Tuesday, January 10, 2012
It's pretty amazing how not-nervous you can be when you're interviewing for a job you don't give a shit if you get or not. Satan came through for me, getting me an interview in hell itself. The hospital who turned me into Frankenstein needs help desk bitches. I have no interest at all in this position except that I really want a job so I have a good reason to not be at home besides going to the gym so I can get everything off my mind. I need to get my grandpa's liver cancer out of my head, even though they've given him less than a year to live. I need to stop thinking every bad thing that happens is my fault. Worry leads to stress which helps cause the paunch that makes a flat stomach nothing more than a pipe dream. I very nearly broke my resolution when I found out grandpa has cancer. I decided that drug free means nicotine free, so I quit the Lucky Strikes again. My two a days helped calm me down and ease my mind while coming off the mind control drugs, but not smoking saves me about $10 a week. I'd still shiv a man for a Chesterfield, but I'm usually not missing my smokes until shit gets real like my grandpa having cancer.
said Tommy T. at 2:14 PM - #
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Sunday, January 08, 2012
So I'm doing the incline treadmill so I get myself sweated up enough to be able to leave and not feel guilty that I didn't work hard enough. This girl comes up to me, stares for a second and starts telling me that I really should get some workout shoes. I wear my shoes with the retard laces every day because I can get them on and they stay on. I've thought about getting comfortable shoes for the gym and finding retard laces for them, but I don't like the way shoes look anymore. Skate shoes have giant tongues so that they look like clown shoes and all the cross trainers I see are ugly with giant logos and bright colors. She then digs into my choice of attire, telling me I really should get some workout pants. Are shorts not good enough? Is the gym a fashion show now? Am I supposed to give a shit about my appearance in a place where old hairy dudes roam around the locker room balls naked?So the first person to actually talk to me in a week was some chick negging me. I don't know what the hell that was about but it really bothers me and it probably shouldn't.
said Tommy T. at 2:59 PM - #
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Friday, January 06, 2012
I was doing my four miles on the cardio wave machine, when the man came on my Zune and made me happier than being 137 pounds made me by saying:
Why do you do the things you've done
and how dumb would you have to be
to do them again like I know you're going to?
If you're the poet you say you are and beauty's in everything you see,
then how can love exist in a world run by people like you?
Because when there's suffering, you're there.
From southern trees, you hang them in the air.
The world screams out in agony and you don't care,
but should the shit hit the fan,
I just pray.you will not be spared.
FUCK YOU.
I had to listen to that beginning part four times in a row to make sure it wasn't that "runner's high" making me smile. I don't believe such a thing as a runner's high actually exists except in people who are masochists, but I had to make sure. Four miles a day on that damned thing gets me raising my fist in anger at everything I see. My times are getting faster, though, and it helps with my walking until I stiffen up again.
Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse,
Wherein I did not some notorious ill:
As kill a man, or else devise his death;
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;
Set deadly enmity between two friends;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears,
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
I don't think that Titus Andronicus guy was such an asshole. They all deserved what was coming to them.
said Tommy T. at 3:54 PM - #
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Thursday, January 05, 2012
They ruined the illusion for me today. There's a trainer at the gym who looks like House's doctor Chase but with fuller hair. I've got his story built up in my mind. This trainer thing is only his day job. By night, he isn't forced to listen to a radio station that's contractually obligated to play Katy Perry twice an hour. In fact, that radio station kills him as much as it does me. He saves lives at a hospital, but not the one here in town because they have their heads in their assholes here.This dude removes tumors, appendices, and limbs with the precision of a pro.
