Nothin'

What’s the play here, what’s the plan?

There is no plan folks, this is it. Nothin’.

I’m not sure why I’m writing today, other than avoiding my duties as a good little computer minnion and pressing buttons for dollars. This is what it’s come to in this world. Click, click, send, dollars. I guess I’ve got to change something.

I am working, albeit very slowly at a snail’s broken pace on a book of sorts. It’s a fun one. It’ll be good. I need the artwork though and I cannot draw a stick figure for the life of me, it’s nearly finished I believe. There’s no book like it out there I could find, which I know sounds pretentious, but once it’s finished you’ll get the idea. It’s a parody of a type of book out there. It’s fun, humorous, based in pure baseless made-up facts. What a world!

What else? Not much, or is it and that’s just how I respond to such questions. I rarely remember my recent past, always thinking too much of the future, and never considering the present as much as I should. I’m still in survival mode I guess, not really seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and looking at the map upside down and inside out so I have no idea what the hell I’m doing on any given day. Perhaps someday I’ll figure it out. That day is not today however, and not sure it’s ever coming, Fun!

I kayak’d and played some basketball with some friends I haven’t seen since March, for my birthday celebrations. I really did not want the last time we all got together to be that day, yikes.

I’m buying records every week to fill the void of sitting around and doing indoor things these days. Every day during the work week feels like it flies by, dinner, then 3-4 hours that flies by of doing what I may be doing, then waking up the next day to do it all over again. It feels like my down time dwindles as each mundane, same week passes. Although I’m doing more of the things I’ve always wanted to I guess? Rather, I’ve got more time to do it than ever, but not doing it. Insane.

I played basketball for 1.5 hours yesterday and thought I was going to pass out from heatstroke or heart attack, I need to work out more. My brain, and my body.

But what else is new.

Film processor

Well, it’ll be a motion picture film linear processor. Sounds big, but basically the “motion picture” part differentiates or specifies the type of film. We’re talking “film” as in motion pictures. super 8, 16mm etc. Not as in still photography. And Linear processor meaning a more industry approach to developing this film. Most people at home use what are called LOMO tanks. These tanks are old Russian molded tanks containing a plastic reel within. The film is spooled around it, back into the light-tight tank and then all the chemicals are added just as a Patterson tank. These tanks are old and don’t produce an image as clean as what a linear processor produces. (If built correctly.) Yes you can get clean images from them, but it’s tougher to do, meticulous.

A linear processor is what professional labs use. However, there is no such thing as a portable linear processor. It’s near impossible to get any type of linear processor, and there is next to no information on building your own online. Thankfully, there is one German gentleman who documented his process through a blog type post over ten years ago. Another guy in the Ukraine built a reproduction of a smaller unit a few years ago. There’s less info on it and only a quick montage of the assembly. There’s a guy who made the “Shaffer Linear Processor” out of PVC tubes. He’s got the most detailed assembly guide, although his website isn’t complete and I don’t think he’s done much lately. It’s primitive looking, and there is little as far as scanning results anywhere I could see. But he has provided valuable 3D printer files for parts and so on.

So I’ve been inspired to make something combining these three iterations, and the few videos online I can find from film processor labs. Anything still running now is from the 70’s or handmade. I’ve got a photo printed out (who does that anymore?) on my wall now for inspiration. They made a portable one in the 60’s. Also Eastman made the “Viscomat” in 1965, a refrigerator style version. Not quite portable, but for small runs.

It’s going to be in phases…

PHASE I: Clean out and rearrange the basement area. Seems straightforward enough, but there’s a lot of work involved. There’s an L-shaped shelf where I want to work, and I can’t move it without taking it apart. It was built for the space so I’m finding it impossible to twist around. Unfortunate, but necessary. Aside from the obvious moving of crap and boxes, I need to relocate the kitty-litter to under the stairs, which will require a cat door, (really a dog door for their sizes) and relocating most everything under the stairs. We have a garage, but I detest the notion of using a garage for anything but a garage and some shelves.

