A pondering of recent times. Or, Not without my brains.

Since I'm not here much at all, AND because it is actually relevant, I'm bumping up this post from February.

Back then I asked:

A CHALLENGE: Can you guess what I was thinking about when writing this?

Clearly, the whole scene is way too obscure. It's intended as a science fiction (-ish) analogy to stuff actually going on right now. And it's even more relevant now then it was in February.

Again, can you guess?

Also, I don't write scripts, so this is certainly done incorrectly
-----

(Scene is a nice little suburban home. Interior, living room)

(Door knocking)

AL: Hun, could you get that? I'm uploading some software

BETH: Got it! (peeks out window. Groan of exasperation) Oh no.

AL: Why? Who is it?

BETH: Oh, it's the zombies again.

AL: Oh god. Third time this week.

(more knocks)

BETH: I really don't think I can deal with this today.

(knocks becoming steady pounding)

AL: We're all in the same boat, they're here and they won't go away without a little attention - you know that. Let's just let them in and get it over with - come on, they're doing the pounding thing they do when they feel neglected.

BETH: (looks back outside) Ugh.

(Opens door. Max and Theresa Zombie are standing there with little zombie Boo, just aged two)

BETH: (forced smile) Hello! Max, Theresa, how are you! Oh and look at Boo! She's really growing up quickly, I see her first necrosis is kicking in.

MAX: Braaaains.

THERESA: Braaaaaaaaaaainns!

BETH: Ah, yes, brains. So, would you like to come in? Yes come on in, it's very cold you could catch your life.

(An awkward look from Max)

BETH: Haha, sorry, a little zombie humor there.

AL: Max! Theresa! You're both looking good - been working out, eh? And Theresa, you've lost weight. Lots of time on the Shamble-master? It's done wonders!

THERESA: Braaaaaaaaaiiiiiinnnnnnssss!

AL: Brains, brains, right. And work? Work going well?

MAX: Braiiiinns.

AL: Glad to hear it.

BETH: Would you like something to drink? Or a snack? We just got a bunch of girl scout thin mints or-

THERESA: Braaaaaaaaaaaaains!!!

BETH: Oh, I'm so sorry but we're pretty much all out of brains. Perhaps some chips?

MAX: and THERESA: Braains! Braaaaaaiiiinnnnsss! Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiinns!

Little Boo: Bwwwwaaaaaaainnnss!

AL: Aw, Boo's learned to talk, I'm so happy for you! Boo, how old are you?

Little Boo: Bwwwwwwwaaaaaainnnssss!

AL: Of course.

BETH: Al, can we just do the explanation thing?

AL: (sigh) alright. We do this every week, I can't figure out why they don't remember.

THERESA: MAX: and Little Boo: Brrrrrr(wwwwwwww)aaaaaaaaainnnnnsssssssssss!

AL: Ok, look, Max. About the whole brains thing.

MAX: Braaai- ?

AL: Yes, that. Look. The thing is. Well you come by here every week. Sometimes 3 or 4 times a week.

MAX: Bra-

AL: Yeah, and we go through the same thing every time.

MAX: Brains.

AL: Yes, that's the point. You see - and I feel like it's the first time you're hearing this even though we've told you this for years and years.

You see (dramatic pause) there are no brains.

MAX: (taken aback) BRAINS?!

AL: Exactly. Brains. There aren't any.

MAX: (mumbles in confusion) brains... brains...

AL: Yeah, no, you lot pretty much ate all the brains around here back in the 1960s. Hasn't been a brain within a thousand miles for, oh, I don't know, like 30 years.

Back when there were brains

MAX: Brains? (suddenly jabs a finger at Al's head) BRAAIIIIIIINNS!!