But this all revolved around him having an Australian accent. Dude does not have that. Dude sounds like a bro. I'm tired of bros. He probably is the one who programmed that radio station in there in the first place. He soldered the tuning button so that it can't be changed to something that isn't shitty and repetitive. He doesn't save lives during his off hours, he's off with the cute redhead who wears a sorority shirt, dealbreaker by the way, not that it matters, because, let's be honest, dead left side is a dealbreaker, too.
said Tommy T. at 1:35 PM - #
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Sunday, January 01, 2012
I now know what MTV smells like. I got to spend time situated between two dudes wearing too much cologne. One named Broseph, one named Broham. Turns out light beer CAN make you fat. Wheelchair Jimmy dances and sings on the TV while I sip my Hamms faster than normal so I can make my way out of this situation. I'm hoping the voodoo priests are right about the luck bestowing properties of Hoppin' John on New Year's Day ans skippin' Jenny on January 2. I look behind me at the one legged dude and realize things could be worse as he kissed the biggest woman for blocks.That woman is going to rock his world and pass out on top of him tonight. I'm glad times like these don't cost more than $1.25.
I'm sipping my celebratory whiskey, I busted my ass at the gym this morning because there was a cute redhead there who didn't want me to talk to her, reminding myself that here's to another god damned new year while I try to figure out if there's a place where I can karaoke that Gladys Knight and the Pips song about how she'd rather live in his world with him than in her own world alone.It made me happy to spend part of my new year with Charlie Brooker take the piss out of the previous year better than any other person, British or American, possibly could.
said Tommy T. at 12:58 AM - #
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Friday, December 30, 2011
I guess it's that time to form resolutions for the coming year. I don't like these kind of things because they become a reminder a what I didn't accomplish over twelve months. I didn't accomplish much over this twelve month cycle apart from fucking up everything that I touched and I want to forget that as much as possible, but I haven't found the way to do that. Drowning sorrows in alcohol doesn't seem to work anymore. Not that it ever did, but I liked to try to fool myself into believing it.
A year ago, I never thought I'd have to be resolving to do this, but I want to get my hand back to normal. I feels weird these days, it feels like it's clenching down when it's not. I don't think that means it's getting better, despite using my glove contraption that's supposed to fix things. I want to be able to use the rowing machine at the gym because it looks like fun. I can't say that about any other machine there, which all look like they hurt and they all do. I want to get myself up to 70 pounds of resistance on the ab machine. I started at 20 and am up to 40 now, which hurts a whole lot. I make sure not to leave until I have sweat going down my back every day. The incline treadmill helps a lot with that when I put it on what I call the Seattle setting. You climb a hill and then there's another fucking hill 30 seconds later. I attribute most of my weight loss to that thing. 138 pounds as of this morning, I still want to shed 8 more pounds to get back to normal. I've got bones again, ribs and a collarbone, which makes me happy. If I can get my hand functioning again, I can start using the upper body machines so I can get ripped like the guy in the Shrute Farms Beets shirt. I also want to be able to safely ride a bike again. I use the bikes at the gym, which works out okay when I can get my foot to cooperate and not kick out when I'm pedaling. When my balance gets good enough, I want to skate again and I'd like to do some geocaching. I'd have to dust off the GPS and make sure it still works, but that shit was fun while I did it.If I can get myself to the point of using the rowing machine, I figure I can do some kayaking or canoeing, which I thought about when I was dying in the hospital. I did it when I was in high school in gym class and I loved flipping the kayak, much to the chagrin of my buddy Mike who was in the other seat. I should find Mike, he dropped out at the beginning of the fourth quarter our senior year. I never understood that.
I need to lose some more weight to fit into some pants that haven't fit for a while. I always hated people who made resolutions to lose weight, but now I'm one of them. I'd like a flat stomach, but I eat, so I don't think it's possible. Perhaps if I can get my metabolism back it'll happen.
I want to be drug free for the year. I haven't taken any medications for over a month now and I haven't died yet. Coming off of anti-depressants really sucked. It made me very anxious and I almost bothered Hanna until I realized that would end very, very badly.
I want to get back to Fest in October. I think to make that happen, I have to finish my computer certifications that I've been meaning to do for the past couple years. I don't want to do it, but if Satan is making computer work my life sentence, then it's what I have to do.I need to move out of my place into a new city. There's too many memories in this place, some good, a lot of them painful, all of them I want to forget.
