Things I learned from last week

February 20, 2012

It’s easier to convince people that I have a twin at the museum than you’d think. That story will be posted in a “conversations with jimi” later.

Volunteering (at work) always gets me punished. I get assigned the worst posts. I really hate checkroom. Most of my coworkers like it though.

If I start poems at work it means nothing if I don’t work on it when I get home. Lately I’ll start working on one and a manager will come in or a bunch of patrons.

I really want to produce my plays. This really explains itself. The wife and I’ve been talking about producing them again.

Scallions are my new arch nemesis. No matter where I order if I ask to have the scallions off they’ll still be on the food.

When I finally use my calendar in my phone it helps if I put the right movie time.

Chris Cornell’s voice is awesome. I knew this but his “I will always love you” cover helped me remember.

Being at a bus stop without headphones means you get to hear a ton of interesting things. I should stop and listen sometimes. It helps with creating characters. At the very least @Overheardohio would benefit.

Being in a room filled with Rembrandts is sort of stressful. I was a little on edge the whole time. It took me a while to get into a groove and feel like I was able to do a good job of making sure nothing happened.

Side note: In Cleveland? Make sure to check out the Rembrandt in America show. It is pretty sweet.

Melt bar and grilled is one of the best ways to cap off a weekend. This time around I had the TMNT Cowabunga Pizza Roll Melt: Cheese pizza rolls deep fried, rich homemade marinara, green ooze basil pesto cream chesse, Provolone and Romano cheese

Awesome cheesy movies with the three shillelaghs (Lindsay and kat) is always a great idea. This week it was Flash Gordon and The House by the Cemetery. They were at the Capitol Theatre and Cleveland Cinematheque

For your enjoyment:

And Lucio Fulci’s The House by the Cemetery:


The one where I’m not too bad

January 23, 2012

I’ve been a bit, shall we say, absent here recently. I do have a good excuse though. So here’s the deal, and you know you can trust me completely. It’s a pretty good story actually. It involves Libyan Terrorists and a lovably kooky scientist. So I was totally just chilling at this older scientist dude’s house—you know in a totally non gay way—and messing with his toys—again in a totally non gay way—when he called. He told me to meet him at the mall later that night. No biggie, right? So I did. When I got there he showed me a freaking time machine, but then these Libyan terrorists—what? Like this is so totally a true story and everything.

Sometimes I really need an actual editor. My sister will check my grammar and all that shiz, but I probably should have someone be like okay, really this joke? I mean I made you sit (like you’re really still reading) through an entire paragraph making a dumb Back to the Future joke.

I’ve been bad. I’ve been writing, just not on here. I’ve been all about the poetry (which is a good thing, but bad for here and for B Movie Brigade.) I’ve racked up conversations, work stories and other ideas that will find their way here. One of the things is my wrestling themed/inspired chapbook titled The Electric Luchador Rides Again. You can follow the progress of the chapbook (and my other poetic endeavors) at loveisadonkey.tumblr.com.

Moving on….

As a writer, I form rituals and habits. Many writers do. It helps me to write. I drink out of the same coffee mug when I’m writing. This is the case even after the handle of the mug broke off. I write in the same area of our apartment. I go to the same coffee shop and drink the same drink (Chai tea), and clearly I have the habit of making the same jokes in blogs. These habits and rituals often flow into other areas of my life. Hell, at my last job I found myself using the same bathroom stall each and every time.

At work I like to try and bring as much creativity (some might say weirdness) to the mundane job world. This had been hindered by the fact that somehow I started to fall into a rut in the weirdest possible way. Whenever anyone asked me how I was doing, no matter how I was actually doing I found myself saying “Oh not too bad.”

Every.
Single.
Damn.
Time.

Even after I caught myself doing it:
Person: How you doing?
Me: Oh not too bad (damn!)

It became increasingly important to come up with some different ways to respond to the questions when it came from my new manager. I mean they think I’m weird anyway. I could have some fun with it, and it’d probably help come up with some good stories for here. I started compiling weekly lists of how I would respond.

Such as:

(Simple ones that still seemed to confuse or weird them out)

Fine and dandy like sour candy
Fine and dandy like hard candy
Fine as frog’s hair.
Right as rain
Like I got sunshine in a bag.
Just swell, Mel.
Peachy keen jelly bean
Peachy keen like Jimmy Dean
I’m the tops, pops.
This must be pretty in pink cus I’m duckie.
Call me Count Duckula cus I’m ducky.
Like Mario after saving the Princess.
Like Zelda when he has full hearts.

