Time for a new blog?

I have no idea who on the great digital high seas actually reads my ramblings and rantings, but A Flubber Room, in my mind at least, is a book I'd just as soon shut and put on the shelf for future generations of psychiatrists to study.

I've tried before to start a new blog, free of self-pity and bile, and look how that turned out. What's to say a new one now won't degenerate anew into pathetic navel gazing?

Well, the past is the past. Lessons have been learned, software has been updated. I can't say that I'm a different person, exactly, or that the wounds have shed their scabs completely, but I've found other, possibly more satisfying ways to express my personal mess that won't grate on the nerves of the few people who actually bother with my blogs. Poetry, for one. Songs, for another.

It's been a year and a half since I moved back to Columbus. The New Jersey chapter of my life represented in A Flubber Room is thankfully over, done with. A lot of my old assumptions and aspirations are history. A lot of it didn't work, some of it disastrously so. It's time for something new. I'm currently somewhat adrift, unsure of where I stand in the world and what to do with the rest of it. There's no skirting around the fact that at 43 I'm now in early middle-age, unemployed, broke, single, childless, living alone again in the same house as when I started blogging in my late 20s, feeling that the world has left me behind and now struggling to find my way back onto the road, never mind "catching up", whatever that means. I still suffer from depression, but now the panic-stricken desperation to fit in and "make it" has been replaced by a kind of resigned, jaded lethargy. I'm now free again to pursue what I was really meant to be, but I have no idea what that is. It's like the first year after college all over again, without the benefits of youth and its attendant boundless optimism. There is something liberating about no longer feeling obligated to play the game that society has forced us to play but has not equitably prepared all of us for. Sometimes the best way to survive a losing--arguably rigged--game is to walk away, and find something else to prove your virility and cunning. There is something liberating in being able to say what you are, but even more so what you are not. I am not a graphic designer. I am not a corporate prostitute. I am not a loser. Useless, perhaps, but at least I don't spend my days playing XBox and complaining about poor Mexicans taking all the good jobs that I should have instead. They're not the ones writing the candidate requirements in the online job postings, or programming labyrinthine web-based employment applications that read more like Homeland Security border interrogations.

Oops, I did it again. I'm done ranting. And yes, I'm going to leave it up, not delete it as being exactly what I didn't want to do. I spent all that finger-energy typing it, and I LIKE my way with words, dammit. So there.

Maybe I WILL start a new blog. But not today. It's too hot. My mind isn't on the wonderfulness of my new outlet; I have a gig with my band in Las Vegas this weekend. I'd rather think about good things. Some bad things have happened in the last week. I should be disgusted by it, and I am, intensely. The Neo-Nazis and Klansmen and the rest of the alt-rightwads can shove their bullshit right back where it came from. They want to start a race war. I want to play music and do art and go bike riding and make things. I want to leave the country and the planet a better place than I left it. I want people to be happy, including myself. That starts now.

Moving day is getting dangerously close now...I don't have a lot of time to write but I will soon. There's a lot of reflection and commentary to be written on this chapter of my autobiography which is about to end. But first, many boxes need to be packed, a lot of garbage thrown out, and some threads to be tied up--and a few that need to be cut. There always are. (Emotional ones, not personal ones. Don't worry. Friends are like solid gold bullion to me.)

And now I'm cleaning out the trash--my kitchen physically; my soul spiritually

It's turning out to be a fine day. I'm off work, I'm rested up (well, somewhat), and I'm tackling the awfulness of the kitchen. Every day that goes by the new peace in my heart keeps growing, the acrid bitterness and dejection giving way to love and gratitude for all that I have and all the people, wherever they may be, who continue to care for me. It's astounding the difference a simple decision to turn a doorknob makes. Suddenly, the room is flooded with light.

That's it for tonight

I'll dredge up more later.

time to take my pill again (August 2008?)

"Right wing airhead" = Sarah Palin.

==

Haven't written in a while. Probably to be expected, as I've been up and down emotionally lately. Still no job. I had an interview last week and thought it went well, but you can never tell what they're thinking. They sure haven't called or written me back. I'm pretty much broke. Don't know how the hell we're gonna pay the rent next month. I'm behind on everything. Now I'm hearing even more bad economic news, everybody's laying off and on top of that there's that right-wing airhead who's running for VP with McCain. And people seem to really, really like her. Hoo boy, well so much for things getting better, so much for something to look forward to. I swear.

