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Update 2020-12-16: (True sticky posts banned; click to read.) So, owing to the evolution of the internet, or at least my own approach to it,...

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Spring in Suburbia

Kids screaming in the street. The constant roar of lawn mowers, one asynchronous homeowner after the other. Dogs barking endlessly at all the mowing. Father barking endlessly at the dogs, trying to tell them to shut up, while the non-English-speaking dogs probably think he's joining in the chorus with them. And me, lying in bed, feeling my brain rattling against every bit of my skull's interior in a quest for a way out. Soon, I'll be coerced into contributing to that noise pollution with the family's own mower. And my mother will come home and add her disharmonic vocal to the mix. But for now, my father takes a moment to lull me back to sleep with his lecture about why I should get up and mow the lawn.

Lawn mowing is a microcosm of suburban life as a whole. Its only fruit, apart from the snot that the newly scattered pollen will elicit from our sinuses, is that the lawn looks nice in the eyes of horrid, imagination-less suburbanites. For maybe a week until the grass has grown back. And then it has to be done again. To please the horrid, imagination-less suburbanites. Theoretically.

Pure bright, even-height green. The whole premises, wherever there isn't a house, tree, mailbox, or bit of concrete. No fruits. No vegetables. No flowers. No organisms that resemble flowers but are apparently weeds. And if it's not the day of the week when the garbage collectors come by, get that bloody trash can outta here. (But if it is that day of the week, consequences will be dire if the can isn't out.) If it isn't an indistinct, crew-cut blade that lives only for itself and eventually dies in vain, it's not allowed. Sound familiar?

So, as I've said many times before, I don't belong here. And I remain in talks to hopefully belong somewhere new. But while I'm jobless, I am being given looping domestic things to do. Pointless yardwork. Moving trash forth and back every week. Cleaning up and fixing my demented father's "projects" and digital screw-ups. Assisting my demented father with getting to his outside errands and participating in the grocery shopping. And I get food, shelter and internet at no further cost than the $275 bi-monthly health insurance payment. So there's that. Plus this. At least for a little while longer.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Earth Day 2013

I guess it was Earth Day. That's what it said in the ads in the Sunday Tribune. I didn't seem to hear about it anyplace else.

But perhaps I wasn't fully paying attention to media over the weekend. I was in Chicago and north suburbs, having a grand ol' time with family and, all too briefly, friends on Record Store Day (Saturday). Good food, good company, and just a pleasant break from the previous week's flood of talk about Boston bloodshed, shoddy journalism, Texas fertilizer plant explosions, failing gun regulations, and, indeed, flooding — in my home metro. As my aunt and I drove around with my granduncle, we noticed a couple things along the way that looked like little ponds and lakes — with trees sticking right out of them. The remains of something that had shut down the Edens expressway for a bit, and that none of us had actually been around to witness, with one of us downstate and another in Nashville. But, for the moment, lovely weather and vibes in Chicagoland.

Alas, good times don't last. I drove back to and through the flatlands Sunday afternoon, stopping twice to get gas, empty the bladder, call a far-away friend who had asked that I call them that weekend when I had a chance, and otherwise hitting 96 miles per hour at one point on my way to the promise of the world's greatest meatloaf. I criticize my mother about many things, but, in her own words, [she] sure can cook! It was goooooood...!

On to today, which it is for about twenty more minutes here. I awoke to the sound of Mom yelling at Dad for falling, as though he does it on purpose when it happens. He has rather a history of falling on occasion. I really don't think anger is the way to fix such a problem as that. But my father rather is the sort of person that, summarily, deserves his own post on here. He's a wreck. And today was one for me to see to him. He has a sleep aid with which he's struggling to get to work properly. I drove him across town to a fruitless appointment for that, among minor errands. As I've been typing this post, I've heard and gone to investigate hysterical laughter from the bedroom, catalyzed by the sleep aid machine making "fart noises". If and when I can, I'm supposed to fix a sleep mask that's in pieces on the dining room table and wasn't discovered until after the appointment. Apart from that, I hooked up a new television receiver in the bedroom, assisted with dinner in my usual sous chef role, and got called to assemble dessert and do other scattered things in the middle of a cyber-chat with the friend that I had called from Bourbonnais. Supposedly, somewhere between all the family engagements, I should be working at a steady job.

