Remember when we had blogs? That was weird.

About This Site

This site represents attempt #239 to write about things in public. Writing, thoughts and editorial regarding a wide variety of topic and a way to get to know me. What I say I like and what I seem to like may be different things.  Having a wide variety of interests, this site will also (hopefully) work as a concentrator for my activities and further my construction to (also hopefully), a useful human.

About This Author

Born in Southern California, I’ve lived the majority of my life in Washington State. I enjoy the occasional game, programs on the television, books and adult beverage.  I like to cook for other people. I have wanted to be a lot of things when I grow up.  A non-exhaustive list of toiling: Retail Clerk, Fast Food Slave, cement distribution… guy? Technical Support Monkey, Test Engineer, Student, musician.  I currently support firewalls for a small to medium-ish security appliance manufacturer.



40 Circles

That’s it, really. It’s not a lot when you consider the time it took for the rest of everything else to get here.  That is a lot of momentum that I had nothing to do with pushing me forward.  I say push, but I mean shove.

That’s because I didn’t try to end up here. Like most things, it just sort of happened. I mean sure, I could have improved the package I arrived on the self in, but some things, like male pattern baldness, was inevitable.

It’s at times like these, even-numbered base 10 divisible age numbers, that we’re often especially navel-gazey; that is to say, when we look at the scales of life, does the side with grace, charity and love outweigh the side of awkwardness, selfishness, indifference and just plain dickishness? The answer as usual is: “Reply hazy. Ask again later.”

So here I am on 40.  My social media is racking up well wishes and likes of well wishes, because who doesn’t like a wished well? Jerks, that’s who. But I can’t help but see the absence of messages from those I’ve left in the 39 other circles that I’ve survived. They aren’t jerks, I was the jerk. Well not always the jerk, but often?  I am bad judge of these things.  Not just in the sphere of social media, but in life and I think again of the scales tipping back and forth from “nice guy” to “prick”. But let’s not go getting all dark. If I’ve hurt you, I am sorry.

In my garage lives the trappings of a guy searching for mastery or meaning of some sort: guitars, toys, hobbies, equipment of all kinds. And they sit there in tubs and boxes on shelves as milestones for moments of dutiful motivation. Between the milestones are the voids of doubt and depression.  Both a testament of a modern life.  I used to call this my “Man of Leisure”, but when this was thrown back at my face by someone who suffered from the “prick” side of the scale, (understandably), it graduated from a humorous attempt to try to identify my behaviors into what is actually was: a cynical excuse and a way to embrace depression in a “oh well, that is just how I am” sort of way.  I still deal with the “Man of Leisure” every day.  I have a friend who I believe calls this “The Hobo” – though I’ve never directly asked him if it’s the same guy, I get the feeling it probably is or they at least ride the same rails.

The problem with the “Man of Leisure” is that he’s way cool in a sort of way a teenager might look at a 40 circle guy with a bunch of hobbies in his garage: a bit close to home and to be honest, a little creepy. Of course, I just realized where this train of thought is going and I’m not a fan, but I’ll power through.

What I face now is the volume of choices I made that I can no longer categorize as “mistakes” but now get filed under, “should’a known better”, so when I look back at that shoving force behind me I see the wake of hurt feelings I’ve left behind all jumbled up with “party lines”, Sputnik and the dinosaurs.

I probably have another 40 circles left in me (unless they figure out how to get around that, which I am a fan of) to try to tip that scale a little more into the “atta boy” side. I have some opportunities in front of me, (more of many), in which to apply or ignore. Some of them are super exciting, others frighten me like, “what clothes are OK for me to wear now so I don’t look like “that guy”. I’ll continue to feel insecure about things, but I can temper that with my increasing stash of “I don’t care”.

So, thank you for your help and patience, your well wishes. I appreciate the ones I’ve had and the ones I have left. You’re on my mind while I try to be better. Love ya.

I am a White Educated Male and Trump can’t really touch me.

I have a fairly good job in high tech. Trump’s presidency won’t affect me very much at all. However, to those of you that voted these people’s hero into office: A vote for Donald Trump was a vote for white supremacy, and I am not sure I will ever forgive you for putting my nieces, nephews, brothers, friends and anyone, in this worsening situation. This is way beyond a party choice. You have emboldened them and enabled them.

