Greetings and good morning. Now that it's officially Saturday, I can reflect back on the Friday that was and smile. In the immortal words of Ice Cube, I gotta say it was a good day. Here's the thing though: it didn't strike me as such a good day until I stopped to reflect on it.
Think about that for a second. I didn't realize I had a good day (an exceptional day even) until I actually stopped and itemized it. What a sad life I lead, sometimes. But on to greener pastures...
All in all, a good week actually. Had Monday and Tuesday off, eased myself back into a work schedule Wednesday thru Friday. Started writing recreationally again. Worked on Flexxo. Recorded a couple song demos. All in all, surprisingly good. I think some life style changes are starting to pay off (in spite of my skepticism).
Since early February, I've been trying to be less of a bastard (with mixed results). A big part of that has involved not drinking like a homeless wino. The results have been something of a mixed bag for me, honestly. On the one hand, I feel something of a fog lifting (10 years of crazy person drinking will do that). I finally feel I'm able to do the things I've long been capable of but have been incompetent to complete. That's a nice feeling.
On the other hand however, having a clear head for consecutive days has been a real eye opening experience for me. Makes me realize how much I've actually fucked up. Makes me want to drink more and pretend I never noticed. The irony (for me, at least), has been delicious, in case you were wondering. I was personally staggered to find out how much a person can ignore when they're in a semi-constant stupor.
Well, as anyone who's talked me (ever) knows, staying dry full time isn't really an option. But at the same time, going back to being a 90 proof asshole isn't an option either (I'm sure that surprises a few people). So how would a person balance this dichotomy of character? No really, I'm asking.
So far, the best I've come up with is trying to not drink just because I can. Having a clearer head has encouraged me to take on intellectual pursuits I might not have otherwise tempted. I like that. Now, I'll just try to drink when I want to with an understanding that I don't want to drink as much as I used to. If I can keep that up, I think I'll (finally) be OK.
There. That's probably the closest I'll come to a diary entry, ever. If I'm smart.
I like writing. If I can retain the discipline to exercise that skill, I think I'll be a better, more adjusted human being for it. I may still hate people (as a rule of thumb), but at least I won't be the bitter, alcohol soaked asshole I was before and I might actually have a leg to stand on when I look at the world around me with contempt. That might actually be good for me.
Anyway, that's enough of this confessional for one night. Rock on, rock stars.
Stay stiff and rock hard,
Rob
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
84 in a 65 (or How I Learned to Love Indiana)
Three and a half days and 2000 miles later, I'm back in New York after a multi-state binge that left me with a stiff back and dozens of memories that blend together like sleep deprivation experiments or black out drinking. All in all, a fine time.
Being sorely in need of a multi-day excursion out of New York City, I solicited my sister's help (rather, her car) and company and made my escape. Mind you, every trip I've taken out of New York has followed this pattern:
1) "My god, New York is killing me. I've got to get out."
2) "Say, this is kinda nice."
3) "Wow. This is fantastic, but I should probably head back."
4) "Holy shit. I really can't live anywhere else."
And this process has repeated several dozen times over the course of my life. Except this time. This time, a cross country jaunt from New York to the Mississippi river, I went straight from step 1 to step 4 in a matter of hours. Minus a night of binge drinking in Chicago (a fine city, by the way), there really wasn't anything going on. Anywhere. At all. Nothing. It was (to me) shocking how much nothing there really is (or can be) between two points on a map. Staggering at times.
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my trip. And I'm not saying that road trips don't have their place in the American psyche of 'things to do'. But, after having completed one, I can say that in addition to having a destination, you also need to have something to look forward to on the way home otherwise you're gonna get a speeding ticket just on principle.
Leaving New York, my plan was this: "Drive west and hit the Mississippi. Get rocked in a random city. Hit up a Sonic fast place." (They show commercials for Sonic all the time here and they look magical but there isn't a Sonic for a few hundred miles from NYC by most accounts. I met a couple dudes in Chicago, who, when I told them my plan, exclaimed 'Bullshit! Those places don't exist!' So now you know why it made the list; it was like finding and riding a unicorn.) So the plan was solid.
So the first day was a half day, just to get a few miles between us (my sister and I) and NY. Felt great. Found a motel in Clearfield, PA for a reasonable rate and called it a successful day. The following day involved a trek up to Lake Erie and a night in Chicago. Awesome stuff. I mean we were amped. Hit Chicago in a day and a half from NYC, found a hotel on Michigan Ave, got rocked at the Wabash Tap (which is a pretty cool place if you're ever in the neighborhood). Awesome. Great trip so far.