The last part of this phase is the water line. The one thing deterring me in any of this is that I’m no plumber, and I’m not about to cut into the lines for this project not knowing what I’m doing. BUT, the washer and dryer lines have threads and shut-offs, so I believe I can simply buy an adapter and basically stead from those lines, running hoses and not having to deal at all with cutting or soldering copper. That’s the idea anyway. Once I realized it was possible to run water with hoses and connectors, I realized this was very possible.

PHASE II: I’m using this phase to point out my clever and shameless use of roman numerals. Phase 2 (haha) is to build it. Literally all I’ve got planned for this aside from ideas in my head and things in an Amazon list is, FUNCTIONAL MODEL. It can be as ugly as sin, as big as a bus, as noisy as hell, as long as it’s functional. This is simply to make a successful linear processor where the end result is a success. Success will be measured in that it’s clean, processed (developed) correctly. “Processed” is fancy speak for going through the development process start to finish. I’m also teaching here! Who knew? I might as well quit and become a studious college professor.

Anywho, If the end result is a sustainable, reliable image, that I can re-create faithfully time and time again, then I will embark on phase III. I believe phase II is where most of my time will be spent.

PHASE III: Create a PORTABLE model. Pick it up, throw it in the trunk, throw it at your TV, pretend it’s a briefcase, or an extra shelf for that mail. A portable mail carrier! This is self-explanatory. Shrink it, make it portable. L&F, a company that has since gone defunct at an unknown date, presumably in the mid 20th century made one. I’m sure a lot of places made these. It’s literally been done before. That’s what’s pissed me off so much. Can I say that? Hell, I just did. This is my show dammit! Thankfully some bored poor soul (but thankfully for me) saved a PDF of the print advertisement for this portable processor. I’ve got it sitting in front of me as I type. It angers me.

It’s already been DONE! Why am I here? Shouldn’t we be just buying this from some company?

It’s all a double-edged sword, whatever that means. There’s moments of incredible inspiration and hope when I find yet another new video or piece of valuable info online. But more there’s discouragement. On the same hand you’ll find forums and comments about how near impossible it is to get a decent image from something like this. If you can’t get lab quality, what’s the point? My point exactly. You can get usable images, even decent, but there’s always scratched and blotches on the film, defects. Which is fine for a camera test, but the point is to produce a beautiful lab-quality image to BYPASS the lab. To give people a sustainable way to reliably recreate quality images time and time again at home.

It costs, at minimum, $50 for a roll of 16mm. Then, to process (develop) and scan to digital, it’s $80. This is $35 for processing, $40 for a BASIC scan at 720p, not even full HD. They charge more for higher resolutions. (It’s a more lengthy process in the machine) So to get a 2K scan, you’re paying $60, adding $20. (Now close to $100 just to see it) This does not include shipping, providing a USB or hard drive for the film, and you’re waiting close to a month at times (still waiting now) to get anything back. All to find out your camera is shite or something went wrong. UGH. So all in all, roughly $150-$200 for 3.5 minutes of film that hopefully, you did some good with. Unfortunately, Super 8 is not much cheaper considering it’s smaller format. $33 a roll, $50-70 development etc, so you’re paying $100 for roughly the same amount of runtime. Oi vay.

There’s got to be a better way. Film is expensive. The analog film movement for motion picture has seen an uptick in interest over the last few years, but it may never see any kind of resurgence as it once was. That being said, there has been a resurgence. Enough so that Kodak was carried out of bankruptcy, and continues to make Super 8, 16mm and 35mm. Thank god for that. Ilford still makes various black and white stocks, and smaller manufacturers exist. I’m not sure exactly how Kodak made it out, aside from major Hollywood directors vowing to continue to use film for years to come. But after a few really bad years and discontinuing a few film stocks, they rebuilt their factory to better accommodate the new, smaller demand.

Despite this, there has still been a massive gap in businesses who used to build accessories to further enable the film community. Scanners, developing mechanisms, etc.

So it’s time.

My past

When I was 14, I got a first hand account at what immense ignorance I’d had of the worlds, cultures and experiences of my fellow students. Sure, I was 14, I had no idea, I’d not been taught about much else at that point. My high school wasn’t a typical one, there were kids from all over. Middle-class like myself, lower middle and below, and upper class. Four towns, all seemingly representing a general class of people, all in one school.