I want to start making my own pizza at home. Nothing here compares to Sal's in Appleton. Pizza Fridays are starting to suck. No pizza I try is all that good these days, they either have shittySt. Louis style crust or bad toppings. I want to perfect a Philly cheesesteak pizza, one that doesn't include a ton of provolone cheese because that stuff is horrible. Every cheesesteak pizza I've had tastes like someone vomited cheesesteak onto focaccia. If I can perfect a good cheesesteak pizza, I can go about figuring out how a burrito pizza will work and if a poutine pizza is viable.
I've been tossing around the idea of getting a plot at a local community garden and growing som vegetables. I've got some varieties of tomatoes picked out already and I'd like to do some purple or red carrots and I'd like to do some okra so I can have fried okra like I had in Tennessee at the soul food restaurant.
I think that's twelve months worth of shit. The worst is going to be getting my hand to work again, I think, because it hasn't been working for so long. Hercules himself had to overcome something very similar, so this is officially a hero's trial, akin to cleaning the Aegean stables. In his book, he says it only took him eight years to get back to normal. I don't have that kind of time, I'm still going to die the day I turn 40, so eight years is too long to achieve normalcy.
Unfortunately, until I get my hand working, culinary anything is all but out of the question. I managed to tie a tie one handed last night, which surprised the shit out of me. The hardest part was re-buttoning the button on the collar with one hand, which took twice as long as getting the tie right.
said Tommy T. at 5:07 PM - #
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Wednesday, December 28, 2011
I used to be a hurricane, now I'm just a breeze
Yes, Joe talked to Jimi. Turns out god is Hendrix. Or maybe Hendrix is god. I guess it makes sense, The Wind Cried Mary, Purple Haze, both about Jesus Christ, both the best songs about him ever. So Satan sat me down and said "We have to make this quick. Turns out there really has been a mistake, you're not supposed to be here just yet."
And Hendrix appeared. He wasn't black, though, he was violet. I don't know. He was smiling, still had giant hair.
Satan spoke up. "Okay, here's the terms of your release. You're doomed to a life of being a computer janitor. Alone. Forced to be a cup of Sanka in a Starbucks universe.What's the best feeling you've ever had?"
"When I got to be little spoon."
"Never again. And don't come back here before your time."
"What if I don't accept those terms? I don't want to go back. I don't care, I'm not down with that. They want me hooked on drugs back there. Drugs that don't do anything but fuck my body." I find it odd that they spent years indoctrinating me with "drugs are bad" but then that's their cure for every goddamned thing under the sun. That's all we can expect from the boomer generation, though, I guess.
"Those are your terms. There's no negotiation. You're going back."
And before I could say anything more, Hendrix grabbed my bad arm and we took off flying.
"Hey, hey, slow down! I want to negotiate. Those terms suck! I don't want to work on computers anymore, I'd rather be a zompire."
"No time! We've got to reach exit velocity or we're both stuck down here. As great as the first circle and the void sounds, I'm not staying in this dump any longer than I need to."
"Then leave me behind. This isn't so bad. It's at least as good as being trapped in Wisconsin with a bum arm and hand and gross ass stretch marks doing work that I completely disdain around people who are complete shit."
"Who's shit?"
"All of them. I don't need them."
"You need all of them."
And we headed back up the entrance. The music was the same going out as it was coming in, but they added that fucking song about the boots with the furs.
"See, this is what I don't need, you've got to hate this music as much as I do, Hendrix."
"Yeah, the ones that make that trash will be here soon enough."
"So is there anyone cool on your end? Besides you?"
"We got Ray Charles and Johnny Cash. They got big fucking expansive estates. Ever heard of Mojoworld? It's kind of like that, complete with the loop-de-loop water slides."
God actually said fucking. We were going pretty damned fast by then, my clothes melted off my skin. Exit velocity isn't slow, that's for sure.
"But I'm still looking for #1, the worst person ever. Do you know who it is?"
Now, I could cop out and say he told me it was Bono and it's an easy line to say it's Hanna for hurting me, but it's not ans she's most definitely not the worst person ever, she's pretty damned cool, in fact.