And so on and so on. If you have any you think I should use let me know. How am I doing? Oh not too bad….DAMNIT!


the one with an origin story.

July 18, 2011

The fact that the wifebot was in a show recently meant that I was at a Theatre a lot over the last three weeks. This is something I’ll rarely complain about. I love the vibe, passion and energy that flow freely at a theatre when a show is up. Strangely the audience was usually made up of older adults.

(Strange in that it wasn’t the traditional plays being performed.)

I rarely miss a show of hers and this time was no different. I was at every single performance even the preview show. This means a lot of time around actors and directors, which for me is always a little strange. I dig them; it just always feels a little weird.

This also (generally) means I’m going to field the “you’re a playwright?” or “what are you writing over there?” questions. You can throw in the paranoia that I’m writing what they are saying or writing about them.

Now I’ve been known to steal conversations and clearly there is overheard Ohio but come on people. Not everything is about you. One night I was talking to an actor and they asked why I didn’t submit to the fest.

(And that is a story of my idiotic messing up of the deadline.)

As I talked over my glass of complimentary wine a dude who had been eyeing me as I wrote made his way to where I was sitting. As I returned from the wine table/my conversation he asked if I was going to be sitting there again. I told him he could have that seat as I was gonna walk around a bit.

He frowned and said “I was hoping you’d have a seat with me. I’d like to ask you some things.”

Jimi: Fuck that shit can’t you see I was working on some writing?

Or

Jimi: Sure why not.

I sat. He peered at me.

Him: I heard you’re a playwright.
Me: yeah.
Him: How does one go about becoming a playwright?
Me: Write plays? I mean I found my passion there and see things on the stage now.

The conversation went on from there. Mostly about how, what and why I write plays. He asked if I could talk about the play I was working on with him.

You may or may not know that the play I’m working on is a struggling playwright (ha ha) who gets dumped, fired, and rejected on the same day. He gets drunk and wants a simpler time. He remembers (and longs for) the time fondly when he was young and had an imaginary friend. His friend’s name is Percy T. Whale and yes he is a walking talking whale. He wishes for him and he returns. The problem? Percy is a drunk, annoying jerk who only causes trouble.

So I tell him this and he starts to get into it. He‘s asking questions and throwing out suggestions. He asks if I’ve considered letting someone writing a scene or two for me.

(Uhm?)

As the conversation continues it seems more and more like he’s hoping I’ll ask him to collaborate with me. Luckily Lindsay came and I was saved. The next week an older lady heard I’d seen every show—I help out the theatre doing whatever I can—and asked me why. When she found out that my wife is an actress and I’m a playwright she began asking questions.

I talked all the while hoping she’d ask me how I became a playwright.

Origin of a playwright:

When I was twelve I hated reading and loved math. I wanted to grow up and do something in the math field. One day while walking around and solving math problems in my head I came across a dog. I went to pet it and it bit my arm. I passed out.

When I woke up I was in the hospital and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I had a fever and just started writing and writing plays. I wrote until the fever went down and I’ve been a playwright ever since.

She didn’t ask but that will be what I tell the next person.


the one with a bum buggering dresser.

June 23, 2011

A wee bit of jimi business before we begin; today is my four year anniversary with the very lovely Kat. I love her more and more. She’s made me the poet, writer and person I am today.

(So send her all complaints!)

Now on to what you really came here for—the ass rape.

(Wait what?)

It was 3 in the morning. A summer night that was not unlike most summer nights. The apartment was quiet. The cats sprawled out on the living room floor in attempt to hide from the heat. I was up late (again) and lost track of the time. I tried to shake the sleep from my bones but it clung with a righteousness I simply couldn’t match. My fingers plugged away at the keyboard till the lids of my eyes grew heavy. There would be no beating sleep. I made my way to the window and paused to peer out into the darkness. What wearied traveler was out there?

(Okay enough of that. Who do I think I am Denis Johnson lite?)

I trudged off to the bedroom—trying to be as quiet as possible. The wifebot of course had to be up in 3 hours. Turning off the remaining lights I used the flashlight app on my phone to lead the way. After peeing and tossing my pants off I was ready for bed.

Except I forgot earlier in the night I washed the dishes while listening to the Indians game. I left the radio in the kitchen. You see I need the radio on to sleep. I switch between Coast to Coast AM and a Sports talk show. It all depends on my mood. If I don’t want to be bothered by real life I leave it on the sports show. Now if that show spends too much time on a sport or story I don’t like I switch on over to Coast to Coast.