A few hours and a hangover later, we were at the Mississippi river for lunch. Mission accomplished. Watched some ducks fight (seriously). Again, awesome. But here's where the trip started to lose it's luster. We had completed our primary goal. What else was there? We plotted our return trip to take us to a Sonic and headed back east.
Now, if you're from rural Illinois and are sensitive about your state's...flat and repetitive qualities, please turn away; at least skip the rest of this paragraph. Ready? Rural Illinois sucks in ways hard to imagine by anyone who's not been there. It got so bad that even the odometer on the car blacked out for about 200 miles (again, seriously). But just to keep you from obeying your natural human instincts and fleeing from there as fast as possible, they post troopers periodically. I mean what the fuck? There's nothing and nobody there so speeding isn't posing any great danger; and if you're in a compact car like I was, the constant 30 to 40 mile an hour winds get really, really annoying. You just want to get that shit behind you as fast as possible but the cops won't let you. Fuck that. And fuck rural Illinois. Chicago, we're still cool.
Then you hit Indiana. Blessed Indiana. Crossroads of America. They truly mean that. The speed limit jumps up to 70, the cops warn you about enforcement zones, and there are signs all over the place telling slow drivers to stay to their right (which they do). I have such an appreciation for Indiana, it makes me blush. I mean, we drove through Indianapolis in about 45 seconds; the whole state took maybe an hour and a half. What a great place. It's big and there's not much going on, but fuck, they admit that and do nothing to stop you from leaving. They just get it. Consider me a fan.
So after the Indiana lovefest, you're in Ohio. Awesome; you're theoretically closer to home (assuming you live in NYC). So you hit the gas to make up for 'lost' time (I'm looking at you, Illinois). Except Ohio cops are on the ready to ticket anyone eager to no longer be in Illinois or who think they're still in Indiana (land of awesome). 84 in a 65. Now really. Who was endangered there? They don't even have cows, it's all agriculture. I don't know. I do know that 65 in Ohio feels like you're not even moving and 84 feels just about right. (When we got the ticket and the officer gave us Ohio's price list, we were dismayed to learn that for an extra 30 bucks, were would've been allowed to go 96mph+; really wish the had that posted in the rest stops.) But none of that's a legal defense and I don't fault an officer of the law for doing his job so whatever.
So after that minor brush with the law (we might've gotten out of that ticket if we could only stop giggling when he asked if we knew why he pulled us over), there's still about 500 miles between us and NYC (curse you Pennsylvania). It took marathon endurance and clever/selective speeding (hint: Pennsylvania posts 55 mile an hour speed limits and double fine warnings where they don't have any cops) but we managed to arrive back in New York by quarter after nine, Wednesday evening. God damn, is it good to be home.
So there it is. Home. Never looked or smelled so good (Jersey, on the other hand, never smelled worse; honorable mention to Gary, Indiana and that horseshit farm in Penny). I figure it'll only take a few months before I'm itching to get out of NYC again, but I'll never forget how fantastic it is here. At least not until the next republican mayor is elected and sells out the rest of the middle class here...
Stay stiff and rock hard,
Rob
Being sorely in need of a multi-day excursion out of New York City, I solicited my sister's help (rather, her car) and company and made my escape. Mind you, every trip I've taken out of New York has followed this pattern:
1) "My god, New York is killing me. I've got to get out."
2) "Say, this is kinda nice."
3) "Wow. This is fantastic, but I should probably head back."
4) "Holy shit. I really can't live anywhere else."
And this process has repeated several dozen times over the course of my life. Except this time. This time, a cross country jaunt from New York to the Mississippi river, I went straight from step 1 to step 4 in a matter of hours. Minus a night of binge drinking in Chicago (a fine city, by the way), there really wasn't anything going on. Anywhere. At all. Nothing. It was (to me) shocking how much nothing there really is (or can be) between two points on a map. Staggering at times.
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my trip. And I'm not saying that road trips don't have their place in the American psyche of 'things to do'. But, after having completed one, I can say that in addition to having a destination, you also need to have something to look forward to on the way home otherwise you're gonna get a speeding ticket just on principle.
Leaving New York, my plan was this: "Drive west and hit the Mississippi. Get rocked in a random city. Hit up a Sonic fast place." (They show commercials for Sonic all the time here and they look magical but there isn't a Sonic for a few hundred miles from NYC by most accounts. I met a couple dudes in Chicago, who, when I told them my plan, exclaimed 'Bullshit! Those places don't exist!' So now you know why it made the list; it was like finding and riding a unicorn.) So the plan was solid.
