel like I should have been "appreciating" it.

February 25, 2009 (56/365)

I went to the studio angry today. It got me to thinking about how people will sometimes tell artists to "channel their anger into their art." I've, on occasion, suggested it as well. This wasn't the first time I've wondered why I can't do that with my work. This is the first time I've been able to mentally voice the answer, however. It has to do more with the medium involved than the artist. Some mediums allow for direct channeling of thought and feeling from brain to hands to medium. Drawing... painting.... are the primary examples. Ceramics, sculpture, photography, jewelry... these mediums require a lot of forethought and planning. By the time you can get to the actual production of the art... the manipulation of the medium... any anger has dissipated (or sometimes deflated into lethargy, bitterness, or depression).

So... no channeling for me.

February 24, 2009 (55/365)

I know my posts read pretty darkly. That's the predominant nature of my depression-influenced thinking, so that's what comes to the page. Not everything is bad in my life. For example, since the studio reopened after winter break, I've been more productive than usual. I'm trying to continue the new level of quality in my work. I'm also planning ahead to do a bunch of smaller pieces for a local show in November, mainly just to get my name out there. My primary goal is to get into some reputable galleries and make a name for myself. SOFA is my "win condition."

February 23, 2009 (54/365)

I've been eating like William Conrad at an all-you-can-eat buffet tonight. I've decided it's a self-destructive act. It's unusual for me to eat like this, and it's unusual for me to eat this much utter crap. I'm going to try once again tomorrow to get back into the workout routine I abandoned because of Christmas. I'm back up a belt notch, and I feel unhealthy again. Half-assed and generally unsuccessful though it was, I did manage to drop an inch or two off my waist and wasn't feeling quite so physically worthless when I was working out. I just wish working out wasn't such an irredeemable grind for me. I'm one of those "lucky" few people who don't get the endorphin rush from workouts, so it's simply every-other-day torment. I'm not a masochist.

February 22, 2009 (53/365)

I'm so tired. Is anyone even reading this any more?

February 21, 2009 (52/365)

It's weird feeling as if you belong somewhere, know where that is, visit it occasionally... and not be there. I went down to Clark & Belmont today for some shopping and lunch. I love that part of the city. If my life were different, I'd be living there. In other news, V. is sending me pics of her adventures in Vegas.

It's hard realizing I'll go to my grave filled with regrets.

February 20, 2009 (51/365)

Mood is pretty bad tonight, so I'm not going to waste a lot of time going on and on about it. I'm not myself... It feels like I'm not really anyone right now. I'm a little worried because I can't find anything tonight that distracts me. This way lies the "bad" option. I'm carefully tallying the short list of "why not"s.

February 19, 2009 (50/365)

I smell funny tonight. How's that for observational?

February 18, 2009 (49/365)

V. and I are connected in a way I haven't quite figured out. She brings something out in me that I like having out, which is bittersweet since she and I aren't compatible for anything more than casual friendship (and even more casual on her part than on mine). I have a feeling though that we're going to do something significant together. No idea what that might be though.

February 17, 2009 (48/365)

I'm tired early tonight.

I was in the studio for about 7 hours today, and I feel like I got almost nothing done. Aside from the 2 mind-numbing hours I spent carefully chipping the plaster out of a mold which should have just slid out to begin with, I spent 5 hours putting the final pre-firing details on a sculpture and putting feet on 2 platters. (A brief dinner break was in there as well.) 5 hours for this?? That's about twice as much time as it should have taken. I've noticed more and more lately, in the studio I have trouble multitasking. I'll catch myself, like popping out of a trance, just standing or sitting, staring off into space, and realize I've been planning out the details of pieces in my head. That's all well and good, necessary even, but it sure slows down the productivity. I did it a lot tonight. But 5 hours for cleanup and a couple of feet? That just won't do.

February 16, 2009 (47/365)

The one night I pick to hang out at the Borders bookstore ....relax in the coffee shop with a hot chocolate and an apple tart while browsing a couple magazines.... is the night they've got Kat Von D* there for a book signing. Not that Kat isn't bangtastic, and I'll bet she's a carnival ride to hang with, but she attracted every tat-crowd poser for a 4 county radius to that store. Seriously, when I got there, the line ran out the door and around the corner of the building.... which was nothing, as I found out, compared to the line of hundreds of people snaking its way through every fucking aisle of the store. I was able to squeeze my way to the coffee shop with little trouble (apparently the Kat Groupies aren't coffee drinkers... go figure), so I did have my drink and read, but it was hardly peaceful. And you can forget about browsing the art books, which were in the back of the store. Patton himself couldn't have taken that heavily-inked, bleach-rooted hill.