AL: No, no (chuckling and gently pushing Max's hand away) Max, no, no brains. (knocks on his head)

MAX: (a suspicious stare)

AL: Here, I'll show you again. (opens up a hatch on the left side of his head. Inside is a mass of solid-state tech) See, 100% cylon-grade cyberintel goodness in here. We all developed the technology after your folks ate all our brains. Really was a good thing in the end, you know. We moved on from our limited, glitchy, and frankly mediocre biobrains and now we have intelligence and capabilities beyond anything our parents could have imagined.

MAX: Brains? (poking at the metallic surface).

AL: Yes, this is the newest series, too, the Gaius-6-Fusion. Terrific model. Allows me to tackle multiple conversations and complex schemes at once, even when under serious duress. Gotten me out of a few pickles, I can tell you. And the sex drive, well, you wouldn't believe - Oh, sorry, not around Boo. Anyway, strong model, too, iridium core and titanium multi-casing.

MAX: Brains? (questioning poke at Gais-6-Fusion brain)

AL: Completely inedible.

MAX, THERESA, and LITTLE BOO: (sudden loud dejected groans)

BETH: Yes, that's what we've been trying to tell you every time. It's just, every time you come over and keep going on and on about "brains". I mean, the kids don't even know what you're talking about. 'Mommy, what's a brain?' they ask me.

AL: Exactly. So, really, I am terribly sorry we couldn't help you out here. Also, do try to remember this the next time you feel the need to talk about brains, ok?

MAX: Br... br... br... (whimper)

(the zombies begin to shamble out - all lust for death drained away)

BETH: Thank you all for coming over, yes, do come again soon.

(Beth shuts the door)

BETH: Whew.

(Al settles back into his chair, closes the skull-hatch and re-attaches the upload link to the input port. Takes a deep relaxing breath, then lights up his pipe. He takes a long refreshing puff and exhales)

AL: You know, the problem with zombies isn't so much that they're dead. It's that they won't shut up about brains. Like they're on an infinite loop. Brains, brains, brains. Hasn't had any relevance to the real world for decades. Sound like a bunch of fanatics, sometimes. (Another puff) Still... reasonably harmless, I suppose.

BETH: (pauses in contemplation) Al, I just had a thought. Well, all they talk about is eating brains and there aren't any, so it's all ok. But... what if one day they start talking about eating some other body part... like spleens or something?

AL: You mean where they could actually hurt us again? Or kill us? (long drawn out inhale of the pipe as he contemplates this. He then speaks with the exhale) I'd say we spin up the planetary evacuation fleet and nuke the place from orbit. It's the only way to be sure. (*)

BETH: Well, why do that? Couldn't we just design super-powered artificial spleens. You know, that both do spleeny things better and are also non-edible?

AL: (pause in thought) Yes. You're right. Absolutely right! Honey, you are the smartest of our super-smart artificial-brained people. I tell you, those bastards eating our real brains was probably the best single thing that ever happened to us.

(and... scene)


(*) yes, I know that bit of line is from Aliens.

I needed a notepad

No one reads this stuff anymore, right?

Um... I haven't written crap in a while, have I? Especially on this last gasp of a blog thing. There's some stupid post from a months or three ago.

There's like one person left that remembers when I spilled my guts there. But never mind.

So I just felt like writing in a near anonymous place.

Which for me, aside from on a roll of TP tucked in the bedroom, would be here. Nice and anonymous.



For anyone that asks, regarding myself "why doesn't he call?"


The reason is this.
As far as I know - as far as I believe - the last person anyone wants to hear from - the last person on Earth -

is me.

If it's true, it's self-explanatory.
If it's false, it's inexplicable.

This is my dilemma
Or perhaps psychosis.

Or just my stupidity.
Honestly, I'd go with that one,

To think this deserves a psychological term is the height, worthy of derision, of thinking one is interesting.


Anyway, for the most part, this is why I don't call.

Whether its from truth or delusion, whether it's from very long ago or just a few days ago, I regret that inaction.



But now, I don't know any different.
I'm wired this way.

Makes me cry sometimes.

So. Damn. Stupid.




