A Novel Hovel

So this is it...

Wed, 16 May 2007 21:56:19 GMT

Hi.

Anybody who knows me knows that I love my blogo.

But I'm starting on a new adventure and it would seem that the new adventure requires the services of ... well... a lawyer.

And my newest, bestest buddy Larry has said to me.

[and I'm paraphrasing]

"John... as your counsel, it is my responsibility to advise you that in your current legal situation - the posting of details which could be used against you in future civil action is not recommended."

Huh?

"No more blog."

Oh.

*sigh*

So there it is.

The briefest of shout outs to a few friends first.

Puff Please. Puff. Be my friend. I hope we'll be able to stay in touch e-mail wise. The conversations I've had with you about everything from my writing to life, liberty and the pursuit of the perfect wide receiver for the Packers - all of it - has been so dear to me. Please know that I will follow your blog and post when I can.

Sarah Ah. My dear friend Sarah. You have been so helpful to me in such a short time. I feel so lucky to have found you and I'll miss the chance to make you smile. Please be true to yourself. Never doubt your talent or your heart.

Sliced Sliced. What can I say? *kisses hand* In truth, I don't know what to say. I hope you and Tak have beautiful babies? I hope one day Kyo lets you lick sugar off his tummy? I hope... I hope you find that someone that never lets you forget how special you are.

Kennon I hope our paths will cross again. You've got such skillz and you're going to be HUGE. I will always be the most devoted fanboy.

My family I'm sorry I will not be able to keep you informed as to my daily going ons, but rest assured that I will shower you with infrequent and unsatisfactory e-mails for months to come.

To anyone else that I did not give a shout out to, please do not be offended. I've been told to push off and I fear I must.

The show never ends. Actor change. New sets are built. And life - the best show of all - continues merrily along.

*tap dances*

-- John Kipling, May 16th, 2007

Rock Crabs?

Wed, 09 May 2007 15:34:27 GMT

I think what I remember the most was noise - the constant gunfire and destructive flatulence of improvised explosive devices. In a burning house, I'm told that a person experiences a feeling of drowning, due to overpowering smoke. There's simply no air - everything is smoke. THAT'S what I remember most about that day with Puff, crouching behind the '64 Skylark - it was the non-stop noise that a person could drown in, the kind of noise that replaced the very air.

I was holding the groceries to my chest like they were my babies - my precious canned corn, my too-innocent frozen peas. I knew the anger on Puff's face was not at me when he tried to shout over the noise, but I felt the overwhelming desire to scream back at him not to shout at me. Stupid really. I could barely hear him anyway.

COUNT TO FIVE THEN RUN FOR THE DOOR! DON'T STOP TO OPEN IT! HIT IT AND ROLL!

I remember shaking my head - the only way I could convey my meaning through all that noise. Bullets "twern-ing" and "per-kling" all over the place. The sound of concrete rain bouncing off pavement and cars alike. I knew I couldn't yell over the symphony of destruction. How could I? There was no air, remember?

Puff was in survival mode. There was no time for pleasantries and fare-thee-wells.

ON THE COUNT OF FIVE.

I shook my head and clutched the groceries tighter. My babies and I were just save behind the Skylark - thank you. Puff somehow, through all of it, could read my mind.

JOHN! THIS CAR IS STEEL, BUT THE HIGH VELOCITIES WILL CUT THROUGH IT! NOW - ON THE COUNT OF FIVE.

How do you hold your breath when there is no air to suck in - when there's nothing to gulp down? I screwed my face into a look of determination.

When we left the cover of the car, the world seemed to explode around us. How could there be more noise? How could I be more scared? Who picked up the door to the apartment and moved waaaaaaaaaay over there?

I shouted to my precious canned corn as I ran. "It will be okay. It will be okay."

Puff hit the door first and it exploded open, yet somehow still knocking him down. I tripped over him in an Olympic upset and fell into the safety of the lobby. The hush was so delicious it almost had a flavor. Cream or maybe milk. Cold and fresh.

I rolled off the groceries and tried to asses the damage. Everything looked okay. The bread was bent, but - hey - the lady would still be able to eat it. Every interstellar war has it's casualties, I suppose.

Puff was sitting up, smiling, brushing plaster and dirt from his shirt.

"We gotta get a better job."

All I could do was nod.