All he told me is "It's not you."
And I was saved. By Joe Strummer. Doesn't that make him a saint now according to the rules of catholocism? I guess punk rock really did save my life. Punk rock can keep it for all I care. I wound up back in my place sloped over the toilet filled with whiskey vomit. How is this any better than hell? I've got a beard going now. Some people have house plants, I guess I'm cultivating hair this winter. Satan still didn't place me in a job, so I've got to continue my search for computer janitorial work on my own. That's not going to be fun. At least I don't have to drink Sanka anymore. But being a cup of Sanka in a Starbucks universe is sure going to suck.
throwing garbage down the beach into the bay. For I have brought the wind for you and I have brought the rain and I have never asked at all to be repaid
said Tommy T. at 7:51 PM - #
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Tuesday, December 27, 2011
The marquee says tonight's horrible movie is the Punisher movie. I've always hated that one because I know I could make it a much better movie by completely removing any attempt at a plot and replacing the lead actor with Henry Rollins. Give him the shirt with the skull on it and give him some big guns. Blow some drug dealer's shit up for an hour and a half and you've got the perfect Punisher movie. I'm skipping it tonight, I'll spend my time in the void. I was worried it was going to be Rude Boy tonight, to get back at me for talking with Joe.
We're still lighting candles every night of Hanukkah. It really pisses Hitler off, which is always fun. I'll sometimes pass the time by going back to the entrance and watching the new arrivals get their kick in his groin. It's a good way to kill some time. Satan tells me she's getting close to finding me a job. Not really looking forward to it. It would be better than spending time in hell's gym because the Januaries will be there soon, the ones who resolute to drop 1000 pounds, join the gym and nearly kill themselves by over-doing it and then quit by February. I figure that, if I time it right, I could be getting fired by the moment the last of the Januaries is quitting, so maybe working on Satan's computers will be a good thing. I shouldn't talk, though, expressing hope and optimism is expressly verboten down here. I could be forced to wander the void more often or, worse, forced to drink more of that damned Sanka coffee. Nothing like drinking shitty brown water.
said Tommy T. at 9:35 PM - #
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Thursday, December 22, 2011
While patrolling the void, I found my way to the first circle and I ran into Joe Strummer, nine years exactly since he died.
"What in the hell, no pun intended, are you doing here, Joe?"
"All the coolest people are here, where else would I be? Besides, did you listen to Cut the Crap? That one did me in."
"Yeah, it sucked, but it certainly isn't worth eternal damnation!"
"Straight to hell, boy."
And then he played my favorite Clash song ever."Thanks, Joe. That was always my favorite, but I never expected it to be literal."
"Well, it's all for the better. I get to visit Woody every week."
"Wood's here, too?"
"You jam Woody? No one does that!"
And I had to show him my tattoo.
"You ever killed a man?"
"No one besides myself, Joe."
"You a fascist?"
"No, I just couldn't take it anymore. I lost everything."
"YOU lost everything? I fronted the greatest band ever and I didn't give up even when that ended."
"Sorry, Joe, I had enough. You're clearly a better man than I and I'm not afraid to admit that. But, really, 'My body, my choice.'"
"You don't really believe that applies to you, do you? Because it doesn't, you have balls, it's not your choice at all. You don't have a choice in the matter. What you did was selfish."
"Yeah, that's what everyone was saying, but isn't it selfish to make me stay in a place that I really don't want to be?"
"No, you've got to be better than that."
I showed him that I'm number 2 and he showed me his number which is in the billions and I told him about my personal quest to find number one. "It's tough, Joe. I lost it all over the course of a year. My job, my girl, my passion. All I had left wasn't worth keeping."
"Your girl?"
"Yeah, I didn't treat her right. I fucked up bad. Really bad. In the end, she wanted to move to a new place and I wasn't in it.I hate moving more than anything because it reminds me how much crap I have. So I didn't help much with the move, which helped push her to the edge. I should have said something, but she wanted to move so I didn't have to navigate stairs with my gimp status. She had good intentions. That's not the whole reason she gave up, but I tell myself it certainly didn't help."