It could have been all done differently.
But it wasn't.

So we live with our stupid, ignorant choices.
Even when they become entrenched.


It totally sucks.




Which is, I think, why it surprises people when they make me laugh and make me feel good.


They think, "what did I do to break through?!?"



The answer is, they were there.

AND...

That they stayed.


And that is a very... very .... very... rare thing.


You know it's true.

Oh the noises I could have made

People who should be pummeled, #225:

Folks who sit in the frakking bathroom, having involved pointless conversations on the phone, who then get pissed when YOU flush the toilet.

Dickhead Fucking Retard (DFR): “Hi, Sis? Yeah, make sure it’s a four wheel drive, OK? Yeah. Yeah. I asked Moe and he said he’d check. Yeah. Ok.”

Me: shock and disbelief. Mild rage.

DFR’s Phone: Wah wah wah WAH wah wah WAAAAH.

DFR: “Uh huh. I dunno. yeah. Yeah.”

Me: (((FLUSH!!!)))

DFR: “Sorry, someone’s making noise”

Me: Major rage. Slams stall door while exiting, restrains self from bashing in DFR’s stall door. Slams exit door. Bangs random things on way out. Stomps.

Technically, this offense should have a subheading:

• People who should be pummeled, #225,
• subheading (a) : followed by flushing of phone down toilet being used by said person
• sub-sub heading (i) (optional): followed by retrieving phone from sewage, including surrounding sewage, then returning to said person’s office in a tightly sealed package inside a pretty gold box with a lovely red bow on top.

These are a few…

 

Since my mind is filled with … stuff … I thought, instead of going on about whatever my current issues are. I’d just list some things that irritate me – at least currently.

The freaky squinty-eyed look I give people
at the moment I think, “are you REALLY going there?  Really?”

It’s a bizarre one, isn’t it?

1) finding another way to feel isolated

The only halfway decent looking gay-oriented magazine for Boston is called Boston Spirit.   Sadly, upon reading it, it’s apparent that it’s only for the rich and “famous” (well, famous for Boston)  gay men of town.  An

Trying to think of what media options DID exist for the, uh, rest of the Boston gays. All I could come up with was Craigslist.

Well, there’s Manhunt, too but I was meaning something about local guys that included pictures newer then 10 years old. 

 

2) Shitting Bulls

Speaking of that last sentence: Guys, WHAT THE FUCK!?!  

Seriously! 

You think people won’t notice the difference? 

I just don’t get it. 

And another pointer, if the photo you post has that yellow and fuzzy look like a Polaroid from 1979, I don’t think many guys will buy into it.

 

3) Eternally healthy people

I think I’ve heard five different people the past weeks riffing along the following lines:

“I don’t understand why everyone’s worried about getting sick with [Flu, SARS, Salmonella, E. coli, cancer, AIDS]!  *I* never get sick!  I have the immune system of Superman.”

My ex, John, had that attitude a lot, too.  That’s a problem for the others, because that connection instantly classifies them as “ginormous douchenozzle”.

On behalf of the vast majority of the world that, in fact, DO get sick with things, allow me to say:

“Congratulations on your Wolverine-powered immunity!  We all envy you so much.  Now shut your fucking unhelpful yap and allow the rest of us to get better in peace.”

 

4) WHISPERING!!!!!!!!

If you’re with multiple friends and you just HAVE to tell one of them something so fucking juicy but don’t want to let the target of your gossip know… then leave the fucking room.  

Cupping your hand to someone’s ear and going “WhuzziWhuzziwhuzziWuzzi” only makes everyone else think, “Helloooooooo!  I’m right here and I can HEAR you!”

Maybe I should actually SAY that!

I mean, that growling and sneering  I do doesn’t seem to work at all.

 

5) Doctors that refuse to believe you’re not crazy

I’ve become very suspicious of doctors who, prior to any actual examination, claim your symptoms are all in your head.  

I’m very well aware that psychosomatic connections really do happen.

