Surreally Seducted: Damn You Salvador Dalí!

One monkey promoting the ceaseless propagation of useless crap on the internets since a long time ago.

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Tweedlemom's Rockin' New Year's Eve

Start of the evening. I'm in my green shirt from 1988 or something. Note the gin and tonic, and holiday beard.
I'm one hairy dude

11:08 PM -- So, I'm at home with my allergies and my parents. We're having fun. We're playing gin, drinking gin, having tonic water spray all over the kitchen. and watching football. Michael Strahan is pretty pissed caused he got poked in the eye (tweedlemom read his lips: "Fuck this. Fuck these guys."). So far, they've mentioned Tiki Barber's 95 yard touchdown run 14 times. We'll have some pictures later (at least a picture of me in my mountain man beard). Back to the fun! I've changed into my #6 jersey (also probably circa 1988). That's how clever I am. A #6 for 2006!
One of my favorite all time shirts

11:34 -- TM's RNYE party has fizzled. The game got boring. TD's falling asleep from time to time.

11:37 -- Last decision of 2005. Do we watch M*A*S*H or Dick Clark?

12:05 -- Mariah Carey looks like a giant ho. CNN asks for us to send in our party pictures. TM doesn't think they can handle them. TD brought in some popcorn to try and liven up the party, but it just wasn't happening.

Cast your woes on Jesus

There's a commercial on in Jacksonville for one of the 250,000 churches (that's a ration of 4 people per church, so they have to try and attract congregants). Anyhow, in the commercial it has a bunch of people walking around burdened by trash bags with words like "Depression" and "Finances" and "Addiction" written on them. Then the pastor or whatever is like, "Accept Jesus and place your burdens on him!" It's really brilliant. When the collection agencies come and ask for my credit card debt, I'll tell them that Jesus accepted my burden, so I really can't be bothered. Awesome.

Also in Jacksonville news, we were watching the local news (which is as awful as other local newscasts), when they reported this story: Man Shot in Head Drives Himself to Hospital, Girlfriend Kills Self. At the end of the stock footage, the reported goes "Hmmmmmm" (almost a laugh) really loudly. Rather unprofessional, but hilarious at the same time.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Goin' crazy

When I was in elementary school, I was worried that people would try to abduct me walking home from the bus stop. This was only the start of my neuroses. I worried about the fact that the sun would die in 5 billion years (what would happen to all the people, all the people in the graves, all the plant life?!). I was worried, after seeing Tremors, that giant worms would come through the floor and eat me (I woke up the next morning, called for TS1, and had her talk me off the ledge). After reading Jurassic Park, I was sure that dinosaurs lived in my closet.

But now, it's gotten worse. I worry that when a cars headlights disappear behind me, I've caused an accident. I create these wild scenarios in my head that keep me up, upset my stomach, and generally drive me up the wall. In short, I no longer trust my own memory.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Get Right to the Heart of Matters

My best friend from high school and his girlfriend got engaged last week. Congratulations to the both of them (who've never, I think, read this blog). It was done in a fashion that was, well, rather expected from the two of them (that's not a bad thing). I'll be going out to dinner with the two of them tomorrow night, so I guess it'll be a pretty interesting dinner. I get to see them about once or twice a year (she actually lives nearby but is very busy), and he's at law school, so I'm sure the dinner will be extra special.

Monday, December 26, 2005

It's the most brutal time of the year.

They (being my sister) say that this time of the year is the hardest for many people. I've decided to try and write a poem.

A Brutal Winter

A three month stretch
of painful agony
a twisting knife
of love lost long ago

The presents ungiven,
unwrapped, uncherished.
Long forgotten ideas that
would have given smiles
now are only simple reminders
of the miles your body has travelled.

You see yourself in the man
on the street corner huddled in his blankets
Begging for change, as though,
As though it would change his world,
give him peace, give him prosperity.
Perhaps it would, but we shudder to believe
That could be me.

Cupids arrow split your heart in two
You went back for more
Now it lies shattered,
broken, a subtle reminder
that Love giveth, and Love taketh away.

Clocks count backwards
We remember what was
as we make oft-empty promises
of what will be.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

My faulty memory

My memory for places is much better than my memory for faces. I can remember the old houses nearly perfectly, even the rooms we rarely ventured into. Shortly before we moved, we remodeled the kitchen and expanded the master bathroom. Now, normally this would require eating out every night, but not in this house. This house had a reserve kitchen. A reserve kitchen complete with stove, oven, and fridge. We moved the old kitchen table adjacent to this reserve kitchen, and ate our meals there. I still have an affinity for cereal out of paper/cardboard bowls. Things outside of the meals were pretty stressful with some long-distance commuting by my father, but for some reason, eating out of paper bowls and paper plates with plastic forks and knives made for a good time. And yet, I am sure this is not how it was. I am sure there was tension. I am sure there were fights. But please, leave me my happy memories. I have forgotten all the ills.