One of the first lunchtimes I had, sitting with dozens of other kids my age, touring every shop until we could pick the one we wanted. I had finished my lunch, and another kid offered his milk he didn’t want, he hadn’t opened it yet. I put my hand out, in a ‘first dibs’ moment, a code kids my age lived by. Immediately, I was overruled. A kid across from me reamed me out. I did not live in the projects, I wasn’t hungry, I didn’t wonder where my next meal would come from or when. I was white, and he wasn’t.

I was shocked. He took the milk instead. It was then I got a taste of what I didn’t know. I didn’t see him as poor. I didn’t see him as black or white, I didn’t see him as African or Dominican. I didn’t see him from Andover, or Lawrence or Methuen. I just saw him as a kid like me. On the one hand, that’s endearing. On the other, that’s my privilege.

One of my first best friends was John Armstrong. A Peurto Rican kid who gave me a crash course in the dynamics of every race at the school. Peurto Ricans had a faux rivalry with the Dominicans, ragging on one another, making sweeping generalizations. “Taking the piss out” of each other as I affectionally call it, stealing the phrase from my peers across the pond. It was all in fun. Naturally, they created a place for me in this immense melting pot of a school, the token white kid.

I leaned into it. When all the kids fist-bumped, fancy handshakes and their various cultural greetings, I would purposely shake hands instead, making everyone laugh, how white of me. I made fun of my whiteness right along with them. No one was any better or worse because of their color or where they came from.

I had my first proper girlfriend in high school. Of course, I quickly realized she was embarrassed of me, and wouldn’t dare be seen with me at school. However we would meet outside of school, in cafe’s, her house, mine. She was half Puerto Rican, half white. She was my first kiss. She insisted on filming it.

Yes, my first kiss is out there, on a hard drive somewhere I’d venture to guess.

She dumped me, via text. She was sitting right next to me on the couch at my house in Methuen, MA. Ouch. I got back at her by taking my friends to Graceland that same summer. She loved Elvis more than anyone I knew at the time.

My freshman year of college, I met my first real girlfriend. She was beautiful. Her mother was white, her father was black. We went out for two years and navigated all the initial “firsts” two do while in their first real relationship. It was amazing. I’m sorry to this day I left her.

After that I went out with someone who was half-Italian, half Puerto Rican. She was insane, just like her mother. She attempted to ruin my life. But that’s for another time.

After that. I met someone from Egypt. A true Egyptian. I went to visit her, it was an amazing and utter immersion into that culture. I would call it “culture shock” but I wasn’t shocked. I was pleased to know people cared for each other just as much as they do anywhere else. I was taken care of by a local pharmacist when I became ill. I nearly got my wisdom teeth out there. I wish I had.

In these times of anger, hate and ignorance, I often forget my own past. No, I will never claim I know what it’s like to be hated because of my skin color or where I come from. I’m sure at one time or another someone has, either in school, on the street or at work. I was bullied severely for a year, my ex-friends all ganging up, exclaiming how “gay” I was. They beat me up, ridiculed me, verbally abused and embarrassed me in front of all our classmates. But I was able to get through it, and understand it, and brush it off and see through it, because I don’t experience it systemically, I have that privilege. No, it’s not the same thing.

But in these times of politically charged, racially motivated crimes, and trying times, I often forget the good that I did, good that I’m doing, and good I still need to do. We all need to do better. I’m not sure any of this matters or does any good. I guess I just needed to remind myself of my past.

Rite Aid

The debauchery, the utter insanity. People are flocking to the bars, restaurants, ice cream shops and beaches. Anyone home sitting on their entitled pedestals looking down from their glass houses order copious amounts of trash to fill the void more now than ever before. The recycling dumpster outside is constantly full. It’s cleaned out once a week, and it’s full two days later. Fittingly, there is only one recycling bin, but two trash bins. When the recycling bin is full from Amazon boxes nobody flattens, meal kit service packages, eBay boxes, beer cans, bottles, wine bottles, liquor bottles, we throw it in the trash. Nobody knows where it goes. We think we’re being good little green monsters when we put the cardboard into one bin instead of the other right next to it. No. One. Knows.