But at least take my temperature or maybe just look at the oozing bubonic pustules before claiming that my Plague infection is due to a panic attack.

 

6) Travelling when you don’t want to

Me: Hey, Atari, remember when you used to get excited about getting on a plane to San Francisco or a Train to New York and you didn’t feel at all tired about the whole process.

Me: No.

Me: Oh.  Yeah, neither do I.

 

6) this post

OMG, what is it with people who sit around whining about all the things that piss them off.  Crap like that, with all the fucking cursing, really pisses the shit out of me.  Who the FUCK wants to read about that?!? 

On the other hand, it’s better than reading passive-aggressive posts.  Those really yank my chain!  Oh, but I’m sure you all wouldn’t know anything about those – you’d need to be reasonably educated to notice them.

blank

Hey there.

Haven't been around in a bit.

Kinda has to do with pigs.

Keeping me busy, though.


Also some weird inner-ear thing or something making me dizzy/imbalanced/nauseous.

Well, more than normal.

Kinda comes and goes - same thing that's been bothering me for the past couple of years.

Whatever.


Just thought I'd mention I watched the Series Finale of Scrubs.

I've watched every single episode. Every one. At least twice.
It made me laugh. And feel sad. Mainly laugh, though.

I'd never watched it until alone in my new room after moving out from my home, after John sent me away. Only 3 years ago, or so.

Suddenly I was Tivo-ing Scrubs out of curiosity.

I caught up, thanks to syndication, and fast.

And I don't think I ever stopped enjoying it.
Hell, I practically cackled in hysterical giggles with that show.


Scrubs was therapy.

Good therapy.


And now it's over.

The end was perfectly done.

I kinda cried.


Oh yeah, I did the same for Battlestar Galactica's end, too.
I suppose BSG wasn't good therapy.
Just good drama.
That was a while ago, though.
Just thought I'd mention that, too.



My head is too lost right now to say more about anything in my life.

Which, for me, is kind of a surprise - in that I simply don't understand what that means.

White water

Was supposed to travel to New York today.  Just for two nights.

And I wake up.  And I feel like shit.  Seriously like shit.

 

It’s actually been bugging me for the past week.

 

Did I have a drink too many?

Do I have a bug or something?

I don’t know.

I just want to throw up.  But I don’t.

 

With me, things have been skittering off the rails for quite a while, actually.  Physically.  Emotionally. 

I’m treating myself badly.  Physically.  Emotionally.

This was always true, but in the past three years… worse – at least at times.

 

Whether how I feel today is the result of something from without (a bug) or within (my buggy nature) doesn’t matter. 

It simply is. 

And I am angry at myself.

I was supposed to visit my mom.

Hang out with some friends.

Even, possibly, meet up with a very old friend – one whom I never thought I’d see again in my life.

 

But, no.  Instead I’m worn out and tired.  

I can’t even move.

What have I been doing to myself? 

(By the way, the usual note here: don’t assume you know what’s actually going on here.  You might.  You might not.  At this point, you’d be guessing based on the little I’ve written.  Many have done that in the past.  And they’ve very often been wrong.)

 

Call my mom.  I’m very sad because I was letting her down.

She says, no you’re not letting anyone down.  Even if you feel better later today, you weren’t going to be happy travelling.  You were going to feel miserable, and there’s no reason for that.  You come when you feel better.

 

Another friend suggests I treat myself kindly today – since I had already taken the day off for travelling. 

 

Take a nice warm bath, he mentions.

 

I don’t take baths.  But considering my physically shaky state, it suddenly feels like a good idea.

 

Still feeling vaguely nauseous and disoriented, I use scrubbing bubbles to clean out the tub.  It isn’t bad to begin with, but for a bath I figured I should go the extra mile.

 

What do you put in a bath?  I don’t know, really, and there’s not anything here that’s meant for a bath.

 

What little do I have?

