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ffloWasn't going to, actually, but I was just teased that I surely will, and hate to disappoint. So here I am for you. Another late night school night post.
The last round tonight was getting tricky, mixer-wise, so the vodka had only a little pineapple juice in it, with some kinda-old lemon juice from a bottle and a splash of the Odwalla blueberry stuff my old boss Claire said in one of those e-mail fwd questionnaire thingies is her favorite drink (so I think of her whenever I shell out for it when it's on sale, which is still ridiculously not cheap), plus some red Gatorade leftover from lord knows when. It wasn't bad, really. I think it was better than the penultimate round, which had a higher percentage of the blueberry stuff. Of course that round was subject to the concerns of palates of "pie mouth." Have you ever heard of "pie mouth"? Well, if you hadn't, now you have.
The pie was one of the chocolate things in the house, actually. Some miniature choc. cream pie-ette from Busch's, cut in half, so, like, probably less than half a piece of diner[coney]-size pie each. But good. And just the ticket.
The pisser ---one of the pissers--- is that i'm not even leading a lush life in some small dive. I'm not even a half-arsed drunkard, bum. I'm quarter-arsed. Functioning. Not even drunk nightly. But sort of wishing to go off the deep end, even while sorta not.
The H-bomb used to say---and, of course, liked very much to say---that she didn't like to stand near the edges of high places cuz of the urge to jump. I don't know whether I believed her about the urge, really, even when the line was fairly new to me. She loved to say it in one of those particular ways she loved to say things that were linked in my mind with the exhibitionist and-and-or performer (i'm just cheating on the slash banishment, so what's the point) whom i loved and didn't love and loved (and didn't love) but who wasn't always speaking from experiential reality, if you will.
So it's still the end of the day, or waking period, on which we heard about Vonnegut becoming an ex-human. Drunk me wants there to be some lesson, or some message, or just some interesting tidbit of personally relevant info I can or should take from that aspect of this day, like it's one of those fairy cards Denise had, or like Tracy's Brian Eno webpage with the oblique strategies. Cuz I'm a greedy pig of a human being this way: I want NOT ONLY meaning, which is asking a bloody lot already, if you ask me, or if I'm asking, BUT WISDOM TOO. And-and-but I'll give you both back, and throw in an arm and both legs, for connection.
Wait: that is meaning.
blather blather blather
Livejournal never comes around and says "you're cut off," does it.
It's not a problem if it doesn't have a solution, somebody once said to me. (Not Vonnegut.) No solution? Then it's something else; it's not a problem. I take that to mean (whatever) it( it is)'s a situation at hand, a fact of life, an everyday farting around (Vonnegut) to be experienced, not to be figured out, stewed on, or like that. "Maybe you're just sad," somebody might even say.
It would be in bad taste to reference the appeal of (aforementioned) jumping off from a high and dangerous place, would it not? Given that my foster family---which I think you could say went ahead and adopted me outright, two, three years ago---lost a member to a suicide along those lines not real long before it took me in? Ah, but maybe I am not so loyal and devoted an appreciative adoptee as I should be. What can I say. I can't, and-and-or won't, help myself.
"Suck it up," Joel Fleishman's inner 10 year-old chastises him. "Be a mensch."
Suck it up; be a mensch. Is that so hard? Tomorrow is another day. Or, as Roz Chast observed in the panel of rejected alternate endings to Gone With the Wind we were laughing at tonight:
"After all, tomorrow is a legal holiday."
"After all, tomorrow brings us one day closer to spring."
"After all, tomorrow is Thursday."
Hey, at least my versifying is in remission: for this you should be grateful. For this you should [googling for what follows those four words...] thank Him. For this you should exult with joy! For this you should go into a wood or forest at midnight and look at a star. For this you should be in the record books. For this you should be paying no more than £10 per annum. For this, you should just try to get all of the words that are said, including false starts and other disfluencies.