"I gotta a buddy down by the docks. Wanna try the fishing business?"

The rock crabs. 14 Feet Tall. Crushing claws. Their quick rapid scuttling attack.

I frowned.

"Yah," Puff said. "Okay. I know that look. We'll find a way not to get stuck fighting any giant crabs."

And with that, we stood and began walking up the apartment complex stairs to complete our delivery.

*************

Meme written for Puff at HIS SUPER COOL BLOGO.

Top 10

Mon, 07 May 2007 13:20:17 GMT

Well. Here it is. The list of Top 10 things that a mere week ago, I didn't not think I would be doing.

Could have a drum roll please....

A drum roll....

[hello?]

Okay, screw the drum roll here's the list.

Top 10 thing that a mere week ago, I did not think I would be doing.

#10. Having an emotional crisis listening to Al Green's Let's Get Married on my iPod.

#9. Staring up at the guest room ceiling - the one that I have never got around to painting - and suddenly laughing while pointing. "HA! WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, F*CKER!"

#8. Being extremely happy(thankful) that I have a real job instead of writing full time.

#7. Thinking to myself I could get that motorcycle now and have that pointless, rock star death I've always wanted....

#6. Waking up in the middle of the night in a fevered panic understanding that I'm going to have to give up my two and a half car garage for another f*cking storage space.

#5. Wondering if all of the manscaping that I've been doing for months now for ...well... no one at all wasn't some sort of sign. [JEFF FOXWORTHY VOICE: If you shaving your balls and the only person who appreciates it is you - you might be getting a divorce.]

#4. Understanding that my best friend business partner is not just my business partner, but also... get this... my best friend.

#3. Hoping my daughter did in fact watch Karate Kangaroo.

#2. Late at night, with all the lights off, walking along and whispering to my books. Shhhhh, it's okay. Don't worry. This is going to be tough, but I won't forget about any of you. You will... *sniff*... always.... *sniff*... be my babies. *WAAAAHH!*

And the Number 1 thing that a mere week ago I did not think I would ever be doing.

#1. Getting a mother f*ckin' divorce.

Two and a half hours later....

Mon, 07 May 2007 03:55:21 GMT

Fear passed.

I'm okay.

*whew*

Looking for a used car now. *groan*

Why watch pretty boy & de la hoya - I got all the fights i needs

Sun, 06 May 2007 04:51:55 GMT

MRS. KIPLING
*stares*

ME
*stares*

MRS. KIPLING
*stares*

ME
*stares*

MRS. KIPLING
*sniff*

ME
*nods*

MRS. KIPLING
*stares*

ME
You know, there's "a book" that people
in times like these often turn to.

MRS. KIPLING
*stares*

ME
It's called Lord of the Rings.
We have all three movies too.
You know, in case, you're looking for answers.

MRS. KIPLING
*rolls eyes*

ME
I'm just saying....

MRS. KIPLING
I suppose it's better than Chicken Soup for the Soul.

ME
Gandolf has helped many a people.

MRS. KIPLING
Yah. You know, if I never really been able to say this before,
but you should really talk to somebody about that.

ME
*nods*
You're probably right.

Hello

Fri, 04 May 2007 12:59:50 GMT

Hi.

I'm here.

Just waiting for my bus to hell. Don't mind me.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssss?"

"OH SWEET JESUS! Uh... hi... I was just wondering... is, uh, this the bus to hell?"

"Let me ssssssssee your ticket... ah... thissssssss isssss a ticket to a very sssssspecial hell. It picksssssssss up over there."

"Ah. I see. Thank you."

*hissing laughter*

Aw f*ck. This blows.

Earthquake...

Fri, 04 May 2007 01:51:14 GMT

That sound you hear. Those would be Jenga blocks.

Wed, 02 May 2007 12:42:27 GMT

It's my fault really.

I asked her to pose.

"Geneva - come here. I want to take your picture in your pretty dress."

The dress is silk and the color of Ivory. I have no idea where she got it from. We probably bought it at a second hand clothing store. It's a dress up dress. As I grabbed the digital camera, she fell down on the kitchen floor and struck this pose.

I've learned to trust Geneva's instincts so I grunted-and-groaned down onto my belly and took the picture. A took a couple actually. Between each one, she broke into a huge smile, stood up, and said, "Let me see! Let me see! Let me see!" She'd study the picture in the little viewer on the back of the camera for a moment, then *FLOP* right back down on the floor, adjusting an arm here or a tilt of her head. The last two pictures, she made Butoh faces, silent screams, frozen in ice.

