sunday funday

Sunday is the day to rest, to relax, to go out and drink while the sun still shines. I can't pretend to be immune to the call of Sunday funday, and too often I'm found back at the pub.

Yes, I know I ended Saturday night here, drinking the same IPA I'm drinking now. Yes, I know it's never going to be the best idea, but dammit, it's tradition by now, and you can't argue with tradition. If you could I'd be able to get married by now.

Today, however, is also Fathers Day, so I don't plan to spend all of it drinking at the bar. I'm sure to get to Momma's house at some point. I'm certain I'll see the kids. I've also already agreed to possibly help Momma clean her "new" bike. I can't actually guarantee that last part will happen today, but it does need to happen.

If bike shops opened on Sundays I'd have swung by the LBS to check out the thin brushes they sell to clean between your cogs. Her bike seriously needs a good scrub and lube.

My own bike could use some attention, not the least of which should be devoted to figuring out my rear dérailleur. It's not that it doesn't work, it does work as well as it can, but it needs to be adjusted. I can only use my three largest cogs, and that isn't usually much of an issue, but if it isn't working properly then it is likely causing damage. Maybe not, but I'm really good at ignoring those often unnoticed things that get in and under and cause damage when you aren't paying attention. Or maybe I just break things through neglect. Though it bears mentioning that this post isn't about that.

Honestly there really isn't any point to this post. I'm just talking to hear my own voice, but it's been a while since I was able to do this here, so it's nice to just ramble with no object.

If you haven't yet, you should try Sweetwater IPA. Their more popular beer may be the 420, which is a good beer, but I do love the hoppiness of the IPA. I'm kind of a hop head that way. I like them big and flowery and in the back of the mouthful. For what it's worth, Sweetwater Brewing Company is based in Atlanta and nay not be available in your neck of the woods. If you happen upon their beer do yourself a favor and grab some. Whichever beer you get will probably be pretty damn tasty.

Maybe after all that the point of this post is a plug for a regional brewery. It wouldn't be the first time I didn't know what I was talking about till I finished talking.

Right now I'm going to get the fuck on. I've got coworkers to join, to commiserate with. We'll probably discuss our job and how we so hate most customers and why servers are such horrible people.

and i'll eat out of containers while standing up

I should warn you now that this yet another post about bikes.  I've been taken over with a sort of mania, but there's also something about this that just feels right.  It's like I've gone back to something I never should have let go of.

I flirted with bikes three times over the years since my childhood when riding my bike was a nearly daily occurrence.  When Momma and I lived in Charlotte I was able to retrieve the last bike I'd owned in Atlanta, and I was soon riding quite a bit.  Then one night, after riding home fairly drunk from somewhere, I forgot to lock the bike outside our apartment door and never saw it again.

The next bike I owned was purchased from a coworker about six (maybe, time is a blurry sensation at best for me generally) years ago.  It was a cheap bike from a big box retailer.  It rode like shit and sucked then and still sucks now sitting in the garage with its rusty shit wheels.  I rode it around the house approximately ten total times over the course of a week and then never again.  I wish I had that twenty bucks back.  Fuck!

The next bike was last summer when I lived in the Fort.  It was also a big box bike, but my mindset then was in a different and more biking places friendly sort of place.  I used the bike a lot and then sold it to my ex landlord as I moved back to the house I'm now in.  While I'd enjoyed riding the bike to work from the Fort I didn't think I'd ever ride a bike from this house to downtown assuming it was just too far.

And finally my sweet red bike that I love but might replace tomorrow.  It's actually today by the time you are likely to read this as it's after eleven o'clock here.  Regardless, I do now ride this bike that far often enough, and I've ridden it plenty of other places too.  And I actually love riding this bike even though we're on city streets and it's made for narrow trails and dirt berms and jumps over the rough spot

Since I've begun riding the bike I've slipped into the edges of a thing that could be mania twenty years ago with no Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy.  But that's not the world I inhabit, so I'll gladly enjoy the tease of it and try to be smart about stuff.