They say recycling is quite an intense process that America has no infrastructure for. We ship it overseas or it ends up in a giant field in blocks sitting. It ends up in the ocean because it’s light, it blows away into the ocean from landfills, it flies off boats shipping it to these landfills, and it falls into drainage grates and sewers and flows there. Just because we put it in a bin doesn’t mean it actually gets recycled. Hell, we’ve repurposed more trash than materials deemed “recyclable.” Most trash is degradable and we shove it in giant fields for decades, then turn them into baseball fields and it all gets technically, recycled, right? Shit.

My point is that people in their houses are almost, not quite, but just as bad as those morons being the first to go out and get fucked up at the bars and restaurants and “old haunts” which are really trash houses of debauchery. The first places to truly open up downtown here are the trashy filth-holes that have always been that way. One person called the biggest offender as a “date rape central.” These are the first places to open up, and the same people not accepting of science and those lacking any ounce of sympathy for other human beings are the ones flocking to these dumps. You cannot expect to strictly open up outdoor seating and respect distancing, “social distancing”. You can’t expect to limit capacity when you’re taking reservations on a social media comment section. What the living fuck.

The second you get any amount of alcohol into people, you can’t expect people to move on, you can’t expect people to respect policy. The opposing mayoral candidate was out on day one at LUNCHTIME with friends, sitting at the same fucking table, no masks. The very. first. day. This lady almost became our mayor. Jesus H. Christ. Nobody cares. The CDC is saying there’ll be a delay, but there will be a spike. Fuck it. What are we doing? I’d say I don’t understand, but i do and it’s sad. I’m trying desperately not to repeat myself here from previous posts, it’s tough though.

My disappointment in humanity was already at an all-time low. But this thing has really gutted anything that was left. The last bastions of sanity are waning by the day and there are fewer places I feel I can go for relief. I’m beginning to think I’m the crazy person. How can a person possibly live in a world where THEY feel awkward and shameful for wearing a mask and keeping their distance in public? What fucked up alternate reality is this?! I’m told this isn’t the way everywhere. Perhaps I don’t belong here. If I could leave, I would. My job keeps me here for now.

I walked into a Rite Aid two days ago. I haven’t felt the kind of anger I felt simply walking into a store before, it was bizarre. I walked toward the automatic doors as two other people, no masks walked in, good start. Three employees behind the counter, no masks, standing next to each other. Both pharmacists with masks on their necks. Nobody practicing social distancing, rolling their eyes at me. I went in for a prescription and coffee cream. At the pharmacy waiting for my script, the guy at the next register was shaking his head with the pharmacist who said, “Yeah, we should be doing a lot of things.” In reference to adhering to the rules. The lady pharmacist was frustrated she couldn’t hear me through the mask, she was wearing nothing. I was so frustrated, anxious and disappointed I walked out after that, and forgot the cream.

I took a picture of the state mandated face covering requirement taped to the front door. How fucking crazy. A pharmacy, NEXT TO A HOSPITAL WHERE PEOPLE HAVE DIED from this thing, nobody cares. I walked back so crazed and angered, and it was only when I got back I realized I forgot the only reason I walked into the store and became incensed. What can we do? I don’t know. It’s a crazy time and at some point you get so full of frustration and anger you have to let it go and tune out. I don’t know what else to do. Also, why do I feel like i’d be an entitled twit if I complained. Who the hell would I even complain to? If I posted on social media, the local sites are littered with the same type of garbage supporting these choices, I’d get vilified and shunned as a “snowflake". It’s incredible.

Let’s hope the voting works.

Garbage

As creative humans, how do you fight and ride the line between creating meaningful content, and not wanting to contribute to the endless amount of garbage content there is everywhere? It’s everywhere, all around us. Sometimes, it’s hard creating something I may not deem quite worthy, and decide not to perhaps because why would I want to contribute to the utter amount of useless, wasteful content out there? Why contribute to the problem? Does that make sense?

