One Last Post

Kurt is up in heaven now.

In the articles and obituaries, as in his latest interviews, there was much talk about how his ability to make comedy out of life's horrors was gone and, like Mark Twain to whom he was often compared, he had become rueful and bitter in his old age. I do not know if this is true. I never met Kurt Vonnegut, to my sadness, have never, in fact, even heard his voice in recording (so strange to not know the voice that fits the words that echo so often in my head!). Nor have I seen his image in anything but black and white stills. There is not much about the life of this man that I can say, except this. He made my world better.

I do a little writing myself, though I'm uncertain as yet if I'll ever be able to call myself a writer. I've sometimes questioned if being a writer could be a worthwhile cause for a life. It sometimes seems self absorbed; meditative, but nothing that's done for the greater good. More than anyone else whose words I've read, Kurt Vonnegut has proved that not to be the case. It is, perhaps, the greatest hope of any writer that his work will find its way out into the world and reach people-- reach right down into them-- and actually affect how they, in turn, reach out to others. His words reached us in that way. When I write, I write because of him. When I volunteer, donate to charity, when I tell myself each day that I should be a little better, a little nicer to people than I was the day before, I do it because Kurt Vonnegut told me it was what we should all do and he told me in a way that I *believed*.

There was such joy in his writing. I could read his stories for hours, enrapt, but sometimes stumble on a turn of phrase that was at once so profound and so deeply funny that I'd have to get up and walk around the room just to still my excitement, thinking Yes, yes! That's just it! I wanted to call all my friends and tell them, but there was no context, they wouldn't get it. I wanted to run outside and shout what I'd just read into the street. The mirth! Everyone needed to hear this! Everyone needed to understand! This was not the conceit of the best seller's list favorite bathroom reads. It wasn't Shakespeare, Kundera, Márquez or even Twain really either-- they were all for their own places and times. This was something accessible to a boy of 14 who'd never lived through a war, such that he could pick up Slaughterhouse Five and understand a basic message of tragedy and hope: We have done terrible things, but we are all in this together. Be good to each other. Laugh. Make this life a little better than it was before.

I will try; and what good things I can do, what best words I can write, will be for Kurt.

A Fond Farewell to A Friend...

I'm not a blog for every occasion type of guy. I didn't start this with a specific topic in mind; certainly not a finite one. I did, however, have a specific goal, and that was to work through certain issues that needed some thinking on at the time. That's done now. Doubtless I'll have more to say on other things and even some afterthoughts on this one, but those will have to happen elsewhere.

It's been interesting times.

Now say goodbye.

OK, OK, Fine

"He doesn't flinch when I touch him, and I like that."

So you're right. I sit and I write this blog, all high and mighty on my hurt and my condemnation, but when I fuck up I expect it to be understood. I'm a good person, but I make mistakes. The situation, the circumstances need to be taken into account. I didn't mean it.

It's not that I don't hold that true for other people as well. God, I've held it far too true in the past (and what a cock-up that was), but I've found that it's easier to analyze the lives of others than it is your own.

It's not a matter of right or wrong. If it's universal justice I'm looking for, then what about all the pain and suffering they went through before me. What about all the pain I've caused? If circumstances need to be considered before judging my bad behavior, then they should be for theirs as well. I am no better than anybody else.

W, you did not want me, but you thought that you should, and you tried. That I take issue with the way that worked out is reasonable, but I can't use it as a condemnation. You were hurting from your own recent loss and whether or not that had anything to do with how you felt for me, it was a part of you while we were together and I understand.

Mimi, I will never really understand you, and never, especially, the way you treated me. You were often not very nice. You were dishonest, selfish and unkind and I don't believe that to be a temporary state. I think it's who you are, but you've your wounds to cover too. At a certain point I realized that I had to stop using that as an excuse for letting you treat me poorly and tell you goodbye. I didn't need to let it be an excuse to call you "my crazy ex-girlfriend" all the time. No more.

I don't need to love you , but neither do I need to disrespect you-- either of you. I am sorry. Thank you for the things that you did that were good. Be well.

I'd Never Touch Another Drink As Long As I live...

I've been running out of good music to listen to lately. If only I worked for some sort of hip company that sat at the fusion of music and technology.

My music has always depended largely on the tastes of others. When I grew up in Boston, it was all classic rock, all the time. Clapton, sure. Aerosmith? Hell yeah. Mistakes were made.

In college, I had a roommate who, despite being utterly tone deaf, could identify most popular songs on the first note. That guy was all about the music. He did all the reasearch for me, sought out shows, combed through the Voice and left clippings on my desk when he found something I would like. I was a spoon-fed, babe-in-the-woods type.

