Niceties and Garbage

This is easily the kind of thing I spook my friends with. Except for a very precious few, I am surrounded by a confounding amount people that I have nothing in common with. Sure their concern may be sincere as much as the details that precede may be titillating fodder during mouthfuls of lechon and carbonara. I could be in a room full of my green-joking, work story-swapping and karaoke-belting ilk but I'd still feel hollow... and alone.

Happiness lately is to be curled up in an oft unmade bed, in a finally silent house that is not mine, cackling maniacally to the bleeped continental profanities of Craig Ferguson addressing his Skeleton Army or; witness Colbert in full-on right-wing smarm call a Coulter-clone's writing racist and banal or; swoon over Stewart and his fine Mexican waiter ass and all while commiserating with fellow absurdist comedy nerds in Team Coco. Even yukking it up on Chelsea's panel and eviscerating pop culture with sigh-inducing McHale have been salve to the spirits after January's clusterfuck. (At least until November.)

Yes, that is me. That is my life. I can happily take your kid to school but I may blow-off your barbecues here and there. I may forget to buy a baby shower gift but that cake I bought from Ya-ya's is from the heart (and I promise I'll get you a real gift!) and NO, I will not go out with any of your relatives. Don't bother putting in a good word to the next available young doctor who comes through the door that I have to coach through ordering a protocol Heparin drip. Please refrain from advertising in my behalf that I am trying to land a white dude. Don't go asking people in happy relationships if they have a brother to spare, just because I happen to get along with them. I can call on you for being profoundly gauche but that just may go over your head or if just barely, leads to nothing but trite exchanges of douche-baggery from both of us. I'd rather be watching Quackers the shit-eating duck and, reliving Norm MacDonald's moth joke. I respect that you find rock concerts and clubbing bacchanal and museums are not your thing. Find a hobby like cross stitch or purchase new drapes. We may not be kindred spirits but I am still a friend. And yes, I have a huge lady-jones for Shirley Manson.

Now leave me to my videos.

flickring: the last 12 or so

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Originally uploaded by cjbando
Funny how the days and the theory of relativity seem to meld into a blur of activities then at it's most mundane and inconsequential-- like convincing yourself to tackle the oft-postponed chores during nth repeat marathon of Star Wars on Spike-- then pounce out of its sheep's clothing, straight to your jugular, to remind you life is trickling past you and out of you.

There's that way overdue final writing assignment I could not seem to submit which is rather rude of me, towards my amiable mentors in Connecticut. There's the bed that needs to be covered and made, that I have been sleeping in for the past week san linens. There's the room that is something out of Hoarders, littered by Rolling Stone magazines, and stuff I ordered online, like the Balenciagas that have yet to fit me right and The Clash series Chucks that have yet to impress the male of the species, if not invoke envy. (I have not seen my floor in months.) Ah, and there's the laundry-- four months worth of laundry. One cannot wax poetic on that.

Of course there is this long-ignored blog. This used to be my solace, the ether I scream my travails unto as much as my self-indulgences. There has been social networking portals once but since my virtual social life has made the Faustian leap to emulating my real life (although thank heavens for Privacy Settings and post filters..), I guess this low-traffic snippet of the blogosphere has made it's comeback, unless sheer laziness and ennui renders me useless again.

Thank God for photographs. There is still testament that life still bear something of interest even in hindsight, that once I woke up one morning and something simply took my breath away just by being and in the background Marley assures me that every little thing's gonna be alright.