To my wonderful, diverse, family and friends: I have had the blessing of growing up with immediate family members who embraced people of color as their spouses. I have been blessed to see the result of their love in what wonderful nieces and nephews I have. You’re stronger than I am.

In my adult life I was fortunate enough to gain access to people outside of my comfort zone as a white man and they have, with great patience and generosity, allowed me to call them friends. Through personal relationships with the Deaf/HoH, LGBQT, People of Color and my non-Christian friends, I have a taste of your perspective and I am enriched by and a better person, for knowing you.

To you all, I am so, very sorry. I feel as if I have personally failed you, as I could have done more, even if the outcome would have been the same. It is my responsibility to use the means I have to give voice to your hardships and I feel I failed. A great guilt washes over me. For the acquaintances I allowed to speak without confrontation of their rhetoric. For the days I was just too mentally drained to fight, I know that my break from the fight is a privilege that you do not have.

I want you to know that as the days and the weeks and years go by, this outpouring of racial hatred may go back underground. I will not. I am always on your side. I am always on the side of tolerance and inclusion. I am against the forces that try to impede you. I love you and care for you and will work to amplify your voices until I have none of my own left.

More to come.

On Being a “cuck”

Facebook is full sleeper racists and I met one last night.  Oh it started out simple enough.  Facebook friend posts a meme about how if Muslims really hated us, we’d be dead as there are a lot of people who subscribe to that faith.  Not the best meme, but not the worst.  Someone brings up Salmon(sic) Rushdie for some reason as if that would prove a point, ignore that Salman Rushdie is still alive…  but just wait.

Enter “Apparent Islamophobe” – I say apparent because that is all I know about him, he fears Muslims:

Apparent Islamophobe

Immediately we know a couple things about “AI”:  his history is Eurocentrist, he doesn’t actually know much history beyond that which agrees with him and he confuses being a Muslim with wanting a de facto theocracy to kill “us”. This raises a few flags, but I wrote this off as just being exactly what the meme was talking about.  So I suggest maybe he’s being a bit narrow.  I could have been nicer, but fuck it.


So one of 2 things happen here.  Either he considers any other history that isn’t from Europe “non-white” and my bringing it up means I must mean I think they are oppressed or he took a look at my Facebook profile.  Either way, lets take a look at his:


Hmmm 157 IQ – I’d better watch out. Not because of the number, but he’s the kind of person that would put that on their profile.  Scary.  But again, nothing overtly racist and that’s a good thing.  Fear not, his words will betray his true feelings about race, but we’re not past the Islamophobia yet.  He seems to think that I’m pro-Islam, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m kinda anti-religion in general.  That doesn’t stop him from trying to goad me into does it?


There, that should let him know that I’m just not a fan of singling out any particular religion because they all contain the stains of abuse and oppression. Simply having a Muslim majority isn’t sufficient cause for your murder.  I provide some examples.  Would I want to live in a Muslim theocracy?  Unlikely.  The question should be, “would I want to live in any theocracy?”  I barely can stand living in a Secular Christian nation.  We should be good right?


Act 1:  What the fuck is a Europoid?


Whoa!  Where the fuck did this come from? This is straight up fringe white supremacist dogma right here: “Look, some races are just more violent, they can’t help it, just like whites can’t help to be such wonderful things as not tribal and having Christianity and multiculturalism”. 

“Apparent Islamophobe” has graduated to “White Supremacy Apologist”

It sounds so logical right?  But this is grade A white European apologetics.  “We can’t help being on top, its genetics.”  Plus some theory about how religion is an outgrowth of race and did you know Christianity was created by Europeans? Maybe he just thinks that the Hebrews were the whites of the bronze age?  Doubtful.  I am sure if we dug a little deeper there would be some antisemitism and Jewish conspiracy lurking in there, because they go hand in hand.

So Europoid.  This is a more palatable version of Caucasoid. Why is it more palatable?  Because it avoids uncomfortable subjects like the origin of the word and of race itself. 