It didn't drag. (late 2008)

One more. Obviously at the beginning I was having a very, very hard time adjusting to my new *ahem* career. I wouldn't have guessed at the time that six and a half years later I would still be on board as one of the team's highly respected and beloved veterans. For what it's worth, I outlived my "de facto superior" by several years.

==

It just sucked. What a debacle. My de facto superior on shift tonight was constantly on my case, I didn't get around to taking my "lunch" break, and I still wasn't able to get out of there until a quarter after 11 pm. Cherie suggested I talk to one of the important people about transferring to another department. That might not be a bad idea, because right now I'm getting seriously dispirited with the whole thing.

Thanksgiving has come and gone... (more old stuff)

Another painful rant from the early days.

==

I dunno. Thankful for what? That I at least have a job in the middle of a dismal recession...never mind that my entire paycheck is disappearing just like that for the rent, and so I'm looking at another two weeks of being broke. (Cherie's too...and even that's not enough. Her mom's covering the rest.) That I have Cherie and her family with me so I don't have to face life alone here so far from my family. That I still *have* a family somewhere, and that my cellphone hasn't been turned off so I can still talk to them every night while I'm walking the dogs. That we managed to have a nice dinner yesterday and everyone over, and that I had a moment or two of happiness jamming on the guitar together with Cherie's nephew and her sister's boyfriend. And in spite of all that, I feel absolutely miserable. I LOATHE LIFE RIGHT NOW. I'd like to fall asleep into a pleasant dream and never, ever, wake up until all my creditors have gone bankrupt and every bill collector in every call center in the world has died of typhoid, and I don't have to have a fucking pissant job to pay things I don't want to have to pay for, and I can do the things that I want to do to make myself happy, and I can be with my family again and no one will be hurt or angry by my wanting to do so. I HATE MY LIFE AND I WANT TO GO HOME TO MY MOM AND DAD AND I WANT THINGS TO BE THE WAY THEY USED TO BE GODDAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Soul-searching (a much more recent draft)

Here I think I'm starting to inch up towards some kind of moment of clarity. Again, I must not have finished because it was saved as a draft. I will leave it as is.

==

In every situation there comes a time when you think to yourself: this isn't working. It may be a slight nuance, the realization that your fly is down or there's a blob of ketchup on your chin; or it may be a full blown existential crisis in which you question your whole conception of yourself and how you fit in with the world and the society of which you are ostensibly a part.

I'm the kind of guy who will cruise along for months or years with a "this isn't working" feeling. I'll try to ignore it, try to integrate it with my self-image, project out, but it will keep gnawing at me until I kick the critical leg from under it and the resulting avalanche buries me. I put up with a lot of pain before I blow up, but I eventually do blow up. It's happened several times before. One very painful incident ultimately cost me a friend and led me to finally acknowledge that I suffered from depression and to seek treatment for it.

The most recent one, I think, will also eventually push me in a healthier direction. But this time I don't think medication will be the route to salvation--rather it will be my own actions.

I've always felt like an outsider. As soon as I was venturing outside of my family and meeting with the outside world, I began perceiving it as a hostile place. Without going into all the lurid details of my childhood, I've pretty much gone through my entire life feeling that wherever I went people were actively trying to keep me out. Not necessarily specific people--I have made a lot of good friends, who I'm grateful for--but society in general. Here's one way I've thought about it: for some time I've perceived a kind of mismatch between my inclinations, tastes, and aspirations, and the circumstances in which I lived my life. I generally think of those in terms of socieconomic class; basically, I'm a middle- to upper-middle-class type person who was, through no choice of my own, raised in a fairly rough working class environment. I've never really been able to be comfortable in either world. The kids I went to school with used to beat me up. The clean-cut respectable kids I went to college with mostly ignored me.

For some reason, I've always tended to ally myself with the working class crowd; I don't know why, probably just out of nostalgia or familiarity. I don't really identify with them culturally anymore. I do feel a lot more comfortable with the run down turn-of-the-century duplexes and grass-cracked sidewalks of the North Campus area I grew up in, than with the posh manicured McMansions of affluent suburbia--I would even consider living in the old neighborhood again--but I don't really care for the culture. Maybe it's because nowadays there are more grad students than the old locals living there.

Shaky (draft of post from 2008 or so)

To contrast with my recent happy turn of events, here's a post which I never bothered to publish when I wrote it. I couldn't even muster the heart to finish it, and just stopped in mid-sentence as if it was just too horrible an effort to continue. I'm so eternally grateful and thankful to the appropriate deities that they have allowed me to survive the following:

==

Ah, another morning. That means laying in bed awake for at least an hour with my hands shaking and the 2000 thoughts in my head short-circuiting and overlapping in crackly short bursts like AM radio on a winter night. Getting up and taking a Wellbutrin usually helps some.

