Fan’s Complaint

The new program has begun. I read for three hours before going to bed last night, and I spent half an hour writing today. Things are going well.

No, they are not. I am terrified. It has been so long since I have written that I feel as though I am writing for the first time. I spent half an hour last night agonizing over first or third person POV and whether to use present tense onto my voice memo recorder thing.

I bought the recorder thing in Minnesota, and have been talking to myself ever since. I listened to some of my notes last night, and was dismayed that there is very little good “writing” in there. The only notable line was “Ford Focus crack on the windshield arm out the window like old times in Oregon.”

There was a note about how recording random thoughts would probably work better for poetry than for prose.

A lot of the notes were very personal in nature, and I doubt it would do me any good to share them here. What I did find was that listening to the notes brought me back to the moment in time and space when I recorded them, even the ones where I don’t describe the scenery at all. That could come in handy for something, but not for what I am working on right now.

***

I have not eaten since Chicago, nor do I yet feel the need to. I woke up this afternoon feeling extremely hungover, which is odd, because I did not drink at all last night. Maybe there is such a thing as a delayed hangover.

I am still feeling pretty shitty. Last night, it was primarily mental, but now it is both mental and physical. It is hard for me to imagine things getting better for me here. Having a renewed sense of purpose does not really help with the utter lack of a social life, especially when the new program will require a lot of cloistered time.

One of the more personal notes (slightly edited):
“I feel like I am too much… something. I can only be tolerated in small doses. That’s why when I am traveling, I have a great time, because I don’t have to be myself the whole time, and nobody has to deal with me for very long. I am too… strong… concentrated… pure?”

back in new york. back at home. back in the rut. all is well in the universe. new program–more reading and writing, less drinking (at least until my next meltdown).

uneventful drive, at least until I hear the two hours’ worth of insanity that I recorded.

car did not break down. my baby is reliable and faithful. I broke down. there is no place to stay, only places to go.

as I got closer to new york, I got worse. started to take more risks with my driving, sped more blatantly, refused to eat, chain-smoked. there must be something about new york that encourages my self-destructive side. with any luck, I won’t be around much longer (take that in whatever way you want, because I don’t know how I mean that either).

some day I will look back upon this trip as a turning point for me. things will either get better from here on or worse.

The photos are of the view from a hotel room in Detroit (that’s Canada across the water), and of a strange bear that at first glance I had thought was an old woman in an outlet mall near Aurora, Illinois.

Aurora, aside from being the setting of the Wayne’s World movies, is also the town in which the Illinois Math and Science Academy is located, and where E****a spent her formative high school years, at the aforementioned IMSA.

***

All throughout Michigan, flying along at 77mph, I had only the vague idea that we were heading towards Chicago and staying in some western suburb. Dave had set the whole thing up, really, and I just went with the flow. When I saw the sign for IMSA after getting off I-88, I said to Dave, “That’s interesting. You know who went to IMSA…”

“Beth works there. That’s where we’re staying.”

Without any effort on my part, Manos McFate brought me to my Louisville to chase after ghosts. After finding out that there would be no way to get access to the class of 1999 yearbook, I grew distraught, and the next day, I bought a pound of jellybeans, chiefly red ones, to carry in my inside pocket.

Since then I have tried very hard to put on my best face. I slipped a little in Chicago (j, sorry for being a drag), but I have been very good in Minnesota–making people laugh, singing karaoke, facilating new bonds between old acquaintances. All in all, I am being a model “old friend who’s always a good time when he’s in town.”

It is fucking hard. The facade is cracking, and it is killing me to keep it together. If I did not have to take care of what I said I came out here to do, I would take off first thing tomorrow morning. To the west, probably. Just hit the road for days and days until I’m at my credit limit and sporting a hideous Chinaman moustache. But I should really do this shit while I’m here, and I have to be home on Thursday to receive a package. Something I do not yet own already owns me.

When I wake up tomorrow I will clean up and go do what I have to do with a brave face. And I’ll keep that face on when I am with friends. But as soon as I get in thr car and am truly alone, I will let it go to pieces, until the road heals me again.

***

The song I sang was “Don’t Worry Baby.” I received lukewarm applause–either because of my awesome fake name (Fab Casablancas), or because of my awful falsetto.

The title of the entry comes from a fat man at the St. Clair Broiler today who lost his gun. The story really works better orally.

An earthen mound of a man walks in. Says he’s lost his gun. Says it was a 38 semiauto. Points to his empty holster, which looks like a child’s toy. Says he’s checked everywhere he’s been today. So he calls the cops. Cop arrives, gets all the details, pulls a gun out of his back pocket and asks, “is this your gun?” The fat man is incredulous. Says he’s never been so embarassed in his whole life. The cop leaves. There is no punchline. That was not a joke.

***

Tuesday night in Chicago, home on Wednesday night, Paris in April, Girl from Ipanema.

Of all the times I’ve driven through PA on I-80, today was the worst.
But my problems began even before PA. In Jersey a truck carrying
flattened cardboard boxes lost a strap and rained debris on the
roadway. I guess it was retribution for all of the boxes I’ve broken
down in my time.
As for PA, I guess I should know by now to expect bad weather in the
mountains. Had to drive through at least two unplowed stretches, and
saw plenty of cars that had lost it. I only hope my luck wil hold out
till Detroit.
Currently crawling through Ohio.

but I gotta go!