My daughter Geneva. She's so wonderfully dramatic and, I suppose, that's my fault.

Unexpected...

Tue, 01 May 2007 22:14:56 GMT

"John, can I see you for a minute in my office?"

Ah the question that no employee ever wants to hear his boss ask. I pushed away from the desk, excuses fluttering through my mind like moths on methamphetamine. You've got a gambling problem, tell him you've got a gambling problem. No, accuse him of persecuting you for being a homosexual. Quick, find a man and kiss him like you mean it or you're doomed. There! Pinch Lou's ass. He'll forgive you. No wait - THAT'S IT! Tell the boss that it was Larry's fault. Yes! Everybody blames Larry. Maybe it was finally John's turn.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in the world's second most uncomfortable chair across from my boss' desk. He was scribbling numbers down in an over-sized ledger so I quietly waited - trying to figure out if I would describe his mustache as "just a sloppy mustache" or a "pornstache in progress". Finally, he finished and, looking up, tried to give me the bad news.

"John, you've been with the company for nine years, is that right?"

"You know, boss," I stammered. "The Gunderson accounts aren't finished yet because of the whole Gnome issue. Minnesota doesn't technically allow you to hunt them and Larry said..."

My boss held up his hand. Red Light, John, his hand said. Red Light. I stopped babbling and fought back the "fake" tears.

"John, the company has been doing well, so we've purchased some new company cars, and with your seniority, it seemed only fair that you have one."

I blinked.

I blinked again.

Then, I suppressed an outburst of girlish glee.

Me? Big and shiny?

"Oh," I said trying to act cool. "Sure. Great. Whatever" which was followed by a flash of panic. "It isn't a Prius, is it?"

My boss looked at the keys, reading the key-chain. "No, it's a 2007 Dodge Charger. Rear wheel drive though, I'm afraid."

He threw the keys and I greedily snatched them out of air. Helllllllllo Nurse.

"Just move all of your stuff into the new car and give your old car keys to Larry."

My boss slid the standard, SF-669, Receipt of Property across his desk to me. Smiling like an idiot, I pulled up my chair to start reading. In my business, I learned long ago that the devil was in the footnoted legal definitions.

An hour later, I was standing before the yin and yang of car trunks wondering if it was all really worth the time and effort. I'd never thought of myself as a packrat, but there I was - staring at nine years of, for lack of a better term, throw aways from a new age garage sale. With a sigh, I rolled up my sleeves and tried to focus on the task at hand. Where to start?

Quicker than you can say Sell It On E-Bay, the whole process became an occult archaeological dig. With each layer, I was traveling further and further back in my career with the company. I pulled out an industrial ziplock freezer bag of dried herbs and flowers. Yeah, like I was going to be mixing spells in the field. I gave the ziplock a sniff and tossed it into the trunk of the new car. The nightshade and cinnamon were probably no good anymore, so I merely hoped that I wouldn't need a "Prophecy Reversal" spell or need to bake any cookies.

Next, I pulled out a beautiful branch of ash that I had found along Highway 52. I remembered the hexing tools I had originally planned to carve out of the light brown wood. However, not unlike my second masters, I had just never gotten around to it. Shrugging, I decided that I couldn't just throw away a perfectly good piece of ash, so, again, into the new Charger's trunk it went.

Holding up a frosted plastic gallon jug to the light, I puzzled at its bluish contents. Was this holy water or windshield washer fluid? I gave it a slosh. It moved kind of like water. In an act of determined stupidity, I removed the top of the jug and pressed my tongue to the blue liquid on the cap. It was like tasting liquid fire. I frowned. Hmmm - well that didn't answer any questions. Finally, I decided that it would probably work for either purpose, so into the trunk it went as well.

Cursed scrabble tiles, a tackle box filled with assorted animal hair, 80 year old flares, an unabridged book-on-tape of Daniel Pinkwater's opus The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death (read by the author), a catalog of discarded fortune cookie fortunes, a petrified skull of a mongoose or a very tiny lawyer - all emergency road side supplies that had been handed down from generation to generation, from CPA to grad student. And to my chagrin, I kept almost everything.