Here’s some Epsom salts.  Supposed to be good in a bath.

I have lots of Crazy Dr. Bronner’s Tea Tree Oil soap.   Love the stuff.

 

And I have a jar of scrubbing salt – made with salt from the Dead Sea. 

It was supposed to be for my mother over Christmas, but I’d forgotten it when I travelled to her house the last time.   I still owe her a jar.  (Fortunately, one store that makes it is two blocks from her house)

It’s lavender scented. 

Sigh. 

I’m gay, but I’m not, like, “lavender” gay.  I don’t think I know anyone who is.

Vanilla, maybe, would be fine.  Orange or lemon would be fun, I guess.  But, lavender?  

 

Fuck it, it’s what I have.

 

And I filled the tub with warm water. 

I added the Epsom salts.

And then poured in the oil soap.

 

The soap turns the water pure milky white.  I’d forgotten the Dr. Bronner’s soap do that in warm water.  Reminds me of the way absinth does the same in ice-cold water.   Opposite effects for opposite effects.

 

I get wet and scrub myself with the body scrub.  I scrub hard.

The lavender isn’t particularly overpowering, thank God.

It feels good.

 

I get in the tub, splashing off the scrubbing salts.

 

I lean back.

Stare at the warm white water.   

The color is solid.  Like it was actually milk.

I look at it and notice it was matt – I can’t even see a reflection of my face.

If I submerged completely, no one could see I was in here until they drained the water.

 

Think about everything I’ve done for the past few years.

Done right.  Done wrong.

 

The path I’m on.

 

What progress have I made since John jettisoned me from his life?

Have I even had a date?  (And by this I don’t mean a night)

What has come of my quest, known only to myself, to write?  About science?  About life?

What happened to the desire to help the world, even just in some small way?

Where went my good behavior of two years ago, where I worked out and treated myself with respect I hadn’t given to myself in all the years past?

And where the fuck did I get this cartoon-sized mallet with which I mercilessly and repeatedly smash my head (although, typical for my life, far from being a tragic thing, the hammer simply makes animation-style squeak-squawk sounds every time I smack myself with it).

 

Most importantly:

Why am I still facing my problems alone?

 

Thinking about these past years, I mutter to myself,

“This isn’t working”

And by “this” I do not mean the bath.

Because I got nothing else to say today – at least nothing I won’t regret

An observation: Feeling like crap makes one prone to not writing – especially if one isn’t paid to write.

Anyway, even though the whole thing passed over, I feel obliged to complete my observation re: #amazonfail.

By the end of the day, two things became clear:

1. This appeared to be something non-premeditated.
2. Amazon has the absolute worst public relations team in existence.  I mean, even AIG’s PR seems more competent.

I think what got me in the end is that, because it totally looked like an intentional dumping of all gay-authored writing, the absolute silence of Amazon.com on the issue was astounding to experience.   I mean, I don’t run shit, but I know if it was me under attack for something that was a pure accident, I’d be out there trying to explain the issue without fanning the flames.

If there’s any managers out there, they should read this dead-on analysis of the failure of Amazon.com’s public relations:

Amazon has handled this communications crisis in the worst possible way, which is to ignore the outrage and throw corporate-speak at the issue.

…

Amazon is an online business, suffering an online publicity massacre, and they offered no online response of substance. No blog post of their own. No direct dialogue attempts on Twitter.

Imagine that you’re on an arena stage in front of tens of thousands of angry people, and instead of speaking into the microphone, you get on your cell phone and call someone to take a memo to send those folks. That’s essentially how Amazon handled it.

Pretty much sums it up.

I mean, I know if I’d heard their ultimate statement (released nearly two days after the uproar began!), I know my mind would not have kept wondering “was this really intentional”. 

Perception matters.

Astonishing. Amazon.com is run by a bunch of homophobic pussies? It's up to them to prove me wrong.

Apparently Amazon.com is run by the far right-wing and/or a fusion of the Pentecostal and Mornmon churches.