I'd like to say I don't understand the siren's song of the celebrity public appearance, but I kind of do. I think there's a lot of different motivations that make people want to show up at these things, which is probably why so many people show. A dozen motivations, each providing the same end result, brings an excited, tittering, tattooed horde. Although I won't speak for everyone, I probably do know many of the motivations. For me (on those rare occasions where I am inspired to seek out a celebrity in public), it's a combination of things. It's a show of appreciation. It's wanting to be near someone who's special to me in some way. It's wanting to put a human face on them... to prove to myself they're no different from me. And in some cases, it's wanting to at least facilitate the potential of the fantasy, of having that celebrity, upon meeting me, realize that I'm the one they want to be hanging out with. (Or, if they're some hot female-type person, that I'm the person who they've always dreamed would invade their pants. Hey, I can dream.)

Anyway... Kat, it was very rude of you not to check with me before making your arrangements. You owe me some time in the art book section.

*Kat's a hot tattoo artist chick who got her own show on the Discovery Channel called LA Ink.

February 15, 2009 (46/365)

I've been focusing hard on art today (about the only thing still capable of keeping me distracted). As usual, spent a lot of time looking at other people's work, and some time working on my own designs. It's not often that I wish I had a formal studio at home, but today's one of those days. I'd probably have worked most of the day on some of the ideas. Spreading things out on the living room floor often just doesn't cut it for the kind of mess I make. Someday I'll have a home studio.

In other news, I haven't been thinking too far beyond the shallow topics lately, as thinking about more meaningful things leads to mental stress and pain. I'm sure I'll eventually be equipped to deal with more, but for now it's art and tits.

February 14, 2009 (45/365)

One of the things from the internet that I gorge my brain on is other people's art and crafts*. I'll spend hours just soaking in images from artists' blogs and sites that collect and compile the artwork of others. While I find the experience both inspiring and discouraging in unequal measures, it's led me to some conclusions and observation of a need that needs filling.


-For anyone who wants artwork of any kind, be it wall art for their home, garden sculptures, unique t-shirts, or background "wallpaper" for their laptop computer, it's an almost certainty that someone has already created that artwork for them. There are so many artists and so much artwork out there, it's mind-boggling.
-Given this assumption, I find it surprising that those people aren't able to find precisely the artwork they're looking for. It's like looking for a specific pebble on a beach.... while navigating a huge hedge maze. It's there... You know it is... But finding it is nearly impossible, even with the few sites that are available now that gather the work of many artists in one place (etsy, being only one example).
-Given this assumption and this conclusion, it strikes me that there needs to be a single site, akin to Google though not precisely, where all artists would want to show/sell their work. Or perhaps better worded, a site that makes it easy to find the artist/artwork any given person is looking for. (Are you listening, Google?) It seems to me that this can't be accomplished solely through technology. It's going to require the faith and desire of artists. Desire in committing whatever time and effort is going to be necessary to get their work "out there." And faith that this step will help them in the long run and that it wouldn't just allow people to steal their work. (The concept of online "theft" of artwork is an ethereal subject perched on a slippery slop, and a topic for another time.) I'm not entirely sure this process hasn't already begun. When "search engines" first appeared, there were many, fighting it out until only one was the site everyone turned to. There are already a few sites out there for artists and/or their work. Maybe we just have to wait until one wins out over the others.

*"Arts and crafts." I hate that expression, because there isn't a single person in the world for whom it doesn't conjure images of popcicle stick sculptures, elastic loop potholders, and something covered in glitter. The expression caries the impression "amateur" and things that are "not really art."

February 13, 2009 (44/365)

Nobody cries for roadkill.

February 12, 2009 (43/365)

Continued correspondence from the Twilight Zone. I'm filled with angst and extreme loathing of 43 of my 46 years, so I'll keep this short and not ramble on about it. The Girl Next Door (the movie, not the insipid Playboy bunny TV show) is on TV in the background, and I'm watching my fantasy life. Not "fantasy life," but my life as I wish it could have been. I'm sure by the end I'll be angry and suicidal. I'm a waste.

I have a lot of interests and I like a lot of things. The problem with this is that, in pursuing so many thing, I never have sufficient time to properly devote to any of them. My life is lined with half finished projects, half watched TV series, uncountable half read web sites and blogs. Every night is a mental marathon of cramming knowledge into my brain and attempting to visually absorb the skill of hundreds of artists, and pretending to design upcoming projects (most of which are unoriginal evolutions inspired by someone else's work). By the time 3am rolls around every night, I'm mentally exhausted and emotionally unsatisfied.