"Your passion?"
"I loved to cook. With my gimp status, it became a huge burden and I began to really hate it."
"You lost your job because of your gimp status, too, I suppose?"
"Yeah, for the most part, but I hated that job. It was just a paycheck and decent benefits. Career Opportunities and all."
"Okay, so you didn't want your job back, then. Did you want your girl back?"
"Not really. Her friends and family all hate me almost as much as I hate me, so it wouldn't work ever again."
Joe then showed me a trick that I never want to see again. It's one of those things designed to make hell a place of real torment and anguish. Turns out we can see people on earth, much like watching a television, the Truman show or something. He showed me how she was doing. Quite well for being trapped in central Wisconsin because of me. Plugging away and doing her best at taking claims from gimps like me.
And then Hank Williams pulled up in his baby blue Cadillac. He stepped out carrying his guitar in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He and Joe started playing sad songs while passing the bottle back and forth. Joe went into No Children and I screamed along with the lyric I am drowning, there is no sign of land! You are coming down with me! Hand in unlovable hand! I hope you die, I hope we both die and I grabbed that fucking bottle and took a pull.
"You think you'll see her again?"
"No, she'll make the cut. I spent my last days avoiding any place where she might even possibly be, which was a pain, but not as painful as seeing her again."
And Joe asked if I was supposed to be there. "Probably, but they told me they weren't ready for me, so it was a bit of a clusterfuck at first."
"I've got to check something with Jimi." And he disappeared, leaving me to hang with Hank Williams, whose number was also in the billions. Good times. Hank's got some good fucking firewater in that Cadillac. Unfortunately, I've got little musical talent so he went on his way to sing with Leadbelly.
said Tommy T. at 9:03 PM - #
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Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Tuesday night movie night was a double feature. Two movies that should never have been made, Boondock Saints II and Green Street Hooligans II. Both terrible in their own rights, follow ups to movies that ended without the need for a sequel. Unfortunately, both appealed to the UFC warching, KFC munching moron crowd who clamor for horrible sequels. It's because of those people that the Transformers franchise is doing as well as it is. Some blame Satan for it, but he deserves none of the blame, actually. Satan has impeccable taste in movies and knows exactly what to show on movie night to truly torture the rest of us. There's musings from the fourth circle of there being a showing of Black Swan one of these days.
said Tommy T. at 3:24 PM - #
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said Tommy T. at 2:14 PM - #
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said Tommy T. at 2:59 PM - #
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Why do you do the things you've done
and how dumb would you have to be
to do them again like I know you're going to?
If you're the poet you say you are and beauty's in everything you see,
then how can love exist in a world run by people like you?
Because when there's suffering, you're there.
From southern trees, you hang them in the air.
The world screams out in agony and you don't care,
but should the shit hit the fan,
I just pray.you will not be spared.
FUCK YOU.
I had to listen to that beginning part four times in a row to make sure it wasn't that "runner's high" making me smile. I don't believe such a thing as a runner's high actually exists except in people who are masochists, but I had to make sure. Four miles a day on that damned thing gets me raising my fist in anger at everything I see. My times are getting faster, though, and it helps with my walking until I stiffen up again.
Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse,
Wherein I did not some notorious ill:
As kill a man, or else devise his death;
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;
Set deadly enmity between two friends;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears,
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
I don't think that Titus Andronicus guy was such an asshole. They all deserved what was coming to them.
said Tommy T. at 3:54 PM - #
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But this all revolved around him having an Australian accent. Dude does not have that. Dude sounds like a bro. I'm tired of bros. He probably is the one who programmed that radio station in there in the first place. He soldered the tuning button so that it can't be changed to something that isn't shitty and repetitive. He doesn't save lives during his off hours, he's off with the cute redhead who wears a sorority shirt, dealbreaker by the way, not that it matters, because, let's be honest, dead left side is a dealbreaker, too.