It's overwhelming, all this Real Life shit is.

I wonder how much more of this I, or my mind or my body, can take. On the one hand, we are getting by for now, even if it does seem an extremely creaky boardwalk to travel. One screw-up or unexpected change in the routine could unravel everything, until we have a bit more financial breathing space, and right now we have just about none.

Going home, I have to say, is always an option. Emotionally it would be tough on me, not to mention that moving out of state based on fevered emotions without a job lined up has gotten me fucked before. And there's always the spectre of having given up, of having failed, which has already pretty much decimated my self-image and confidence. But I don't know how things will play out, and at some point it may be the most sensible thing I can do. If it comes down to saving my sanity and getting myself back on firm ground financially (if, for example, I can tranfer to one of my firm's outlets in Columbus, or somehow get back in at the YMCA), I may decide to cut my losses and re-relocate. I'm sure it'd make a lot of other people happy. Maybe me too. I do admit that homesickness has been gnawing at me relentlessly for at least a month or two. I suppose, like the old Joni Mitchell song says, I didn't know what I had till it was gone.

I gave Columbus a hell of a bad rap; New York--well, the New York area--seemed like such a glamorous land of opportunity by comparison. I was gonna go into the city often, and just hang out. Maybe even find a job there! Ha fucking ha. The closest I got to New York in the nine months I've been here was the riverfront in Hoboken. When I went there to try out for a (temporary) job. That I didn't get. Meanwhile, bills kept piling up, accounts got behind, savings ran out, credit maxed out, my credit rating has undoubtedly tanked, and--just before Christmas--we even got threatened with eviction. Landlord's sick of being paid late and only in part, you understand. Now he also tells us that, because of his insurance company, we have to clear out everything we have in the basement within, like, a month or two. There goes another unspecified slice of our meager income every month, toward a self-storage space. You know, if I didn't have to throw away half of my fucking income on rent, I might be able to get ahead a little.

Yeah, I'm disillusioned. Not quite ready to quit yet, but definitely I'm not under any illusions anymore. No more stars in my eyes. If the Real World does anything to a person, it takes away every spark

All right, already. I've made up my mind. And damn, bitch, does it feel good.

Oh, my goodness. I'm really going to have to start writing here regularly again, and I mean for real this time because I have a million thoughts that I keep talking about to myself and I'd really like to put them down in tangible form. You see, this blog has been kind of a sporadic road-movie-in-progress. What I have to talk about forms a continuous narrative thread with what's come before. In book terms this isn't a new chapter beginning, it's a new part, I have a feeling, and hopefully a happy, uplifting one. A long, dark winter is in the process of melting away in new sunshine, watering the ground for the inevitable flowers.

Maybe I'd better explain. My adventure in New Jersey is coming to an end. When my lease is up at the end of November, I'm planning to pack my things and make one more one-way trip, this time in the opposite direction--back to Ohio, back to the same house I departed seven years ago.

I think it's a somewhat different guy making the return trip, a rather changed man, older, definitely wiser about the world, certainly battle-scarred but toughened up in the process, and most importantly imbued with a new humility and appreciation for what was left behind. I've had to cast off a lot of expectations and old self-imposed standards which had become boat anchors hanging from my shoulders. At a certain point you have to put aside what you've kept insisting is what you want your situation to be, look around at what your situation actually is, and take new bearings without fear or shame. In my case I've realized:

1) I'm never going to live and/or work in New York. That was probably an unattainable pipe dream to begin with. New Jersey is vaguely close but definitely no cigar, and is maybe 80% as insanely expensive to live in.

2) I've largely lost interest in pursuing a graphic design career. It's just not really what I want to do anymore, whether or not the fickle NYC job market would consider a talented, experienced, but decidedly unhip 41-year-old overweight barista a "desirable" candidate anyway.

3) I've mostly failed to form a viable social network or social life of my own in New Jersey, outside of my work mates and my second of two romantic relationships.

4) In spite of some interesting local institutions and things, for someone of my temperament and interests New Jersey has turned out to be a cultural vacuum. No local arts scene, no local music scene, etc. etc. Hoboken and NYC don't count as local. Great pizza doesn't quite make up for it.

5) In spite of the many wonderful people I've met, and who I hope will remain friends for life, I've never been able to shake the overall impression that I live in an alien, hardscrabble, inequitable, often hostile and uncaring environment.

