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|Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008|
|According to Sara Palin
As a community organizer, I have no actual responsibilities. I think I'll just take the next month off, then.
|Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008|
|Things I am learning from the RNC:
Sometimes not even yo' mama can help you.
Minnesota has a lot of liberals.... but they're happy liberals.
Personal liberty needs some elbow room.
AC/DC's Thunderstruck is a conservative anthem.
Government is not a philanthrophic organization... except when it's evacuating the gulf coast.
There's an apparent shortage of men in MN.
The best Americans at delivering one liners goes like this: Henry Youngman < Rodney Dangerfield < Abraham Lincoln < Ronald Reagan.
Also, Republicans have reanimated the corpse of Abaham Lincoln, using adult stem-cells, I'm sure, to attend the convention.
Everyone is nostalgic for the Bush-41 years.
Democrats don't honor our veterans.
In 1980, Reagan knew who he was... later not so much.
Also, Reagan was more bad ass than Chuck Norris.
There are alligators in DC.
Doris Leachman is John McCain's mother.
American POWs are prepared for capture by dating strippers.
Projecting Bush on a giant screen doesn't make him look like Big Brother at all.
America lives on the sunrise side of the mountain... which mean California, Oregon, Washington, Alaska, and Hawaii are out of the Union.
McCain will eliminate the position of the Secretary of the Scruff of America's Neck.
Fred Thompson thinks America has never been better... which Joe Lieberman thinks scares the hell out of Americans.
McCain's middle initial is S.
9/11 was a natural disaster.
I happen to belong to the Democratic Party. I didn't choose it or anything.
|Sunday, August 17th, 2008|
And now I've just been dumped.
|Saturday, August 16th, 2008|
I'm not in a good place right now.
I'm not in a bad place either, but it's as if I'm standing under a street lamp, and I can see all those dark places just beyond. I know there are back alleys out there that lead to deep shit. I'm not in them, but the problem is that any step feels like a step closer to one of them.
Maybe every step is always a step towards a dark alley. Maybe that's just how this works.
I remember those times that I lived inside my head. I remember how cold that was and would be.
This time I feel like I might be able to do something else though, something other than slip away. Maybe that's different this time around. Or maybe I always felt a last moment of inertia before I got into trouble and started creeping around the sad, gray corners of my mind. Or maybe I'm just too scared to be confident.
I know I've been scared before. I know that always happens first. I know I've reached out before, and sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't.
But it just feels like I've got a crooked taxi, and it's time to just stop the cab, pay the man, and catch a bus or something. So maybe that's what I should do.
Of course, this is all a little meaningless to anybody who doesn't see me often, and I'm willing to wager most of the people who might read this fit that description. So now a little catching up, I suppose.
I moved down to DC in April last year. I started working with Adam as a field canvasser for a grassroots. I was good. I worked hard. I got promoted. I wanted more, so I worked harder and got promoted. I was doing well. I was living with Adam and Vinny on their floor, and then just with Adam and then on my own. I made friends. I bought a car. I worked hard, kept getting promoted. And now I'm a field canvass director. I'm a boss, and that's weird. I haven't really done a good job though of learning to socialize like a normal person. I only just started dating someone in May of this year, and that barely counts considering how little time we've had together... but these are grievances, and I should save those for after the details.
I rent a room in a house with three strangers. We don't talk to each other. They don't really know my name. I keep getting mail slipped under my door for someone named Ted Carmack, and I've lived here more than 8 months. Adam bought a condo and has a girlfriend. I see him at work, but rarely outside that anymore. I quit smoking. Yesterday was 2 full weeks on the patch.
I ran a field canvass practically by myself. It didn't go well. Or at least, it didn't go as we projected... this summer wasn't as good as last summer. I played drums in Rock Band was good. I watched the Giants win the Super Bowl with friends at a cool house that I could hang out at. That place is gone now.
Lately though. Maybe this past month... I've felt my misanthropy growing. I don't like strangers. I don't like my co-workers. I don't like my employees. I don't like my friends. I shirk them at every opportunity, it seems. I blow off their phone calls. I spend most of my time holed up in a too small room with poor climate control staring at a screen. Vinny left town and I didn't say goodbye. Same with other friends I've met down here. One person who I've grown close to wrote me an email detailing how I'd hurt much and how often I'd hurt her this year. I was moved only to change my status on gmail.
I don't think I like myself. That's not necessarily news... I never really like myself. But this past year... I think managed not to dwell on that. And that's where I think I find myself now... on the verge of dwelling on things that can only make me unhappy.
I'm not sure if writing here will fix that. I talked to my girlfriend about it a little but that doesn't seem to have helped. I should probably talk about this more. And with more people. But it doesn't seem to come out when I try.
I should tell Adam I'm angry with him. I should tell my girlfriend that we need to have a conversation and figure out what we want from each other or at least what we need. I should tell my mother that it's not going so well right now.