said Tommy T. at 1:35 PM - #
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I'm sipping my celebratory whiskey, I busted my ass at the gym this morning because there was a cute redhead there who didn't want me to talk to her, reminding myself that here's to another god damned new year while I try to figure out if there's a place where I can karaoke that Gladys Knight and the Pips song about how she'd rather live in his world with him than in her own world alone.It made me happy to spend part of my new year with Charlie Brooker take the piss out of the previous year better than any other person, British or American, possibly could.
said Tommy T. at 12:58 AM - #
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A year ago, I never thought I'd have to be resolving to do this, but I want to get my hand back to normal. I feels weird these days, it feels like it's clenching down when it's not. I don't think that means it's getting better, despite using my glove contraption that's supposed to fix things. I want to be able to use the rowing machine at the gym because it looks like fun. I can't say that about any other machine there, which all look like they hurt and they all do. I want to get myself up to 70 pounds of resistance on the ab machine. I started at 20 and am up to 40 now, which hurts a whole lot. I make sure not to leave until I have sweat going down my back every day. The incline treadmill helps a lot with that when I put it on what I call the Seattle setting. You climb a hill and then there's another fucking hill 30 seconds later. I attribute most of my weight loss to that thing. 138 pounds as of this morning, I still want to shed 8 more pounds to get back to normal. I've got bones again, ribs and a collarbone, which makes me happy. If I can get my hand functioning again, I can start using the upper body machines so I can get ripped like the guy in the Shrute Farms Beets shirt. I also want to be able to safely ride a bike again. I use the bikes at the gym, which works out okay when I can get my foot to cooperate and not kick out when I'm pedaling. When my balance gets good enough, I want to skate again and I'd like to do some geocaching. I'd have to dust off the GPS and make sure it still works, but that shit was fun while I did it.If I can get myself to the point of using the rowing machine, I figure I can do some kayaking or canoeing, which I thought about when I was dying in the hospital. I did it when I was in high school in gym class and I loved flipping the kayak, much to the chagrin of my buddy Mike who was in the other seat. I should find Mike, he dropped out at the beginning of the fourth quarter our senior year. I never understood that.
I need to lose some more weight to fit into some pants that haven't fit for a while. I always hated people who made resolutions to lose weight, but now I'm one of them. I'd like a flat stomach, but I eat, so I don't think it's possible. Perhaps if I can get my metabolism back it'll happen.
I want to be drug free for the year. I haven't taken any medications for over a month now and I haven't died yet. Coming off of anti-depressants really sucked. It made me very anxious and I almost bothered Hanna until I realized that would end very, very badly.
I want to get back to Fest in October. I think to make that happen, I have to finish my computer certifications that I've been meaning to do for the past couple years. I don't want to do it, but if Satan is making computer work my life sentence, then it's what I have to do.I need to move out of my place into a new city. There's too many memories in this place, some good, a lot of them painful, all of them I want to forget.
I want to start making my own pizza at home. Nothing here compares to Sal's in Appleton. Pizza Fridays are starting to suck. No pizza I try is all that good these days, they either have shittySt. Louis style crust or bad toppings. I want to perfect a Philly cheesesteak pizza, one that doesn't include a ton of provolone cheese because that stuff is horrible. Every cheesesteak pizza I've had tastes like someone vomited cheesesteak onto focaccia. If I can perfect a good cheesesteak pizza, I can go about figuring out how a burrito pizza will work and if a poutine pizza is viable.
I've been tossing around the idea of getting a plot at a local community garden and growing som vegetables. I've got some varieties of tomatoes picked out already and I'd like to do some purple or red carrots and I'd like to do some okra so I can have fried okra like I had in Tennessee at the soul food restaurant.
I think that's twelve months worth of shit. The worst is going to be getting my hand to work again, I think, because it hasn't been working for so long. Hercules himself had to overcome something very similar, so this is officially a hero's trial, akin to cleaning the Aegean stables. In his book, he says it only took him eight years to get back to normal. I don't have that kind of time, I'm still going to die the day I turn 40, so eight years is too long to achieve normalcy.
