Mood:
chattyTopic: CLOSED FOR THE SUMMER
died last month.
At least part of the story was told in the film/book Gastons War.
Gaston Vandermeerssche at his home in Minnesota
Posted by mach1231
at 2:15 PM PST
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chattydied last month.
At least part of the story was told in the film/book Gastons War.
a-okWaiting for Superman
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuWOlRTeeME
irritated..making stuff up again.
This time Victorias Secret and bed bugs.
Yes that would be the lingerie purveyor and yes the mite infestation in the same sentence..
read on
http://nymag.com/daily/fashion/2010/07/bedbugs_strike_again_this_time.html
chatty
Afraid to rough it this summer? Diametrically opposed to dropping the usual duds for paper plates and plastic cutlery and pitching tents?
Perhaps homelessness with a touch of Martha would be your avenue of choice...or have you not heard of:....."glamping"?
http://en.chatelaine.com/english/weekend/article.jsp?content=20100511_103030_0022
d'ohPosting this photographic collection that is a salute to summer just as a reminder to my self and others to get out there and enjoy it..
- -
I find as I surmise the 40 + plus years I have been alive, life becomes more than just colorful beach balls and fluorescent toned bikinis and thongs when it comes to summer.
In fact, that has barely been what has it has been about ever.
With that said, I d love to have a picnic/lunch/bbq/roast at the beach ths summer. Anything to do with food.
If not then at least a good book, an mp3 player...and aforementioned topic.
Predictions for World Cup?
Spain - #1
Dutch - 2nd
Urugay - 3 rd
Germany -4th
Have a nice weekend.
don't askStrange occurences today.
1.) Starbucks D/T (Ramada Hotel)
Found a iPhone on the leather couch. Very new. Checked the contacts , no entries. Surface wasn't very oily or used. Found out the name and asked at the adjacent hotel if they had a guest and so sure enough left it for him there. I walk away, pestered by thoughts of its worth on Craigslist and seeing my self in a gauzy dreamscape with iPhone customer service asking about SIM cards.
2) Starbucks 15th/Central
Dead, dead, dead. Not even one customer and the counter attendants seemed yappy and toe tapping to music more than caring about greeting who ever just walked in. Plus it smelled IRKSOME. Like some flies were buzzing around and the janitorial duties were recently completed smell. I left. Fast. And its late in the day and HOT. Summer sticky hot.
3) Starbucks 5th/Central Spruceland Mall
Ahhh! The best and my favorite. Always clean, shaded with no sun blazing in, welcome reception (no attitude or "sass"), cool people who are genuine, bought a newspaper next door and washed off the daily grind from my face and went through the news for a good 45 minutes. Irritated that nothing but women were coming in and out of the place and I hated feeling distracted.
One woman sat 1.99 feet away from me on a leather seat and put her car keys on my napkin,innocently and incidentally. I read. She sat. I read. She sat. Then she left.
Then she came back: walking about the store asking the clerks if they have seen her......sunglasses?
Yoo hoo. I have spotted them. There they are. On the chair. Where you sat. Besides me. On the chair. Made of leather. (Understand this is what I am made for, lady-haha)
It is only now that part of me wonders in potential of realization what I might have found going to a 4th Starbucks.
I seem to be reciprocating the feeling many women feel towards men...we are just stepping stones, idiots,toys.Desserts. Laughable creatures, we are.
And so it is that women to me these days seem to be like needy, helpless creatures, as confused about their identities and roles in the world as they are about the sudden literal angst which overtakes them ... cursing the end of the world before they had a chance to buy that latest fashion item in pink that just went on sale.
Music nabbed in between trips to cafes and shopping malls, spliced from tidbits snatched here and there and everywhere from YouTube and the internet, don't add up to a cohesive feeling inside me. No permanence. It's like trying to fill a void with songs I once thought were tireless and realizing there is no room for growth inside of me.
I am bitter. I am putrid. I am a man entirely lost in abandonment towards the pursuit of material accumulation and status and remain offended both by the thought of poverty and of ostentatious display.
The road back to a existence that was blissful is washed away.
I have discovered with pains that not only am I a MINORITY.
But further, in addition to that, a minority within a minority.
And I know there are some who would whip out their pocket instant Freud and Jung for me, blessed is such an occasion that they actually get to showcase Oprah style their keen wordly wise insights.....and tell me to capitalize, celebrate my individuality and crap like that.
It was today at the same place, I saw the same vintage car I snapped a photo of 4 years ago , in the same spot that made one of the first entries I ever made for this blog that made me curse this inventory of cornucopious blog entries.
Yes, so being a minority within a minority really sucks. It's not like this is late night comedy material being written here. My stomach is a bit turning, my hand still hurts as the palm muscle is still mending, work is calling like a far away bugle or an alarm clock I forgot to set, its 2:45 am..I don't have a wife or a girlfriend or even a date for next week.
I am too misbegotten for all of that. After all I had my photo put in the paper not once but twice. My letters to the editors have been published numerous occasions. And then I write in this sad,crappy blog. I am pretty sure people Google my email addy as it can lead here as well. I knew that as soon as it dawned on me that my name was being bandied about without my contol or permission and that my private heart was being made out into an open book that a slow form of cyer-suicide was taking place.
People don't email me. They don't return my messages. Leave comments on my blog. (Yes I miss you coldharvest (posters name)wont you please come again to call me a "douchebag" or "faggot"?). I receive 'Like' comments on my Facebook page out of practical sympathy from people I havent met in person. I don't talk to strangers in cafes or at bars.