And apparently I'll start contacting some guy on Craigslist about his early '80's Schwinn with the newer "comfort" handlebars, and I'll have asked if he has the original set.  And that whole tomorrow thing, yeah, I'm gonna wait for him to call and go look at the bike in the evening.

With any luck Momma will be there, because really the bike would be for her.  If it's a good size for her and is in good condition and she wants it she gets it.  In the day and a half since I found it and thought about her wanting a bike (she's mentioned it before) I've tried to have her in mind, but I keep looking at it.  It's kinda like seeing a boy at a party that you like, but you know he's straight and interested in your friend.

It's really not like that at all, but I want the bike now that I've been looking at it and thinking about it, and I feel bad because I don't want the bike I already have to find out.  That can't be good.  And I still want to ride him on the street tires I might also go look at tomorrow, but then would I ever ride him how he's meant to be ridden?  Would I ever take my beautiful mountain bike mountain biking?

Maybe I'll just keep buying bikes until I'm crazy early '80's Schwinn guy.  Yeah, that's the best idea yet.

yeah, that's right

I missed my bus today and had to walk about two and a half miles to reach the next available but that would make me not late for work.  Google mapping the way I walked suggests a trip time of forty six minutes, but I think I did it quicker.

Actually if I hadn't slowed down walking on my street I wouldn't have missed my bus, but I saw what I assumed was my bus and assumed, based on where I know the bus goes and how long it takes to go there and come back on its way back downtown that I had plenty of time.  I don't know what bus I saw, but it wasn't mine.

Rushing up the street, as always unsure of exactly when the bus will arrive, I saw the apparition bus and slowed my pace.  I even smiled to myself at how well I was doing.  And I have been doing well.  In just over a week I've now missed the bus once, and that's required me getting up at least an hour earlier than usual.

I suppose not having a car helps.  I can't reasonably go anywhere other than work or home unless I know for a fact that I have a ride, or it's going to mean me getting to the bus on time coming and going.  My bus doesn't run nearly as late as I used to, so neither do I.

Perhaps it's a good thing.  I can't say I like it, but I can admit to being home and ready for bed nearing midnight.  I can also admit that this is becoming a bit of a habit.

I don't really like it.  I'm a boring person who wastes time when by myself.  I suppose it's what I do all the time, but I'm actually noticing me do it. Having to stare that in its ugly face is kind of a downer.

fwiw

It being twinnyleven I used the Facebook instead of actual talking or writing a letter or whatever people used to do.  I sent a message to this guy that I'm afraid to like.

Maybe the problem with talking to him or saying anything is the writer that lives inside me and wants to edit everything before the recipient receives the message.

I hate talking to people sometimes because I can't edit.  I suppose that I don't misspell words when I'm talking, but that's small consolation.

In the end I think I'm happy with what I wrote.  Now I get to enter that period of waiting, hoping that he sees things similarly to how I see them.  I get to hope that he likes me and that I haven't frightened him off.  He takes my phone calls, so that's good, but I just don't trust myself.

I really do manage to fuck things up more than you might realize.  I'm probably ruining something right now even though all I'm doing is typing words and trying to manage to convey thoughts.  It's kinda how I roll.

And now all I can do is wait. 

not trying equals not doing

I feel like I'm setting myself up for a big let down again. 

There's this guy, and he's nice and sweet and hot, and I kinda like him.  I kinda like him because I'm not letting myself get too far into this thing, but I also can't help feeling stuff and thinking things.

He lives just far enough away so that the car thing is an issue, and that's compounded by him having his own car problems right now.  It's a situation, and it probably sounds worse than it is, or maybe I'm making it sound less worse than it is.

The last time I liked a guy it kinda blew up in my face when he incredulously and vocally realized that I really did like him that way and really did want a boyfriend.  It was kind of a moment, and it wasn't fun.