Seriously? All gay-themed (ie, oh, Matthew Shepard's story?) books are now DE-LISTED?

Let me just say this.

If this is all just an ooopsie glitch (yeah, right!) then they STILL have a lot of public relations work to do STAT!

Because, to my eye the selective delisting of only gay-themed or gay-authored media appears to be a unilateral strike against people who are gay.

So, they might want to let us know why this is not so.

And not in some mealy-mouthed pussy way.

Let's see if any man at Amazon has balls.

I'm betting they don't.


ALSO: Loving #amazonfail and #glitchmyass! But seriously, if this really is a glitch-up or (possibly??) a major trolling attack on Amazon, don't you think a little public relations is in order? I'm actually astonished how tone-deaf amazon.com appears to be.

UPDATE (final word?): FINALLY, Amazon says something.

This is an embarrassing and ham-fisted cataloging error for a company that prides itself on offering complete selection.

ROTFL! "embarrassing and ham-fisted" Heh, got that right.
Such an incompetent online response from the premier online company.

And, as an aside, do they actually PAY their public relations people at Amazon? Because I don't think they should.

An insult to mice everywhere

You know, the only problem I really ever had with Roger Ebert was he didn’t think the Lord of the Rings films were as good as they could have been.

This generally positive opinion of him still continues to this day, as evidenced by today's letter to the lovable ragamuffin, Bill O'Reilly (The whole thing is good, but this really is the clincher):

Bill [O’Reilly] , I am concerned that you have been losing touch with reality recently. Did you really say you are more powerful than any politician?

That reminds me of the famous story about Squeaky the Chicago Mouse. It seems that Squeaky was floating on his back along the Chicago River one day. Approaching the Michigan Avenue lift bridge, he called out: Raise the bridge! I have an erection!

Man in Tux! Man in Tux!

Ok, so I actually ended up having a good time at the Fenway community health center’s Men’s Event.

Well, the first hour there I felt very VERY inferior.

Then, suddenly, I didn’t. Weird.

And then I just had fun.

After all that seizing up with panic last week, I can only say: Yay!

It’s funny that I was worried about not being some drunken fool in front of so many men, whom I assumed would all be properly-behaved and following the Queen’s etiquette.

I really don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I expected them all to have a monocle and cane as well.

Yeah, well, no. There were plenty of sloshy guys that weren’t me.

I enjoyed it, amazingly. Of course, that was partly because I was there with friends.

Also heard Barney Frank talk and learned that everyone working at Channel 7 news is gay. Who knew?

Anyway, I’d actually pony up the actual money next time and go again.

Now, my first thought seeing the enormous crowd of gay tuxedos was that I refuse to believe there are 1300 gay men in Boston, because they’re NEVER at the bars.

My second thought was: “Well this could make doing a Craigslist Missed Connections entry kinda difficult.”

So, since I thought it was funny, the next morning I went and made that very Missed Connections posting:

guy in tux at Fenway Men's Event - m4m - 40 (Boston Marriott)

I saw you at the Fenway Men's Event. You were an attractive guy in a tux with black tie standing at one side of the room. You were with some other guys in tuxes.
I was wearing a tux with black tie and I was with some friends in tuxes with black tie.
If you see this let me know!
You were so hot!

I know, I’m very clever.

But just to prove the internet is populated by at least 10% of moronic humorless jackasses, while I got a number of emails saying “funny!”, I got one email saying this:

there were 250 guys in tuxes last night. don't write such a stupid ad

Aside from this being an assholish response, the responder has three problems with his pukey statement:

1. There were 1300 guys in tuxes
2. What Missed Connections ad isn’t stupid?
3. He is a dick.

Anyways, I had fun.

Oh, and then Sunday?

Good god, don’t get me started about Sunday.

All I can say is it’s back to being good to my body, at least for a week.

(*note* if you’re unclear of the what saying the post title is playing on, go here.)