But instead I'm telling the internet... because it's such a good listener.
|Saturday, March 1st, 2008|
I need to spend fewer nights at home listening to Devils games.
|Thursday, February 14th, 2008|
|Out of the blue
If I took off two or three days in the latter half of March to make a long weekend, who'd want to see me?
|Sunday, April 22nd, 2007|
|Help! I'm south of the Mason-Dixon!
I have a job. And I'm crashing on Vin and Adam's couch until I find a place down here.
...this really is kind of woohoo-jump-up-and-down news, but I was introduced to the Wii over at John's and Alex's and I'm just kind of beat.
Vinnie says hi.
|Thursday, April 12th, 2007|
|And if I should ever die, God forbid, I hope you will say, "Kurt is up in heaven now." That's my favorite joke.. Kurt is up in heaven now. Current Mood: morose
|Saturday, January 27th, 2007|
|Tuesday, July 25th, 2006|
|New hair cut
So I got a hair cut. I'm going to start volunteering for a congressional candidate (who called me on the phone personally to beg for money, which was cool) and I decided that I'd do better looking like something other than a crazed hippie. So I trudged over to my hair-cutter-woman-who-I-cannot-as-a-guy-c
rber told her I needed a semi-professional looking haircut and put my faith in her hands. I think she gave me a sort of Matt Damon-y looking thing. Rozzy visited this weekend and took a picture of it on her camera phone which I'm posting ( for those who are interestedCollapse )
|Wednesday, May 24th, 2006|
|Saturday, April 22nd, 2006|
| You scored as Old School Democrat. Old school Democrats emphasize economic justice and opportunity. The Democratic ideal is best summarized by the Four Freedoms: freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.|
Old School Democrat
Foreign Policy Hawk
Pro Business Republican
Socially Conservative Republican
What's Your Political Philosophy?
created with QuizFarm.com
|Saturday, February 18th, 2006|
|You Are Rowlf the Dog|
Mellow and serious, you enjoy time alone cultivating your talents.
You're a cool dog, and you always present a relaxed vibe.
A talented pianist, you can play almost anything - especially songs by Beethoven.
"My bark is worse than my bite, and my piano playing beats 'em both."
|Tuesday, February 14th, 2006|
|Monday, February 13th, 2006|
|Thursday, January 26th, 2006|
I'm not dead... in theory...
So I went up and spent a weeend at Wellesley visting Rachel, and saw the gay cowboy movie. With all the hype around this movie, the nearly unanimous enthusiastic reviews, I expected to be overwhelmed by the movie. I have to say, after having seen it... I could have been more whelmed. It was good, but some of the dialogoue seemed amateurish (I actually commented immediately afterward that it sounded in parts like it was a fanfic written by a fifteen year old Jake Gyllenhal fan-giirl), and it certainly doesn't crack the top 20 films I've ever seen. Probably not even the top 50.
Anyway, still here. Thought I should update. What's everybody doing for Superbowl Sunday?
|Friday, October 21st, 2005|
|stolen from nineve
If you are reading this, leave one memory of you and me together. It doesn't matter if I know you a little or a lot, anything you remember. Next, post this in your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you.
|Friday, August 26th, 2005|
|The continuing saga of big orange text.
Crunk DirtyBird: wasupmental angwish: ...mental angwish
: can I help you?Crunk DirtyBird
: no, just saying wats upCrunk DirtyBird: how is the weathermental angwish: in what part of the country?Crunk DirtyBird
: where you livemental angwish: well, it's mostly darkmental angwish
: I hear there's a chance of sun towards
: i seeCrunk DirtyBird: thats cool]]Crunk DirtyBird: thats pretty much the
same as heremental angwish: weird coincidenceCrunk DirtyBird
: where do you live
mental angwish: do you know who you're talking to?Crunk DirtyBird
: yeaCrunk DirtyBird: where do you live??mental angwish: this is not information I typically give
out onlinemental angwish
: and besides, you should rememberCrunk DirtyBird
: you told me b4, i just
forgotCrunk DirtyBird: tell me agianmental angwish: to what end?Crunk DirtyBird
: huh???mental angwish: what purpose does this serve?Crunk DirtyBird
: lets be friendsmental angwish: I sense an ulterior motiveCrunk DirtyBird
: why cant we just be
friendsmental angwish: because I had to convince you that I
wasn't your cousin.Crunk DirtyBird: fine thenmental angwish: and you didn't take me at my word on
other issues as wellCrunk DirtyBird
: aCrunk DirtyBird: srrrymental angwish: one of my friends thinks you might
have a crush on memental angwish
: is this true?Crunk DirtyBird
: nopemental angwish: my friend is incredulousCrunk DirtyBird
: i dont know wat that
=incredulous&x=0&y=0Crunk DirtyBird: anywaysmental angwish: let's make a dealmental angwish
: I'll tell you where I live again, if you tell
me how old you areCrunk DirtyBird
: 14mental angwish: New JerseyCrunk DirtyBird
: 15 in novembermental angwish: up for your Learner's permit then?Crunk DirtyBird
: 15 and a halfmental angwish: excitingmental angwish
: for everyone
Crunk DirtyBird signed off at 3:12:34 AM.