However:

6) Once I (well, we) were finally able to escape from our horrible living arrangement at the end of 2013, I slowly came to realize that it was just that. As of now, I've lived on my own for about a year and a half, paying more every month than my share of the rent at the old place, and I haven't gone broke or paid a bill late even once. I've even managed to save up some emergency money. I can do something right after all.

7) Speaking of the old place, I know it's horrible to say but the best thing that ever happened to me since I've been in New Jersey was my previous landlord passing away. Oh, the stress and the anxiety caused by that wretched man. My current landlords are dead opposite, an absolute pleasure to deal with, friendly, professional, non-intrusive, and most importantly sane. And the rent is much more reasonable.

8) I am satisfied that my former partner is doing well in her new surroundings; she has her own nice apartment now and is in a committed relationship. I don't worry about her anymore, I think she will do fine. I'm proud of her.

9) Knowing that, and looking at the shortcomings I mentioned, it then just took me a little swift self-kick in the ass to just come out, damn it, and proclaim that which, in my heart, I have desperately wanted to do all along, because:

10) Everything that I'm missing in New Jersey, I have back in Ohio. Family (most important by a country mile), friends (a close second), professional ties, culture, places to go, things to do, familiar streets and neighborhoods, open space--all of it. Maybe not nearly on the scale of New York, but you know, New York isn't the only hip city in the country. See 1) also.

Columbus, on the other hand, is home. Even good ol' Patterson Ave. with its obnoxious keg-partying college kids has 100 times more vitality than where I'm at now. And if I want to, I can use the money I'm no longer spending on rent to buy a drum kit from Music Go Round, set it up in my living room, and drown them out by bashing away on it at 3 am. I may be officially middle-aged now, but this GenXer can still cause some trouble. I can't wait to do battle with some crazy millennial snots. Bring it on, mofos!

I want to make one thing clear, though. I have rationalized my stubborn resistance to moving back in terms of not wanting to give up on my self-imposed mission. I'd convinced myself that returning to Columbus before I was ready would amount to defeat. But I am not giving up. I have not lost at any fucking thing. You know what defeat would have been? Willfully, insistently, staying mired in the middle of this bog, unable to move in any direction, simply because that bog happened to be within 20 miles of the quote-unquote Greatest City In The World and I have some insane, obsessive-compulsive "thing" to prove by doing so. "Just a little longer...if I can only get myself to bla-bla-bla..." Feh. Getting up the courage to change course and move in any direction is a slam-dunk victory for me. The goalposts have moved, only this time I'm the one doing the moving. That feels damn good.

I'll have more to say later, I'm tapped out for now. The saga continues.

Well, finally a reason to post something...

Let's see, how long have I been dormant?

I really don't feel much like writing right now, but I did just want to briefly commemorate for posterity my acquisition of a new--well, for me anyway--a new place to live. For the first time in about eight and a half years I shall be flying this plane solo. A two bedroom apartment right around the corner from my work. Whoopee! I'll fill in some details a little later when I'm a little more in a blogorous mood. I need a cheese ball and a trip to the toilet, in that order.

So, another comment on a very old post...

Back in 2005 I ranted about hipster dwellings that I couldn't afford to be in. "affordablycool" the tagline for Ice House Lofts insisted. How affordable? About $150,000 for a 780 square foot apartment. I thought that was simply outrageous. "Affordably cool." In all lower case, yet. The cheek! Fucking trust fund brats. Show's what a little change of perspective can do. Try to find a 780 square foot anything in NYC or even NJ for anywhere near $150,000. Good luck.

"Maybe YOU need glasses..."

As it turns out, I do. Not that my eyesight is bad bad, but definitely I've had in the back of my head that my eyes strain a bit especially when I'm reading, writing or drawing, and that if I relax my eyes things go a bit blurry. Focusing takes a bit of effort although most things do eventually go nice and sharp. I've also had a tendency to get mild to moderately severe headaches for many many years (my head's a little achey right now, in fact).

SO

I went in for my first real eye exam ever yesterday (discounting the little three-fingers-up three-fingers-left eye tests they gave us in school) and the nice doctor (who is Greek :-) ) and her two assistants put me through the whole rigamaroll, had me look into half a dozen interesting looking machines--including the one that pokes me in the eye to check for pressure--and concluded that I'm 1) farsighted, 2) have a bit of astigmatism, and 3) that my optic nerve cups are slightly asymmetrical and so I'm at risk for glaucoma (a condition that my sleep apnea exacerbates). Bottom line: eyeglasses. I think the prescription said that one eye needs +0.75 and the other +1; that's roughly what I'd guessed from playing with reading glasses at the drugstore. I didn't know about the astigmatism though.