I spent the past decade trying to be 'that male', the elusive one, the kind with the mind that women would like, personality attributes that whispered something more akin to deep and dark struggle associated with truer grit and hardship and sacrifice, that would imbue me with shiny reflectors that demanded respect.
But no. That's not the real world. The real world has been a case of fear rotaing with anxiety, always waiting around till that 2nd guy shows up just in time while the girl nicks the time from her watch. Move over for the hot blooded Italian, the robust Spaniard, the purebred lovable irrascible mutt-like qualities associated with America and Canada respectively.
I really do HATE what happened with my email and all the rest of it over at the Black Flag Cafe and the inception reason for this blog.
I have a feeling that with a Buddhist like sweep of my hand, I will have to let it go, and realize the world doesnt need fixing, it doesnt need to change, it doesnt need more love to heal it...it doesnt need a hug, not the songs and smiles of children to improve its visage...no, the world has plenty of that to offer, its full of music, love,butterflies and stars and celebrities with 'cracked' smiles that belie the lie of fan adoration equaling happiness and there are a myriad causes out there from curing diseases to rescuing children
and I guess this is the end. The end of dreams, of Lillith Fairs and open palms and softly strummed guitars and green fields and mountain views
Three generations ago my ancestors hopped of a boat from Europe and here I am ...a stupid fucking native aboriginal , Canadas fucking ugly step child, a date less wonder, a hopeless flop in the world of love, an idiotic outcast from the internetdating world, a mistyped keyboard keystroke syntax error, a literal little myopic sympathy troll whom I am sure many women must think of as being like every other needy male...genuinely thirsting and lusting after sex my whole life like its a constant companion...oh yah just what I need ..someone to mouth the words sympathy fuck (usually by a pathetic attempt by a female to usurp the last male who onced her over with his eyes)
..somewhere in between ugly as sin female writers who spout off "love" advice so candidly it makes me think its been spoken aloud while someone else is twisting off in tandem a lid from a can with an opener and these flashy mens magazine web sites something got lost
and it just cant be something so trademark simple or so fucking dan Brown esoteric as the truth.
The truth is that I am a terrible example of what can happen when europeans mix with native indians on this continent.
Its the only logical , plausible, reasonably casual explanation I can think of at the moment to explain my self to my self in this situation.
The way I see it....I am here against most of the usual odds.
But in time, I'll stop acting like anything I find online has anything to do with a sense of permanence attached to happiness.
In ten years I'll look back at this missing 4-5 years of my life and consider it one of the great lessons in life. I just cant find that sense of perspective right now. That empty bed of mine awaits and calls my name and by the time tommorow arrives? Who knows how many people will have found better things to do than reading a miles long blog entry about the pain of mere existence? I had better get to it because when tommorow does arrive, I want this last entry to be as if it were untouchable and unremovable as if it were frozen beneath a foot of ice.
I just want to leave you with an image that is fitting for my ephermal exit from this e-world. I realized I have been surrounded by people who have done nothing but profit from our pain and once the profit runs out, will have little to lose from distancing themselves even further from our sense of loss and our pain...nothing like being a fool, being a fool 'in love' is no excuse for being at the pointed end of such hatred,disgust and loathing and malevolence
but allow me to leave with a sense of dignity intact, if only as a fleeting picture would just HAVE TO AGREE, is a lot better than some of the other images showcased out there for your enjoyment and amusement.
/-~H e l l o a n d w e l c o m e ~-\
If you have just landed here i.e. surfed on in, I have been running this little online endeavour for almost a full five years. Half a decade.
You ever notice when you land on a blog for the first time, it is like opening a book and starting to read on the last page ?
Do you?:)
Having run out of free disc space from Tripod this marks a long pit stop for my entries until I go pro. But once I do I beleive it will be the equivalent of pushing of from a different portion of the shore, so I will start again with a different theme, template, and direction. Without ads of course.
This blog I believe has been a online hobby horse of mine and is a personal way form finder and tracker for all sorts of world events, large and small, with a little bit of personal background history thrown in. I am glad I started it. Its been fun. Thanks for visiting
and hope to see you on my next blog undertaking with that extra dab of professionalism.
This one is off to the printers ...
\~-So long... .-~/
happyI want to make it fast with one more thing:)
IN case you wonder where I'd gone--- :)
I'll Fall in Love Again - Sammy Hagar
Shout to the Top - Style Council
Soak up the Sun This Summer with Confidence
Always trying to leave on a postive note. Hope any visitors who drop in feel better for the experience. This means YOU!
I would hope you would leave through Friends, Cool Folk and Allies at the left! Shes on the zoom.....
:)
a-okJust when you think you have navigated i.e. surfed as far as you can to the far reaching netherspheres of the Internet universe, uncovered vast conspiracies and unearthed legions of little known facts, you find that one little link and web site that ultimately destroys your image of everything you thought the Internet is, ever was or ever could be
This , my friends, is it.
http://www.eatingwiththeenemy.org/book/Home/Home.html
I quit. To whom do I offer my resignation to no longer use the Internet?
lazyhttp://www.couples.com/beachlounge/index.html
- -
Theres a spot on that site that makes me hungry.
A schoolchild walks past a row of fishing boats on the beach near Alligator Pond, Jamaica. In the distance, a bauxite cargo ship sails past Pedro Bluff.