Perhaps I will go ahead and apply at the simple place that that friend mentioned — right in the face of my disapproving family. And pursue a visit, maybe a full-out stay, with them, over two thousand miles from here. They, the friend, might be right: I "need to look to myself for once in [my] life".

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Monday, April 15, 2013

Well, I suppose if I'm going to be suggesting monetary donations on here, I should make some sort of effort to at least appear to be putting actual work into this blog and its posts. Maybe I'll try a weekly thing like this where I just process my mind's blurred image of the past day or so, maybe the past week, and render it somewhat in focus. My mind is often forced to resolve blurs on its own. Today, for instance....

I awoke somewhere around six in the evening and got up the following hour. My circadian rhythm is as horrible and hopeless as it's ever been, perhaps to reflect my own sense of hopelessness. I eventually found my way to that surrogate social life known as Facebook and was befuddled by a wall of posts putting "bombs" and "Boston Marathon" together. The posts included five or six friends sharing a status by Patton Oswalt, who is one of the many people that fall in my "heard the name before but know nothing of the person" category. "Mister" Rogers also had a common quote in the feed. Apparently, something ridiculous and horrible happened.

New England is having a pretty horrendous time of it lately. From Hurricane Sandy, to Sandy Hook Elementary, to winter weather madness, and now this. I've not been to that part of the country ever; I do have a handful of cyber-friends there, though I'm not convinced any are Bostonites in particular. They're wonderful people in a region that I understand is lovely most of the time. They have my wishes of wellness in the face of increasing disaster, and I will gladly visit them in person as I am resourcefully able.

....which, back in the flatlands, I am of course not. This time last week, I mentioned a few things about my world that I don't mind following up on.

My "grandcousin" was born last Wednesday. (I decided I didn't like the "removed" terminology, so I made up a new title.) My mother made the drive down to Nashville the same day — arrived pretty much in time, so I'm told. The kid, born via cesarean section tangled in his umbilical cord (further evidence against "intelligent" design), seems to be all right; systems are good and all that jazz. I believe my cousin is also doing well post-C-section birth. All I know I know from my mother's nightly phone calls. He came home on Saturday. My mother's aiming to come back here maybe Wednesday, maybe Thursday. That gives my father and me just enough time to shop, clean bathrooms, and see to other such menial time-eaters. (My father wants to take me to Wal-Mart. You'd think by now he would know, I will not set foot in Wal-Mart. Hell, I couldn't even wait outside last time I was there without some police figure approaching us as we were getting in the car and leaving, talking about "loitering". Because only killers and rapists enjoy nice weather wherever they are.)

I had my state employment office meeting last week. It went better than I had thought it would, but I remain skeptical. I watched cartoons with my local friend from high school. I picked up my bicycle from the repair/tune-up place for more dough than I cared to have spent, considering I hadn't used the bike at all last year. I need a new helmet, but those cost nearly as much. I remember MAD Magazine saying something like, "Bicycles, which became popular as a cheap alternative to automobiles, have been so upgraded and enhanced that the same people who could not afford a car now also cannot afford a bicycle" (paraphrased from memory). Anyway, I filled out a job application for that place while I was there, because why not?. Otherwise, since my mother left on Wednesday, I've just been putting up with and looking after Dad, the dogs, and the house. No Paypal or Bandcamp yet. Just the sound of the pouring rain beyond this window in the late 3a hour.