Yet, suddenly, there it was - carelessly stuck in a box overflowing with old 9mm ammunition that reeked of rosemary and lavender. I pulled out the photograph, staring at the moment frozen in time, faded colors to fit the memory. A stranger who I once knew so well stared back at me in a black low cut dress. Smiling, the young raven haired woman in the photograph held a flute of champagne and toasted the idiot pointing the cheap camera at her. But that man was long gone and this was his picture not mine. Remembering to breathe, I managed to pry my eyes from the photograph to stare at the trunk of the Charger and then to the small nearby pile of legal documents I planned to discard. Yes........ which one?

Good God, I thought, let's not let a new company car become some sort of crappy metaphor.

I slipped the photograph into my jacket pocket and needlessly slammed closed both trunks. Scooping up my discard pile of rough draft affidavits and failed appeals, I set off to find Larry and present him with his new keys. As I walked toward the elevator, I noticed that I wasn't crying and I couldn't help but feel like there was something very wrong with that.

Good bad company...

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 18:52:33 GMT

Dialog taken from lunch today with Stan.

ME
So did you like 300?

STAN
It was fine. They kinda went out like chumps in the end.
Why not take out a few more Persians - instead of just... standing there?

ME
Well they were surrounded.

STAN
Oh, they could have taken a couple more with them..
I mean - that's no way to get into Valhalla.

ME
You know, I don't know if I want to go to Valhalla.
I mean, if it's just a bunch guys, sitting around,
and reminiscing about the good ol' days of rapin' and pillaging.

STAN
Oh sure. If it's nothing but Vikings. But there
might be other cool people there - like my buddy - Sergeant York.

ME
You know, he was pretty religious.

STAN
So.

ME
I'm just saying, I can't help but get the feeling Sergeant York
would tattle on me to Jesus for scoping out the uber hawt Valkyries.

STAN
Well, it's heaven. You can do that now.

ME
And see - I've never really understood the idea of a heaven where sinning is suddenly fine and allowed.
Hi. Welcome to Heaven. Feel free to pee in the pool.

STAN
Dude. Sergeant York would never tattle on you.

ME
I don't know.
I just get the feeling that I wouldn't get away with anything in heaven.

STAN
Well hopefully you wouldn't need to.

ME
I guess.
Still - I'm probably more suited for Hell. I'm good at bitching,
whining, moaning, and feeling like I'm the only guy
getting screwed despite evidence to the contrary.

STAN
If it makes you feel any better, I don't think there's much sinning in Hell either.

ME
*shrugs*
But at least I won't have to lie to people about how much I enjoyed it.

STAN
So, you can only really start telling the truth once you go to hell?

ME
*considers*
*nods*
I guess so.

Orange you smart....

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 04:10:49 GMT

For a large portion of my life, I was haunted.

I lived in fear, frightened of a place that should have been my own - terrified of my sanctuary. Later, in moments of peace, memories of my torture would resurface and I found that any progress I had made was in vain. I would never be pure again.

It was a commercial.

For orange juice no less. I think it was put out by the State of Florida or something and, in the commercial, happy people drank freshly squoze orange juice while smiling, nodding, gesturing to the half full glass. And as their lives were improved by merely drinking juice of mashed pulp, a man sang:

"Orange you smart? For drinkin' orange juice. For the sweet and tangy taste. Yah - orange you smart."

Oh god, it was so catchy. And lord knows, fruit puns are irresistible. You couldn't help but sing along. "Orange you smart..."

At 3:00 in the morning, you couldn't help but sing along....

Any time you went to the grocery store, you couldn't help but hum the merry tune....

FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE - merely the mention of the word "orange" would flick that horrible switch....

It still rots inside my head, a cancer that doctors tell me can't be cut out. When my life is misery and torture, I need but open my ears to Satan's lullaby and my horrors suddenly seem lighter, even bearable.

I've thought about hunting them down, the demons who spawned such a torture, but aren't there a thousand such jingles - splinters that dig into our backs as we bear our own cross?

LISTEN - No one promised us a world without horrors.

No one assured us that it was sunshine and fucking over-sized lollipops.

We endure.

We live, we fight, and we show others by our example.

And those fuckers will throw their very best at us. Walk down the cereal isle at your local grocery store and you'll see and hear the horrors to which I speak. They have an army, who spend their hours upon eternal hours in Hell planning a way into your sanctuary - a way to plant their accursed seed.