You know, I think being intellectually rounded is a good thing, I love my art, and I think it's possible to organize my life so I'm able to accomplish more. But I'm not there... not really even sure how to get there. I want it. And Ill keep working on it until I do finally give up.

Selfishness can be motivating.

February 11, 2009 (42/365)

I'm tired and my computer's acting up, so this'll be short. There's kind of a dark cloud hanging over my household tonight. This are going wrong, bad things are happening, the weather is angry, and there's a general sense of doom around here. I'm hunkering down and waiting for it to pass.

February 10, 2009 (41/365)

I'm sitting here watching David Letterman interview the pilots and crew of the flight that had to land in the Hudson River. He's spending a considerable amount of time with these people and while he's joking with them a lot, he's getting quite an extensive retelling of the emergency landing.... far more than any of the many news shows they've appeared on. I think that's telling of something. Probably the truly sad state of news "reporters" and "anchors" who are more interested in telling guests what they want them to say, gleaning only the most superficial and titillating details, and squeezing it all in between commercial breaks. I think Walter Cronkite would be proud of Dave.

February 9, 2009 (40/365)

Eat. Stare at TV. ....for hours. I can't bring myself to do much more. I haven't even been thinking about anything interesting enough to report here. Thinking about anything actually causes me anxiety.

I can't wait til this passes.

February 8, 2009 (39/365)

The depression is winning right now. I spent all day yesterday yearning to do something ...anything... but unable to do more than stare at the stupid TV from 9:00am til 2:00am. I hated sitting there. I wanted to do so much yesterday. But I couldn't. It's so frustrating; I just wanted it to end.

Today I've tried to force myself to activity. I've managed to take a couple pictures of sculptures. I suppose that's better, but I can still feel the downward spiral.

I did come to something of an epiphany yesterday. I'm unlikely to commit suicide because of my selfishness. Strange as that sounds, I not only want the depression to end but I want a better life... I long for happiness... and I can't have those things if I'm dead.

February 7, 2009 (38/365)

I've always been extremely attracted to the results of encaustic painting and have begun studying it. I'm not sure why, as I utterly suck at two-dimensional artwork. Seriously. There's a measurable wind movement whenever I attempt it. Encaustic painting is essentially painting with wax. The building up and varying of layers with embedded images and materials compose the piece. It produces a work of richness and literal "depth." Amazing examples here. I'm not sure why I'm considering pursuing this technique as it's an extreme deviation from ceramics and likely somewhat costly to get started (both in materials and dedicated work space). It might also be a waste of time that I could be devoting to other work. There's a part of me that can't help wondering if there's something in this technique that I can bring over into ceramics. We'll see.

February 6, 2009 (37/365)

37 of 365. I suppose this puts me at 1/10th the way through the year long experiment. I'm kind of empty tonight, and I'm sure it's not just the depression but tiredness that's got me this way.

I'm sitting here watching Night of the Living Dead, and it occurs to me that I empathize with the zombies. Lately I've been plodding unenthusiastically through my life, driven by some force of habit nestled deep in my brain stem than by any kind of enthusiasm or motivation.

As usual, that sounds far more depressed and fatalistic than I intend. Like I said, I'm tired.

February 5, 2009 (36/365)

I promised not to hash over the minutia of my days because, seriously, nobody's going to give a shit. I'll just say today was production day and I'm tired, so I haven't been contemplating a lot except how ineffective our ad salespeople are, how lousy the advertising market in general is right now for print publications, and what a terrible hair-snatchingly awful mistake changing our publication software was. It infuriates and terrifies me. The exhaustion itself comes from enduring hours of my intolerance for incompetency. I've learned people are adaptive, but only just enough to learn how to do most jobs. Doing it well requires actual skill which only about 20% of people in any given job actually have. Those other 80% can thank goodness that the people doing the hiring also fall within that 80/20 margin, so 80% of the people doling out the jobs don't give enough of a shit to just show them the door.

February 4, 2009 (35/365)

I'm a believer in the concept of the "multiverse" .... the idea that an infinite number of dimensions exist on top of each other, occupying the same space yet separated from each other. I believe that an alternate universe exists for every conceivable outcome to every decision or situation that can have more than one option. Somewhere out there is a "me" who has achieved success in his life and all things in it. He has everything in his life that he can possibly want and has achieved happiness and fulfillment. Sometimes, perhaps when whatever barrier that separates the various dimensions weakens slightly, I feel as if I can sense him out there somewhere. I envy him so much.