Asking yourself, why if you’re white you’re referred to as Caucasian, leads to you to Christoph Meiners, which leads you to the realization that the whole “Race” thing isn’t actually based in reality, but on some nice skulls this guy found, in order to sell some books that weren’t based on any real science at all.  That hopefully leads you to a really deep thought about what race really is.  If you need some help, here ya go.

I mean, if you want a slightly more believable explanation for why EUropeans seem to be the dominant brand on the market for the last few centuries, there are much better multidisciplinary works than “fanciful racial religion theory”.

Unfortunately for “White Supremacy Apologist” he chose to go with the other option.

Act 2: What the?

what the

I seriously tried to back out of this.  He likes to edit things to try to piece this all together more… but yeah, the “dynamics of competitive commerce and trade”?  What?

At some point he thought he’d try to flush my into a place where he had prepared a speech about the heroic British/American fight against slavery, but forgot to tell everyone.

A bit non-sequitur, but we soldier on.

Act 3: Wherein I am told I am “a cuck”.


So, I’m familiar with “cuckold” – its history, Shakespeare, etc. even contemporary usage in porn which is a genre.  What I had just barely become aware of is its use in a racial sense.

Poor Louie C.K. – He doesn’t deserve that.

We can see that Google has reflected an increase in that interest, for sure.


So, it could be as simple as he thought I might like Big Black Cock or watching said BBC trounce my lady friend.  But with a 156 IQ, I mean, that couldn’t be it.  This guy is a learned white dude, right?

Lets look at urban dictionary.

However, his implication, is simple that I am not “pro-white”.  I have drank the Kool-aide and am beholden to my brown overlords.

He is afraid that white people are going to be destroyed.  He was just to much of a coward to say it amongst his friend and family, in public, but the Internet doesn’t forget:


Act 4: The thing.

Here’s the thing: If we look at the rest of this angry young man’s life and forgot about the hate, fear and misapplied enthusiasm for his pigmentation, he looks like a charming enough fellow.  He enjoys arts and reminiscing about family.  He could be anyone and unfortunately, he is like many people. Outwardly tolerant, friendly and successful.  But that take s a turn as soon as brown people are involved.  Islam was never the sole issue for him.  A little digging and asking questions uncovered the real ugly ideology underneath: white people are being bred out by big black cocks I guess and it appears I am a fan.


Many things bother me with this exchange beyond “White Supremacy Apologist”.  First and foremost is the lack of anyone saying anything contrary to this guy, beyond me.  One fellow quoted Jiddu Krishnamurti, which is kind of like stopping a train by asking it nicely.  No direct confrontation of this guys hate spunk.

My girlfriend and apparent future “cuckette” notices when I have these confrontations. I withdraw, I sigh a lot and I don’t pay attention to “The Martian” that is playing on the TV.  This takes a toll mentally and emotionally and I often want to say nothing, too.  What can I do to make a difference?

What I can do is shine a light on it.  Which is why I moved it from a private friend’s post to this blog.  I considered dropping his name, but that’s not an action I would ever condone unless I had direct evidence that is would make a difference.

What does make a difference is understanding we have an audience.  We have everyone on our friends list, friends of friends perhaps, that need to see other people standing up against hate and ignorance.  Even when its often rough, poorly written or ignored, which happens often when I do it.

Of The Heart

There is a sadness here of which I’ve had little time to contemplate. I challenges me every day and its been getting closer.  I can see it coming down the driveway, through the gate, and its nearly to the doorstep.  Its going to ring the bell any day now.

I basically invited it.  I didn’t not invite it. I didn’t prevent it or have a daily apple to keep it away. I can look out the window and see it with its Steve Austin slow-mo stride; powering its way up to my stoop.  How graceful it looks.  Its very sure it needs to be here.

The home in this fantasy is in limbo. I’m currently in-between homes. I dis-invited myself as gracefully as a jerk from my previous. I liked it there with my friend and fur-babies. But I have a habit of doing what I think is right in the most pants-shittingly way possible.  This is the eye-welling part of the post.