After the test I went next door to the optician's shop to check out frames and turn in my prescription. I could have gone for a nice pair of Ray-Ban hipster frames but since I'm low on cash right now I chose a cheapie gray plastic full frame from the other non-designer wall (labeled "Accessories") that still look retro enough for my taste. Should have them in about a week. I've also become aware of certain places online where you can find cheap frames and at some point I may go in for another pair. I've also become intrigued in the anti-fashion possibilities of military surplus glasses, the so-called BCGs (birth control glasses) that millions of recruits have apparently learned to love to hate. I'm sure I'm not the first to think of that one, but who cares?

It's weird, btw, that I'm so negligent with my wardrobe but I'm jumping all over the idea of expressing myself with eyeglasses, like they're shoes or jewelry. I've never accessorized, ever. But I think I'm starting to move in that direction. Same with hats. I now really like newsboy caps. I'd wear one everywhere if I could. Now if I could just start getting interested in clothes...

Come *on*, Bill.....

Had a second look at those old posts. I suppose it's like forcing yourself to watch Budd Dwyer blow his brains out over and over and over on an ancient VHS tape. It's just grisly. Gruesome. And the act of subjecting yourself to this unpleasantness is, in some vaporous way, harrowingly therapeutic. After it's over you can proudly announce, "I lived through that!"

I've also noticed that these "I looked through the archives today; I'm like 'whooah!'" posts are getting to be a tradition on this blog.

What is with my writing tonight? I am being so unusually sincere. None of the usual dry wit, just very...I dunno, maudlin? A bit corny and cliche, even if entirely heartfelt?

I should cut myself some slack. Snarkiness is way overrated.

By the way, notice the nifty little paradox in the statement: "I don't talk about myself."

A little bitty about Billy: 10th Anniversary edition

I know it's a few months off, but just for kicks I went back to my very first substantial post on Blogger, from late September 2003. Fascinating time capsule, that: I wrote a little mini-bio that reflected where I was at the time. I thought it high time, with all this recent talk about the ups and downs my life has taken, that I update it, both for your amusement and as a sort of waypoint check for myself. Ready? Here goes!

(2003 text in italics.)

Name: Bill Spiropoulos, aka Billy S., aka Moogyboy.
Nothing changed there.

Hometown: Columbus, Ohio, USA
Current residence: Roselle Park, New Jersey, USA. One of a bazillion little boros and towns making up Union County, New Jersey, the hair and nail salon capital of the Known Universe!

DOB: March 10, 1974
Yada, yada.

Family: Mom & dad; two older brothers, both married with one daughter apiece.
Now one has two. And the third is a now drop-dead gorgeous teenager who drives a car.

Occupation: Graphic design. Semi-professional musician. Also working on a screenplay at the moment.
Current job: Marketing Associate/graphic designer. Keyboardist/guitarist in local neo-psych-rock collective Floorian.
Notable past jobs: Art director, All-Stater Sports Magazine. Designed two CD covers and a video box for jazz-organist pal Eddie Landsberg. Played bass in local jam band Brokedown Sound.
Now working in a high-end supermarket. It boggles the mind, the twists that life takes. No music scene around here. No microbudget movie scene either that I'm aware of. But I have done a lot of aimless noodling and some solitary recording, evidence of which may be found at several points online.

Education: The Ohio State University, 1991-96 (BSID degree in Visual Communication Design). Fachhochschule Wiesbaden (Wiesbaden, Germany), September-December 1995. Grades 9-12 at Linden McKinley High School, 1987-91. Grades 4-8 at Holy Name School (Roman Catholic, defunct), 1982-87. Grades K-3 (less 2) at Medary Elementary School, 1979-82. One month of Grade 1 at Indianola Alternative Elementary School, 1980. I started school when Jimmy Carter was president and finished right around the time Bill (not me, the other one) was allegedly (allegedly, mind you) getting his rocks off with Monica. What an old fart I am!
Bla bla. What an old fart I am!

Socioeconomic: Lower middle class, I guess you'd call it. Educated, talented, skilled (handsome, too!)...and barely able to make the bills even though I live rent-free in the campus-area house my parents own that I was born in. I have a pathological distaste for the upper-middle class, possibly treatable.
The rent-free bit...ha. No more. As for my socioeconomic status, well, call me what I am: just this side of abject poverty. Working poor. Hand-to-mouth, paycheck to paycheck. And, as I've discovered, a survivor. If anything, my dislike of the suburban bourgeois nouveau riche has hardened into dogma, even as I've resolved to bang my way into their class, just to show them.