February 3, 2009 (34/365)

Attention Republicans. Let me explain something to you.

You're absolutely right. Government should stay the hell out of your business. I get it, I really do. The problem is, you ("you" being cast in the role of successful corporate executives) won't behave yourselves. You'll do anything to make yourselves richer and more successful, and some of those things are unethical if not downright illegal. You're more than willing to take big government bailout money and apply it to your own annual bonuses and the buying or new corporate jets while in the same breath laying off hundreds of workers. You're content with the decision to release food products even though you know they're tainted with harmful bacteria, because the alternative (that would be "dealing with the situation appropriately" or "preventing the problem in the first place" for those of you having trouble keeping up) would just be too costly. Your mothers apparently didn't ingrain in you deeply enough the difference between right and wrong. And that's why we ("we" being cast in the role of a medling US government) have to step in and slap your hand, because your mothers won't. When a bully continues bullying unchecked, at some point the poor defenseless freshman has to go to the police, and the police step in. It really is that simple. You're not willing to act appropriately, so we have to keep a constant eye on you.

In summary, if you'd just behaved yourself, we'd be happy to just let you do your own thing. All cleared up now? Good. Stop whining.

I blame mothers.

February 2, 2009 (33/365)

It came out the other day that the Peanut Corporation of America knew their product was contaminated with salmonella and chose to sell it anyway. The company's product is currently responsible for 8 deaths and hundreds of illnesses. For once I'm sad that America hasn't been taken over by China yet, as the Chinese know how to handle scumbag executives like this. Last week a Chinese court sentenced executives there (guilty of tainting infant milk products with melamine so they would give a false positive reading for sufficient protein levels) to death. Now that's how you handle people like this. In this country they'll probably get a slap on the wrist and a multi-million dollar severance package for being fired.

February 1, 2009 (32/365)

I was thinking today how the internet has changed people's access to the various arts (visual arts, sculptural arts, music, etc.). Not many years ago the world didn't realize how many creative people there really were in the world. Musical exposure was almost entirely via radio and CDs; movies via theaters and DVDs; visual arts via magazines; sculptural arts via galleries. Specific people/groups in control of these industries decided what we would be exposed to and essentially covering up the existence of all others with talent who they deemed unworthy.

The internet really has changed all that, and I can see why the old guard is terrified of it. The 'net is the ultimate playing field leveler. Because of it we can each decide for ourselves (not someone else for us) what is "good enough" for us. Because of it, 95% of the music I now listen to is non-mainstream. I scour the world for hours a day looking at art and graphic design that I would have never been exposed to otherwise. My artistic inspirations come more from people like Raymond Papka from Kentucky than the Louvre.

Still, the old guard control freaks are trying to control what we see and hear. Radio station programming has become tighter and more manufactured than ever; and while art galleries are always looking for that next big artist, it's only so they can package them, slap a label on them, and market them to the mainstream until their appeal wanes and they toss them aside. Radio stations remain in control of the airwaves; museums remain in control of mass-access to art. While I don't have the money to undertake it myself, I wish someone out there would look at the range of talent out there on the internet, not with fear but with a sense of opportunity, and welcome them into those rarified places of public exposure too. Someone should start a radio network whose programming is composed of music by all those independent artists that currently can only be found on the internet. A major gallery should be opened to show the works of non-mainstream artists. A television network should be started to show the film works of independent film makers. Etc.

We're almost there, but it's going to take some enterprising "new guard" to shake off the paralyzing fear and embrace the immense opportunity that's available out there.

January 31, 2009 (31/365)

There's really no denying it, the depression is on me again pretty hard. Has been for a couple weeks now. This doesn't mean that it's got me down yet. I'm fighting against it... it hasn't got me sitting in a chair staring blankly at a wall for 16 hours a day yet. The focus lately has been regret. What happened to my life after I moved to Chicago? Once in a while something triggers my sense of what my life is supposed to feel like, but it doesn't, and I wonder where I went wrong. By now I'm supposed to feel successful, free. I'm supposed to see local TV programming about Chicago and all the interesting things in it and think, yep, that's my life. But it isn't my life... not in the slightest. Instead I feel unimportant and trapped in my own life. I look at those programs with a feeling of loss.

Like I said, I'm fighting against it... This is coming from an analytical place, not entirely from depression.

This is one of those posts that I'm really uncomfortable making. I really don't think I want my friends knowing I feel like this.