AnyNowYouKnowHowJimiSleeps I had to go to the kitchen to get the radio. I knew this would lead to noise and waking her up. How could it not, after the perfect execution of silently getting into bed? I made my way slowly into the kitchen with my phone. While in there I made sure to switch the station back to the one I wanted and to turn the volume down to an acceptable sleeping level. That done I went back to the bedroom. As I used my phone to see the socket it told me it would be dying soon. No worries I’ll plug it in right now.

(Ah crap the plug is in the living room.)

She stirred.

(Ah crap I actually said that first thing out loud.)

Off to the living room to fetch the charger. Now the cats were stirring. Rasputin following me from the living room to the bedroom—he does this most nights as I head off to bed. I could hear her sleeping soundly as I rounded the home stretch. I just may get through this. All I had to do was plug the phone charger into the wall and slide into bed. I made sure all the pillows were in the right place. I plugged in the charger and it made its little noise assuring me it would begin to charge.

None of this woke her up.
(Whew.)

I moved toward the bed and pulled the plug out of the wall. That’s okay I’ll just reach down and plug it back in. For some reason I didn’t bend over to do this but instead squatted down. As I did my ass made contact with the corner of an open drawer. Bull’s-eye! I mean the Enterprise (my ass) was just sitting there shields down when a Romulan Bird of Prey decloaked and slammed a torpedo right through the hull (the hull being my bum.)

“YOWWWWWWW!”
(Pause.)

The wifebot sits up. “Whaa…whaaa…?” She appears to still be mostly asleep.

“I think I just lost my virginity to a fucking dresser,” grabbing my bum and doing a little hop step.

“Oh.” She turns over and is back into her dreams.

I gingerly walk over and sleep on my side. The next day I tell her about it and she says:

“That’s what you get for leaving the drawers open all the time.”

(Probably true.)


The one with the Cleveland Creep

June 13, 2011

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Finally I’m getting around to posting this. Way back on June 4th I had the privilege of being part of a Books for Bloggers event. It was held at Visible Voice Books in Tremont and allowed an intimate conversation between Cleveland bloggers and Cleveland mystery writer, Les Roberts.

When I received the email invitation I was excited. It allowed for me to bring a guest and I chose my lovely Wifebot, who of course could have attended as a local blogger herself.

A little bit of honesty time. When I first move to Cleveland way back in 2002 someone suggested I read one of the books in Les Robert’s Cleveland series. It went something like this:

Person: Hey yo you’re into writing and new to Cleveland. There is like this author who writes mysteries set in Cleveland.*

(*Nowhere near how it happened.)

I looked up the name and picked the first book in the series—Pepper Pike. I read it pretty fast and really liked it. I decided right than that I was going to get to know Milan Jacovich real well, but you know things come up. I hadn’t read another in the series since. I sort of forgot all about it until I received the email.

The event was to promote his new book, The Cleveland Creep and was sponsored by Roberts’ publisher Gray & Company.

Les met with us in Visible Voice Books’ quaint upstairs meeting room. I was happy to see the room because I’ve been considering it for a reading of one my plays.

(More on that later bitches!)

It was intimate and the author easily fell into a back and forth conversation. It wasn’t long before he was weaving story after story for us, and it felt like we were all old friends. He (obviously) can really tell a story. It was interesting to hear about how Cleveland grew on him and you could tell the love he had for the city.

The meet and greet was very lighthearted and filled with humor. He answered questions and signed the books.

(Free bitches!)

I was happy to meet @ADHicken who I’d enjoyed on the twitter.

(Wait that didn’t come out right.)
(T.W.S.S)
(Not her but you know the royal her–nevermind!)

And her blog Clue Into Cleveland is always a fun read. It was cool to meet her hubby @ScottHicken and @timzaun (who you’ll see more from down below.)

(That’s what she said!)
(Sorry.)

Roberts’ has lived in both Chicago and L.A. but fell in love with Cleveland and couldn’t leave. He’s lived here 21 years and tells how the city has influenced him and his writing. When asked about what needs to be done for the future growth of the city his first reaction was said with humor and care:

“Oh Boy”

After a chuckle he dove into what he felt needed to be done. I snagged this from TimZaun.com because it was a little more thorough than my notes. His site is a very good read. He snapped the picture above too (Hooray for lazy jimi!)