P.S. I'm back in Jersey.
|Sunday, August 14th, 2005|
I'm out in Chicago. Had a brief stop-over Wed. night to see Rachel, and then drove up here on Thursday. I felt surprisingly comfortable driving massive, epic, all-together ungodly distances in one go. As much as driving scares the hell out of me, and despite the fact that most of my nightmares center around violent crashes while driving, getting from PA to Chicago was almost easy.
I managed to start and finish A Clockwork Orange in roughly the same day out here. In the middle, though, I went to a birthday party and smoked pot, and had the most insane paranoia trip of my life. Seriously, seriously bonkers paranoia. We're talking about Oh-my-god-my-body-movements-make-the-wor
hrieks paranoia. This was not helped by the fact that cop cars patrol Lydia's neighborhood like it was Fort Knox. In truth, I'm still not over that paranoia trip. I didn't know what the hell was happening, and I still don't know what happened the other night, and when I think about it, my stomach knots itself, or my skin crawls, or both.
Aside from that one bit, things out here are fun, although I do worry about annoying/offending/failing to impress Lydia's uber-cool co-op-mates. I saw Dustin for his birthday party last night and proceeded to play an evil and vile confluxuation of hypothetical parameters that lodged itself inside of box labeled "Dante's Inferno: The Boardgame" or somesuch. I never thought anything could drive me into the arms of Holy Mother Church, but this fallacy of an activity nearly did so. I hate
Lucifer. I hate him so much
I'm apparently going to GenCon with the Cate, Lydia, and Dustin. I can't seem to get psyched for it the way Lydia/Dustin?/Cate do. I guess in my mind, this just means that hypothetically, hundreds of people will know my dirty little secret and be able to identify me in a lineup. ("Yes, officer, number 4. I saw him rolling dice
and ranting about monsters and unholy gods! Lock him up for God's sake!")
I'm pretty much updating for the heck of it. I realiized that my "I've been crying, woeisme woeisme" post is still the last entry in here, and I find that somewhat discomfitting. (I'm doing fine, by the way. Have not had a relapse.)
So anyway, ta-ta to that icky entry of unhappiness, my maliwalichicks. So much better to move on, eh, my brothers.
(DAMN YOU ANTHONYN BURGESS!!! GET OUT OF MY BRAIN!!!!)
|Sunday, July 31st, 2005|
|I'm writing because I want to stop crying
I watched the local ABC affiliate's late night "ER Theater" tonight. The second show was the episode where we watch Dr. Green die in Hawaii. He's out there, with his daughter, running out of time, and desperately trying to find a way to make one last connection with her before he has to sever them all.
I started crying halfway through, I guess. I still haven't stopped. I... I... I'm crying for my father. Or over my father. And I can't seem to make it stop.
This is the first time I've cried for my father since I stopped talking to him. Probably for the first time since he received a transplanted heart that saved his life. I don't even know why, exactly. I'm not really scared... or angry... I just feel this tremendous emptiness, right now. Like he's already died, and I've already run out of chances to patch things up with him...
And even though I'm fairly sure that he isn't dead, and I still have time... I feel this despair, this gut-wrenching, bone-chilling despair. There's this terrible certainty that keeps leveling me: he and I will never be right with each other. One day he'll be dead, or dying, and we'll still be at odds, probably not even talking to each other, and I or we will have to sit and watch as that last chance, the last shred of possibile reconciliation disintegrates and is carried of like ash on the wind.
There's also a whole sequence of tragic movies running through my mind. I see myself, and all the places my life could lead, and in each of them, my father is always a palpable absence, like a grisly spectre hovering about me.
And finally there's a realization that leaves me gobsmacked. I was never strong enough to be his son. Some cruel joke of a disease came along when I was two and crippled me for the rest of my life, and I never had the spirit, the constitution, to be Mark Reagan's boy. And I'll never be strong enough to put him, or even that terribly disappointing truth, behind me.
So now I'm sitting here in the dark, listening to music my father gave me, and whispering out into the ethereal netherworld of my quasi-journal. I'm typing and typing, so frightfully desperate to stop crying, but I can't...
I so desperately I want to find some crumb of joy ro clutch to. I want to think about these gifts my father gave me: this brain, music, my passion and humor. But it all these morsels taste like smoke rolling over my tongue, and I keep coming back to a horrible... loneliness. I know that I'm suffering, or grieving, or some other unknown verb, and that there is no one who can share this burdensome state with me, no one who can comfort me or put me at ease. I keep feeling the impulse to run into my others arms, like I did as toddler woken from a nightmare, but that just won't do... it won't feel the same, and it won't chase away these monsters under my bed.
Just. Stop. Crying.