Political: Liberal, strong socialist leanings with some libertarianism thrown in. Note: socialism =/= communism; I favor the kind of democratic socialism found predominantly in Europe. Virulently anti-war, anti-imperialist, anti-Religious Right, and pro-civil liberties. Will probably vote Green in 2004. The Bush administration is very very bad. Bin Laden is a schmuck. Sharon is a schmuck.
Bush is gone, Bin Laden is dead, and things just keep on keepin' on in the Middle East. Anyway, I've moved pretty solidly toward left-wing libertarianism. Still some socialist sentiments, but I've become rather cynical about government, seeing that it very often works against average people trying to get by and maybe even *gasp* get their fair share of the American dream. I've become a power-to-the-people type, I guess you'd say. Real big on liberty, personal freedom, and the right to self-ownership. I still loathe the GOP, Fox News, the Tea Party, religious wackos, gun wackos. But what I really loathe, regardless of party, is coercion, legal barriers, stacking the deck in favor of some people at the expense of others, and the attitude that I don't know what's best for me.

Religious: Raised as a Greek Orthodoxer, currently non-religious. No, I don't want to be saved, I just wanna be sane. I've seen too much evil in the world done in the name of the Lord. Every last denomination insists it's the One And True Way To Salvation, and all the others will fry in hell if they have anything to say about it. They can't all be right. So I'll assume that they're all wrong and believe what I want to believe. I guess my "religion," if you can call it that, is a moral code based on Christianity but stripped of all traces of dogma, worship, divinity, supernatural creatures, rituals, rules, smug arrogance, intolerance, and other trappings of organized religion. Kind of an extremely personal, secular Christianity, in other words. I don't pray or worship, I just live it. I do want to get married in church someday, though. A Greek Orthodox wedding. I do have to admit that Greek Orthodox services are way cool.
More or less the same, except I don't really care one way or the other anymore where I get married. Although I'm nostalgic about the trappings of church, theologically I just do not and never have gotten it. I have dabbled a wee bit with Wicca and it's very appealing, and fits in with my philosophy, but I don't think I have sufficient capability to reeallly believe in the supernatural to practice it seriously. I'm basically an open-minded agnostic. Religion's value to me has to do with teaching ethics and morals; if it has an interesting culture, history, and traditions, so much the better.

Economic: Virulently anti-big business, especially regarding mega-huge, omnipotent media conglomerates. I favor government or civilian regulation of large corporations, nationalization of certain industries (utilities, for example; health care, for another), and advocate small- to super-small local businesses. My term for this kind of economic grassroots approach is "microcapitalism." Disney is evil. News Corporation is evil. Bring back the Bell System. And cool-sounding telephone switching equipment. Panel pulsing and city-ring kick ass. http://www.wideweb.com/phonetrips
I'm no longer sure about the nationalization part. And other than nostalgia, I don't know what I was thinking with the Bell System. I suppose I could be forgiven; this was written before I became acquainted with cellphones, and way before I'd ever heard of a *gulp* smart phone. I'm still wary of big business, but not nearly as unhip to modern technology. Disney, except for its admirable association with Pixar and Studio Ghibli, is now too ridiculous to be evil, even if it did spawn Hillary Duff, Miley Cyrus, and the cast of High School Musical unto the world.

Wheels: 1985 Mercury Marquis, black (body by Scheib), 130,000 mi., 4dr, V6, auto, ps, pb, pw, dive flag sticker on rear bumper, makes unnerving clunking noises, uses antifreeze and transmission fluid like a mother. Also own an almost road-ready gray 1991 Nissan Sentra. Past wheels in reverse order: 1998 Ford Escort ZX2, 1986 Renault Encore, 1984 Volkswagen Rabbit, 1982 Ford Courier.
Of all the autos listed, only the ZX2 is still in the family (owned by my brother). Not mentioned is a 2004 Pontiac Grand Am GT. It too is gone. It lives on only as a stain on my credit report.

Favorite time-wasters: Playing guitar/keys/bass, drawing, recording demos of songs that aren't exactly songs, websurfing, reading, thinking, sleeping, playing with the telephone, finding obscure and mundane things to get completely fascinated by, using bathroom, listening to strange bleeps and bloops and automated voices on shortwave radio, plotting success and fame, telling self impromptu stories while in bed trying to fall asleep, making musical and imitative sounds to amuse self. I do have one particular jones which I won't mention on this family-friendly blog, but you may be able to guess it if you stick with me long enough.