For this you should remove the bulb and dry the connections thoroughly. For this you should carry your police registration certificate with you at all times. For this, you should get your hands on either the Snort-ruleset or the Vision-ruleset. For this you should take into account your technical and professional background, as well as your aspirations and your training needs. For this, you should use the StartPosition property and assign it one of the members of the FormStartPosition enumeration. For this you should apply to the Turkish Consulate.
For this you should be thankful, since it complicates things quite a bit, albeit from a fairly non-complicated starting point.
For this, you should tell those humorless dolts to cheese off.
Goodnight, my little Roseanne Roseannadannas.
The last round tonight was getting tricky, mixer-wise, so the vodka had only a little pineapple juice in it, with some kinda-old lemon juice from a bottle and a splash of the Odwalla blueberry stuff my old boss Claire said in one of those e-mail fwd questionnaire thingies is her favorite drink (so I think of her whenever I shell out for it when it's on sale, which is still ridiculously not cheap), plus some red Gatorade leftover from lord knows when. It wasn't bad, really. I think it was better than the penultimate round, which had a higher percentage of the blueberry stuff. Of course that round was subject to the concerns of palates of "pie mouth." Have you ever heard of "pie mouth"? Well, if you hadn't, now you have.
The pie was one of the chocolate things in the house, actually. Some miniature choc. cream pie-ette from Busch's, cut in half, so, like, probably less than half a piece of diner[coney]-size pie each. But good. And just the ticket.
The pisser ---one of the pissers--- is that i'm not even leading a lush life in some small dive. I'm not even a half-arsed drunkard, bum. I'm quarter-arsed. Functioning. Not even drunk nightly. But sort of wishing to go off the deep end, even while sorta not.
The H-bomb used to say---and, of course, liked very much to say---that she didn't like to stand near the edges of high places cuz of the urge to jump. I don't know whether I believed her about the urge, really, even when the line was fairly new to me. She loved to say it in one of those particular ways she loved to say things that were linked in my mind with the exhibitionist and-and-or performer (i'm just cheating on the slash banishment, so what's the point) whom i loved and didn't love and loved (and didn't love) but who wasn't always speaking from experiential reality, if you will.
So it's still the end of the day, or waking period, on which we heard about Vonnegut becoming an ex-human. Drunk me wants there to be some lesson, or some message, or just some interesting tidbit of personally relevant info I can or should take from that aspect of this day, like it's one of those fairy cards Denise had, or like Tracy's Brian Eno webpage with the oblique strategies. Cuz I'm a greedy pig of a human being this way: I want NOT ONLY meaning, which is asking a bloody lot already, if you ask me, or if I'm asking, BUT WISDOM TOO. And-and-but I'll give you both back, and throw in an arm and both legs, for connection.
Wait: that is meaning.
blather blather blather
Livejournal never comes around and says "you're cut off," does it.
It's not a problem if it doesn't have a solution, somebody once said to me. (Not Vonnegut.) No solution? Then it's something else; it's not a problem. I take that to mean (whatever) it( it is)'s a situation at hand, a fact of life, an everyday farting around (Vonnegut) to be experienced, not to be figured out, stewed on, or like that. "Maybe you're just sad," somebody might even say.
It would be in bad taste to reference the appeal of (aforementioned) jumping off from a high and dangerous place, would it not? Given that my foster family---which I think you could say went ahead and adopted me outright, two, three years ago---lost a member to a suicide along those lines not real long before it took me in? Ah, but maybe I am not so loyal and devoted an appreciative adoptee as I should be. What can I say. I can't, and-and-or won't, help myself.
"Suck it up," Joel Fleishman's inner 10 year-old chastises him. "Be a mensch."
Suck it up; be a mensch. Is that so hard? Tomorrow is another day. Or, as Roz Chast observed in the panel of rejected alternate endings to Gone With the Wind we were laughing at tonight:
"After all, tomorrow is a legal holiday."