On the other hand, it’s valid to say well yes, I too have and deserve a voice, of course that’s my own ego speaking out, with an ever increasing amount of avenues in which to share content. As an artist, a self proclaimed on at that, how do I fill my soul and feel fulfilled in life if I’m not creating and sharing? I don’t. So I’m constantly fighting this urge to quit everything because I don’t feel good enough to be sharing, and sharing in spite of everything to gain one second of content. I’m constantly having to fight both urges, it’s debilitating at times. Maybe that’s my addled brain not being able to focus on much at all for more than mere seconds, but it’s a tough thing to decide against if I’m thinking about it.

I can’t stress enough how much garbage is out there. People with cameras, microphones and a voice all think they’re version of Picasso, or Carlin, or Hitchcock, Townshend or Dylan, or whoever you consider to be the most revered writers and artists of our time. The price of admission was high, the expectations higher, and the bandwidth so thin you were lucky to ever get published, recorded, given air time or a gallery showing. Now the price of admission is zero, the expectations non-existent, and the bandwidth so large it might as well not be there at all. It’s content overload. Nobody reveres in awe at an amazing photograph anymore, furthermore, it’s seen on their phone. No one listens to an entire song before being able to scroll and scrub through an album to decide if they even consider one song good. Even more mundane and mediocre music is respected simply because the “artist” is a master marketing savant. Anyone can get a book published now, myself included, and other art? Nobody knows what that even is anymore. Hell, not many consider music art anymore.

It’s discouraging to people like me who somehow want to move the needle, but don’t know how. In this sea of shit, how is one to be respected for their craft that no longer gains much respect? It’s all become a game of advertisement and shock value. Who can make the papers and news more. Who can make the bigger splash before their album of ten songs, one hit included is “released.” Instead of being recognized for talent, your entire image is analyzed and if it doesn’t fit the current criteria, you’re nothing. I’ve seen great films and listened to wonderful music by struggling artists who are never recognized because in order to get to the next level, you can’t rely on your talent alone. Because your talent is second, or even third in the check-boxes that need to be ticked off in order for you to get in the club.

Do I want to be in the club anymore? Is that what I want? Do I want something that doesn’t exist anymore? I don’t really know. I’d like to be recognized and respected for the things I do I suppose, at it’s essence. I hold myself to incredible and unrealistic standards, and all artists should. Except they don’t all, or they have the help of formulaic co-producers who know more about the mainstream interests and how to market as well as social media marketing and PR teams who do the heavy lifting.

My point here is it’s no longer about the art, it’s become more about the perception of the person or people and their image and persona than the art itself. It’s an incredible injustice and perhaps the beginning of a swift, or long and painful decline of the western world as we know it. The beginning of the Colosseum era as it were. Does this make any sense? Do I sound like a crazy person? Am I already screaming into the void? I think so, but what the hell.

Moral of the story is, don’t make trash.

Isolation pt. 2

I am under no illusion, (old school reference to the site!) that I’m really contributing much here with my opinion, I’m not one to add to the garbage as so many other people are documenting their experience and it’s nonsense, no one cares and we’re all doing the same thing. We’re all inside, or not. Those who are out think they’re heroes, those who are in think their heroes and it’s vomitous.

I guess I’m just here typing because it’s what I do. Not for now, but for later.

I woke to the sad news yesterday that a huge influence of mine, John Prine died the night prior. Such a devastating loss as he was a massive hero to me, I loved his music and was all-in on it all. I was lucky enough to see him live in Boston last year, it was hands down an amazing show. I’d say the best I’ve seen, not because he’s gone, but because it simply was. The way he danced, livened things up, and moved me with his music. Ask anyone that knows me and I maintained this opinion months ago, it was by far the best show I’ve seen since I can remember. What a lovely soul who gave us so much that left too soon, we didn’t deserve him.

I’m lucky enough to be able to work remotely these days. I realize I am lucky in that way and I can’t imagine what people are going through who are unemployed right now. With how things look, very small businesses and even some larger ones might not open back up at all. I imagine more than a few were already running a tight ship, months out of businesses will surely shutter a few doors. It’s sad.

But enough about them, more about me. I’ve been reading a heck of a lot more, did I mention that last time? Probably. I’ve finished two, working on the third. That may be a shrug to most people, but for me it’s a pleasant change! I haven’t been reading as much as I’d like, too much else to do, or not do. Although I haven’t been as productive as I should be. I can’t focus on one task at a time, my brain is mush. But it’s always been mush after all, hasn’t it? I can’t remember a time it wasn’t, although I know there was one.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now, nothing much more to update, until next time.