But you resist! You fight! And you set an example for anyone else who clutches at their ears, doubled over in pain and exhaustion. You don't have to be koo koo for Coco Puffs. You do not have to drive a nice car to be sexy. IF YOU FEEL DUMB, DON'T FEEL LIKE YOU CAN COMPENSATE BY BUYING/DRINKING ORANGE JUICE!

You fight them by surviving, by not listening. You win by not quitting. And you destroy them by showing others that the bastards truly have no power

If John Kipling can survive the horrors then so can you.

Church & State Issue #2

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 13:25:17 GMT

Work, work, work...

The ramblings of man who finally slept...

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 13:39:19 GMT

It just doesn't seem fair. I finally got more than 4 hours of sleep last night and, if anything, I actually feel more tired. Okay, that's a lie - I was pretty frackin' tired yesterday. But 8 hours of sleep later, I don't know, I was expecting a little more spunk in my step, a little more shucka in my strut, a little more bang-bang in my boots. (NOTE TO SELF: Talk to therapist about developing shoe fetish.) My head is clearer though. My logic a little less impaired. But sadly, it just makes want I truly want all that clearer and what I want is to go back to bed.

Let's take a little time to talk CHURCH & STATE because, hey, it's my blogo and secretly I love talking about myself. (Yah - that's some secret, John.) I spent my first evening last night working on photo reference for Ted which was as much fun as skinning cats - sound, fury, cursing, and the a hearty "that's it?" when you're done. I also realized that I'm dragging my feet on Issue #2 because I am having so much fun planning future issues. This morning, I came up with the villain, theme and focus for Arc #7 or Issues 37-42. Huh? I have one, I repeat ONE, issue in the bag and I'm planning Issues 37-42? (But OH! Arc #7 is sooooooooooo kule....) And I spent an hour working on dialog for Arc #2 ("The Revolt of the Sex-Bots!") yesterday.

Well John, I'm glad that you're am having so much fun living in the future with flying cars and imaginary women who want to sex you for your brain, but let me introduce you to your real prom date - TA DAH! - her name is Reality. (*hey* Don't stare. That just makes her uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable.) Yup. It's time for some deadlines. *groan* Okay... let's see... I'm giving myself until May 9th to finish Issue #2. *ugh* That will give me time in California on the 10th through the 14th to work on Issue #3. (*cough* And the web site. *cough* Both web sites. *cough*)

There's a small comic book convention tomorrow at the State Fair Grounds and I'll probably swing over to chat with the local talent. I don't think the brilliant Douglas Paszkiewicz will be there though. But hey - I think I made Doug slightly uncomfortable at the last convention he was at anyway. After mandatory small talk, we looked down at his table of swag and comics and came to the delightful/horrifying discovery that I had bought numerous copies of everything on his table. There was nothing left for me to spend my fanboy money on. ("I was in too much shock and awe to suggest a commission.") Poor Doug - all he could do was look up at me and shrug. Then we both spent two minutes of silence trying to figure out which of us was more pathetic.

I suppose this is why you can have really stupid swag. Oh sure, you won't move it at every convention, but there is always going to be "one" pathetic fanboy who will buy anything you have. ANYTHING. (Maybe that idea of VIX feminine sanitary products isn't such a stupid idea afterall.) Seriously, Doug could have had 2x4s with sharpee sketches on them and I would have bought one. Maybe two. HELL - I WOULD HAVE BUILT A SECOND HOUSE WITH THEM!

Okay. Time to get back to work. And dream about ... I don't know... sleeping.

Love your children - don't bring them to work...

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 12:55:58 GMT

Today is "bring your children to work" day.

Yah. I'm not doing that.

Why? Well, simply put, because I love me children. I mean, some jobs are just a little better suited to bring one's offspring to work than mine. I guess they don't really expect me to make my children "work" or anything, but I can just see giving Cal a taste of my job.

DADDY
Okay Cal, first we need to review this affidavit and
highlight every place that the plaintiff refers to our client
as a "lying b*tch".

CAL
Highlight?

DADDY
It's kind of like coloring.
Here you can start with this one?

CAL
Can I play with the toys on your computer?

DADDY
Sure.
(pause)
After you finish the affidavit.