Leaving NYC in 7 hours. Detroit–>Chicago–>Twin Cities. Home on the 30th or the 31st.

Call or e-mail to request my presence at your party, wedding, or bar mitzvah. No funerals.

A couple of days ago I had a hard drive crash. Being a complete nerd, I immediately ordered replacement and upgrade parts and paid $33 for overnight shipping.

Today I was going to wash/polish/wax my car (HOT DATE tomorrow night), pick up my book which I had been guilted into ordering at the local Barnes & Noble, and finally try that $1 chicken sandwich at KFC. All in all, a day filled with strenous activity. You have to stay busy, even when unemployed.

But I forgot that I had to wait for the package today.

So I sat here all day, and when I checked the website again at 3pm, they said that I wasn’t home.

Well, I still have enough time to at least pick up my book and the chicken sandwich, right? No. The streets are clogged with them. They‘re all either driving too slow or trying to screw me over, all because they have to get home before the Earth’s rotation renders this part of the planet covered in darkness.

Maybe it’s time I moved to rural Ohio.

So now I have to go out to crazy industrial nowhere to pick up my package after 6pm. Sometimes it’s like being unemployed is more stressful than having a job.

I pulled $200 out of my bank account last night and deposited it into an online casino. That left me with $100 to my name. With the casino’s 100% signup bonus, I had $400 to play blackjack with.

At first I was making $1 bets, and fluctuating between $380-$410. Then I began to make $2 bets and moved myself up to $400-$440. And then I made a few stupid bets and got all the way up to $480. If I had been able to cash out then, I would’ve made $280 for about 4 hours of work.

But my luck started to turn, and even with $2 bets I fell back down to $400. I was getting close to having wagered enough money to cash out, and so I decided to make $5 bets to speed up the process. That got me back down to $380 or so, and I decided to make a $20 bet to bring me back to $400. I won, and could’ve coasted all the way to the finish…

Of course, I got greedy. I decided to make $25 bets, and lost two in a row. With $350 left, and $20 more to wager until I could cash out, I decided to make one last $25 bet.

I got dealt a 7 and a 4, and the dealer had a 10 showing. I doubled, and wound up with a 6. The dealer turned over his card. It was a 7. A push.

I went for it again, and got a 12. Dealer had a 7 showing. I hit and busted with the Queen that I needed the previous hand.

Even though I am $102.50 richer now than I was when the night began, I can’t help torturing myself about how I would’ve been nearly $250 richer had I played more conservatively.

Got the long-awaited rejection letter today. Rejection I was prepared for, but the fact that I could not get one of four fellowships when only 35 people applied really rubs me the wrong way.

There was really no need for them to reveal that bit of information.

If their intention was to get me angry enough to try harder, they succeeded, if only for five minutes.

If their intention was to get me angry enough to promise to slam those poets so hard that cum shoots out of their ears, after which I would drink gasoline and burn the place down with my enormous flame-shootin’ cock, they succeeded.

Know this: I will devote my life to proving those people wrong, either through violence or prose.

My clothes cannot contain the excitement!! Let’s all get naked super happy time for great enjoyment!!

Four hours and fifteen minutes is a new record! This is a momentous occasion. Never did I imagine when I Started my fantastic job moving boxes that one day I would climb to such great heights that it would take me 4hr 15min to get home from work!

It’s a fifty mile drive, so I was avgeraging 11.764705882352941176470588235294mph. oh man

kkkkk

there’s a fiftycent kennedy piece stuck to my bare ass. maybe it’s time to put on some clothes.

that’s over half the workday!

if you count the hour and a half this morning I spent 5hr 45min in my car. I could be halfway to cleveland by now.

So I’m having my monthly (or weekly) examination of my life and goals, and I’m wondering what exactly my reasons are for wanting to go to grad school.

I’m not really enjoying the real world so much, for one. I miss being around like-minded people.

Actually, I don’t know what I want. When I was taking a shower this morning, it occurred to me that I would love to have a stupid office job with regular 9-5 hours and benefits. I could start getting into a routine again, buy a monthly metrocard for the first time in my life, and be like a normal person. None of this driving 100 miles a day crap.

But I digress. I’d hate that job as much as I hate not having a job, because hating the current state of affairs is my specialty. That job would just be nice because it would not be challenging, and it would be an opportunity to get out of debt.

Do I want to be challenged? Is that why I want to go to grad school? I think I was challenged in college, and I failed pretty miserably.

I’m afraid that I want to use grad school as a sort of do-over for my college years. I think there are some things I should’ve done differently…

[FLASHBACK SOUND FX]

H. arrives at college, the sky is bright, the weather is warm.

H. is smoking a cigarette in bed. The names of his peers are being announced outside. There is cheering.

[END FLASHBACK]

Yeah… I sure had some good times at college. If grad school’s gonna be like that, count me in!

Now all I have to do is have a portfolio.