Unfortunately, until I get my hand working, culinary anything is all but out of the question. I managed to tie a tie one handed last night, which surprised the shit out of me. The hardest part was re-buttoning the button on the collar with one hand, which took twice as long as getting the tie right.
said Tommy T. at 5:07 PM - #
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Yes, Joe talked to Jimi. Turns out god is Hendrix. Or maybe Hendrix is god. I guess it makes sense, The Wind Cried Mary, Purple Haze, both about Jesus Christ, both the best songs about him ever. So Satan sat me down and said "We have to make this quick. Turns out there really has been a mistake, you're not supposed to be here just yet."
And Hendrix appeared. He wasn't black, though, he was violet. I don't know. He was smiling, still had giant hair.
Satan spoke up. "Okay, here's the terms of your release. You're doomed to a life of being a computer janitor. Alone. Forced to be a cup of Sanka in a Starbucks universe.What's the best feeling you've ever had?"
"When I got to be little spoon."
"Never again. And don't come back here before your time."
"What if I don't accept those terms? I don't want to go back. I don't care, I'm not down with that. They want me hooked on drugs back there. Drugs that don't do anything but fuck my body." I find it odd that they spent years indoctrinating me with "drugs are bad" but then that's their cure for every goddamned thing under the sun. That's all we can expect from the boomer generation, though, I guess.
"Those are your terms. There's no negotiation. You're going back."
And before I could say anything more, Hendrix grabbed my bad arm and we took off flying.
"Hey, hey, slow down! I want to negotiate. Those terms suck! I don't want to work on computers anymore, I'd rather be a zompire."
"No time! We've got to reach exit velocity or we're both stuck down here. As great as the first circle and the void sounds, I'm not staying in this dump any longer than I need to."
"Then leave me behind. This isn't so bad. It's at least as good as being trapped in Wisconsin with a bum arm and hand and gross ass stretch marks doing work that I completely disdain around people who are complete shit."
"Who's shit?"
"All of them. I don't need them."
"You need all of them."
And we headed back up the entrance. The music was the same going out as it was coming in, but they added that fucking song about the boots with the furs.
"See, this is what I don't need, you've got to hate this music as much as I do, Hendrix."
"Yeah, the ones that make that trash will be here soon enough."
"So is there anyone cool on your end? Besides you?"
"We got Ray Charles and Johnny Cash. They got big fucking expansive estates. Ever heard of Mojoworld? It's kind of like that, complete with the loop-de-loop water slides."
God actually said fucking. We were going pretty damned fast by then, my clothes melted off my skin. Exit velocity isn't slow, that's for sure.
"But I'm still looking for #1, the worst person ever. Do you know who it is?"
Now, I could cop out and say he told me it was Bono and it's an easy line to say it's Hanna for hurting me, but it's not ans she's most definitely not the worst person ever, she's pretty damned cool, in fact.
All he told me is "It's not you."
And I was saved. By Joe Strummer. Doesn't that make him a saint now according to the rules of catholocism? I guess punk rock really did save my life. Punk rock can keep it for all I care. I wound up back in my place sloped over the toilet filled with whiskey vomit. How is this any better than hell? I've got a beard going now. Some people have house plants, I guess I'm cultivating hair this winter. Satan still didn't place me in a job, so I've got to continue my search for computer janitorial work on my own. That's not going to be fun. At least I don't have to drink Sanka anymore. But being a cup of Sanka in a Starbucks universe is sure going to suck.
throwing garbage down the beach into the bay. For I have brought the wind for you and I have brought the rain and I have never asked at all to be repaid
said Tommy T. at 7:51 PM - #
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We're still lighting candles every night of Hanukkah. It really pisses Hitler off, which is always fun. I'll sometimes pass the time by going back to the entrance and watching the new arrivals get their kick in his groin. It's a good way to kill some time. Satan tells me she's getting close to finding me a job. Not really looking forward to it. It would be better than spending time in hell's gym because the Januaries will be there soon, the ones who resolute to drop 1000 pounds, join the gym and nearly kill themselves by over-doing it and then quit by February. I figure that, if I time it right, I could be getting fired by the moment the last of the Januaries is quitting, so maybe working on Satan's computers will be a good thing. I shouldn't talk, though, expressing hope and optimism is expressly verboten down here. I could be forced to wander the void more often or, worse, forced to drink more of that damned Sanka coffee. Nothing like drinking shitty brown water.
said Tommy T. at 9:35 PM - #
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"What in the hell, no pun intended, are you doing here, Joe?"