This may not be my best writing; it's rather sloppy and reminiscent of a twelve-year-old's bedside diary. But if anyone's out here, I'd love to hear from you as ever.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Monday, April 8, 2013

Some things that appeared on my "news feed" on Facebook this past day:

• Two celebrity deaths: One a polarizing political figure from the UK, the other a popular entertainer from before my time. I feel no personal connection to either. There seemed genuine sadness for the Disney representative; reaction to the former prime minister was rather more interesting. One person produced a picture of Mags and the Gipper and proclaimed that "these two are responsible for the world being as it is today" (paraphrased). Looking at this world, that would seem to be more of a dyslogy than a eulogy. (Does English have a proper word that can go where I made that one up? "On-grave dance"?) One person simply delivered the news gleefully and sing-song-ily. And at least one other person had a shared status scorning the celebration of certain deaths. Speaking of which:

• An article link proclaiming that the Westboro Baptist Church will picket the funeral of Roger Ebert. I don't know if my international audience gets to hear much about the Westboro Baptist Church, so lest you don't, the Kansas-based hate group is known for outright stirring up anger by showing up at various funerals (e.g. those of soldiers) and other events and spewing anti-gay and other vile sentiments. What they could possibly have against the central Illinois native film critic, frankly, I don't want to know. I didn't read the article.

• Monsanto with its chemicals and genetically modified food will destroy us all, and we are powerless to prevent it or circumvent it by, say, growing our own food and banding together.

• Exxon turned an Arkansas neighborhood into an oil lake and doesn't want anyone to know.

• Palestine, or Hamas, or somebody, is still firing rockets into Israel.

• People ought to be who they are and not let anyone drag them down.

• "Remove the North Korean supreme leader!"

• Of the two people that mentioned their marital engagements this past day, one has learned that their aunt has terminal cancer and is estimated to have about two months left.

• The usual assortment of memes, Doctor Who references that have ever gradually come into focus for this writer who has never seen a single episode, an overwhelming number of YouTube song "videos", and words of presumed wisdom imposed over pictures of natural beauty which I'll probably never see in person.

• And, last but not least, my cousin's announcement that the child within her will be "evicted" (her word choice) midnight on Thursday if he makes no effort to emerge on his own before then.

This last just seemed somehow poetic to me. In fact, I do faintly recall a poem, somewhere in my childhood, expressing the sentiment of an unborn child who doesn't want to leave the warm, safe womb. Silverstein, maybe? I'll have to dig out those books when I have a moment.

There's a theory that the world was always this mad and that it's just more apparent and magnified in the digital age. There's also a theory that the digital age is accelerating the madness. (Though they didn't show up so much this past day, women's rights, LGBT rights, and all kinds of "occupy"-style sentiments are also ongoing conflicts and staples of my news feed. Oh, and can't forget climate change, threatening to flood the planet and bust its orbit.) I know I've mentioned drawbacks of the digital age before: we're antisocial, and we're angry and judgemental. Catharses are intensifying, and it's getting uglier out there all the time. At least we can count on the Cubs rendering themselves unrecognizable and losing.

And so I'm thinking about that "cousin once removed" who evidently doesn't want to be removed. I'm hoping he will be able to know and keep peace of mind. He does have one thing going for him: an awesome pair of parents (with awesome taste in housepets)!

****

Meanwhile, I'm pretty much wasting away in the flatlands. Later this morning, I'm going to another probably fruitless meeting in the state employment office. Then, after that, I'm going to a friend's house to watch cartoons. I might also check out a local "singer-songwriter collective" in the evening.

I got a debit card recently. This has me thinking now about setting up a Paypal and including a "donations" button on here. Maybe somebody would use it. Or, I can try selling an "album" on Bandcamp. Though I'd like to record (and finish writing) a few more things before I attempt that. (Covers don't fly on Bandcamp.)

And I may have an opportunity to record soon. I won't be going to meet my cousin-once-removed, but my mother will. I'll have about a week's reprieve from being in the bathroom when my mother gets home and, when I get out to greet her, the first thing she disdainfully intones is "Gee, do you do anything else besides sit in the bathroom?!" And if I can get Dad out of the house for a while, I have only the dogs waiting to bark to contend with. With all the carpet now gone in favor of hardwood, the house acoustics are rather too good.

How 'bout it? Is it worth the bother? Anyone willing to support me?