There's another guy who just wants to have fun.  I've been there once, and I'm not entirely against the idea, but it just isn't where I want to be in life.  It isn't the kind of person I want to be.  But what I want and what I feel like I can have are so often completely at odds with each other.

And neither of these situations need to be where I am in life.  The one that I'm actually worried about could be part of where I want to be, but it shouldn't be the key component.  That's so much easier to say than it is to act on, which raises a whole other bunch of list of whatever.

I feel like I've covered this, but it's probably something I've written about but never published.  There are probably a few drunken rants in my drafts file, rambling rants that need never see the light of pixelated day.

So what to do?  It's late enough tonight that I'll probably just dig up some obscure Les Paul and Mary Ford on the Youtube, because that seems to be what I'm doing right now.  I'll wade through all that's built up in Google reader, all the blogs that are just sitting there, patiently waiting for me.

It isn't going to help me figure anything out, and it will more likely just keep my mind occupied enough that I don't have to think too deeply about anything.  It's the internets and like a drug that way.  Maybe if I actually had some drugs I could forget about everything the right way, but for now I'll just think about the cute and sweet boy, and I'll begin to compose Facebook messages to him where I bare my soul.  And then I'll click on "cancel" instead of "send." 

It's easier that way.  And I can drag out the enjoyment of possibility longer before I say something and fuck the whole thing up.

yellow pen

Do you ever reach a point where you realize that you may in fact be doing absolutely, everything wrong?  Do you wonder what things you should stop doing and which you should start doing the opposite of how you've always done them?

Maybe I exaggerate a tiny bit with the everything and the completely, but so often lately life seems to feel as if I really must be doing at least nearly everything wrong, and perhaps that's why things seem like they always seem to seem.

And sadly that's just a knee jerk reaction to my real issue which is that I never really do much of anything.  I convince myself that I'm making great strides and trying and pushing/pulling my share. 

But more often I'm actually busy watching the ass end of opportunity fade in the distance.  I'm really good at thinking about things, and that ought to be good for something.

experimenting

I'm still awake quite later than I should be, but I haven't had a single beer tonight either.

And it's sad that that says as much as it does.  But I know that I drink too much and that I should at least cut back even though I don't drink nearly as much as plenty of people. 

It's one of the things that keeps helping me hold myself back. 

I'm not convinced I need to give up drinking altogether, but perhaps at least for a time I should.  I've tried cutting back, and that just never seems to work.  I'll sometimes even think that I am, but then I look back at the recycling pile growing next to the trash can and realize nothing has changed.

But I don't want to quit.  There's that thing right there, and along with it comes even more justification.

I'm about to go to bed, and I will have gone an entire day without a beer.  I'll feel better in the morning while at work and hopefully will have a good soccer practice.  I'd like to think now that I can go another day without a beer, but the random aches of my post soccer practice evening will make it difficult.  Maybe I'll drink a beer, and maybe I'll try again Saturday.

maybe ah orta

Why can't I stop sitting here worrying about her and instead sit here and worry about myself?  Is it because even when I do worry about myself I tend to stop at worry?

I could be doing something, but I opt for not doing something.  I've been doing the same thing for so long that I kinda just don't know how to do that while adding other stuff.  I'm a little scared to do something, and that's one of those things I don't talk about.

It would scare you to hear a list of things that scare me.  I absolutely hate having to call people on the phone.  I'm so cool with texting because of that, but there are times you just have to call.  There are certain calls I can make, like the produce company when I call in an order at work.  But soccer families even considering how much I can enjoy coaching soccer?  yeah, that takes motivation.

On some level I fear being alone, but more than that I fear being in the wrong relationship.  Even the greatest ever heterosexual marriage is wrong if one of you is not in fact heterosexual.  And I know how easily I can get sucked into a not good relationship with a guy, and I think there are a lot of factors I can look at to make sense of why gay people rush into things sometimes instead of maybe waiting to see of the next train is less full, or something.