ALARM
WEEE-WOOO
WEEE-WOOOO
WEE-WOOOO

CAL
What's that loud noise?

DADDY
Damn.
Zombies.
It would have to be today.

CAL
Is this a play gun?

DADDY
Look.
This is going to get a little hairy, son.
Just remember - first the chest, then follow up with
a second to the "head".

CAL
(looking at shotgun)
Chest? Head?

DADDY
(rubs son's head)
You gonna be just fine, son.

*DOOR SPLINTERS*

CAL
But... but... you said there were no monsters.

DADDY
Well it's semantics son.
(fires shotgun)
Zombies aren't "technically" monsters.
They're your loved ones.
Your neighbors.
Your family.
Just with an overpowering need to die. You know... again.
(fires shotgun)

CAL
(fires shotgun)
(drops gun)

DADDY
Try again, son.
You're doing just fine.
Just fine.

CAL
Look! Grandma!

GRANDMA
*groan*

DADDY
What ya know... this day is looking up after all.
(shoots zombie mother-in-law)

The fights....

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 18:56:34 GMT

Jason Litzau
Originally uploaded by John_Kipling.

I'm off to watch Jason Litzau fight tonight. Or more appropriately, I going to watch him try and save his career. Two fights and twice on the canvass. He's got a lot to prove. He went from HBO to ESPN2 in two fights. Needless to say, that's not where he wants to be.

For fighters, a loss can be a devastating handicap. Seasoned fighters with a fresh defeat can find themselves fighting not to lose, instead of fighting to win.

Anyone who has watched Litzau fight know that besides the hand speed, he has the skills. Yet, he wants the fame and glory so badly he puts everything into his fights, wanting to win over crowds - to be the hometown hero.

The name of the game is boxing and that's just what he needs to do tonight. Box and win. Taste that advantage again.

I've got my fingers crossed for the kid. It would be a shame to see that potential go to waste.

Sorry

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 14:14:53 GMT

You think you're brave...
Originally uploaded by John_Kipling.

I know...

I know....

No real blogo entry again.

What can I say - I'm busy, tired, and an emotional train wreck.

Actually, that says it all pretty well.....

What the...

Mon, 23 Apr 2007 13:37:33 GMT

Move on - you don't want any of this...
Originally uploaded by John_Kipling.

Anybody notice anything odd about this picture?

That's right. The praying mantis is using Crane Kung Fu to fight the giant bow-wow.

Come on, fella. You probably kick ass at Praying Mantis style as you're a ... well... you.

Maybe it's a fake out. Start with a little Crane, switch over to Monkey or Snake, and then use Praying Mantis to slice the Pup-puppers head off.

Whoops...

Sat, 21 Apr 2007 17:27:07 GMT

Japanese Cards
Originally uploaded by John_Kipling.

My poor dad.

He's passed out on the couch.

I think I kept him up too late playing cards.

Bad son.

Sure was fun though.

Hot Dogs - THEY'RE PIGS!!! OH GOD!!!!

Sat, 21 Apr 2007 02:05:42 GMT

Hot Dogs - THEY'RE PIGS!!!
Originally uploaded by John_Kipling.

For the last three nights, my daughter has asked me to read Richard Scary's A Firefighter's Busy Day.

This panel always, ALWAYS, makes me a laugh.

What is causing the look on the pigs face?

Is it the alarm?

Or did they finally figure out what happened to Swookums, the fifth firefighting piggie?

HA!

My DAD!

Fri, 20 Apr 2007 19:18:32 GMT

*smirk*
Originally uploaded by John_Kipling.

My Pop arrives on a plane in less than an hour.

*happy dances*

SPONTANEOUS DANCE ATTACK!

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 21:24:10 GMT

What the...

What's that music?

Is that?

It is!

The Rockafeller Skank by Farboy Slim.

Wicked flashback time.....

EVERYBODY! SPONTANEOUS DANCE ATTACK!

*vigorously shakes money maker*

NERD!

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 15:47:41 GMT

I am such a nerd.

The green gel cover on my iPod slipped off in my pocket the other day.

It gave me an opportunity to see the back of my iPod - something I rarely see.

You know - I actually forgot that I had it engraved.

"Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure."

*TRANSLATION*

I can't believe that I had forgotten all about the engraving.

I am such a GRANNY!

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 15:39:28 GMT

Oh dear lord.