Favorite time-wasters that are not really not time-wasters, but actually things I am quite good at and proud of: Music, art, photography, writing, movies creative/artistic activities in general. I'm an amateur student of movies--I dig movies! Actually working on one right now--writing the screenplay, will be involved in production, and I may even act in it. I am a PADI OW-certified scuba diver and am planning on getting my Advanced certification next summer. Love underwater stuff.
Oh, the good old days! I could even add a passing interest in cooking (I make mean pasta dishes) but with the gas off even that's had to go on hiatus.

Computer allegience: Apple user since Grade 9, Mac user since Grade 10. Only in the last year or so have I seriously, grudgingly begun to use, accept, and even like M$ Window$ (but still not a Gates fan). Not nearly the Mac fanatic I used to be. Big fan of Intel-based stick-it-together-yourself hardware approach. Linux/BSD curious.
My credo now is: use whatever works that you can afford. OS wars are for pricks. I currently use an iMac; it's not a bad computer. I used Windows XP on my other computer before it self-destructed. It worked great and was a lot cheaper. It now has Ubuntu Linux on it, which I'm anxious to try out once I get a new video card. Windows is probably the best balance overall imo. Apple's just too smug, arrogant and autocratic--and expensive--for my taste. Linux appeals to me philosophically and as a play-around system but I don't trust it for getting real work done.

Internet software allegiences: I have resigned myself to Internet Explorer's dominance (former Netscape diehard, also used iCab and another freeware web browser at one point), but still use Eudora Pro 3.1 on my home Mac. Former ICQ diehard, now mostly AOL IM. At one time I was a serious USENET junkie, primarily with NewsWatcher and its descendents. Now dipping a curious toe into the Sea of Blog.
Now a devoted Firefox user.

==

Okay, now that my moment has stretched out to an hour and a half, I am REALLY beat. This should be enough bioinfo for any curious bloglookers stumbling on my page. Starting here I think I will adopt a more endearingly conversational tone. Dude! I am like so out of here. Just kidding. You did chuckle, didn't you?

A more endearingly conversational tone? More like a gut-wrenching groan of anguish, dressed in self-conscious verbosity, that just droned on and on and on...

And that is it for now.

bfn

Billy S.

A few thoughts are in order

I just looked back, as I'm morbidly apt to, at some older posts. Particularly the ones around the time that things pretty much imploded in my life, late 2007 and into 2008. Maybe subconsciously it occurred to me that next month it will have been five years since I moved to New Jersey. Five years, even at my age, is an extraordinarily long time. I think there's still a lot to come, and hopefully a long, slow climb up the mountainside, through the cloud cover and into clear sunlight.

Looking back at '07-'08, I'm reminded of just how messed up I was emotionally, and how things were swirling down the drain. When I get nostalgic for Columbus now--and I do very often; I still wonder if everything would just go back to being wonderful if I moved back--I read how awful things were toward the end. I hated Columbus, was mortally desperate to get out. Somehow, my cozy design job became torture and the atmosphere there like sulfuric acid vapor...how? What happened that made me decide, very confidently, to throw it all away?

I think some of the same things I'm struggling against even now and for the past five years. What I wanted more than anything was control over my life. I remember thinking then that for once in my life I wanted to do something because I wanted to, not because it was prudent or convenient or safe or expected of me. I was tired of being a pawn for other people, I wanted to determine my own fate, chart my own path and maybe take myself up a notch or two, take a chance at a perhaps more glamorous life as a "creative professional" in that most titanic beehive of creativity, the New York City area. I wanted adventure, and boy, did I get it.

I couldn't have expected any of what I've been through, although I probably could have if I'd been a little clearer in the head, or more mature. One important lesson learned is never step over a cliff without a parachute, and definitely not if you're half nuts.

I'm astounded how much my life has changed in the last five years. Mostly it's been a story of loss. But I think when you're covered in years of grime you need to be forcibly stripped to the skin and blasted with the icy fire hose before you can dry yourself off and put on some soft, warm new clothes. Maybe a shave and a haircut, too. If you're lucky, you haven't lost what's really vital: your interests, beliefs, thoughts, and relationships with the ones you love and who love you. And maybe some of those loved ones will see you in a different way, and you'll both be better for it. But most importantly, you mustn't lose your belief in yourself, that you can ultimately learn the game and play with the big boys, even if it's not quite the same game you first set out to play.