A broken heart is like a broken lock. Sometimes its stuck closed and you’re sealed off and bristling with defenses. Sometimes its stuck open and all your junk comes tumbling out. And sadness comes knocking. Clean white shirts mocking your lack of decisiveness. Free pamphlets illustrating your failure at honesty. Have you heard the Sad News? Also, you’re an asshole and let me tell you about your general physique.

Oh don’t worry, I’ll carry on, dear reader. I’ll make amends. I just need to get the door.


Wm4.0 – A week with Keto Chow

As I mentioned last time, I decided I need to get my body all sorted out.  One of the reasons for this is that I am dying slowly faster than most people.  I got the beetus and I got some other acronyms, too.  Still under control via pills, but the way I love me some food, that wasn’t going to last long.

I had luck in the past with Ketosis based diets like Atkins, but being a Man of Leisure, making meals 3 meals a day, packing a lunch, finding something low carb in the international district, working, walking dogs all are plenty enough to say fuck it and order a pizza. But I do love me a routine.

Enter Keto Chow, a meal replacement for people who are into nutritional ketosis. He’s come up with a tasty shake that I eat twice a day.  All the ingredients are purchasable myself, nutritional information is plain.  He seems like a nerdy engineer type so I can get behind that.

I just started week 2 with a 4.6 lbs loss from week 1. This not being my first BBQ, I know that much of that will be water, but having done this type of diet before, I do know its possible to lose ~2lbs a week.

Anyway, 2 data point down, a bijillion to go.

Regarding my mass extinction

Every post need a pun right?

Oh how I have neglected you, blog, for you are in direct confrontation with my modus operandi: leisure.

I was bemusing with a friend about how being a man of leisure is a calling we both are drawn to. Some people can’t stand to look at a day of free time without manifesting a list of duties they should rather be engaged in.  Not us, oh no. To us its a vast canvas of lackadaisical invention: “I should really marathon Ballers“; “you know, I could organize <insert collection>”; “Oh hello there, nap all day”.

Its not that I don’t like a good honest days work, its just I would rather dishonestly not work a day.

Now, there will be some of those who for, for instance, will read this and say, “I am sure glad I looked up this guy before I hired him!” and that is fair enough, but consider for a moment that the man/woman of leisure is the mother/father of invention, rather than necessity.

My father, told me once of the job he had for some Mad Men era electronics related company he was working for an the task that he’d been given for which he was designed (being a fellow man of leisure):

John Straley: Man of leisure vs. the pallet of electronics components (liberties with facts taken ruthlessly).

John was provided the task of sorting diode by their… μ.  Its gets better. His boss has a problem: “I have all these components, but they are unlabeled and their values are unknown! What shall I do?”

Of course he delegates, to John Straley: Man of leisure.

Previous to his assignment they had been just picking some and measuring them, hoping to find some that match.  With over 2000 diodes and some TV to watch at home, he immediately set out to end his torture early so he could watch the News or football or whatever.

Result: cataloging the variance of all the diodes against a single bench diode chose at random allowed him to create a database of matching pairs.  Of course this was the 60s and running these through a computer meant punch cards.  No leisure allowing devices like excel spreadsheets in the age of the moon landing.

It didn’t get better, I lied.

So this brings me to why I asked you here.

My life of leisure does not include yoga or jogging. It is largely sedentary. My charmed, lower-middle-class-childless-white-lifestyle allows me to taste the delicious cuisines of the world within a 5 mile radius. Amazon likes me to hang out at home and will delivery me items in under an hour.

Taking my dogs out for one of their two walks a day to void they bladders and bowels is a chore.

OK OK. I am starting to sound lazy, so I should get to the point where I have decided I should get rid of some extra fluff and exercise.

I have decided I should get rid of some extra fluff and exercise.Capture

Being a man of leisure means not having to look at the calories and carbs.  So I’ve decided to do go for the nuclear option because I am really good at routines.

Losing weight nuclear option. (not to be confused with losing-weight-nuking-from-orbit-just-to-be-sure-option):

I’ll be replacing 2 meals with a lowcarb high protein shake of about 400 calories called Keto Chow.

It seems gimmicky but I like gimmicks.

Then I’ll eat dinner, as usual, which had already been low carb.

“But carbs!” I hear you say.  Well, I am already diabetic, due to my life of leisure and love for Bismarks. And I had really good luck on a Atkin’s in the single aughts.