Afterwards, I lived with The Music Natzi. He controlled the stereo system, the MP3s, the TV and all other forms of media coming in and out of the house. He signed us all up for Columbia House and BMG and came home from the used CD store every Saturday with a stack a foot high. We were signed up for all the magizines: Blender, Rolling Stone, you name it. The work that went into his catalogue seemed exhausting. I couldn't do it myself. Luckily he had excellent and eccelctic taste. Since we both worked from home, I was exposed, without choice and at great length, to all sorts of music. When I moved from to San Diego, I took with me only a few burned CDs from his collection, but I also had a small seed of MP3s that he'd left on my computer hard drive, which he used for spillover storage. Sure, they were mixed in with my awful choices of Sting's "Desert Rain" and Golden Earring's "Radar Love" (no, wait, "Radar Love" rocks), but I listened to them and I began to get an idea.

It was Mimi, oddly enough, that pushed me over the edge to true music fandom. She was so passionate about her favorite bands, so emphatic in her praise, and inescapable in her reach into my life. So it wasn't all bad with her. I have Wilco now and Fountains of Wayne, Eagles of Death Metal and Ryan Adams. Some of these I may have found on my own, but what she helped me discover was my taste. This has improved my life. Immensely. Mimi (not actually your name), it is the one thing for which I should thank you.

And on that note, a new feature here at Nine Extra Floors. Coming to you all the way from beautiful Sorrento Valley, one-hundred and ten south of LA and forty from the border, on this sun drenched 8th of February, the first ever "Eight on The Eighth":

1. Cold War Kids "We Used To Vacation" from Robbers & Cowards
2. The Gossip "Standing In The Way Of Control" from Standing In The Way of Control
3. Rhett Miller "Our Love" from The Instigator
4. Silversun Pickups "Well Thought Out Twinkles" from Carnavas
5. Ramsay Midwood "Chicago" from Shoot Out At The Ok Chinese
6. I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness "According To Plan" from Fear Is On Our Side
7. The Good, The Bad and The Queen "Northern Whale" from self titled album
8. Eagles of Death Metal "I Like To Move In The Night" from Death By Sexy

I Promised To My Wife And Children (II)...

Looks like Mimi joined my gym. I was on the mat doing sit ups when she walked by. First thing I thought was, man, that looks like an older version of Mimi, only it wasn't, it was her. When did she get so old? She looks like she's 48, and she's 33. I'm not just being a bitter ex here, I'm past that, I was honestly shocked. Then I remembered that when I first met her, I had commented to Casey how she was hot, but kind of older and wrinkly. Sun damage, you know. I guess, over time, I forgot about that as I feel for her. Funny how that happens. I guess it's good that I can see that again now-- not under the spell anymore.

At any rate, she caught me staring as I was trying to figure out if it was her, but said nothing. She just walked on by, continuing the conversation with the woman she was with. Not a big deal, I guess. It's a small town and I could run into her anywhere. It's not like the gym is some kind of second home to me. Oh, wait... Well, at least I didn't see her in some embarrassing situation, like two weeks after I got hammered and called her for the first time in 2 years... wait... no... I did that too. Hid my caller ID though. Even after 3 double bourbons I'm not that dumb.

Where is The Sacrifice?

I feel like I was up all night crying. I wasn't, for the record; not even a little. My throat feels strained though, and my chest hollowed out like after some great effort from my heart and lungs. Maybe it was the yoga class. That certainly explains the strain my my legs at least. Maybe it was my dreams. I don't remember them well: not the ones I'm going to talk about here anyway. All I did last night after class was go home and have a smoothie, do a little writing, then go out to the Turf for a portabello mushroom sandwhich (a first for me) and a glass of wine. I didn't get drunk. I drove home at a reasonable hour, wrote for a few more minutes then went to bed with Morphine playing on the stereo.

Today feels like a day to be gotten through. Tomorrow will be better. I shouldn't think that way, I know. I should be open to today being great-- to good and unexpected things happening, but most likely I will have my meeting, my boss will talk to me about what needs to be done next. I will realize how far behind I am with some of my work and I will try to catch up, but my heart won't be in it.

Don't Eat It!

Quote of the year (to date)

"I have to admit yellow snow is pretty unusual," said Vladimir Sliviak, the chairman of the Russian environmental group Ecodefence. "I can think of only two other cases in the last decade."

from the guardian.co.uk article: "Orange snow causes concern in Siberia"
by Luke Harding in Moscow
Friday February 2, 2007
Guardian Unlimited

All I'm asking for is universal justice, you know. Is that so fucking much?


Yeah.

Wallow

Before the break up, if you can even call it that, I put together a bit of a goodbye playlist and ran it over and over, occaisionally adding, deleting and refinsing, but playing it again and again.

Once things were said and done though, I stopped. I put on music that was more rockin' and I stepped up and out and decided it was time to move on. That my heart hasn't quite followed suit is no matter.

Tonight though, I'm going, in this empty hotel room, to put on some Ryan Adams, play it on my tinny laptop speakers and ask myself over and over.. "Oh, why do they leave..." and if she'd only just "be my winding wheel". Fucking music. Fucking love. Fuck.