• We need to stop the brain drain of Cleveland’s upcoming talent-young residents or transplants, choosing to be educated here; and then leaving town for larger, more progressive cities.
• Government needs to make it easier for businesses to locate here with tax incentives, etc.
• Officials who embody the “What’s in it for me?” mentality need to be replaced with individuals committed to helping Cleveland thrive.
• We need more writers to promote Cleveland’s assets.

The Cleveland Creep is Roberts’ 25th book and more importantly 15th featuring Cleveland private eye Milan Jacovich. I will have a longer review up soon but I will say that it is an excellent read. Once you talk to him it is hard to hear his voice as you read. It was near me and I opened it up just to read the first few pages and was instantly hooked. The story is a fast and smooth read. The book is filled with some wonderful prose. Jacovich’s humor and love for Cleveland mirrors that of Roberts. There is a tinge of sadness to the pages as the Cleveland private eye deals with age and loss. This only adds to the gritty realism and edge the series has.

Les Roberts will return in 2012 with Whiskey Island. The story will revolve around a Cleveland city councilman—who is corrupt—sound familiar?


The one tinged with violence

May 25, 2011

I’ve been known (from time to time) to actually get my shit together long enough to submit to places. The act of putting my stuff out there at one point was one of my strengths. Sometimes now it feels like a real chore. I’ve been on a real submission kick lately and well I’ve received some weirder rejection letters as of late.

So join me in a shot (my ritual of taking a shot and then moving on) and enjoy this one:

Dear James

Many thanks for the opportunity to consider your submission. Regretfully we must pass on the poems at this time. At ******** we try our best to return submissions with as much feedback as possible. Our editors were impressed with the raw beauty of your images. The energy throughout your poetry is evident; unfortunately we felt they were not right for us at this time. The poems which you submitted while beautiful at times were simply too tinged with violence. Nevertheless, again we thank you for considering us and send best wishes for you and your writing.

Yours sincerely,

******* **********

Now I won’t post the poems here (because too many these days count that as “publishing” them and won’t except em) but if you’d like to read them you can ask me.

Just be warned they’re crazy violent.

(and if you don’t like em I’ll KILL you.)
(Just playing.)
(Maybe.)

Thank you for reading and I send my best wishes for you and your other reading. For your benefit I leave you with this awesome and hilarious video about dealing with rejection:


Now with more fruit (and a dictator)

May 18, 2011

The other night the wifebot and I were chilling in front of the TV when a brilliant idea struck. I let it formulate, circulate and marinate—okay I really just blurted out:

“I want to dress up a banana like Muammar Gaddafi and call it Bannafi!”

I expected silence or maybe ridicule but instead she responded (almost gleefully) “I think I see a weekend project!”

(Be still my beating heart.)
(Take note this is why we win at marriage bitches!)

Why would I do/say such a thing? Was I making light of the people of Libya’s plight? No! I’m very sympathetic to them and their struggles. I’ve been watching it unfold almost nonstop since it started. I’ve been glued to Aljazeera English.

(Probably on a list now!)
(I hope Julia Roberts calls Denzel when I get offed to fight for my memory!)

It was simply one of the strange things that floated into my head and stuck. It makes sense though. I mean have you seen the way he dresses? Quite the image! Need proof?

Exhibit A:

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Exhibit B:

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Seee?

There is a simple formula of banana + any kind of clothes= funny. Now if we take that and multiply it by crazy Gaddafi get up we get: banana + any kind of clothes x Gaddafi get up = epic!

Or

BANNAFI!!!!

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Later the next day as I shared this with twitter I decided that not only did it need to happen, but I needed to create adventures for Bannafi. So soon we’ll have the origin story of the lovable fruit dictator. Perhaps even a youtube channel for him.


The one where I battle emotions

April 18, 2011

You thought you were so clever.
(Yeah you.)

Oh so clever, but I caught you. I caught you red handed there intwerbz.
(No don’t even try to pretend. You just sound sad with your excuses!)

I caught you. All of youse trying to bring me down, trying to harsh my buzz if you will. Yeah you bastards. Be ashamed. Things were going okay—fun almost and then you all conspire to darken my skies. The last week or so have been rather trying.

Confession: Trying in mostly a vague not related to me way.

You see first it was the 17 year anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death. It is a date that always leads me to pause and reflect. Kurt his writing and creativity pushed me, my ideas and writing. He was an influence to say the least. It was one that at first was personal. It was one that was more of an inside. Yes people knew

I dug Nirvana and etc, but for the most part I let the influence be deep inside my actions and writing.
Until of course what happened. When it happened I (read my always there for me Sister Lisa) dyed my hair all blonde. All of it—and there was a lot of it. The nails were painted more often. It was a time where I embraced my weirdness even more.