So, its really 2 fold, lose weight, treat the ‘beetus.

2015-08-11I’ve also been going to Harold’s Fitness in W. Seattle.  Close to home, Harold is a former professional body builder and over 70. He’s a bad ass. A bit of the scoundrel.

Here is pressing the bench. He calls you if you don’t show up. He is a man of action; a nice counter point to man of leisure.

His gym is reasonable and very low-fi, low tech and casual. He’s also old school men’s and women’s days separate, so no googly eyes from me.

So where am I right now? Lets say I am over the 300lbs mark for the second time in my life.  My goal right now is 250, but I’d like to get lower if my body type leads me there.

Hopefully a thinner man of leisure.

Human Domestication

I have started this sentence 43 times.  The problem is I have never written for writing’s sake.  Some say this means I am not a writer, but you know what?

Tell me if you do, please?

I think to truly embrace this medium I need to adopt the process of catching ideas for use later. Right now its kind of catch and release.

If pushed to speak about ideas for which I have passion, I am at no loss for words, yet when I sit here and consider whipping myself into a froth just so I can write about it seems disingenuous from me. Ranting is easy, a soapbox is easy. When I was taken by such things preaching was easy and the adrenaline of forming and transferring an idea is exhilarating.  I understand public speaking from this angle. Its like being a bit of the rock star, the center, the catalyst.

I can speak, at length, with plenty of self righteous but unrecognized authority on a variety of topics.  Such is the curse of being my father’s son. A role I find myself filling mentally and physically. So when I muster up the gumption to write about my emotional, monetary or physical state, its always flavored with a little bit of parental contaminant. When I speak to my partner, is it with the authoritarian overbearing spirit of my father? Did I hear my mother in that self effacing comment?

I always considered that at a certain point, we should put away the trappings of our childhood psycho-incubator.  I believed that at some point, which I thought I grabbed in my late 20s, I could and should, finally, forgive my parents for whatever damage they did, though well intentioned. Don’t get me wrong, I had fairly good parents to some. But we don’t get through childhood unharmed.

So as I grew up further and my life drifted away from their circle, I could no longer place blame squarely on them, but I had to recognize that while I had transferred blame away from them, I had never transferred it to the person who was now responsible, myself. Oh sure, its easy to point out the flaws of my parents. I mean I have all the info I need from my Psych 101 class right? Control freak. General Anxiety/Depression. Authoritarian. Paranoia. But these simple labels don’t tell the whole story nor should they. People are complex and yet simple. Walking contradictions.

There is an interesting train of thought that we don’t actually make our own decisions. We already know that Confirmation Bias is real, (the drive to seek information that agrees with us), but we can extrapolate further that we merely choose from ideas or meals or dogma that are presented to us with the illusion of choice. Free will, predestination. Consumer products, the car salesperson; these things don’t tell the real story. When I am given the menu, I don’t order what isn’t there.  So why should the menu of life and how we treat people or allow people to treat us be any different?

Who presents me the menu of choices when I interact with friends? Or a homeless person? Or a person of color? When I look for a job, how do I choose which I apply to, which I wish I could apply to, and which I scoff at as below me? Can I really say I am autonomous and that I choose to do from the full cauldron of humanity? The answer for me right now must be, “no”.

This all leads to being mindful and aware of how reactionary I behave as I go about the vast majority of my life because my menu is influenced by how I was raised, my biology and how society treats me.  But I think this exercise also serves to inform how I “choose” to perceive those around me.  When I see the homeless, the protester, the rebel flag waver. Who gave me the menu?

Your ugly mug

Flip, flip, flip. Another, another, another. He idly paged through the book, face after face, like Tinder or Grindr, but not really, because Tinder and Grindr were like this. Oh books, how you’ve been the constant champion by which all media was measured. Where does the book go? Would he only find them in second hand stores 10 years from now like his parents LPs, only to be resurrected by mustachioed nostalgia for analog? Will they be dug up in 20 or 50 years after the world falls into anarchy and there is no one around to open that document stored on your proprietary storage device? How will we know Margaret’s last wishes, written in that note pad program on her now defunct operating system?  How will we-

“Are you actually looking at these?”