Isolating

I don’t claim I’m providing anything useful here. I’m doing what everyone else is doing, trying to keep sane in whatever format that is. For me, it’s writing. I’m writing a hell of a lot, thinking up ideas and jotting them down and writing/recording demos and writing other things. Pros, short stories, these, other things. I’m making a bit of money writing, not much, but it’s a slow ramp that’ll take a few years to get to where I want to. Preferably, I’ll make enough to quit my damn job, but that’s not fathomable yet. Down the road, no deadlines, short ones, not long ones right now. I’m taking it day by day, and even then it’s tough.

The last thing I’m focused on is work, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. But it’s what happens, it’s how my brain works. Schoolwork and work work is eluding me. My brain was already in 10 different places and now that I’m home all the time it’s worse than ever. I’m trying to focus, I can’t. It’s impossible. To make matters worse there’s a ton going on in my personal life. Just a lot all at once as with everyone else in the world, and it adds to the noise. I didn’t feel this way yesterday, but today it’s piling on, I feel the walls closing in. I don’t know where to start. I have no fucking clue. Because I can’t focus on one task and actually finish it, it compounds into a fucking disaster. I dug it all myself though, these half graves of mine.

I felt this was going to be a more productive post, but it turned into a pity party that makes me feel even more like my brain is being squeezed by a thousand tiny hands. I have to finish, something, anything. Preferably some fucking schoolwork. Why is it so hard? I don’t know, I’ll never know. I’ll die not knowing. Fuck it all.

Virus

Things have certainly taken a turn here, haven’t they? The world is being ravaged and there’s not much we can do except do what we’re told and stay the fuck away from everyone. I’ve been wanting to do that for years now. It pisses me off “Social Distancing” is now the “in” thing. The hip term, the buzzword. It’s simply stay the fuck away from people. Also, a regular Tuesday night for me is not “Social Distancing, what the fuck.

They’re saying by the end of this, we could all very well know people who have died from this. Every last one of us. I already know a few people who’ve come down with it. I haven’t been with them, but I know them. It’s a scary thought.

I’ve been here, plugging away as always though. Reading quite a bit more, writing, (not here) playing the drums! Yes, I have a space. A lot has happened in the last few months that I won’t go over here, the wounds are too fresh and there’s too much dog shit up in the air, but I don’t get over there nearly enough. It’s a slog. I’m currently trying to work on completing my 2020 to-do list. One thing on the list, is to release a photo-zine. Basically a small published collection of photos in a booklet, seems simple enough. I’ve published before but the photos thing is a different beast. I’ve started scanning my own negatives only six months or so ago and I’ve been developing color only this past February. I’ve yet to do my own B&W or slide, let alone motion picture, but I’ll get there. I also really don’t have a theme. I’m not sure I’ll have one, excepting ‘decent’ photos. If I put an acceptable product out, I’ll consider it a win. I’ll worry about themes next time.

I’m slowly working on new material to record as well, it’s slow going, and it’s piecemeal, but maybe later this year something will come of it. It’ll be different, that’s for sure. As stated in an earlier post, I’m thinking this domain name will change, not sure to what yet, but it’s up in May and “have no illusions” really has nothing to do with my “brand” anymore. I hate that fucking term, “my brand” but that’s what it is really. Two years ago, my “brand” was that, now it’s something else. Things change, life goes on.

What else? I’m trying to think hard and fast about this. So much has gone on, yet so little I feel. I don’t know, you tell me. I’ve recently discovered I’m the same student at 28 as I was when i was 22 when i first left school. Yeah, nothing has changed. I still procrastinate, still phone it in, still fuss and fury at the last possible second to get anything done, even virtually.

Ah, I also made it out of 27. I’m not particularly happy about it, because I feel I’ve done absolutely nothing with my life and nothing ever happens fast enough. I’ve dipped my toes into ten different aspirations and projects and nothing ever gets done, and nothing gets done to my standards, and nothing gets done fast enough. If it does, it’s an absolute miracle it’s been completed. So nothing’s changed. I guess I’m pissed because 27 is a seminal year in a musicians life. You either piss, or get off the pot. I’ve done neither and I’m still here slogging away, or not. Covid’s making sure of that.