"After all, tomorrow brings us one day closer to spring."
"After all, tomorrow is Thursday."
Hey, at least my versifying is in remission: for this you should be grateful. For this you should [googling for what follows those four words...] thank Him. For this you should exult with joy! For this you should go into a wood or forest at midnight and look at a star. For this you should be in the record books. For this you should be paying no more than £10 per annum. For this, you should just try to get all of the words that are said, including false starts and other disfluencies.
For this you should remove the bulb and dry the connections thoroughly. For this you should carry your police registration certificate with you at all times. For this, you should get your hands on either the Snort-ruleset or the Vision-ruleset. For this you should take into account your technical and professional background, as well as your aspirations and your training needs. For this, you should use the StartPosition property and assign it one of the members of the FormStartPosition enumeration. For this you should apply to the Turkish Consulate.
For this you should be thankful, since it complicates things quite a bit, albeit from a fairly non-complicated starting point.
For this, you should tell those humorless dolts to cheese off.
Goodnight, my little Roseanne Roseannadannas.
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no subject
Date: Apr. 13th, 2007 12:26 pm (UTC)Yeah, that's asking rather a lot out of a death.
Sometimes I think about this, affecting a grizzled voice of a man who speaks from experience:
"I watched my brother die before my eyes," followed by some bullshit opinon that's supposed to gain weight by the context.
And for all that it's about as close to literally true as you can get, if not quite--God, there was joke on Kids in the Hall: "I shot a man in Memphis just to watch him die, but I got distracted and I missed it."
So I was a little distracted. But the affectation is not in the literal facts, the affectation is in the grizzled speaking from experience. 'Cause what do you learn from watching someone close to you die? Jackshit. There's no wisdom there. Nothing to see, move along.
Yeah, no meaning, no wisdom from a man dying.
So what is there? Well, some nice people who gave a shit about Dave made it clear that they gave a shit about me. That's worth a hell of a lot. (At this very instant I'm listening to the music of an amazing singer, being seduced by her voice in a jazz number between silly and mystical tunes. And I know that she gave a shit about Dave and she gives a shit about me, and if I ran into her in the smokey dive it sounds like she's singing in, she'd give me a hug and a tear and smile.)
"And-and-but I'll give you both back, and throw in an arm and both legs, for connection.
Wait: that is meaning."
Well I'll be fucked, ain't it though?
OK, how's this? I give a shit about you. Not because a too-cool author that I never bothered to read keeled over. But because your posts amuse me and sometimes amaze me and you are fun and kind in person.
There. keep those limbs glued on and call it a quantum of connection for the overnight.
Enjoy your morning after. I've got to get ready to go to the doctor and have my life criticized.
no subject
Date: Apr. 13th, 2007 09:43 pm (UTC)I pretty much watched each of my parents die. I was there, anyway, or damn close, if not beholding each directly at the exact moment, such as there is one. Particularly with my mother, after a long long night, I got to something you are saying here: no wisdom from it. But experience. And a kind of heart knowledge, after which is never, and shall never be, the same.
As I was yakking at "co-worker" today---co-worker who'd say "Guess who's dead?" of Vonnegut et al.--- when one of these producers of widely-personally-significant cultural products, and livers of a broadly-culturally-perceived life, dies, it is for us, unlike for the loved ones, muchly a time to talk of those products & their milieu, and to look at that life for the human tale and-and-or trajectory [what we can see of] it says something of. A chance to chat with one's fellows about some ideas and feelings surrounding something. See who's pondered what, who's got what appreciation to offer. But that it should in itself offer wisdom is as bogus as that it breaks our hearts & we should burst out in tears that now he's dead and yesterday he wasn't.
I give a shit about you too, sir. Hope the doctor didn't suck too very.
no subject
Date: Apr. 13th, 2007 05:01 pm (UTC)I might just.
no subject
Date: Apr. 13th, 2007 09:43 pm (UTC)