AnyNailPolish it hits home. So it rolls around and is a rather sad moment. I’m letting this thought roll around in my head and then bam out of nowhere one of my favorite wrestlers (especially character wise) Edge has to retire. It really sort of came from left field. I mean sure he had some serious injuries but he was on top of his chosen profession—his passion when it happened. He had followed his dreams and poured his creativity into it.

Then it was cut short. He came out to announce that he was forced to retire. It was sad. The wifebot even sat and listened to him talk. He almost broke down a few times and of course the wifey tried to get me to. I’m happy he found out when he did and can get out safely and healthy. The fact that he had to exit from something he was passionate about early is sad. When the creative are taken away too soon it hits me and when people lose their vehicle it does too.

(I know I didn’t really describe that the best way.)

So add to those things that happened later in that week: Joe Tait did the Cavs play by play for the last time. He is one of (if not the) greatest radio voices ever. He’d been doing it for seemingly forever. He’s getting up there and had some health problems so I should be happy for him.

And I am. It’s still a sad (or emotional) moment. Listening to him talk about it and his memories was fun and hard at the same time. This is something I’ll probably write about tomorrow or this week. When I first moved to Cleveland I was essentially alone here. I mean I wasn’t. The wifebot’s mom was amazing and nice—I don’t mean it like that. She was great and there for me, but the wifey was off in Athens going to OU. What would I do? Well I’d turn on the Cavs game and get lost in the words of Joe.

More on that later.

Then you come to a big event: The nuptials of my best friend the Rizza. It was a beautiful moment where two people I love came together as one. This of course led to many a moment of reflecting on my wedding day and my lovely wife and etc. I tried to write a poem for my bestie but simply could not catch perfectly what I wanted.

#PoetFail
(Yes I did use a hash tag there.)

I went back and read the poem I wrote as my vows. It was a grand ole time. The wedding (Rizza’s) was fun and she looked beautiful. It meant a lot to be able to share in such a big moment in their lives.

So yeah all of youse on the twitter and interwebz and the world I caught on to you. No I did not break down at any point. So suck on that! But I did show emotion. Go figure.

Best part of the wedding day: The several drive by kisses on my cheek by the bride as she rushed her or there. That and that as we left I hugged her she says to me:

“You’re not looking me in the eyes because you cannnnnn’t. If you did you’d get all emotional.”

Maybe. And yes she did use all those n’s.

Damn this post really sucked. Oh well I blame you all for this too.

#PostFail

Well yeah watch this.


The one where I’m a vampire Slayer

April 8, 2011

You know what gets old?

Milk.

(I’ll pause why you regain your composure after that side splitting joke.)

(Ready?)

(That was such a bad joke that I’m going to leave it in.)

The job search is getting old. No actually that is a lie it got old a long long time ago. What gets even older and faster? Job search boards and ads can just shove it. They suck. They REALLY suck.

(Also 8 hours? Really you can only guarantee me 8 hours a week? How am I supposed to live on 8 hours worth of money a week?)

That last part isn’t necessarily part of this post, just part of the problem. I mostly was sifting through the local paper’s want ads and going to specific places websites. That worked. The jobs to apply were plentiful (just not calling me) but it felt like I could be doing more. Enter job boards. I hit them up and some of them I still do.

One of the ones I don’t though is jobs.com. I’ve had nothing but crap from them. Every other link had me running through hoops of filling out the same thing over and over. Most times it appeared to end up a bust. It end up just trying to get me to join a “job network” that never really accomplished anything and every time they called or contacted me it’d be about going back to school or training somewhere.

It was annoying.
It was disheartening.
Plus the texts—the mother bleeping texts!

Texts saying to call for an interview for jobs I didn’t apply for and more than once weren’t even in Ohio. Right before I decided to steer clear of jobs.com I got an email from an “employer” and it went like this.

Dear James
I am an employer. My company is looking to hire good people. We saw your resume and were glad you had interest in our field. Are you interested in help going back to school? We can help you do that? It will help you to be better suited for a position with the company.

(It went on but I’ll stop there.)

My response:

Dear Employer
I am a human. I was shocked to learn you were willing to help me go back to school after the last time. Did you not read about it? The events weren’t totally my fault, so I thank you for the second chance. Yes I did burn down the school gymnasium but in my defense I was battling vampires. I managed to kill of that nest of vamps but all anyone sees is the burned gym. It is a sad state.

Their response:

I don’t follow you. I’m sorry.