I'm so over the frickin' hill.

*ugh*

On Tuesday, Ted and I decided to recapture our youth and took ye' old toeball (his football) into the streets of Savannah and played in the traffic. Not even an hour mind you.

Two days later, I am unable to raise my arms above my shoulders.

*laughing*

Oh god. I'm so sore. It hurts to cough, laugh or sneeze.

I'm gonna have to fall back on my sexy brains. Oh nose! My family will starve.....

grins

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 15:16:26 GMT

I love this picture.

Thoughts on Savannah

Wed, 18 Apr 2007 13:46:13 GMT

I'm in another airport.

I've been in so many in the past 10 years, you'd think I would start to feel comfortable in them. I really don't. I travel well. And I'm a good flyer. But, I don't know if I'll truly feel at home here. The free wi-fi in Jacksonville is sweet however. Although, now, I'm afraid to go to my terminal though and not have my link to the net. I'm a net addict. A junkie. Looking to score my next high speed connection. One of the things I've learned about myself in Savannah is that I need to be connected to the web. There are important people in my life that I only see here. Heh. It's funny. I have more friends here than I do in real life. Hmmm. A therapist would probably tell me that's not good. Yet I'm really not interested in anything a therapist would have to say to me right now. I can't help it. The net allows me to meet people's minds FIRST and that's so important to me. Yah. John's all about the brain. He's got brain on the brain. Some guys would call themselves "an ass man" - you know, John - yah, he's a brain man. Why am I talking about myself in third person?

My trip to Savannah has been ... I don't know... life altering. I don't even feel like me anymore. I look in the mirror and the guy I see staring back at me, well, he isn't John. (oh I get the third person talk now...) This guy just seems to have a little more on the ball that I do. He's smiling back me and making me promises of things to come. And I believe him. Still, I can't help but be a little frightened by the way he talks game. How confident he is. How, oh yeah, just stay close to me, he is. Why do I believe him?

I feel like I am standing at the edge of a precipice - my toes hanging over the edge. Is there water below? Jagged rocks? Balloon animals so deep that I will land softly with a symphony of crackalacks? My legs are tight with anticipation. I'll be jumping soon and I know it. I've got to remember to enjoy my fall. Enjoy the rush of things moving too fast. Not just get lost in the anticipation of the impact.

Savannah. What have I learned?

Too much - I worry.

I can't believe I can still call myself a buddhist with all the WANT in my heart. I joke about wanting fame and fortune, but what I really want (what I've always wanted) is a medium to tell my stories. To entertain people. To make them laugh, cry, dream and, most of all, to think. For the past five years, I have been writing for myself, but, of late, I've been entertaining more people with my writing and I like that rush. I like it a lot.

In Savannah, I've also learned that I'm falling back into the habit of trying to manipulate people. Something I promised myself I would never do again. But, again, it comes back to WANT. I want these people as my friends. I want to tell them whatever they want to hear so they'll like me. Suddenly, it all became about me, me, me and, well, I'm not so happy with that. It would kill me if I was so busy trying to get someone to like me that I hurt them because I wasn't thinking about what they wanted - what they needed - what I might be able to give them if I could stop thinking about me for a damn second.

I need to be honest with people. (And I'm just talking to myself here, so please feel free to tune me out. I'm just rambling.) If people are going to like me, it has to be for me. For the guy that I am. Not cool, confident, stick-with-me John. Just ... me.

I think this blogo is an apology. I've been wrapped up in me of late. My recent emotional tragedies have made me disconnected and overwhelmed with a desire to be wanted. To replace something in my life that I feel is missing. MISSION KIPLING - Fix what has been broken - at any cost.

The want of want. (say that five times fast)

I go on and on all the time that people, humans, all of us, are changing from moment to moment, from day to day. In Savannah, the truth of those words rang true (double true) - the teaching of a lesson I quoted, but had closed my eyes and ears to. I was singing the hymns, but not hearing the words. I was reading the slides, not listening to my voice. I was a pretty smart fucking parrot. (Is that a special kind of parrot?)

In Savannah, I've learned that I have a lot of doors that look like they might open for me, sooner than I had thought. But I also learned that in my rush to heal, I've lost sight of the bigger picture. I've been so focused on the impact, I forgot to just fall. To trust in gravity.

Swim in the river. Harness the current. But do not try and control it.