But hell, would I be any different otherwise?

Get me out of here

I am done.

I’m done. I despise my job, my coworker cannot show up to our two phone calls with a vendor twice a week, none of the people I’ve worked for can approve my time on time, and my team is littered with people doing nothing much at all but chatting with each other. Trivial issues or topics not related to work. While I’m fine with office chat, if it’s all you want to speak about instead of working, I simply can’t.

I could quit tomorrow and nobody would miss me. leadership is entirely new and incompetent. Am I? Of course, but I didn’t apply for the job. My boss actually punches things when he’s angry. Yes as in, literally punches things, IN the office. He fumes, pacing about, he’s overwhelmed and has no idea what he’s doing. He just bought a house, had a baby and his uncle and mother in law have died in the last 6 months in addition to being promoted to managing people. Granted, most of these excuses were…choices. He CHOSE to buy a house and have a kid and apply for a job he must’ve known he wasn’t prepared for.

Nothing gets done around here. It enrages me yet at the same time doesn’t matter, as I don’t care about my job at all. I’m going to write books. I’m going to write my way out of this fucking job. I’m going to continue writing books that it lifts me up and out of here, through a hole in the ceiling above my desk like the heavens opening up and accepting me in to the city of angels. (not L.A.) I’m going to write and write and write until I simply make enough meaningful content to make a dollar for every one, every day and eventually write enough books that make that one dollar each day to make MORE than I already DON’T here.

I write at home, and I write at work even more. Yes, I write at work, more than I work. I write at work more than I write at home. That’s the only reason I enjoy coming to work now. I do so much nothing here that I have time to write, and I have the freedom to, or at least get away with it, until I don’t. I’ve got a book idea and I’ve written almost 3k words today and hopefully will get there. I think it’s a unique idea, there isn’t a book I’ve been able to find on the topic yet. So this is my current muse. The current reason keeping me from going insane.

Every day another reason I truly despise my job rears it’s ugly fucking head. It’s ALWAYS something. People are dumb, stupid, terrible, despicable people, sometimes. For nothing.

I’m going to hop on this call, where my coworker will undoubtedly be late, and write some more. For the rest of the day.

Get me out.

Time

I don’t want to talk about my weekend. I don’t care.

No, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to relive the mundane pieces of every Saturday and Sunday to my coworkers who simply bait me by asking only to get to the part where they tell me about their own. They even get annoyed when I simply say “not much.”

Furthermore, although they know I care not to talk about my own and waste the time on pointless conversation, they tell me about their weekends without my asking, insanity. I do not care. I would rather go back to sleep than listen to your trip to the beach sandcastles or your fucking in-laws or a trip to the park or a grocery store mishap. I sincerely do not care from the bottom of my heart. Please stop telling me.

But I can’t bring myself to insult them, so I sit and nod. One positive thing that has come from this, is that I have mastered the art of smiling, laughing even, and nodding while ingesting absolutely no information. My brain can’t retain this information. I have only so much space for all the useless drivel I have already taken in. I cannot retain anymore year’s worth of breakfast plans or late nights out or dinner stories or trips to the ocean.

There are 50+ weekends in any given year, multiply that by four or five coworkers. Considering each weekend consists of a Friday, Saturday and Sunday, that’s quite a lot of time to conjure up useless fucking stories prepared for your innocent coworkers.

That’s a lot of time wasted. Imagine multiplying that number by five minutes a piece? If four coworkers tell you their weekend stories, that’s easily twenty minutes a day, and that is a generous fucking number. Take into account all the other useless shit you listen to in a day and you’ve got yourself at least two hours a day you’re giving to people talking to and at you about things you do not care about or need to know. A total and utter waste. These people are stealing from you. What more, is they’re stealing the most precious resource you have, time. The one resource you can’t get back.

I discovered today that in the state of Indiana, it is a felony to steal a hot dog. Why? In the State of Indiana, it is a felony to steal things that cannot be returned and used. If you steal a hot dog, and eat it, you will be arrested and considered a felon.