There have been plenty of times when I did come dangerously close to giving up. How many times have I threatened to move back to Columbus? I've lost count of the frightening depressive episodes and the scary thoughts percolating through the bottom of my mind. I've kicked my own butt into porridge, punched my teeth out twenty times over, because I'm not doing what I want to do with my life and I'm a worthless wage slave and a hopeless failure at creative work and I did it to myself it's all my fault I'll never get there and etc. etc. It's still there. But you know, I'm still here. And I'm still learning. It has taken a lot of loss to get to where I'm ready, really ready, to start building myself back up. A lot of loss. Mostly of excess baggage. You don't carry three suitcases and a wardrobe across a hot desert.

It's been painful parting with so many of my toys--my Hammond organ and Leslie speaker, my cameras, my car--as well those nontangible things like my own creative space, being in bands and the dive club and the anime club and whatnot. And a career--oh god, an actual semi-prestigious more-than-a-job, which at its best felt like me being what I was meant to be. Other losses were more like healthy adjustments. My decade-long relationship with my now ex-comes to mind. Now we're friends and, for the time being, still roommates. We still have our squabbles like anyone, but this is probably the best way for us to be. Eventually we'll separate physically and I'll be back to living on my own. I think I can do it.

I think I've learned what not to do. I think that's one of the most important lessons of the last five years. And I've become increasingly aware of what I need to do. The challenge now is figuring out how to do it. That's why retreating to Columbus, tempting as it it, can't happen, at least not yet: because I still have some vital homework to do, tasks and exercises to complete. Moving back would be like cutting class to play video games. In spite of everything that's happened, I don't want the easy way out. I don't want to be taken care of, sheltered...I have something to prove, dammit! I have to prove that I'm intelligent enough, resourceful enough, creative enough, and mature enough to not only take the worst punishment they can throw at me, but to trample right over all the cocksuckers and accomplish what I set out to accomplish...and give all the nonbelievers, the haters and gatekeepers, a hearty laugh over my shoulder.

I'm going to win!

That felt damn good to write!

I need to make a habit of this.

I don't know why I don't USE this fabulous resource more often

Okay, so: popping up for air once again. Maybe it's the change of weather. Springtime. It's about time, too. As usual, winter was absolutely dreadful; since dropping off my meds again (because my shrink charges $250 a visit, and as good as he was, on my wages that just ain't happening), it has been the same old tired slugfest with my dear old companion, Clinical Depression. You know the story, I've been through it many times so I won't go into details.

So perhaps it was one of the following that contributed to my tentatively good mood today:

1) The aforementioned weather. Mild and sunny.

2) I spent the second Monday in a row doing something reasonably interesting at work, doing the ordering for the coffee bar. I even got a compliment from my supervisor by way of our assistant store team leader.

3) I had the latest of a fun series of weekends with my dear sweetheart (the girl from OKCupid).

4) In spite of no prescribed meds, I did see fit to find the half a bottle of St. John's Wort that I'd saved from last winter.

5) I've recently started reading up, in earnest, on personal finance, and have even managed to initiate a habit of putting some money aside every paycheck. I'm definitely proud that for the last few months I've managed to a) put aside a quarter of the rent each paycheck, and 2) not once go negative. Not once.

6) My mind has been on overdrive the last week on that, as well as pondering the desirability and feasability of entrepreneurship / starting a business. And I mean not just fixating on graphic design. Perhaps Napoleon Hill has been seeping into my subconscious even though I've only half-attentively gotten through just over half of Think and Grow Rich.

7) Maybe I'm just goofy from closing last night, opening this morning, and getting only about two and a half hours of sleep in between.

And perhaps my feeble levity will evaporate like fading dusk when I look at the electric bill that urgently needs to be paid.

It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Lack of money. And that's only part of the problem. So's lack of prestige; lack of my own space; lack of recognition, confidence and self-esteem; and most importantly lack of control over the important aspects of life. Learned helplessness. Life happens to me. But slowly, and this is what I'm getting at, I'm trying to get my nose over the edge of the trench and see what else is out there...trying hard to wrench myself out of it and onto another track. I don't want to jettison the things that are important to me, in fact I want to find them again, make them part of my day. I'm not there yet, but my fingers are starting to claw furrows in the ground just outside the rut, and that is at least a hopeful gesture. Small steps. It takes time, but I'm not over the hill yet. Mm-mmm, no effin' way. Just writing is helping. Really. It's an act of faith. Not to mention that it's fun to roll out the purple prose once in a while.