My response:

Such is the life of a slayer.

Yeah they’ve not responded since. Oh well. Should I put sarcastic/funny email creator on my resume?


The one with a glimpse

March 9, 2011

So I’ve decided to give you a glimpse into the daily jimi.

It will not be pretty.
Trust me.

Sort of like this:

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That doesn’t normally happen. It was part of the Halloween process.

Moving on…

The alarm goes off (generally) at 6:30 in the morning. It sounds like the warning alarm on army bases or spaceships in movies.

I tell the wife it’s 6:30 and it’s time to get up. Depending on the day she’ll either get up or roll over. This is when I let her sleep for another 7 minutes and the alarm blares again. I once again tell her it’s time to get up.

Now this time she actually gets up and either says she hates the world or me. Sometimes both of these things happened.

I stay in bed as gets ready. Sometimes I manage to stay awake until she leaves. On these days she gives me a kiss and we say our goodbyes. Other days I fall asleep and she probably hates me.

When DSN (Digital Sports Network—shows on the internet) was actually broadcasting I’d wake up at 9 am. On these days I’d listen to the show and troll (in the nicest and most awesomest of ways) the chat room. It was a fun creative process that I won’t explain here because nobody ever seemed to get my explanation.

It sort of results in the “oh haha” type answer.

Now that DSN is on hold I wake up between 9:15-9:30.
(Go on hate me if you want.)

It usually involves me waking up with my ass straight up in the air and my face smushed against the pillow. There are almost always big red sleep marks on my face. If you’re thinking of a “gay sex dream” joke save em the wifey has plowed that field already.

WAIT what?

I meant the jokes not actually you know her rogering me in the bum.
Uhm moving on…

So I wake up and of course before anything put water on to boil.

Gots to get my coffee on.

Then I sit down and check my email. Now this is a process sort of done with one eye shut. I open it hoping to not see some form rejection letters. These days they are piling up from publications and possible employers.
It’s at this point (or possibly earlier) that Carissa has hit me up on gchat with WAKE UP or some other witty way of saying that.

(ClevelandPoet@gmail.com if you too wish to tell me to wake up or you know chat.)

I try to scribble some notes or decide what will be worked on (writing wise) that day. When the coffee is ready I try and sit down and tackle my google reader. Some of you are probably on it and I will tell you know when I click it and there are already like 15 of you with posts I curse you. These days I can barely do 2 in a row and you all make me look bad.

Part of the problem is mine are so story based on what is happening and what I’ve done. Since losing my job those stories have tapered off because honestly I don’t do anything now.

AnyFeelingSorryForMyself after reading and sipping on my coffee the job search usually begins. This is where the day usually goes to shit. I had been trying to tackle some writing first. I learned early on the job search/application process really drains me. It ruins the writing on most days. I’d do a couple hours of writing and then the job search.

As it dragged on and I freaked out more I switched it around. It really has destroyed any thorough writing. I was worried though—still am. So I search first and for longer than I actually write during the day sometimes.

This pains me but yet it happens continually.

Did I mention since the chaos of protest began in the Middle East I do all this while watching/listening to Aljazeera English?

Well I do. I’m enthralled by it. I can’t stop. It inspires me and has led to more writing than I’ve been use to as of late. Also it’s led to some fucked up violent dreams. I mean like hours and hours of the coverage would be playing on my computer as I went about my day.

Around 2pm I’d remember that I hadn’t eaten all day and scrounge up some food.

Sometimes (more lately) I’ll search for a bad movie to watch. Recently: Killer Barbys vs. Dracula, Zombie Honeymoon and Lure: Teen Fight Club and (painfully) Zombie Bloodbath

Why?

Because at the B Movie Brigade we watch it so you don’t have to. Zombie Bloodbath is up and the others will be soon.

(Cheap plug)
Also what happens!

I suffer through these bad movies and take detailed notes. These notes have a very detailed key to make sense of them. If you were to look at the notebook it’d be gibberish.

(What else is new?)

Sometimes after some more writing I take a nap. I did this a couple time while listening to Aljazeera English and that was bad idea. We can substitute a nap with going for a walk. This was always a highlight—until winter really hit. I still try to go for at least a short walk during the day.

Then yoga.
Sometimes naked.
The wife likes that for some reason.

She’s never here for it is probably why. At 5 the day swings into more of a sports watching mode with some work on writing thrown in. There was a point or at least a joke I wanted to have thrown in here at the end. The only problem is it has slipped my mind

Jokes on you I guess.


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