I can give that house a pretty good description, at least pre-remodeling. The other houses as well. I can even remember whole rooms, and how the related to each other. When it comes to faces, however, I can only remember bits and pieces at a time. I remember the cheeks, the eyes, the lips and nose all as separate entities. If I try to remember the whole face and how all these pieces relate, it dissolves away.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

i can't change this...

i had a whole long post that i erased on purpose two days ago. i had written the whole thing, felt utterly displeased with it, and erased it. i lay no blame on you, mr. blogger man.

i look outside, and i think i should be skiing. not here. the snow still covers the ground, leaving giant mounds at the edges of the parking lot. just like tahoe. today was brilliant, and brilliantly frigid. today, for once, lacked the wind that tends to leave my pinkies bloodless and frozen.

my skis, however, are a thousand miles away.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Oedipus meets modern technology.

It was only a matter of time.

Too funny (duh. came from the weekly world news).

Update: So The Register took the story down. They were hoodwinked! Anyhow, the story goes like this:

Man and women start chatting on the net. They realize they like each other, and he asks for a picture. She sends him a scan of a model from a catalog. Thinking she's hot and really sweet, he sets up a meeting at a beach. They meet after dark. Turning towards him, he realizes she's his mother. A policeman then proceeds to interrupt (coitus interruptus interruptus?) them as they are on the beach past sunset, and already so embarrased, they blab the story. Local media gets a hold of the information, and pretty soon, everyone knows what's what. Says the man, "Disappointed doesn't even begin to describe it." The woman's husband cuts her internet priveleges off for a year.

I have a feeling we may see this story come April 1st.

UPDATE #2: Found it in my google cache:

Frenchman woos own mother on internet
Nasty shock at first meeting
By Lester Haines
Published Wednesday 14th December 2005 16:40 GMT
Get breaking Reg news straight to your desktop - click here to find out how

A love-struck Frenchman wooed the online girl of his dreams for six months - only to discover at their first meeting that he had in fact been chatting up his own mother, Yahoo! reports.

A shaken Anceneaux takes up the story: "Mum called herself Sweet Juliette and I called myself The Prince of Pleasure, and unfortunately, neither one of us had any idea who the other was. The conversations even got a little racy a couple of times.

"But I really started to fall for her, because there seemed to be a sensitive side that you don't see in many girls. She sent me poems she had written and told me about her dreams and desires, and it was really very romantic."

Indeed. When the proto-Romeo asked for a snap of Sweet Juliette, she sent him a "curvy, half-clad cutie she'd scanned from a men's magazine". Anceneaux recalled: "The girl in the picture was so beautiful, I begged Juliette to meet me on the beach - and mum said yes. Mum says she was falling for me, too, and she just wanted to meet me, even though she knew I'd be disappointed when I saw her."

Disappointed doesn't even begin to describe it. Anceneaux continued: "I walked out on that dark beach thinking I was going to hook up with the girl of my dreams. And there she was, wearing white shorts and a pink tank top, just like she'd said she would.

"But when I got close, she turned around - and we both got the shock of our lives. I mean, I didn't know what to say. All I could think was, 'Oh my God! it's Mama!'."

It gets better. A policeman then turned up and "cited them for visiting a restricted beach after dark". Mum Nicole confessed: "Danny and I were so flustered, we blurted out the whole story to the cop."

Nicole said: "The policeman wrote a report, a local TV station got hold of it - and the next thing we knew, our picture and our story was all over the 6 o'clock news. People started pointing and laughing at us on the street - and they haven't stopped laughing since."

And what did dad make of all this? Well, Paul Anceneaux "wasn't too happy when the story hit the news and his beer-drinking friends made him the butt of their jokes", Daniel admitted. "Dad was angry for a while and he banned mum from talking to anybody on the internet ever again," he concluded. ®

Friday, December 09, 2005

the devil's into dreaming

when you don't drink, there's not much you can do to fuck yourself up to the point of having one of those cathartic nights that doesn't, you know, get you to any conclusion. instead, you sit on the train, or stand in a downpour, relishing your pain as though it is worth something (as though there is an afterlife, where by some magical power, every prick of pain, every night of agony, every little paper cut is repaid with pleasant thoughts and heaven). you stand on the bridge, like jimmy stewart, and wonder whether there's anything that will ever make the pain go away, whether your existence matters. unlike the movies, time is our angel. time does not make all things right, time does not get wings. such is love, the destroyer of men. time and love swing wildly, like drunk mean, using you as their fists. you go from being fine to being totally, utterly not fine in a matter of moments. you bury yourself in anything you can find, only to find the support of time and love and your own faith given way to the pain of mortality, loneliness and doubt. and yet you struggle on. why? time and reason, at once so different and yet working in concert with each other. the doubt of heaven, the realization that this pain shall pass, that the spring of your life, the summer and the fall, all remain. put simply, there is often no catharsis. time does not heal all wounds. there are losses in this life that we simply cannot comprehend. you are human. misery is acceptable. there is a certain loss, a certain numbness that will never be overcome. but at the same time, it becomes necessary to believe that better days lie ahead, that this is not the last indignity, the last pain, that you will have to endure.

signed,

sincerely me.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

The Walk to Dinner

The chill in the winter air nips at me as I walk past the new park that has been there for years. I've only been here once, but I was so consumed in myself and my pain that I never noticed it. "Open from dawn until dusk." The rock in the middle illuminated by some light somewhere in some unnatural reflection. "No loud music." Houses with yards smile back on me, mocking the dirt and weeds left behind.