Here Is Stuff

How are there NO analytic philosophy Meetups in NYC? It’s all techy Kurzweil bullshit (he’s an interesting thinker, but not a philosopher anymore than I am a chef because I cook very well), or continental Sein und Zeit circlejerks, critical theorists drunk on Adorno talking about Von Trier movies, or messy hodgepodges of new-age claptrap.

Are there no people in this fucking city who want to get shitty on $2 beers and talking about Spinoza and Leibniz, Quine and Tarski, HOT v HOP? Fuckers.

Thank you for the lovely responses and messages. We spend a lot of time complaining about the horrible things on the internet, and surely I dislike how much time I spend connected (I mean, I work at a ‘internet company’, it’s basically endless) - but today was one of those days that was a reminder of how great it can be too.

Also, while I’m just ranting on tumblr instead of working. LIVEJOURNAL STYLE.

I was always kind of distant. And I always wanted to make movies, from the time I was 12 and went to MGM at Disney World, did a presentation about movie making at school, and a cute girl talked to me about The Lion King. 

I just wrote and made things, and people liked them. I never knew how much people really liked me or not, but I knew they liked the things I made. That was good enough.

So, I never really dated in High School, or barely even in college. I went to Art School and was awesome at things, until money forced me to drop out. So I spent ten years “in the wild”, trying to force myself to give up my dreams, drinking too much, eating way too much, and just grinding out stupid jobs, some blue-collar, some white-collar.

I lied to myself, and said fuck it, I didn’t need to make stuff. I didn’t need people to love me. I stopped dating entirely, basically.

I’ve realized recently I need to make stuff. I need to get healthy and get working….but I can’t?

I keep falling back into shitty habits, fried takeout, staring at blank pages. Not everything I made when I was young was good, but I could always MAKE. Now…I don’t know. It’s been six months I’ve been trying to be “a creative person” again, and…it’s not working.

Does it ever just go away? Am I just completely fucked? Or do I need to just keep trying? I mean, it’s rhetorical. But now, for the first time in my life, I’m wondering - what if I’m just not that good? I mean, not everyone gets to be awesome. What if I’m just not good at the stuff I love? How do we learn to live with that? 

Do I have to just stay in these stupid fucking cubicles forever? Fucking hell, that seems awful. 

Not gonna lie, I’m pretty souped for Les Miz. Growing up, I loved it….except, I was a weirdo who wanted to be Enjolras, not Marius. 

I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately - why am I a liberal? It’d be bullshit to say it’s because the positions of a liberal democrat are right and logical, because I’ve been left-wing for far longer than I’ve been the least bit intelligent.

I used to think “The name of my mistress is Patria” coming from the lips of a freedom-fighter was the only valid thing for a young man to feel.

I was one of those punk-rock kids (wood glue and egg whites to spike my hair, denim kutte, all that nonsense) that advocated an un-ironic love of America - the America of my ideals, not necessarily where we were in the moment.

Singing songs about dying on barricades. I actually tried to start a riot at school once - jumping onto a table with a red flag - it was too unsuccessful for me to even get in trouble.

I’m not sure where the beliefs come from. My family was progressive, but still Reagan Democrats. I wish I could remember…

So, twitter isn’t working out on an answer for this. NYC People, I’ve spent most of the last dozen years in this city…but I can’t find the one thing I want in the summer.

I want to hang out at a bar that has a backyard. Swingin’ band - jazz and blues mostly, but fun shit, not the shit I listen to at home alone or when I go to Small’s to write. Cheap cold beer in plastic cups. 

The backyard part is optional, I guess. Cold beer and hot jazz are not. It has to really fucking swing. Any ideas?

This may be the year I stop being such a fucking doofus martyr and buy an air conditioner.

Mostly because I want to bake bread even though it’s a thousand degrees in my apartment already.

Happy Memorial Day

Never Forgot (to say patronizing things regarding veterans into the ether).

A Joke For You to Re-Use

Free One For the ladies: Next time you go some place giving out free trial size of whatever, I guess like make-up and shit, I dunno, and your friends are like “Yo, how was <insert name of place>?”

You: “Yo, shit was dope, I got more samples than Kanye listenin’ to the chi-lites greatest hits.” 

I guess this also can work gender-neutral if you ever go to CostCo, or if you’re a nurse who collects little jars of pee/jizz/blood/whatever. 

I was going to whine about my writer’s block a little bit more, but decided to drink some whiskey, listen to mariachi, and make potato skins instead. 

I’m still staring at a blank fucking page, but at least I have a buzz on and some good grub.