Trying to figure out what you're supposed to do now that that whole cooking thing is so quickly losing its luster is a whole other can of brown, wiggly things.  And that means that I have to stop not doing something  and do the opposite instead. 

And really, I do nearly love my job.  So many of the things I've always loved are still lovable, but I'm realizing two things.  I really am not meant to be a career cook, and I'm really getting too old for the job.  Read Bourdain.  I'm nearly forty, and I'm roughly fifteen years older than the average for kitchen people there.  There's a server who is less than two full years younger than me, then there are the owner who have at least twenty on me, but that's no consolation.

Maybe it's time  to write a book.  If I do it right there's years worth of drinking money in it.

hipster beer

Before we get into this I should admit that I might be a little bit on the drunk side.  I'm also feeling a little maudlin, and you'll know this if you're my friend on the almighty Facebook.  Yeah, I'm taking my status and making a post out of it.  You should also just deal with the fact that I'm going to fuck up with the typing words properly part of being a blog writing sort.  I do it often enough anyway, but this time I'm warning you.  Feel free to rag on me in the comments.

I'm sitting at home, and by home I mean Momma's house.  She's already texted me that she is staying elsewhere tonight.  It shouldn't bother me, and on the levels that matter it doesn't.  But there's the part of me that is tired of sitting here alone that is a little irritated.

Why am I sitting here at all, much less alone?  It's part of the deal she and I made that allowed me to move back into what used to be the playroom.  It's part of the deal where i don't earn enough at my job regardless of how many hours I get or how hard i work.

And I actually sort of like my job.  I do have to deal with at least one douche on a regular basis, and there's the other day shift guy, a part timer, who has some issues that I try to avoid, and there's the . . .

Really, I kinda hate my job.  I hate the hours, and I hate the pay.  I hate the kitchen manager that treats everyone like we're idiots when we don't agree with the stupid shit he says and does.  I hate that at my age and level of experience I'm still showing up at nine to sweep and mop the dining room and bar, that the owner may well bitch at me because his idea of enough paper towels and my idea didn't happen to agree with each other or because he thinks he smells something that he refers to as a sour mop even though the fucking mop head is as clean as I can get it and that sour smell is probably his own inability to just shut the fuck up and not work so fucking hard to find something to bitch about.

I hate that I drink too much and can't sleep till late which makes my morning shifts a pain in the ass so that I'm running out the door tired and unhappy only to come back home more tired and not wanting to be a reasonable person who cooks a decent meal for his kids and interacts with them because I really just want to lay down for a minute which turns into a nap that I awake from cranky and unreasonable.

I hate that I can't seem to concentrate on anything long enough, that i can't seem to find out what it is I can do that makes me happy.  I hate that my only adult interaction is 95% people I don't actually want to see but that I can get along with at work and that my interaction with adults happens solely within the confines of my job.

I hate that I can't do something that benefits me because I can't figure out what that thing would be and that i can't get past the fact that other people might have to take care of their own shit, or so it seems, if i wren't here to cover their ass.  I hate that i can't just make a decent living and be happy and reasonable and buy myself something nice once in a while.

look at the hour

There's no good reason for me to still be up.  I'm tired, and while I work an hour later than usual tomorrow it's still early enough for my night owl ass.

I'm not really a morning person, but once the hangover wears off and I get into the swing of my work day I'm usually okay.  Or maybe once the vapors clear and the caffeine kicks in enough I'm usually okay.

But I've also learned that getting a decent night of sleep helps the most, so why don't I do it any more often than I do?

Is it the night owl thing?  Am I just a dumb ass? or drunkard?  Maybe I subconsciously hate my job and am sabotaging myself by being a dumb ass, drunkard night owl.

should just deal

Was I more outspoken a blogger about gay issues when I was in the closet?  I sometimes think so.  I'm not sure why, but I have some possible reasons.

Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere.  I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally.  And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.

But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me.  Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.

So I began to censor myself a bit.  Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet.  I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care.  I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it.  I just don't care that much.

And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit.  I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal.  I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.

That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not.  But I am going to try harder.

soccer and pride in one day?

Tomorrow I work at nine in the morning and hope to be off in time to watch the US continue their climb to World Cup victory. They play Ghana, the team that sent us home four years ago, and I hope to see our guys send them home this year.

Following work, as I assume I won't actually be off till after the game, I'm going to change into the jeans people have told my I look good in and a shirt that is clean, and then I'm going into the heat of the square for our town's gay pride event.

And then I don't know what to expect. I neglected to take the day off the past two years and have only seen pride from afar or when passing through on a smoke break. I asked specifically to work a day shift this year. I don't want to lose any hours, but I do want to enjoy being surrounded by gay people. That doesn't happen nearly often enough, especially lately as I've not been to any of our town's gay bars in several months.

Thinking about it now I may have avoided the gay bars this entire year up to now.

While I often get somewhat drunk at whatever bar I go to, the gay bars are nearly always worse. Not only is the beer more expensive for the same crap, but I am not good at meeting people. I'm really good at sitting at the bar, and I'm good at making conversation if someone starts, but the other homos never seem to get my jokes. And too often I seem to get that bit drunker than I wanted to, and then I feel sorry for myself because I'm awkward and don't get it.

And I'm really bad about making stupid jokes as I try to allay my own nervousness, and I'm sure that tends to push people away. Also I don't take compliments well. They make me feel really weird, and when the compliments all seem a precursor to an attempt to remove my pants at some later point in the evening I get even more nervous and act even more stupid and tell even lamer jokes that no one but me gets.

Or maybe gay men just don't get my sense of humor. Of course most people don't get my sense of humor, but I'm used to straight people not getting it, and I'm used to people not really liking me that much until they're forced, for whatever reason, to actually get to know me.

And so I'll go to pride, and I'll see my lesbians, and I'll see the staff at what used to be my regular gay bar, and they'll wonder what I've been doing and where I've been going, and I'll point to the pub which has been getting some of the business the gay bar used to get.

And hopefully I'll pull my head out of my ass and just have a good time. With an extra dose of luck I'll meet people who might become friends once they get that my jokes aren't all stupid and I'm not always a nervous heap of dumbass.

Also, USA USA!

worst excuse in the world

Wanna hear what might me my tip top all time fave song by The Specials? You should wanna. It's not happy and full of blooming flowers, but it's HERE, and it's awesome. Just go listen. You've got fuck all else to do.

on standing

Of the people I consider friends is one young lady we'll call BK for short. We were at the same place recently, the old watering hole, and happened to exit the bathrooms at the same time. She being a woman and I being a man, we actually met in the hallway outside the loos and threw our arms around each other and made our way to where the bulk of our friends were congregated.

Our path took as past some of the pool tables and through the dart playing area. I don't know why the dartboards are where they are here, but then I've never known that. As we wended our way past the dartboards I overheard someone comment that he was having some difficulty, upon seeing BK and I, with ascertaining which of us was the boy and which the girl.

I should think it would have been obvious, but what if the two of us are so gay that one can't easily tell gender difference? I think that I look like a boy and that BK looks like a girl, but rather than bother with the like, I raised my hand behind BK, who didn't seem to have heard the exchange, and raised that time proven middle finger. I hoped this was the end of the situation and assumed so as no alarm was raised upon being shot the bird by the homosexual.

This fellow had a friend who witnessed the situation and approached BK a few moments later with an apology for his friend's behavior. I was willing to accept this gent's apology, but BK, upon hearing finally of the exchange, had other ideas.

