I'm leaving for a week. We all are. Like, twenty of us. Or ten. There's a rented house by the lake. Like that movie with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bollocks. But with better acting.
Before I go, I'll leave you with a thought that's been bugging me for a while now. I'll make it short, because I've noticed people react better to short-and-to-the-point posts, rather than to the ones where I question stuff and not come up with an answer because it's POST MODERN, like Obama's Beer Summit, or Sarah Palin.
Do you think that for men, the feeling of emptiness after sex is some kind of Empty Nest Syndrome?
The first time I saw him, he was sitting on a speaker, screaming and clapping like it was the most amazing show in history. I met him a couple of days later when we were both assigned to work as security guards at the same school. I told him I saw him in the show, and he said, "Yea... I didn't really like them."
He was dismissive of authority. He wasn't against it--just considered it irrelevant.
We used to sit and play music by the side of the highway.
He wrote some music on his four-track. Then one day he smashed it against the wall because he didn't like what he heard.
One day it was just me and him sitting in his room, when all of a sudden he got up, looking excited and happy. He was standing like that for a moment and then he said, "What did I want to do?" Then he added, "Oh yea. Nothing," and sat back down, laughing.
One day, out of nowhere, it seemed, he wrote a letter and addressed it to all of us. He made us read it in front of him. We weren't giving him enough attention. Weren't concerned enough about his mental health.
Then he moved back to Israel. Did some random stuff like teach scuba diving. Then he moved to Switzerland and lived for years in an apartment which he left only to go to the grocery store.
I got to talk to him once a couple of years ago. He was into computer games. I told him about the blog. Maybe he visited. maybe he didn't. Maybe he's reading this line right now.
He recently told a friend he was seriously getting into religion. He wasn't following all the rules, though. Not yet. For now he was just growing a beard.
He also told her he was moving politically to the right.
And maybe this whole post is about me. Maybe it's again about the loss all immigrants inevitably feel. When I find out I had lost control of the fate of past friendships and that I'm irrelevant to the people who had been so close to me, then I know I'm moving further away from Home.
I've changed the template, because, you know. Please let me know what you think. Is it a disaster? I'm trying, y'all.
In other news, a few years ago, Jill tagged me with a meme thingy. I thought I'd do it now, but I couldn't find it. Sorry... Here's a flower instead. (Jill, I expect you to say, "How did you know Jesus-Yellow was my favorite color?")
But I did make a note of Ricardo's 3-months-old meme, so I'll do that one.
It's basically 10 honest facts meme, which I guess would be a break from the norm. For example, the highly-paid model whose pictures I use in this blog will get a week off while I finally reveal my true identity:
This picture was taken in a light bulb store. Man, it was so hot there--I just had to unbutton my shirt and shave my chest. Wait, what the hell is wrong with my right thumb?
Anyway, here are the facts:
1. I'm not doing as much as I can. As much as I should. About a lot of things.
2. I'm shaking with the fear that the little guy will wake up from his nap and start crying. I mean, I love him, and when he wakes up I'll make him an omelet and potatoes, and he'll throw his leftovers on the floor so the dogs can have some, and it'll be funny because he knows he's not supposed to do that, but how can I stop him when he's being so cute and kind like that? But please, sleep for another 30 minutes...
3. And just when I'm thinking about that, Buddy starts to cry downstairs. He can't be hungry. Drives me crazy. We were at the vet yesterday, and I felt so much love for him because he's this giant scary monster of a dog who's now old and scared of everything, and he wishes he could have the dog next door as a friend, but he also knows he can't control himself around other dogs. So he's this sad old dog (that has had a good life, I think, don't get me wrong), and he counts on me, and he'll give his life for me or for Honey or for his favorite human, the one who feeds him most, but sometimes I think about that day 10 years ago, and I know I didn't have a clue what I was getting myself into. I wouldn't do it differently now, though. He was my friend. I couldn't let my roommate take him to a shelter where he would die. But when he or his sister wake the baby up I want to bang my head on the floor so hard it'll pop up in the middle of The Great Wall of China.
4. Speaking of good boys, the baby just woke up. But he's not crying. He's saying, "Two," which is the most fun number to say. See you later.
5. Man, I have such a headache.
6. But even if we just concentrate on the hard part, like "Since when don't you like pasta? You love pasta!" or even worse stuff, like making my head explode, I can't imagine going back to work for some shitty place like fucking Comcast fucking Customer Service. I'm being too hard on them. You get free cable and internet if you work there!
7. I speak to the baby in Hebrew because I want him to speak Hebrew. But why is it so important to me? I can't find a good reason anymore.
8. I'm no Marilyn Manson, but honestly, sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I can't imagine how Honey can even kiss me good night. What does she see that I don't? I mean, I can be presentable. I can shave the upper-cheek hair. But most of the time I think I'm a little hard on the eyes. If you ask me.
9. It's just me and the baby for a few days now, and I'm thinking We'll go to the pool, and we'll go to the zoo, and we'll walk all around the neighborhood, and we'll go on car rides, and we'll eat Rita's ice cream, and we'll play all the time, and it'll be so much fun, but then his grandma calls and asks if I want her to help by having him stay with her for a day, and I tell her I'll let her know later tonight. Although, really, it was a borderline-rhetorical question. I could use a breather.
10. As long as we're honest, I have some guilty pleasures, like this blog. Go on. It's okay to look.
And as usual, I'll be happy if anyone pretends I've tagged him or her, but I'm not going to tag anyone because I've been burned before, man.
I don't have the clear mind to write a real post. Meanwhile, here's what's been happening on the TV.
There's been some real news in the world, like an escalating war in Afghanistan, and Biden admitting the government is just throwing money away, and hundreds dead in China for who-knows-what (something about--well, it's a very offensive term for white people who pretend to be black people, something like that), and a military coup next door, and the woman who could have been President gave a speech about basketball. But according to the news channels, nothing came close to the news that Michael Jackson was still dead.
Seriously, all news channels giving us the entire live broadcast of the memorial with hours of post-memorial commentary. And God help me, I turn to Fox News out of desperation, and they have a story about parents of a soldier who died in Iraq the same day Michael Jackson died, and the parents are upset that no one even talks about dead soldiers anymore.
And I have to admit Fox News has finally got something right. (even though Fox News is guilty of pushing this country into this war in the first place, but that's kinda beside the point).
And Caillou. What the fuck is up with him? Why is he bald? Is he sick? Shit drives me crazy. Oh, it's actually the first question on caillou.com FAQ page. I guess I'm not alone after all.
And going back to Michael Jackson. MSNBC, every time you talk about him you're going to bring out this tool? His name is Toure. There's supposed to be a little whatchamacallit line above the E, but who gives a fuck. Toure, you missed a button. And who died and left you with no last name, wanker?
Going back to Sprout Channel, how great are the Pajanimals?
Speaking of True Blood, I got someone here who Googled "Is Alexander Skarsgard gay?" For the record, I don't know.
And then I turn to one of them Nickelodeon channels, and I start watching this hideous cartoon about monsters or something, and I'm thinking about the way childrens' TV nowadays is destroying the minds of a generation, and how in my day things were different, but then I realize it's the funniest thing I've ever seen. I couldn't find it on the TV schedule now, but there are TV episodes here.