Hans looked up. The officer on the other side of the desk looked bored. Well no shit, he was bored too.

“Of course.” he lied.

As he started actually paying attention again, his eyes scanning the pictures, probably snapshots of immortalizing people at their worst. Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo. Hans considered that maybe he should make a website for people that have their mugshots on public display, where they could upload another photo when they have their shit together, like


These would allow people that second chance that seems so hard to come by when your not-so-tasteful side boob goes global.

How many pages had gone by without him paying attention… two? Three?  Let’s see, three pictures in a row, four rows on a page, probably thirty to forty five. This was ridiculous, he though, so he decided to share it with a public employee.

“Why don’t you have a computer for this stuff? I mean there is a computer right there on the desk.” He then motioned with his head, just so everyone knew exactly which computer on the desk he meant.

Hans was bad with names. He squinted at the name badge… Officer… it was hard to make out, Smyth? No one had that name anymore. Jenkins? Wow he was way off.

“Yeah, you just worry about you. Listen, can I step out and get a cup of coffee and trust you to actually look through that mug book?” Jenkins picked up his coffee mug. Clear County Sheriff it said. Did that mean he wasn’t an officer? Should he call him deputy?  May he was the sheriff. A Sheriff? An Sheriff?

“Oh, coffee?” Hans chimed, hopeful, “what kind is it?”

“The hot kind.”

“Oh.” Hans made a grimace.

“You wanna cup?”

“…no.” Hans replied. He didn’t.

Maybe if he could remember anything about the face of the guy that had hit him on the head and taken is stylish Ona “The Brixton®” messenger bag this wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. GOD HE LOVED THAT BAG. Not that it contained anything useful, but it had been sweet. That perfect manufactured look that said, “This was hand forged by hairy men with leather aprons with re-purposed materials, then passed down over generations of hard won, socially responsible and eco-friendly usage.” Hans was sure this would tell women that he was a writer, or perhaps a photographer for a NPO and that they would then ask about his travels, muses and have sex with him. He’d been experimenting with strategic camera shaped bulges to place in the bag, as he’d spent too much on the bag and could no longer afford the camera. A travel sized Pringles can was working well in bathroom mirror testing.

What page was this? Page 27 of… 100?? Ugh. Hans decided that maybe he could slip in a couple flips of two pages at a time so he could move to the next book. He thought perhaps he could make a mug book app, where people could flip through mug shots on the phone.  He’d call it Offendr.


“Something funny Mr. Leifson?” Officer Sheriff set down his coffee on the metal desk where Hans was sitting. He resumed the paperwork he’d started when Hans had arrived.

“I just came up with a funny app.” Hans had a crooked smile; at least one side of it was smug, “for mug shots. Books.” he added, “A mug book app.” Hans could see that Officer Sheriff was not an early adopter type for technology by his complete lack of response and let it go.

Scanning… scanning… scanning… it was a feast of dereliction that was for sure. Killer, murderer, deranged, drug dealer, drug taker. He wondered if they knew each other. Flip. His eyes scan from the first image to the second and he stopped. Frozen in his seat, he studied the face in the image and tried to make sense of it by saying, “Huh.” as he scanned the face. Its nose, eyes, the mole under its eye.

“Find something?” Officer Sheriff looked up from his paper work; he seemed excited to have a possibility that he could stop what he was doing and peered at the book in front of Hans, who promptly slammed it shut.

“Uh, no, sorry my mistake.” Hans lied, “I thought it was my dog’s… previous owner?”

Officer Sheriff stared for a moment before Hans continued, “May I have that cup of coffee now? Sorry.” Hans succeeded at not smiling normally and regardless of the fact that Hans was a terrible liar, Officer Sheriff got up with a sigh and left the room. Once Hans was satisfied he was alone, he returned to the mug book in front of him. He looked closely, his finger traced the outline of the shoulder, head and shoulder again.

It was him. I mean me! It’s me! Or at least it look like me. But no, look at that mole, what are the chances?

Having a great idea, Hans pulled out his phone, taps the camera and flips it for selfie mode, just in case he was having a Changing Places or Freaky Friday body swap moment and he was currently inhabiting his mom or cousin or something. This was quickly ruled out. The image however, was him. And he was him.