She was suddenly tracing her steps back toward the dart players and wondering exactly who had, moments ago, expressed an opinion rooted in ignorance. I began to intercede, to attempt to bring BK back into the circle of our friends, but as I watched her ire grow, I began to enjoy what I was seeing. The obvious offender was suddenly unwilling to express his doubt when faced with an actual person he'd so easily demeaned moments ago. He ducked and pleaded ignorance, the guilt full in his face.

And I think that's the lesson to be learned. It's BK's lesson, and it's all about being willing to go back, to get in someone's face, and to ask that immortal question, "What did you say?"

but am I?

As usual I'm getting drunk for the big day.

Actually, the big day is tomorrow, and I'm not getting drunk for that. I'm getting drunk because it's what I do. I'm really good at it, and it's something I feel I know how to do, so I go with it. You are more than fucking welcome to come along, but I'm not saying shit. Do what you gotta do.

I have to get up at a decent hour tomorrow and make some semblance of good food happen. I was actually drunk when I took on this role, and now I'm less drunk and thinking about how I'm going to go about this.

I have to have horse doovers for any number of people in about three and seven hundredths of an hour or more or less. I don't even know anymore.

No, seriously . . . I have all day to plan for this thing that, had I taken it on earlier, I'd have a list down my arm. I'd be all kinds of Sarah Palin on this thing. I would so be . . .

I'm sorry, but I've ruined this whole post. It was going to be about how bad ass I am, about how I can kill with enough of a hardened look, how skin crawls off a salmon filet at my command, about how chicken wings mix the butter and Texas Pete before throwing themselves in the oil because I have such dominance over foodstuffs.

But then I got political about some dumb hair brained . . .

I'm sorry, but I've done it again. I'm walking away before it gets nasty. I really do have shit to do tomorrow, and this isn't getting me closer. I'm going to go inhale the fumes of the tobacco plant and then force myself to approach sleep.

Also, I'm not nearly as drunk as I said. Really! I mean, seriously, come on, right? Could I really do this otherwise?

Shit!

thirty is NOT thirty something

If you're a friend on Facebook then you may have seen my event invite. One does only turn thirty something about nine times, and I'm about to use up one more, and I'm nearing the limit.

I bought myself what I'm sure will be my only non alcohol gift, a sweet pair of sunglasses. A friend has the same pair, and I saw them recently and fell in love. I actually went to the evil Wal Mart for them. I suppose everyone does have their price, and mine involved a ten dollar pair of ladies sunglasses.

But I do look good in them, and that's really what matters. Some random person in China gets to pull a handle that presses plastic lenses into plastic frames all so I can look just gay enough.

I'd like to invite everyone to the shindig I'm making happen. I'm going to invite as many people as I can imagine I'd want to see to show up at my regular bar, and I'm going to drink beer and eat both wings and nachos. I may even see my way clear to some tequila.

Of course I know everyone won't be there, and I don't want them all there. The people that count will likely mostly be there, and that's what counts.

Did I tell you the story about how I never really made friends till I came out and then it was still weird but it's slowly becoming a thing I think I can do? It's a great story. It keeps going still. I think maybe one day I'll be good at it.

Anyway, that's all a bit more drama than we're going for here. It is true, but I won't allow it to bring this post down, so I'm checking out. It's time for more mindless BBC America.

omg is that guy still alive?

Somewhere behind me the television is on, muted so that I can listen to The Cure and Rufus Wainwright on YouTube. I never got into Joy Division, but HERE is The Cure doing the song of theirs that I did like.

I have flannel pajama pants and a dirty shirt, a sofa and a quilt awaiting me. On the t.v. is Richard Lewis, his same weird ass mullet like thing of a hair do and that creepy "stop laughing at me" overcoat. I don't know if it's a "classic" performance or something new. He looked old and raggedy when the '80's taught us that all stand up comedians are not created equal, and a sitcom does not a funny person make.