So the first day was a half day, just to get a few miles between us (my sister and I) and NY. Felt great. Found a motel in Clearfield, PA for a reasonable rate and called it a successful day. The following day involved a trek up to Lake Erie and a night in Chicago. Awesome stuff. I mean we were amped. Hit Chicago in a day and a half from NYC, found a hotel on Michigan Ave, got rocked at the Wabash Tap (which is a pretty cool place if you're ever in the neighborhood). Awesome. Great trip so far.
A few hours and a hangover later, we were at the Mississippi river for lunch. Mission accomplished. Watched some ducks fight (seriously). Again, awesome. But here's where the trip started to lose it's luster. We had completed our primary goal. What else was there? We plotted our return trip to take us to a Sonic and headed back east.
Now, if you're from rural Illinois and are sensitive about your state's...flat and repetitive qualities, please turn away; at least skip the rest of this paragraph. Ready? Rural Illinois sucks in ways hard to imagine by anyone who's not been there. It got so bad that even the odometer on the car blacked out for about 200 miles (again, seriously). But just to keep you from obeying your natural human instincts and fleeing from there as fast as possible, they post troopers periodically. I mean what the fuck? There's nothing and nobody there so speeding isn't posing any great danger; and if you're in a compact car like I was, the constant 30 to 40 mile an hour winds get really, really annoying. You just want to get that shit behind you as fast as possible but the cops won't let you. Fuck that. And fuck rural Illinois. Chicago, we're still cool.
Then you hit Indiana. Blessed Indiana. Crossroads of America. They truly mean that. The speed limit jumps up to 70, the cops warn you about enforcement zones, and there are signs all over the place telling slow drivers to stay to their right (which they do). I have such an appreciation for Indiana, it makes me blush. I mean, we drove through Indianapolis in about 45 seconds; the whole state took maybe an hour and a half. What a great place. It's big and there's not much going on, but fuck, they admit that and do nothing to stop you from leaving. They just get it. Consider me a fan.
So after the Indiana lovefest, you're in Ohio. Awesome; you're theoretically closer to home (assuming you live in NYC). So you hit the gas to make up for 'lost' time (I'm looking at you, Illinois). Except Ohio cops are on the ready to ticket anyone eager to no longer be in Illinois or who think they're still in Indiana (land of awesome). 84 in a 65. Now really. Who was endangered there? They don't even have cows, it's all agriculture. I don't know. I do know that 65 in Ohio feels like you're not even moving and 84 feels just about right. (When we got the ticket and the officer gave us Ohio's price list, we were dismayed to learn that for an extra 30 bucks, were would've been allowed to go 96mph+; really wish the had that posted in the rest stops.) But none of that's a legal defense and I don't fault an officer of the law for doing his job so whatever.
So after that minor brush with the law (we might've gotten out of that ticket if we could only stop giggling when he asked if we knew why he pulled us over), there's still about 500 miles between us and NYC (curse you Pennsylvania). It took marathon endurance and clever/selective speeding (hint: Pennsylvania posts 55 mile an hour speed limits and double fine warnings where they don't have any cops) but we managed to arrive back in New York by quarter after nine, Wednesday evening. God damn, is it good to be home.
So there it is. Home. Never looked or smelled so good (Jersey, on the other hand, never smelled worse; honorable mention to Gary, Indiana and that horseshit farm in Penny). I figure it'll only take a few months before I'm itching to get out of NYC again, but I'll never forget how fantastic it is here. At least not until the next republican mayor is elected and sells out the rest of the middle class here...
Stay stiff and rock hard,
Rob
Friday, April 4, 2008
"Dude, he's the STALLION"
Long week. Very long fuckin week. I'm such a pussy now. A 50 hour week shouldn't have kicked my ass, really. Oh well. On the plus side, one more week like that and then I'm off. Getting in a car and driving west; always something I kinda wanted to do. So, in a touch over a week, my sister and I will chase the sunset for a few days. It should be glorious.
You know the funny thing, by and large, I'm not a big fan of west. I was always kinda partial to north. Right now though, doesn't matter. Not even a little. Just to get out of the city for a few days...::girl sigh::
That's all I got right now. My brain is too tired for anything more substantial. Maybe tomorrow.
Stay stiff and rock hard
Rob
You know the funny thing, by and large, I'm not a big fan of west. I was always kinda partial to north. Right now though, doesn't matter. Not even a little. Just to get out of the city for a few days...::girl sigh::
That's all I got right now. My brain is too tired for anything more substantial. Maybe tomorrow.
Stay stiff and rock hard
Rob
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