Hans slipped the picture out of its sleeve and closed the book.


Hey I said every week right?

Right.  I know I did and you know I know I did. But that is the problem with a man who’s family motto was “TV is my only recreation” growing up.  This is a difficult tradition to break, because its easy. Yes, Television, my radiation emitting parent, friend, lover. How I long for your tutelage every night as I take my place in your court.

Worries?  Not while I am being passively amused. I don’t need to worry about how I never finished that degree whilst your content flickers in my eyes. How I have a room full of hobbies I want to get around to, but goodness me, I can watch ALL the seasons of Boston Legal right now? SWEET SPADE AND SHATNER, TAKE ME AWAY!

I can posit that these behaviors are escapist. Likely. I can extrapolate that I escape because otherwise, I may be forced to concede that I am not where I want to be, creatively, academically, financially or emotionally; through this media time sink, I can idle my engine while the past, present and future take a backseat.  These are big things to navel gaze.

Lets take a look at my existential to-do list and see where we’re at a month or so later:

  • Create a demo for voice acting.

Well, not a lot here.  There are people at work with some experience with audio gear, which may get me over my “this is hard why doesn’t it work right” phase. Basically I have an M-Audio interface with a build in pre-amp and a mic, but its super quiet and noisy.  I don’t know how to troubleshoot this.  Must ask for help.

  • Fix or replace my guitar.

Being unemployed for 4 years and living off of good graces and savings puts you in a bit of a financial mess. This will have to wait.  Maybe I should put a little away each month.

  • Be healthy.

Another aspect of working full time again is lack of time.  Combined with my TV Parent, preparing food and making good food choices, not happening as much as I’d like.  But I have made progress.  More salads from home for lunch.  I fear weighing myself.

  • Write more.

Pretty good.  I could cross post more of my Facebook posts here.  My word a week plan made it 2 weeks, then last week… nada.  This week is nearly done.

One thing that I completely admit my hypocrisy on is keeping promises. As a child who had a few promises broken, I suspect that my ability to trust others and myself, was stunted.  I am better as an adult.  I have reasonable expectations and my skills for choosing whom and when to trust others is much better, even than it was when I was 30. But as far as keeping promises to myself? When no one if watching? At school I learned that investment in myself was worth it. I must remember this.

  • Be kind and present.

Making strides. Compliments when you appreciate someone. Remembering to consider the active feelings of others.  Empathy.  It happens.



Words a Week: Deuce Ex Adoption

Week 2 of 2 weeks of words!  This one is dark, probably has some psychological triggers and certainly has adult themes and language. I had some problems keeping tense as I like present tense, because it falls out of my mouth better. It also started from a more neutral “they” perspective, but it ended up about her. Time is a tricky thing, and I feel like this would have really been excellent if I’d had a more regimented writing time per day. This is not where I saw it going. But per usual, this was rushed when I could fit it in on lunch breaks…  I still like it.

She placed the baby on the hood of the car and looked down at what she had done. It was late; 3 o’clock in the morning, but it was hard to tell.  Had this been a different time or a different place, she thought they would have taken him home. Chances were, that life would take over and things would work out, even if the odds seemed stacked against them. That is what she told herself before reality set in. Soon considerations had to be made, scenarios played and replayed until the hope withered and died within hearts and the world won. So there they were, looking at the baby on the hood of the car.

“We should name it.” her voice was an exercise in sorrow. Worn and depleted from bringing this child into the world. She smoked her cigarette and considered the life before her. It was tiny and quiet; full from her breast.

“I like Mable.” She took another drag as the baby clasped her finger. It was dark. The nearest street light an anemic witness.

“I don’t care, we need to get rid of it.” coke boy croaked. He was not so contemplative and he stepped away to continue pacing.  In no uncertain terms he had told her his life was over; he’d confided that he wanted nothing to do with this, but he’d help get rid of it. There goes college. Joining a band: gone.  Sure he didn’t know how to play an instrument but now that was gone, too. His dad would kill him.

“Besides, Mable is a cow’s name.” (more…)