I'd for reals rather be here with you listening to sad and/or gay ass music. Speaking of which, and actually happy instead of sad, how about some Judy Garland HERE? Yeah, I thought about Rufus, but I went Judy.

If you wanna, go HERE to hear Sara Vaughan do yet another song I considered giving you the Rufus version of.

Do I sound fixated by a certain Mr. Wainwright? I'll admit he's hot, and some of us remember my swooning because of him. That was soooo long ago in blog history. Things are so different now, or are they so much? So much of my life feels back to normal while so much still feels in a state of turgid agitation.

Turgid agitation sucks donkey dick. But it's not so bad. What makes things better would be some more good music, and if you like Emmylou Harris and Dwight Yoakam then you will love THIS.

Know who else makes me swoon? A certain Leonard Cohen. We end with him doing a song I hear done live recently, but first, the guy that did the song we're going to hear Mr. Cohen doing. HERE is Chris Scruggs doing a different song, and HERE is Leonard Cohen doing the song that is the point of all this. It's just some music I like by artists I like.

It may seem odd to have thrown in Chris Scruggs above, but I saw him live recently, and he kind of makes me swoon a little(a lot) and he did the song I ended with. His version was much better, but since we can't find that on the YouTubes we'll just settle for the other version.

I hope you enjoyed this musical journey, and if you didn't then you just don't have any tast whatsoever. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to help. I tried my best.

random killa-whatsis

There is no argument that will sway me. No matter what you bring to the table, and I like to think I've heard it all, but there is nothing you can say to change my mind. And I only mention this because it came up tonight, and I feel I must preserve my opinion in blog form for posterior's sake.

Simply put, once Anakin had opened himself up to the whole of the force that the dark side represents, he was operating on such a whole other playing field from Obi-Wan that nothing Obi-Wan could even have dreamed of doing with the force would have stopped Anakin from killing him.

The absolute and only reason that Obi-Wan lived was to provide continuity between the light and dark sides of George Lucas's Star Wars. We can all accept the originals for the brilliance they provided, but I personally find them overshadowed by the crap that eventually gave us the origins of the conflict.

And to cap it all off, we have to sit through that final battle scene. I'm sure I've had something to say about it, because I'm quite certain I covered these movies when I finally was bothered to see them. I really did put it off for a good long time. Again, it wouldn't come up except that it already came up once tonight. Posterior and all that.

Okay, you want my reasoning? You want more of my point? Because it always seems like people tend to disagree with me, and I have to bring up the younglings. Remember when we see the aftermath in the secret Jedi headquarters? Remember everyone being dead? Yeah, Anakin, fully embracing the entirety of the force.

Somewhere awaiting the epic battle we have Obi-Wan, eventual nearly hero. He does help Luke focus on the force, but now we know it's just a bunch of meta-chlori-someshits in the blood. I'm not even getting into the fail that this is in being instrumental in ruining a great story line.

The real point is that, Obi-Wan, being the good little Jedi, was trained to only accept some part of the force as being good. He's only willing to use a certain amount of this power. He spends a lot of time learning how to use this narrow bandwidth of force.

Anakin, on the other hand, has also been training in that one part and has proved himself adept. He also has been drawn to the greater power of the entire force, including the part that lies outside what his current associates are practicing.

I can see no reason for Obi-Wan to have survived. Anakin should quite successfully have killed him a number of times in the final battle. He has the reason that seems valid to him, and he's accepted the whole of the force by being willing to destroy entirely anyone he feels stands between him and his goal. If nothing else, his destruction of the whole of the Jedi temple, and especially in light of the younglings killed, he was willing to accept such power as to be unstoppable. The very limits Obi-Wan and all the Jedis accepted and forced on themselves were their downfall.

And really, that is my youngling argument. The power it took for him to destroy all the Jedis and allowed him to accept the destruction of the younglings was more than enough "dark" side for him to easily finish off Obi-Wan.