Time is a nonrenewable resource. Lock them all up.

2020 20/20

I’ve already accomplished one goal for 2020. I got a jam space. I managed to get in 3 weeks early too, so I’m there for free this month. Yes.

So I did that thing where I made goals because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Some film related, car related, self improvement yata yata. I just don’t want to feel stuck anymore. Don’t we all?

I think my mail goal is to get out of this job. Things are changing. I wasn’t passionate about it before, but the people I enjoy working with are realizing our department is useless as of late and either jumping ship, have gone to leadership roles they shouldn’t have been put in or worse.

I’m writing this, as I sit here at my desk. That’s how much I dislike my job. It’s cushy though, so I battle that fact every day I say I’m done with all of it. I will only despise going anywhere else eventually, and this place is quite relaxed, and I mean very. So I have to stop and tell myself it’s not that bad and it’s actually a great place to work for, just not my cup of tea as far as my role goes. Perhaps any role available here, which is what it is, but that doesn’t make it a bad place to work for, because it’s considered one of, if not the best in the area.

That being said, my ultimate, over arching goal is to focus on perhaps positioning myself to not have a set job at all. I’ve begun an endeavor that is slow going, but could potentially work out to become a larger source of income in the future. We’ll see what happens.

I didn’t finish this post, but feel like you may get the gist. Upward and onward.

AA Farewell Transmission?

So over the first week of the new year, while we were all loathing returning to work, recovering from our hangovers, dragging our trees out to the curb (we didn’t do a tree this year) and getting ready for the golden globes, President Trump decided he was going to murder the second most important person in the Iranian government with no thought on repercussions to the decision.

Him and his secretaries claim this will have no effect on the safety of the US abroad, but in the days that have followed, this has been shown to be anything but true. Iran has vowed to retaliate against the US, US troops have been sent overseas, other troops and citizens have been advised to leave certain areas, Iran has totally removed itself from it’s sanctions we made just a few years back. Trump suggested war crimes via twitter threatening 52 attacks on 52 cultural sites and yesterday, Iran sent 12 missiles to 2 US military bases with damage and casualties under wraps. The Secretary of State says this is just “a little noise” and Trump has said, things are totally fine.

Talks of impending war actions are upon us. Trump sent military forces overseas so suddenly it’s reported that troops and their families were taken by surprise, yet he hasn’t made a statement yet. We were attacked, and no statement. Iran protests have killed over 30 Iranians over our actions, yet no statement. It’ll come, perhaps, but usually before we send troops, or when we are attacked, a president does not hesitate.

Tensions are high, very high. It’s increasingly an argument that this decision was made for reelection purposes rises, or/ in addition it might be because impeachment is underway and he wants to distract from that in the news. It’s all possible. Despite that, he has literally, put the country in danger and in a precarious situation, troops, for no reason, for “alleged attacks.” These attacks have no solid proof or background or factual evidence showing they were even going to happen. It’s Iraq all over again. The Senate was given the classified report of what and why. Apparently there’s nothing in it we don’t already know, and there’s nothing in it giving proof to the “alleged attacks.”

It will forever be argued as time moves on, whatever happens, that it was justified. It’s not an argument he was a terrorist, he was, but we had built over a decade of understanding via peaceable talks and policy, the Iran Nuclear Deal. Our allies are pissed off at us, and more so that Iran is building nukes again. We’ve pissed everyone off, we’re the laughing stock on the world stage, it’s been documented now with Boris Johnson, Trudeau and Macron being recorded making fun of him in public. This was before impeachment and before the Iran incident.

So, this might be it, the end of the American Experiment. It’s been fun world. This might be the last transmission I make, it’s been fun. But we’ve really fucked ourselves and we really don’t deserve the “power” we think we do. I mean hell, we claim we’re the most powerful country in the world, yet we’re arguably the youngest of the top powers. Sometimes it feels they just let us think so. It’s pathetic, I’m embarrassed to say I’m an American.

So farewell world stage, I’d be happy to become a Canadian, a Brit, a Swed, or a proud Irishman. I’m open to inquiries. I guess if we’ve got time enough to survive through it.

God bless those poor kids.