"All the coolest people are here, where else would I be? Besides, did you listen to Cut the Crap? That one did me in."
"Yeah, it sucked, but it certainly isn't worth eternal damnation!"
"Straight to hell, boy."
And then he played my favorite Clash song ever."Thanks, Joe. That was always my favorite, but I never expected it to be literal."
"Well, it's all for the better. I get to visit Woody every week."
"Wood's here, too?"
"You jam Woody? No one does that!"
And I had to show him my tattoo.
"You ever killed a man?"
"No one besides myself, Joe."
"You a fascist?"
"No, I just couldn't take it anymore. I lost everything."
"YOU lost everything? I fronted the greatest band ever and I didn't give up even when that ended."
"Sorry, Joe, I had enough. You're clearly a better man than I and I'm not afraid to admit that. But, really, 'My body, my choice.'"
"You don't really believe that applies to you, do you? Because it doesn't, you have balls, it's not your choice at all. You don't have a choice in the matter. What you did was selfish."
"Yeah, that's what everyone was saying, but isn't it selfish to make me stay in a place that I really don't want to be?"
"No, you've got to be better than that."
I showed him that I'm number 2 and he showed me his number which is in the billions and I told him about my personal quest to find number one. "It's tough, Joe. I lost it all over the course of a year. My job, my girl, my passion. All I had left wasn't worth keeping."
"Your girl?"
"Yeah, I didn't treat her right. I fucked up bad. Really bad. In the end, she wanted to move to a new place and I wasn't in it.I hate moving more than anything because it reminds me how much crap I have. So I didn't help much with the move, which helped push her to the edge. I should have said something, but she wanted to move so I didn't have to navigate stairs with my gimp status. She had good intentions. That's not the whole reason she gave up, but I tell myself it certainly didn't help."
"Your passion?"
"I loved to cook. With my gimp status, it became a huge burden and I began to really hate it."
"You lost your job because of your gimp status, too, I suppose?"
"Yeah, for the most part, but I hated that job. It was just a paycheck and decent benefits. Career Opportunities and all."
"Okay, so you didn't want your job back, then. Did you want your girl back?"
"Not really. Her friends and family all hate me almost as much as I hate me, so it wouldn't work ever again."
Joe then showed me a trick that I never want to see again. It's one of those things designed to make hell a place of real torment and anguish. Turns out we can see people on earth, much like watching a television, the Truman show or something. He showed me how she was doing. Quite well for being trapped in central Wisconsin because of me. Plugging away and doing her best at taking claims from gimps like me.
And then Hank Williams pulled up in his baby blue Cadillac. He stepped out carrying his guitar in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He and Joe started playing sad songs while passing the bottle back and forth. Joe went into No Children and I screamed along with the lyric I am drowning, there is no sign of land! You are coming down with me! Hand in unlovable hand! I hope you die, I hope we both die and I grabbed that fucking bottle and took a pull.
"You think you'll see her again?"
"No, she'll make the cut. I spent my last days avoiding any place where she might even possibly be, which was a pain, but not as painful as seeing her again."
And Joe asked if I was supposed to be there. "Probably, but they told me they weren't ready for me, so it was a bit of a clusterfuck at first."
"I've got to check something with Jimi." And he disappeared, leaving me to hang with Hank Williams, whose number was also in the billions. Good times. Hank's got some good fucking firewater in that Cadillac. Unfortunately, I've got little musical talent so he went on his way to sing with Leadbelly.
said Tommy T. at 9:03 PM - #
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said Tommy T. at 3:24 PM - #
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