The only reason Obi-Wan survived, given all that, was, he had to. Which to me means some sort of George Lucas director fail. I don't want it to be that, and I don't wishe Obi-Wan dead, but given what I've seen, I just can accept the outcome. It's almost as bad as Jar-Jar. Period.

And seriously, this post wasn't part of my night a very short time ago. I really didn't mean to come home and blog. I haven't even taken my jacket off or even smoked since I've been home. It's all posterity. I had to record it for time imemorial. You'll thank me one day when you find yourself citing this blot post to justify your dissatisfaction once the Lucan canon somehow becomes scripture and we find ourselves justifying ourselves based on that, Luke and Indiana competing for our obeisance and offerings.

accidental away

Tonight was my big going out night finally. I had a couple of bucks in my pocket thanks to finally having a job, and I now can't type thanks to having enjoyed some beers. Any mistakes I make are due entirely to inebriation.

I did in fact go out tonight, to a local bar with a bit of a dance party thing going on tonight. I don't actually dance, but I do love to stand up on the third floor and look at the boys down below as they dance.

Actually, I tend to find one in about twenty of the boys worth watching dance, but I'm sure part of the fun is trying to spot the good ones. Sometimes it seems worth it, but they all too often seem to end up straight in the end anyway.

There was one girl sexy enough to catch my eye, but it ended up not being a sexy girl so much as it was a really hot dress. It wasn't something I'd wear, but there's a part of me that kind of wants to look that good in something that hot. I'm not sure what that's about. Sounds kinda gay if you wanna know what I think.

That was pretty much the whole evening. The only other thing that really stands out was the really, really hot, but fairly (a lot) young looking fellow. I watched him for some time as he danced, dancing in a way that at some points made me laugh perhaps. Eventually I was able to see, from my vantage point, that he was quite attractive if a bit young. On one of my trips to the bar I passed him and a number of his female friends. I'm quite convinced that he winked at me as I walked past. I'm taking it as such and assuming it was well intended.

The next time I go out though it's going to be my old home bar. I haven't been there in ages, and I really do miss all the old faces I'm sure to see. I almost went tonight, but in the end, I stand by my decision. But damn soon it's back to the ol' home place.

speak for yourself, mary

I've noticed something about myself lately, and I'm not claiming that it's either good or bad. It just is. Though if it's about me you can bet your sweet ass it's more good than not. It's at least better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

Before we really get into the story I should point out that I've never been the butchest bitch on the block. Again, it's neither good nor bad, just is, but it's somehow appropriate to the situation to have this information as we proceed.

Also, I've never pretended that I'm not a bit of a lush. I like my beer, and maybe on occasion a Sunday afternoon just deserves a bloody Mary while the sun is still riding high in the sky; lord knows I deserve it a bit more often than I get it, and a shot of tequila wouldn't hurt, but I'm pretty sure we're fresh out of that.

And none of that's really the point. We're here to discuss something else, and that something else is that it seems that I somehow grow a little gayer as the drinks pile up in my system.

It's nothing major, no flames licking the ceiling, not quite Japanese girl hiding her giggles behind her hand. But I hold my cigarette a little more just so. The "oh my goooood" grows a tiny bit more shrill. The eyes roll slightly more sarcastically in that certain way.

The south in me probably comes out a bit more at those times too, and what could be better than a southern queen approaching middle age?

Again, I'll point out that this is neither good nor bad, but I'd lean toward more good than not if pressed. It certainly beats the sullen prick I used to find more likely just a few short months ago.

I pointed this out to Momma last night, and she was kind enough to have noticed as well. I'm not sure kind enough is really where we're going here, but it helps that I'm not deluding myself.

What to do with this? Not a fucking thing as far as I can tell. I'm sure it's a case of just is, as I pointed out earlier. It doesn't bother me in the least, and if it bothers you then be glad you only have to deal with my drunk ass through the tubes that are the internets. And girl just be yourself.

And speak for yourself, Mary!